Also known as Ewing.
Chronicles of the U.I.N.
Episode: Fool
Manchester. Lunchtime. In an upmarket bar, a young stock trader was drowning his sorrows with a large whisky. He was spotted by two of his co-workers. They stared.
“He looks shy. Shall we rush him?” asked one. “No. Let’s just take the piss,” replied the other.
They approached the young man. One of them put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Hello procrastinator. What’s up?”
The young man turned to face them. “Don’t accuse me of holding myself back.”
“You miserable wanker? Can’t you get off with Dawn Treadwell?”
“Leave me alone. I’m not harassing you,” said the young man. “What is it they say? Let me think. Oh yes. All procrastinators are wankers, and all wankers procrastinate.”
He looked at them, red faced.
“If there’s one thing I hate in this world it’s a procrastinating fool. And boy, you’re one.”
“I hate procrastinators.”
“And I hate fools.”
“What we do now, it's for your own good.
You’ll thank us one day.”
One of them signalled the other to grab the young man’s shoulders. He was pulled up by the other. The young man was punched in the stomach. Then the thugs ran out of the bar cheering at themselves.
A few minutes later, recovering, the injured young stock trader thought enough was enough from those two. He dialled directory enquiries from the bar telephone. They put him through to Ewing Investigators, teenage name Unofficial Intelligence Network, the U.I.N.
“I need your discretion,” said the young man down the phone.
“What’s your name, please?” asked Steve Jackson, director of Ewing Investigators.
“My name is Sean Jones.”
“Be assured. What can we do for you, Sean?”
“I’ve just been attacked by some thugs from work.”
“Why not call the police?” asked Steve.
“I can’t. Do you understand?”
“Do you perhaps need them positively vetted?”
“Yes. I think that might be a good idea,” said the young man.
Steve nodded. “We’ll do that for you. I need their names, and place of work.”
“Frank and David Hewitt. Engel Flash Stocks
Limited.”
At the end of the day, Sean Jones drove back home. He got out of his car, then approached his front door. Suddenly he was pushed to the ground. He looked up at his attackers. Frank and David.
“You’re a cheeky cunt of a fucking sad wanking bastard. We know stuff about you as well.” The pair repeatedly kicked Sean. Then hearing a police siren, they fled.
Awkwardly, Sean got up then let himself into his house. He rang Steve Jackson again, telling him what just happened.
“Sorry to hear that,” said Steve. “But I’ve got some information for you. Frank was stealing floppy discs from his college office to sell, while on industrial placement. And David regularly attacked asian lads after college, but got away with it. His rich father paid off the victims to shut them up.”
“How did you find out?” asked Sean.
“The course tutor wasn’t silenced the same way,” replied Steve, grinning. “What will you do with it?”
“Get them out of the company. They’ve been my manager’s bully boys for too long.”
“What if they attack you again?”
“I can afford close protection for a while.” “Glad to help. Good luck.”
“Thank you,” said Sean.
Steve put the phone down.
Linda, Steve’s sister and co-director was with him in the U.I.N. office. “You still did the job?”
“Well, no one’s behind bars. And he seemed
a nice sort of chap.”
“All hoods.”
“We all have a past. But I especially hate violent yobs,” said Steve.
“I’m scared of them. What did Sean do?” asked Linda.
“He stole two printer golf balls. The firm was getting some new laser printers,” replied Steve. “Not too bad then?” asked Linda. “The firm was going to sell them.” “Somehow I think you let him off,” said Linda.
Steve shrugged his shoulders, then turned his eyes to the computer screen in front of him.