Sex Worker Intelligence
Well
that was a curates egg. Crappy that there was a public event with
little time to plan for it. Good that she was smart enough to follow
advice. And awesome that she understood what it took to be secure.
But now she really took me aback. “I am surprised you are still
body guarding, to be honest, Willie. I would have thought that for a
man like you it would be too dull. After all, there are not too may
people who can say that they went to the Falklands and then did three
years in the Det – tailing that stocky little now jolly politician
no less, now he has laid down his Armalite – and even fewer who
also did six years with the Regiment. They really did send you to
some shit holes, didn't they? Colombia, Bolivia, Serbia, Iraq. And
whole host of other places you never went.”

“Forgive
me for being direct, but how does a professional sex worker get that
sort of information?”
“As
opposed to an amateur sex worker? What would that be, exactly? A
wife?” It was a nice deflection and I smiled slightly despite
myself.
“If
I am going to put my welfare in someone else´s hands I am going to
check out who they are. The bio sent by your employers looks like it
was written by an illiterate civil servant with a vague relationship
with the English language and no knowledge of you. It was totally
generic. So I asked around.”
I
understood what she was saying, but for goodness sake, even my C.O.s
in the Regiment did not know about what I did with the Det. And vice
versa. And it looked as though vice versa might well be an
appropriate phrase. I stayed quiet. I suspected that she would have
no problem sitting there quietly for an hour while I gave her the
thousand yard stare. Fortunately she decided to explain.
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