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.