The Vulnerable Vixen

Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble, and you can never be sure you'll get out of it. Well, there's not much you can do about it, I guess.

Except, like Julie always says... Walk softly. Peter Troy. And now, Peter Troy investigates... the vulnerable Vixen. Women are wonderful. But in my business, they usually spell trouble, in this case with a capital T for Tommy Gun.

It all started with a girl named Shane. Unusual? Eh, that was how it was a girl. A wispy brunette as deadly as his beautiful. For the fondness for fast cars and rhythm. Rhythm with a beat. A staccato beat.

Like this. Cut down through the Kettley-Mews-Nedon nights bridge. No one saw us, the street was empty. Lose the car in the late night traffic. Voilà! Shady, you crazy. I wish you'll be heading out of town.

Rick, please remember I'm running this outfit, will you? Yeah, and if you're not careful, you'll run us right in the dark more. Look, this isn't Chicago, this is London Town, and a protection rack. Works just as well here as anywhere.

The only thing is it's never been really organized before. That's all. Yeah, but submachine guns. So far we've only used them to break windows. Generally scare up the shopkeepers, haven't we? Sure, but one of those flying bullets only has to hit someone.

And the man pulling the trigger is facing a murder act. The man being you, Rick. And your orders. Who's to know that? A shame. Now look! Since I arrived in from the States, we've netted over 20,000 pounds.

It's more than $40,000 in real money. That's in just over a month's operation. Are you complaining? You don't know about the police here. They don't scare me. If we look back home, we can look after them here.