Interruptions and disconnects. That is what I do for a living. Relax, it will make sense soon enough.
While I was working managing escort agencies in Spain I mixed with all sorts of people. And a lot of them were criminals. After all, criminals and hookers go together like, well, hookers and criminals. A girl that escorts Ibiza clients is likely to meet all kinds of people. You never know who or why will turn up. One time I was told a funny story.
The five year old dark blue Renault Megane was parked in the Moto motorway services near Dover. The engine still running. Which was not that unusual, especially at three in the morning. Lots of people parked up for a sleep after they had come off the ferries or the Channel Tunnel. Or after a long journey down through Kent that has gone faster than expected. But what caught the attention of the police car on its usual tour round the car park keeping an eye out was the fact that it was parked right next to the entrance to the services. In a disabled bay. With no sticker.
“I hate ignorant shits that do that.” said the Constable Mark Davis who was driving. He had been on the job three years, which was long enough to know the job and also long enough to have his fuse cut nice and short for the little petty things.
“So lets have a look at it. Not like its exactly a busy night.” replied Constable Dave Swinton, who was looking forward to getting off these bloody stupid shifts when he finally managed to get the promotion to Detective Constable. It was lined up for him, but like everything in Kent Police it took time.
His career was about to get a big leg up but he did not know it yet.
They parked directly behind the Renault and walked around to either side of the car. Davis took the driver side and knocked on the window. With a little more force and urgency than was strictly necessary, but rude buggers who abused disabled parking. Swinton took the passenger side and immediately saw that there was no-one in the car other than the driver.
