Professionals
​
- 9 -
In his flat, Al Parker stared at the phone for several minutes. Then, picking it up, he rang CI5 headquarters.
“I need to speak to Mr Cowley.” he said to the girl at the other end of the line, who told him that Cowley had left for the night.
“It’s important that I speak to him. Can you locate him? This is Al Parker, Chief Psychiatrist.”
“Hold the line please.”
A few moments later, Cowley’s voice came on the line, as the telephonist patched him through to Cowley’s home phone after telling him who was calling.
“Cowley.” his strong voice crackled down the line.
“Sir? It’s Al Parker. I’m sorry to disturb your evening, but I felt you should know.”
“That’s alright.” said Cowley, “Know what?”
“I’ve just spent the last forty five minutes on the phone with Ray Doyle.”
“Doyle?” Cowley sat up straighter in his armchair.
“Yes. He called me. He was in a bit of a state over this business his with partner.”
Cowley frowned as Parker relayed the details of their conversation.”
“How was he when you hung up?” asked Cowley.
“Calmer. I think… hope… I made him understand that it was an understandable reaction given everything he’s been through.”
“Yes.” agreed Cowley, “Although, when I dropped him off at home earlier, he seemed to be handling things quite well.”
“Yes, he said that he’d felt O.K. until he sat down to unwind. That’s when it hit him. It’s usually the way, when the mind has no distractions.”
“Do you think he’s fit enough to carry on working?” asked Cowley.
“I think so. But I would keep a discreet eye on him for a few days in case he starts to brood on it.”
“I’ll do that.” said Cowley, “Thank you for letting me know.”
“No problem. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight.”
Cowley said nothing to Doyle about his conversation with Al Parker, but he kept a close eye on him as they drove to the hospital to visit Bodie the next day. He was a little subdued, but, other than that, gave no sign of his anguish of the previous night.
Bodie was more alert today, although he was weak and looked tired.
“How are you feeling?” Cowley asked, as they seated themselves by the bed.
“Wiped out.” Bodie said weakly.
Doyle smiled to himself. Cowley hated to hear his men using slang and invariably pulled them up if they did, but, today, he let it go by.
“You lost a lot of blood.” he told Bodie now, “You’ll feel weak for several days. You were very lucky. If it hadn’t been for Doyle, you’d have bled to death.”
Bodie shifted his gaze to Doyle. “Thanks.” he whispered.
Doyle smiled, embarrassed. “I didn’t do it for you.” he said now, “I did if for me. I didn’t want to have to break in a new partner.”
Cowley chuckled and Bodie gave a weak smirk, but then screwed his face up as he moved and a sudden shaft of pain shot through him.
“Shall I call the nurse?” asked Doyle.
Bodie shook his head, biting his lip. “No… it’ll pass.” he ground out. After a few moments, he relaxed.
“O. K?” asked Doyle.
Bodie nodded, but he looked sick. Presently, he said, “Did they say how long I’ll be laid up?”
“No,” said Cowley, “but it’ll take some time for the tissue to heal, and then you’ll have to build your strength up. At least a couple of months I would think, maybe more.”
Bodie grimaced. “I’ve only been back on the squad five minutes.” he said, petulantly.
​
Cowley and Doyle exchanged amused glances.
They kept Bodie in the hospital for five days before being released to convalesce at home, on the condition that someone stayed with him since, while he was able to walk about now – if slowly - he needed help to sit, stand and lie down, and couldn’t bend or stretch due to the tissue damage. They’d repaired the internal damage with dissolvable stitches, but he was to return in ten days for the removal of the external stitches and an examination. Doyle had volunteered to stay with him for the time being.
A nurse pushed Bodie to the door in a wheelchair, where Doyle had brought his car round to collect him. He helped him out of the wheelchair and supported his elbow as Bodie walked, gingerly, one step at a time, down the pathway to the car. He sat down, with difficulty, on the passenger seat, and Doyle helped lift his legs in as he couldn’t turn on his own. Bodie gasped as pain shot through his side.
Doyle drove to Bodie’s flat, very carefully, not wanting to bounce him around too much.
When they arrived, it took some time to get him out of the car and up the stairs to the flat as Bodie could only take one stair, slowly, at a time.
They reached the lounge and Doyle helped Bodie to sit down on one of the straight-backed chairs from the dining table, the armchair being too low and too soft for him to sit in at the moment.
“O.K?” asked Doyle.
Bodie nodded, looking drained. “I can’t believe how hard it is to do anything.”
“Most of the abdominal muscles are connected to muscles elsewhere.” said Doyle, “It’s almost impossible to move without moving one of them.”
Bodie found out the truth of that statement the following morning. At the hospital, he’d slept propped up at an angle, but, after sleeping flat, in his own bed, he found he couldn’t even lift his head off the pillow without a shaft of pain shooting through his side.
After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to sit up, he gave up and shouted for Doyle, who came in a couple of minutes later, with a mug of coffee.
“Morning.” he smiled, setting the mug down on a cupboard at the side of the bed, “Sleep well?”
“Yes.” said Bodie, “But, I can’t sit up. Give me a hand?”
Doyle helped Bodie into a sitting position and gave him the mug of coffee.
“It would have been easier if I’d stayed in the hospital.” Bodie grumbled, later, after Doyle had helped him up, to the bathroom, to get dressed, and to sit down in the lounge, “I can’t do anything.”
“Give it a few days and you’ll be able to do a lot more.” Doyle told him.
By the next day, Bodie was bored stiff, with not being able to do anything, and also guilt ridden for having to have Doyle there at his beck and call.
“Don’t be stupid.” said Doyle, when Bodie brought up the subject.
Bodie sighed. “It’s driving me crazy, just sitting around all day. Let’s go out somewhere.”
Doyle sniggered. “Like where? Bowling perhaps?”
“Very funny.” said Bodie, “I don’t know… anywhere… the pub?”
“Fine, if you don’t mind people seeing me lifting you in and out of your seat?” He knew Bodie would be mortified to have people see him being helped, especially by someone of his own sex.
Bodie sighed. “Point taken.” he snapped. Then, suddenly, “Take me in to HQ.”
“What?” Doyle almost choked, “Are you crazy? Cowley’ll throw a fit.”
“I don’t mean to work, just to have a look round, chat to a few people… keep my nose in… Where’s the harm in that? I can sit down there just as easily as here.”
Doyle sighed. “Alright,” he said, reluctantly, “just this once. But I’m going to get a rocket from Cowley for agreeing to it.”
“I’ll talk him round.” smiled Bodie.
“Oh, yeah?” Doyle raised a sceptical eyebrow.
​
It took ten minutes for Bodie to get downstairs and into the car. Doyle drove carefully to their headquarters, off Whitehall.
He helped Bodie out of the car and up the steps to the entrance.
Bill, the security guard, was astonished to see Bodie after what he’d heard about his injuries. He let them in and they made their way to the Operations Room where Bodie was soon the centre of attention, being bombarded with questions by the other men.
Doyle was hoping that Cowley was out, or that news of Bodie’s visit wouldn’t reach him up in his ‘inner sanctum’, but he should have known better than to think that he wouldn’t get to hear about it, and, sure enough, a short time later, he entered the Operations Room with a thunderous look on his face.
“And just what do you think you’re doing here?” he boomed at Bodie, who jumped, startled, putting a hand on his side as the sudden movement caused a shaft of pain to shoot through him, “You were told to rest.”
“I know.” said Bodie, as the other men hurriedly returned to their duties, “But it was driving me crazy just sitting around all day. I just had to get out for a while. Don’t blame Doyle,” he added, as Cowley turned to reprimand him, “he didn’t want to bring me here, I pushed him into it. I can sit here just as well as I can sit at home, and I can keep on top of what’s going on at the same time.”
“You’re in the way here, Bodie.” Cowley’s expression was still thunderous, but his voice had softened slightly, “You can’t get about without help, and you’re distracting the other men.”
Bodie put on his best injured look and Doyle had to stifle a smirk.
“I’m sorry, sir.” he said, theatrically, “I didn’t think. I just had to get out for a while. I’m alright, really, and I won’t get in the way.”
Cowley sighed. “One hour.” he snapped, “Then I want to see you, in my office.”
“Yes, sir.” said Bodie.
As Cowley left the room, Bodie grinned at Doyle.
“See? Piece of cake.”
Doyle raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been to his office yet.” he said. Then, as if to reinforce the point, he glanced at his watch and said, “You’ll need to start on the stairs in ten minutes.” Cowley’s office was on the third floor, up six, steep, flights of stairs and there was no lift. At Bodie’s present speed, it would take him half an hour to climb them. Cowley knew that, which was precisely why he’d given the instruction, as a punishment to Bodie for being so cocky.
“No sweat.” said Bodie. But, sweat was exactly what he was doing, thirty minutes later, after he’d reached the top of the second flight of stairs, winded and in obvious pain.
Bodie shook his head. He knew why Cowley had done this, and there was no way he was going to have him gloat over him not being able to do it.
But Cowley was no fool. By the time Bodie reached the top of the third flight of stairs, he was too winded, and in too much pain, to continue. With the aid of the banister, he gingerly lowered himself down onto the top step, gasping for air, each breath agony as it pulled the injured tissue in his side.
“Bastard.” he muttered under his breath. Cowley had won, just as he’d known all along that he would.
Despite his concern for Bodie, Doyle couldn’t repress a smirk at Bodie’s heartfelt expression.
A few moments later, Cowley appeared on the landing of the flight above him.
In a plummy voice he said, “When you are capable of reaching my office, Bodie, then, and only then do I expect to see you back in this building. Is that clear?”
Bodie sighed. “Yes, sir.”
Cowley turned and went back upstairs, a hint of compassion in his eyes, and a rather smug look on his face.
“Bastard!” Bodie said again.
“You should have known he’d get you.” teased Doyle.
Bodie sighed. “I guess.”
Doyle smiled. “I’ll go and get someone to help get you downstairs.”
“No.” Bodie looked mortified.
“Can you make it?” Doyle raised an eyebrow.
“Just let me rest a minute or two.”
“Or twenty, or thirty, you mean.” scoffed Doyle, “Do you still want to be sitting there when he comes down again?” He nodded up towards Cowley’s office.
Bodie shook his head and then sighed. “O.K.” he relented.
Doyle sprinted down the stairs and returned, some minutes later, with Danny Walters, one of the men who had been at the warehouse with them the day Bodie had been stabbed. He’d seen Bodie’s injury and so wouldn’t tease him about being too weak to walk. He knew how close Bodie had come to dying.
They made a chair of their arms and ferried Bodie back down the three flights of stairs to the ground.
Doyle took him to the canteen first, for a cup of coffee, to give him time to catch his breath, before helping him back outside to the car park.
As Doyle helped him get into the car, Cowley was watching, discreetly, from his office window. He felt a little guilty for being so hard on Bodie but he’d had to do it. Bodie was always so cock-sure, so rebellious, Cowley had to take every opportunity to take the wind out of his sails, otherwise he would be completely uncontrollable. But he was touched at how hard Bodie had tried to comply with his, obviously impossible, request, and full of admiration for his determination.
By the time he was due to go back to the hospital to have the stitches removed Bodie was able to do a lot more by himself, and insisted that Doyle need not stay with him any longer.
“We’ll see what the doctor thinks about that.” said Doyle, as they pulled onto the hospital car park.
He got out and went around to the passenger side, ready to assist Bodie in getting out of the car, but by holding onto the roof, Bodie was able to pull himself up out of the seat without assistance.
They went inside, still arguing, amiably, about whether Doyle should continue to stay at Bodie’s place.
The doctor removed the stitches from the 5” long wound, and gave him a physical examination before sending him for an X-ray.
They waited for the X-ray to be developed, at which time the doctor called him back into his office. Doyle accompanied him.
“Well?” asked Bodie, easing himself onto one of two chairs at the side of his desk.
The doctor pinned the X-ray onto a screen and flicked a light on.
“Mmm.” he said, studying it. He switched off the light and sat down at his desk, opening Bodie’s case file and looking at the notes.
“The external wound is healing well,” he began, “and so are the internal injuries, but they won’t stand up to any harsh treatment. You will have to take things very steady, otherwise you could damage some of the repair work and it will take even longer to heal.”
“I’ve no choice but to take it steady.” said Bodie, “It’s too painful to do anything else.”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, but, when the pain begins to subside, you mustn’t be fooled into thinking that all the tissue is healed. It will be months before it’s completely healed and if you try to overdo it before then you’ll do irreparable damage that could leave you with permanent weakness and pain in that side.” He glanced at Bodie’s file, “I see you work for the government?”
“Yes.” said Bodie.
“Is it a physically demanding job?”
“Sometimes.” said Bodie, while Doyle rolled his eyes at the understatement.
“Then I would recommend that you not return to any kind of active duty for at least three months, preferably six.”
Bodie looked stunned. He’d only been back at work for just over four months, after being away for a year, and he was worried that Cowley might decide that he was too much of a liability to keep on the squad.
“And you’ll need to train very carefully.” the doctor continued.
Doyle asked if it was alright for Bodie to live on his own now.
“If you think you can manage on your own.” the doctor told Bodie.
“I think so.” said Bodie, but Doyle disagreed.
“We’ll see what Cowley thinks.” said Doyle, as they discussed it on the way back to Bodie’s flat.
“What’s it got to do with him?” snapped Bodie, still smarting over the stunt Cowley had pulled on him the previous week.
“He’s your boss.” Doyle reminded him.
“ ‘Boss’, yeah. That doesn’t give him the right to dictate what happens on my own time, in my own home.”
Doyle started to say ‘He doesn’t’ but thought better of it. He knew only too well Bodie’s feelings of invasion of privacy. He’d had them himself.
“He only wants to make sure you’re alright.“ he said presently, “You’re a valuable commodity.”
“Commodity!” Bodie repeated, petulantly, “That’s about right. All he cares about is what we cost the taxpayer.”
“That’s not fair, Bodie.” Doyle reproached him, “It’s also not true. Yes, he has to be aware of what it costs to fund CI5, he has to justify it to the PM, but he cares… a great deal.” Doyle gave him a pointed look. After everything that had happened to them both he ought to know that.
Bodie sighed. “Well, you can tell him not to worry. I’ll be perfectly alright on my own.”
“Me? Why can’t you tell him?” scoffed Doyle.
“I’m banned from the office until I can climb the stairs, remember?”
“So? There are such things as telephones you know.” Doyle replied, scornfully.
Bodie’s lips compressed.
“Oh, I get it.” smirked Doyle, “You’re still sulking because he got one over on you last week.” He shook his head, an amused look on his face, “You can be so childish, sometimes, Bodie.”
Bodie said nothing, and Doyle let the subject drop.
After dropping Bodie at home, Doyle drove to HQ to see Cowley. He hadn’t seen him since the day he’d taken Bodie to the office, and had only spoken to him briefly in one or two clandestine telephone conversations when Bodie was out of earshot, and he thought Cowley would want to know what the hospital had said.
He parked the car and went up to Cowley’s office, smiling to himself, as he walked up the stairs, remembering how Cowley had taught Bodie a lesson in humility on them the previous week.
“Come!” Cowley’s voice came from inside as he knocked on the door to his office. He opened it and went in.
Cowley looked up from his papers, leaning back in his chair, and taking off his glasses, when he saw who it was.
“Hello, sir.” smiled Doyle, “I thought I’d better come and fill you in on Bodie’s hospital visit.”
“Ah, yes.” said Cowley, “To have the stitches removed, wasn’t it?”
Doyle nodded.
Cowley pointed to a chair as he said, “How did it go?”
Doyle sat down. “Alright.” he said, with a cautious nod, “The doctor said that the internal wounds are healing well, but that he’s got to be very careful that he doesn’t overdo things, or he could end up with permanent damage.”
Cowley nodded, thoughtfully.
“He told him not to consider a return to any kind of active duty for at least three months, preferably six, and to be careful, when he starts training, not to do too much.”
“How’d he take it?”
Doyle pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He didn’t say much, but he seemed a bit uptight on the drive back. I think he’s concerned about how much time he’s been away… that you might think he’s a liability and kick him off the squad.”
“Of course not.” said Cowley, “He’s too good a man to lose. As long as he wants to come back… and is fit enough for the job, there’s always a place for him.”
Doyle nodded. “He thinks you’ll be worried about what it’s costing… you know… to keep paying him while he’s off sick.”
“It’s only fair.” said Cowley firmly. That was one of the points Cowley had taken issue with the PM over when he’d been asked to run CI5. The PM had wanted sick pay to be made at the standard rate, to keep costs to a minimum, but Cowley would not hear of it.
"If the men are going to risk their lives for their country, the least we can do is pay them their weekly wage." he’d roared at him, "Some of those men will be crippled and maimed serving this country. We can’t just write them off." That was when the PM had come up with the compromise of retaining injured men for a year, after which time, if they could not return to the squad, they could claim a pension.
“And how is Bodie in himself?” Cowley asked now.
“Improving.” said Doyle, “Although I think he thinks he’s better than he is.” He told him that Bodie didn’t see the need for Doyle to stay with him any longer.
“What did the doctor say?”
Doyle shrugged. “That is was OK if Bodie felt he could cope on his own.”
“And what do you think?”
Doyle sighed. “I’m not sure. He can move about a bit better now, but I’m worried that he might try to do more than he should if no-one is around to keep an eye on him. You know how impatient he is.”
Cowley nodded.
“We had a bit of a ruck about it.” said Doyle, declining to elaborate on what had been said, “I said we’d ask you.”
“Stay another week,” said Cowley, “just to monitor him. If he’s O.K. then, you can move back home and then come back to active duty.”
Doyle nodded. “O.K.” He knew Bodie would be miffed, but he too felt that Bodie needed someone there.
“The biggest problem is keeping his mind occupied.” he said now, “It’s driving him crazy not being able to do anything. Maybe you could send him some paperwork, or something for him to do to keep his mind busy?”
Cowley shook his head. “No. He’s supposed to be resting. See to it that he does just that. I don’t want his mind occupied with work, it’ll only drive him to push himself harder to get back to work and risk causing himself some permanent damage.”
That was true enough, Doyle had to acknowledge, but that still left him with the problem of how to keep Bodie’s mind occupied.
As though reading his thoughts, Cowley said. “In a week or so he’ll be a bit more mobile and he’ll be able to take himself off out then.”
“I guess.” agreed Doyle.
Bodie grunted, disgustedly, when Doyle told him he had to stay at Bodie’s another week.
“Hey, it’s no picnic for me either.” retorted Doyle, “I’m the one that’s got to listen to you bitching and moaning about being bored. If you don’t like it, you take it up with Cowley. I’m just following orders.”
Bodie looked suitably chastised and let the subject go.
After another week, Doyle felt that Bodie could manage on his own, and, with a stern warning to him to be careful, and to phone, immediately, if he had any problems, he moved back to his own place.
He went back to active duty, but kept in touch with Bodie regularly, by phone, during the day, and called round in the evenings, for a chat or to take him out to the pub, since he couldn’t drive and nor could he walk very far.
Six weeks had passed, when Bodie said to Doyle, one evening, “Will you give me a lift in to headquarters tomorrow?”
“Why?” Doyle raised an eyebrow.
“Cowley said I couldn’t go back there until I could get to his office.” replied Bodie.
“You think you can?”
Bodie nodded. “I’ve been climbing up and down the stairs here…”
“Bodie…” Doyle interjected, reproachfully.
“I didn’t overdo it.” Bodie said, hastily, “I’ve been taking it steady. But my breathing’s been improving and I’m not getting so tired, and my side doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Are you sure about this?” said Doyle, “It’s not a race, you know. The old man won’t be pleased if you do this when you’re not ready. That was the point he was trying to make in the first place.”
“I’m sure.” snapped Bodie. Apart from wanting to be allowed into the offices, where he might be able to do some light work, he was still resentful at Cowley for humiliating him and he was determined to take up his challenge at the earliest opportunity.
Doyle held up his hands. “O.K. But don’t blame me if it blows up in your face.”
Doyle picked Bodie up the next morning and drove him to headquarters. Once inside, Bodie picked up the phone and rang upstairs to Cowley’s office.
“It’s Bodie.” he said, when Cowley came on the line. “I’m coming up.”
He hung up the phone before Cowley had time to reply. Cowley sat looking at the telephone receiver, partly annoyed, at Bodie’s brusque manner, and partly amused. He had been expecting something like this. The only question had been when. With a faint smile, he put down the receiver and continued with his work.
Bodie walked across to the staircase and looked up the stairwell. He turned to look at Doyle, who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded.
“Coming?” asked Bodie.
Doyle shook his head, smiling. “No. This is your show. I’ll catch you later.”
Bodie shrugged, dismissively, and turned back to the staircase. Taking a breath, he set off. There were six, steep, flights of stairs - 54 steps in all - six long landings, and a long corridor, between him and Cowley’s office, and, while he knew he could do it, it was still going to be a challenge.
Doyle watched him up the first flight and then went about his duties.
By the time he reached the fourth floor landing, Bodie was short of breath, but he pressed on, reaching the sixth floor landing in a little under five minutes, more than twice the time it would take him if he were fully fit, but he was pleased with himself, nevertheless, for having succeeded at all.
He paused on the landing, to get his breath, before setting off towards Cowley’s office.
“He’s expecting me.” he told Bodie’s secretary, before knocking on Cowley’s door.
“Come!” called Cowley.
Bodie opened the door and entered the room.
Cowley looked up from his papers. For a long moment he said nothing, his beady eyes boring into him, seeing all but giving away nothing. Bodie stared defiantly back.
Finally, Cowley slapped his pen down and said, drolly. “What kept you?” raising a quizzical eyebrow.
The remark both infuriated and amused Bodie, as it had been designed to do.
He searched for a put down, but couldn’t come up with one. Not one that he dared say to his chief anyway. He fought to keep the smile off his face, but finally lost the battle. Shaking his head in amused irritation, he wagged his index finger in Cowley’s direction, conceding the point.
Cowley’s craggy features crinkled into a satisfied smile.
“Sit down.” He indicated the chair behind his desk, before getting up and going over to a small drinks cabinet, where he poured two glasses of scotch.
Bodie sat down as Cowley carried the drinks over and handed one to him. Bodie took the glass and Cowley returned to his seat.
“I wondered how long it would take.” he said, smiling now. He eyed Bodie over the rim of his glass, as he took a sip of the scotch, “It’s good to see you, lad.” he said, sincerely, and Bodie flushed at Cowley’s uncharacteristic openness.
“Thank you.” he said finally.
“Where’s Doyle?” asked Cowley.
“Downstairs somewhere.”
Cowley nodded. “He tells me you’re making good progress.”
Bodie shrugged. “It doesn’t feel like it to me.” he said, “I can’t stretch, or pick up anything heavy, or drive, and my breathing is still a bit weak.”
Cowley nodded. “But you’re getting stronger every day, and, in a few weeks, you’ll be able to start light training and then you’ll improve much more quickly.”
“I know, but it’s so frustrating not being able to do simple little things like change a light bulb, or carry a bag of groceries. I couldn’t even reach to tie my shoelaces until a couple of weeks ago.” He paused momentarily before saying, “Sir?”
“Yes, Bodie.”
“Can I spend some time at the office now? I can do some of the paperwork, work the radio, whatever…” He looked at Cowley now, his eyes pleading.
Cowley downed the last of his drink before saying. “Alright. But only for a few hours a day.”
Bodie grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
* * *
After three months, Bodie began a light training programme, under the watchful eye of ‘Slim’ Sullivan, CI5’s personal trainer. It was a further three months before Slim pronounced Bodie fit enough for duty, and he was reassigned to the squad and partnered once more with Doyle.
Cowley called them both to his office on Bodie’s first day back. Doyle had been working with other agents and also as part of a group on an investigation into a drug ring, and had been involved in several gun battles in which he’d had to shoot people. He’d suffered moments of depression and self doubt over them, and Cowley had been concerned that he might not be able to cope, long term, with the pressures of the job, but he’d managed to get over them and Cowley was finally beginning to think that Doyle had come to terms with all of his fears and insecurities. Bodie’s side was more or less healed now, although he was always going to have to work that bit harder to maintain fitness because of the injuries to his leg. But, as they stood in front of him now, he was proud of them both for having fought so hard to regain their health and fitness.
“Well.” he said now, “You’ve both done extremely well in recovering from your respective problems. Let’s hope that you can manage to keep out of trouble for a while.”
“We’ll try, sir.” smiled Doyle.
“See that you do.” said Cowley. His tone was harsh, but his eyes were smiling as he held out their assignment.
Bodie took it, looked at it, and pulled a face. “Escort duty?” he moaned.
“It’s only for a couple of days.” said Cowley, “I thought I’d ease you back in with something nice and simple. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of other things lined up for you, providing you don’t get into trouble on this job.”
​
Bodie raised an eyebrow. “What trouble could we possibly get into, escorting some VIP around town?”
“I can’t imagine.” said Cowley, “But, with you two, anything’s possible.”
Doyle and Bodie both grinned.
“Go on, both of you, get out of here and earn your wages.” Cowley waved them away, picking up his pen and returning to his work.
“Yes, sir.” Doyle and Bodie turned and left the room arguing amiably with each other.
Cowley watched them leave, over the rim of his glasses, and smiled
--ooOOoo--
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