As the bleary sunlight cast a pale glow across the factory walls, and the faint hint of blood corrupted the already musty stench, I began to search frantically for the disabled villain. Even without my trench coat, the mid-morning heat was bearing down on me, amplified by the stuffy atmosphere, and my grip on the bottle of vodka began to loosen as sweat permeated my palms and drops of perspiration ran down my forehead.

The sun was at its peak by the time I reached the warehouse district, and the rise in temperature had forced me to grudgingly remove my trench coat, revealing my cheap polyester shirt and braces. Worst of all, there was now no way of concealing my dragunov and I simply had to rely on luck that I wouldn't run into a policeman. Still, the chances of that happening now that I'd reached the seedier areas of the city were low, and I carried the rifle slung across my shoulder like a bat.

Monitors beeped in a slow and steady rythm. Outside of the room, Private Hammer stood on guard. The last couple of days she had been keeping an eye on MacCabbe, together with Zeek and Webley. Solo had awaken them from their hypersleep to assist him in the matter. Mac was getting better physically. Though the fever had dropped and he rambled no more, Sergeant Shadow had ordered him to sit out of the mission and remain on the dropship.

Hours later, back in my office, my exploits were being plastered across the news, generalised into the familiar phrases that make such experiences so separate from reality. "RICH BITCH FLAMBE" and "SMOKED PRINCESS" were just two of the highlights. The only problem for me was that the police had found my fedora at the scene of the incident; one of the only items not to have been turned to ash in the blaze. It wouldn?t be long before they'd be knocking on my door; that meant I had to get out and find the club before I was thrown in jail.

Kristy's place was located uptown, where life was still peaceful and you could walk the streets without fear of being held-up for your wallet; or in my case, your fedora. I knew that this kind of life-security didn't come cheap, and that Kristy was obviously not short of cash. As our taxi pulled up outside her building, it struck me as being closer to a palace than just a home and I felt a sudden desire to burn it down just to spite her. It was huge - at least three floors tall, with marble columns lining the entrance to the front door. Even in the darkness I could make out the vague form of a tennis court around the back, and even a swimming pool. Damn.

I always used to punch the people who told me that being a Private Detective was a glamorous job. It's not. I've not only become an alcoholic, but have endured some of the most horrible tortures ever devised. Electrocution, crucifixion, Vogon poetry. I've experienced them all and come out smiling, fedora still tilted rakishly. To be honest, I've come to accept the bad stuff that comes with this job, and I had even come to believe that I could take anything that was thrown at me. This belief was shattered, however, with the kidnapping of the only being I've ever cared about my beloved teddy bear.

The Teddy and the Dragunov - Chapter II

It was about eleven forty-five when I stumbled out of the bar, plastered up to my eyeballs. Kristy had left after an hour or so earlier than me, having left the folder with me along with the words, "Think it over." Turns out she wanted me to assassinate the guy in the pictures ; not my usual area of expertise, but she was offering more money than any man with sense could refuse.

Still, it wasn't the time to think about that. I had a meeting to get to, and no amount of alcohol was going to stop me. The city lay silent in front of me; it was mine and mine alone. Luckily, the warehouse area was close by, and wouldn't take me long to reach. I walked alone through the streets; all around me people lay asleep in their houses. At this hour, only the criminals would be awake.

A few minutes of unsteady walking later and the entrance to the old warehouse lay wide open in front of me ? even though there were dozens of them in the area, everyone always came to do business in the same place. One of those unwritten rules, or an old charter or something. Free from the light that the stars and moon offered, the building appeared ominously dark ; even compared to my office. I kept my rifle out of sight as I proceeded to enter; I wasn?t in the mood for a fire fight.

Every week, discover the tremendous adventures of the private detective Zaitzev.

This story, written in 2002-2003 was a production of our higly esteemed member : [WPC] Atomic.

Each and every Monday, discover this feuilleton here!

The Teddy and the Dragunov - Chapter I

I was sitting at my desk, drinking cheap vodka out of the bottle and reading over old case files when the dame walked in. I looked up from the notes and took a glass out from one of the drawers, "Drink"?

The lady took one look at me and sat down. The expression on her face told a thousand stories and from the looks of her, none of them had happy endings. I leaned back in my chair and sighed.

"Guess not," I said before proceeding to fill the glass for myself. "So, what can I do for you?"