On the evening of the morning I met Wiredu, Lord Caligula appeared on the TV of the suite Lucky was renting at Le place d’armes.  The suite was a study in beigey colours.  I was on the corner of the bed when I saw the news coverage of Lord Caligula’s speechk. Lucky was on the bed, naked, but busy running a bore snake though her Walter PPQ-M2.  She had the other parts on a copy of Le Monde and was using CLP to put the pistol in order.  She had already cleaned the slide and mechanism.  

I could hear her racking the gun once she reassembled it, which made it harder for me to hear what Lord Caligula was saying.  Nevertheless, I got his message.  It was the typical Munitions Galore rubbish. Nobody wanted peace more than the employees and owners of Munitions Galore.  But there was something new.  He was “devastated” by this afternoon’s kidnapping of Constance Lawless in Luxembourg City.  

Now that got Lucky’s attention.  According to his Lordship, “Ms Lawless, true to her American spirit, did not go without a fight.” More details emerged.  For instance, could her abductors have anticipated her using a steak knife that she had inadvertently taken from the restaurant where she had just eaten to disarm and disembowel one of the kidnappers?  She then used that man’s gun, if one is willing to believe witnesses who are not English seriously, to put a bullet into the brain of another kidnapper.  At that point, a tall black man is said to have put her into tranquility with a drugged dart.  He was very dark, wore a blue suit, yellow shirt, and a well-polished pair of Chelsea boots. So far, the Luxembourg coppers had made no progress with case. 

Lord Caligula added that the sneaky dart man had left a card saying “In the name of the people of Africa, I arrest Constance Lawless for crimes against humanitiy committed during her recent visit to Africa.”

Puffing himself up, his Lordship, with tears pour down his ruddy cheeks, blubbered, “Ms Lawless, the soul of kindness and mercy, had gone to Lagos to investigate the apparent murder of our dear friend and business associate Mr Binky Dalrymple.  She hoped to investigate and rescue him if he still lived and help find his killers if not.  She had discovered that it was Mr Dalrymple’s beloved identical twin, not Binky, who was murdered.  There are gangs on gangs of rascals in Nigeria.  From what Ms Lawless told me, a number of people who ought to know better had arrived to tamper with evidence or perhaps loot the Dalrymple plantation.”

Behind me, I saw Lucky, still naked, pointing her Walther at the TV whilst sighting the gun on the image of Lord Caligula.”  She was muttering, “Oh, if only. . .”  

His Lordship continued with a plea and a promise of a reward for the safe return of Ms Lawless.  He lamented that, as the world turned from observing God’s commandments, the circumstances in England and abroad had continued to deteriorate, but who would have imagined that Luxembourg would be sink of evil.  When somebody as sweet as Constance Lawless is unsafe in Luxembourg, you know we’re in the last days.

Lucky pulled me onto her bare tummy.  My head rested between her unample breasts. As she scratched my head, she told me, “We have plenty to do.  Let’s go to England and pay Reading another visit.”  After that, she made few phone calls.  We had a flight to Heathrow, a reservation of a suite at Claridge’s,  and some of Lucky’s helpers coming to pack us out.  I was miffed by all this activity. So, I gave her right taunt, smooth, hairless buttock a strong wack of the paw.  She smacked me lightly back, saying “You’re being a little devil, darling.  You drew a little blood at my crack.”  It made her grin.  She then cleaned her wound and shoved a Kleenex on it until she had stanched the bleeding. The snapping of the left buttock to the right buttock held the Kleenex in place; ah, the advantages of being young and fit.   I was proud of myself. I had revealed my claws.