It's a mystery to me
The game commences
For the usual fee
Plus expenses
Confidential information
It's in a diary
This is my investigation
It's not a public inquiry
I go checking out the report
Digging up the dirt
You get to meet all sorts
In the line of work
Treachery and treason
There's always an excuse for it
And when I find the reason
I still can't get used to it
And what have you got at the end of the day?
What have you got to take away?
A bottle of whisky and a new set of lies
Blinds on the window and a pain behind the eyes
Scarred for life
No compensation
Private investigations
Cowley sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing irritably at his eyes. These late nights were not helping him at all. He was getting too old for this sort of rubbish.
He stood, grimacing slightly as the bullet lodged in his leg made its presence known. Then, he limped over to the drinks cabinet to refill his whiskey glass. Returning to the desk he sighed, and stared out of the window - not looking at anything specific, just the lights of the surrounding buildings.
He didn't want to look at his desk or the folder lying in the middle of the blotter. A lifetime of work and commendations... and it came down to this. Loyalty. It was a precious commodity and one that always seemed to sell to the highest bidder, whatever, or whoever - that might be.
One of my best men. A lifetime of memories and stories, and he still sold out to the enemy. This can never be made public - a small, quiet investigation; then we'll shut the folder, close and lock the doors Perhaps he'll still do the honourable thing. But was there any honour left after a man turns his coat? I'll just have to make sure he does it!
Dirty secrets unearthed... I can see it. Someone did a badger job, found his dirty, little secrets, and then they had him. After all, every man has something in his past they regret. But why didn't he come to me and tell me? Damage control? Did he think that there was no loyalty on my part - that I expected loyalty only from him?
I know that some of my operatives think that I send them out to die and never lose sleep over it. That's not true. The buck stops here, but I can't let them see how it affects me. Nothing would stop - nothing would change - if I couldn't send men out into battle.
But, then, it's not just that he went over to the other side. Treason - that's happened before. A man's ideals overcome their common sense, and suddenly he think the other side is greener. Treachery, though, is harder to accept - the violation of allegiance ... of faith and confidence. The ultimate act of treason. It's the violation of his faith in me, that cuts so deep.
Cowley rubbed his eyes again, absently noting the headache building behind his eyes.Then he turned and leaned over the desk to scrawl three words across the front of the folder: "Executed for treason".
Tossing the biro back onto the desk, Cowley grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair and walked towards the door. But as his hand reached for the light switch, he paused and looked back. Perhaps it was just weariness affecting his perception, yet for some reason, the light falling on that folder on his desk seemed brighter somehow, harsher.
Silently, he flicked the switch and closed the door.