And Death Followed: an americanized death in paradise

Working with new kb on ipad mini. Some teething issues like difficult to transition from fullsize to it and with onscreen keyboard hidden ios doesn't toggle capitals after a full stop.

Still, now that i have a working kb(third one), pretty happy.:

i collected my sea bag from the carousel then made my way to the waiting man wearing a uniform i expected to see in front of hotel, not on a high ranking police officer. then remembered this place was french colonized and british administrated. which meant good beer, good wine, maybe good food depending on the strength of french staying power, and, sadly, a poorly trained police force. if it had been french administered they'd all be well trained i'm sure. or if they were british whatever they call their swat teams.

i brushed my hand across my 1911, hidden by the maxpedition bag i wore carrying spare mags, my 72 hour kit, and credentials then shook his hand as he welcomed me to Saint Petit Mort, a former pirate stronghold and now an island paradise with 1.3 cometic surgery centres per thousand people, seven golf courses, eleven boutique shopping centres, and four endangered specie i planned to see before they were extinct.

"one moment," i told commissioner bourdain as a security officer approached us, carrying my tactical case.

"what's this?" he asked as i nodded at the officer as he placed it on a table.

the case opened: it revealed my 21 inch colt ar-10 rifle and its medusa heads of an eleven inch ar-15 and modified magazine connector, an integrally suppressed twelve inch 300 blackout upper, an integrally suppressed 12 inch ar57 upper, and a gift from my niece, a crossbow upper. underneath them were a pair of shotguns, an old police pump remington and a new semi-auto turkish job, then under that tray was a tray of 20 1911s. my police force was going to know how to use a gun even if they didn't carry one.

bourdain's eyes looked like they were about to bug out as i handed him my many and varied permits to carry weapons on this deweaponized rock.

i thanked the security officer and relocked it then got it back on the ground and wheeled it out.

bourdain waited until we were outside and in his surprisingly old land rover. "why all the guns?"

"they told you why i'm here, right?"

he nodded. "you were undercover and the more militant members of the group you were in escaped and threatened to murder you."

"i was so deep in ragnarok their leader planned to marry off his daughter to me. sending me here was a calculated plan to hide me but there was no way i was going to disarm."

he drove in silence as i watched the countryside. the airport was on one side of the island with a tram to the other side where civilization was, bisecting a thousand acres of virgin rain forest. i got the mental image of a road violating the forest.

the population was french creole meaning any members of ragnarok would stand out greatly, especially from the other types of tourists who came for fun in the sun and/or some minor tweaks.

the main city was called honoré and the police station was the former armory of the governor's palace which was the town hall.

This hadn't been the planned station i knew. They had planned to fold me into another, much larger, island's force but this island's detective inspector had been shot to death at a party the night before.

Inside, i was introduced to Officers Miles and Best. Miles looked a little shifty like most long term uniforms I knew while Best looked like he was ten days out of whatever their academy was. His uniform flash was mirror shined for Thor's sake!

 With the weapon case tucked out of the way, I thanked Bourdain for the ride then turned to my new colleagues. "We can get all 'how-do-ya-do' later. Let's get me up to speed and is there a good tattoo artist on the island that's discrete?"

"Ol' Bill Miyamoto is a good'un," Miles said. "He does irezumi."

"And he's discrete? I didn't have time to have my coverups done in the States."

Both nodded and I nodded. "Good, file?"

I began reading as Best called Miyamoto to schedule appointments for me then wheeled the case to one of the cells since there was no partitioned offices.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

I walked into the slightly dingy looking place and found it blast furnace hot inside, a communal bath. A number of men with impressive full body works were inside, lounging, chattering in Japanese and laughing at the jokes told. I knew enough to know the current joke was quite racist towards Koreans. and, sadly, funny. i chalked that up to the uc work.

Miyamoto shook my hand and showed me into an immaculately clean room with the tools of a traditional japanese tattoo artist waiting.

"My issue is this," I said, removed my Magnum PI shirt and undershirt, revealing I Kill Niggers, a swastika, 88, runes, and a dozen other tattoos of even more vitriol, including a full back piece of speech from Hitler. "I need these covered. This is a redacted bio of myself. I know what I want covering some of is but I thought you might be able to make some suggestions."

"Why those?"

"Undercover with a racist group for four years. Had to maintain cover."

He nodded, taking out a sheet of paper and began sketching with a charcoal pencil, a very accurate sketch capturing my gorgeous pecs and my divine ass as he asked if I had any on my legs. I lifted my trouser leg to show a series of runes in a circle. "these are the only ones I plan to keep. they don't spell anything racist, they're actually my family's code in nordic times." Suffer Not the Villain to Live.

"Come Sunday," he told me when he was done. "Sushi at Siri's at six."

I nodded and left to find both officers waiting in a very cool motorcycle and sidecar next to the Range Rover that was mine by right of rank.

I raised an eyebrow and Best spoke. "Officer Quin is back. She was the chief's partner?"

I nodded. Quin had escorted the body to Martinique, the big island where all the crime scene technologists were. god, i hope these kids were up to spec on that.

Miles looked slightly pensive and I said, "I'll explain the personal errand taking priority to you all later when all of you are together. now, lead on, this island needs more signs." most streets had a sign every seven intersections or so.