Dj Dick
A man on a quest to answer life's mysteries
For those who would rather watch the film than read
If you'd rather take Dick in your pocket
I’m what you might call an old school dick, a gumshoe that’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. Well actually I’m not that keen on getting my hands dirty and moisturise three times a day, it pays to have nice hands. What I mean by saying that I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty is that I get into places where others would fear to tread.
No job is too small and no task is too big, I’m on a one man mission clearing up mysteries around the world, some stretching back centuries. A bit like Scoobydoo but without the annoying laugh and scruffy sidekick.
I’ll tell you how I got into this game a bit later, but I’m a dick for hire and that’s all that matters. I don’t take every case that lands on my desk, just the ones that interest me, and pay well.
It all started when I was on late night radio, you know the type of show that gets the flakes and insomniacs calling in when the pubs have shut and there’s nothing else to do. I suppose that they could log into chat rooms and speak with like minded people but that wouldn’t be the same would it. They prefer to wind up the poor jock who’s trying to keep his eyes open whilst entertaining the sleepless.
I always imagined a private dick’s life to be all over-sized fedoras and whisky, but that’s a long way from the truth. Hanging around in hotel lobbies waiting for a corespondent in a divorce case to get caught with his pants down is not for me. I wanted excitement.
Broads, I thought that there’d be broads and dames galore, but the nearest I’ve come to any broads was on a day trip to Norfolk. Raymond Chandler’s got a lot to answer for.
Every private dick that you read about is a disgraced cop, fallen from grace, or a retired cop who can’t get a job as an insurance investigator. Not me. I came down a different road.
There’s only so much I can tell you about my story as it’s bound by the Official Secrets Act, although there is one part that’s not, so I’ll tell you about that. It’ll give you an idea of where I’m coming from.
Some time ago I worked in military intelligence and they were looking for people to join a new department. When I saw that it was even more secret than the secret service I was in I thought that I’d have a go and put my name up for it. By the time that I’d measured myself up for an Aston Martin and practiced spinning round ninety degrees and shooting a Walter PP5 I found out that it was a desk job.
Now you may be asking, what type of spying can be done from a desk? It didn’t involve computers and it didn’t involve satellites, nothing like that, they just gave me a pencil and a pad of paper. You’re confused, how do you think I felt when I turned up for training in the extra secret, secret service and was given less equipment than on my first day at school.
I honestly thought that it was some kind of initiative test, here was I sat in a room with nothing more than a desk, a chair and a light – which was handy as there were no windows. This as much as I can tell you about the training, not because it was classified, but mainly because I didn’t have a clue what was going on most of the time.
That was my introduction to remote viewing, a process which is best described as a what the butler saw machine where you didn’t have to turn the handle. Basically, remote viewing is a technique where your mind can wander through time and space, hearing and seeing things thousands of miles away and even witnessing events that happened hundreds of years ago. It’s fascinating stuff which in the wrong hands could be lethal. I’m going to use my skills to solve mysteries and theories that have never been explained.
Join The Mailing List To Keep Up With The Adventures Of DJ Dick
Take Dick’s Word – We’ll Never Pass Your Details To A Third Party
I was tasked with watching a group of suspected in terrorists in Cardiff, my handler gave me the co-ordinates and sat me in a room with my pencils and paper.
I soon got to work and found myself in a large warehouse in the city, it was dark at first and I looked around the room for the bomb making evidence. What I found was to shake the world order out of it’s complacency and make the competing super-powers realise that the only way they could save mankind was to put aside their differences and work together.
It was a routine operation that escalated into one of the most dangerous threats that this planet has faced. Even as an experienced remote viewer I was shocked by what I had uncovered.
I immediately reported to my superior officer who had me put into a car and sent directly to Downing Street to brief the Prime Minister. Not even senior members of the cabinet were at that meeting, just me and numero uno, the boss man. The information I was about to impart was considered so sensitive that it had to be kept from the British Cabinet.
After being shown into a windowless room in the inner sanctum the P.M. entered and sat opposite me with a worried look on his face. “Go ahead, tell me what you saw,” he looked me straight in the eye without a flicker of emotion.
I looked down at the my briefcase that contained my notes, “No man. Don’t refer to your notes tell me exactly how you remember it. Every last detail.”
Unused to speaking with people of such high rank I cleared my throat and recounted what I had seen and heard. “It was a large space, a bit like an aircraft hanger with no furniture but when I looked closer I could see what looked like an extra terrestrial craft. One of the sides was missing which meant that I could get a clear look inside and I moved closer and was so shocked that I had to refocus to make sure that was I was witnessing was actually happening.”
“What did you see man, tell me.”
“Aliens, Sir, they were not of this world.” My blood turned to ice as I re-envisaged the scene. “They had arms and legs like us, but their heads blended into their bodies and although they had holes for eyes and a mouth they had neither. Also they had some kind of listening devices where their ears should have been, a bit like headphones that you would wear when listening to the stereo and everyone else wants to watch T.V.”
“Go on, what were they saying?” I could see that his hands were beginning to quiver.
“I was able to understand what they were saying.”
“Is it part of your training that you can decifer languages, whether they come from this planet or another?”
“No Sir, they were speaking English.”
“Speaking English, you would have thought that they would have had their own language.”
“Subterfuge Sir, I recognised it straight away, it’s an old trick. If they speak in their own language and are overheard then the game could be up for them. But I must say that they did sound a bit robotty, they wouldn’t have got a job presenting the news, if you know what I mean and come to think of it they did look a bit like robots.”
The Prime Minister was stunned into silence, it’s a shame that nobody else was there to see that.
“It was then that I realised what they were saying, they intended to take over the earth and make mankind their slaves. It was a bit hard to understand them at first as remote viewing is not as easy as it sounds.”
“Good God man, do you mean that there are aliens on this planet who are looking for world domination?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
The Prime Minister reached for the phone on the desk and ordered the person at the other end to get the President of the U.S.A. on the scrambled line. Within minutes he was speaking to Top Dog, secret service code for POTUS, although why we couldn’t call him POTUS like they do is beyond me.
Their conversation was frantic and I could see the P.M doing his best to calm the President who was getting flustered at the other end and going on about nuking the bastards.
The phone was handed to me, “How many of them are there?”
“Well I only saw about eight or nine, but there could be dozens of bases like these around the world, I’ve got no idea how many we could be dealing with.”
His voice went up an octave, “Put Puppy Dog back on the phone.”
“Who?”
“Secret Service talk for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.”
I handed the phone back to the man in charge of the nuclear arsenal who got into deep conversation, “OK, you call the Russians and I’ll give the Chinese a ring.”
Strange time for ordering a takeaway I thought but I’d never moved in these circles and just looked on in awe.
Twenty minutes later, the Russians and the Chinese were fully briefed and a zoom meeting of the United Nations Security Council had been called for five o’clock, our time.
The half an hour until that call seemed longer than thirty minutes but soon the leaders of the free and not so free world were locked into debate as to what action should be taken. A heated debate ended with the conclusion that a nuclear strike should be ordered to wipe out the aliens which was agreed by all, apart from the Kenyans.
The Kenyan President argued that a nuclear strike would obliterate Cardiff and all of it’s inhabitants, but the other Statesmen on the Zoom call agreed that they would be collateral damage and could be sacrificed for the good of mankind. Personally I thought that was a bit harsh but didn’t have a say in the matter.
Within two hours fifteen nations had their nuclear weapons pointed at this warehouse in Cardiff with fifteen fingers hovering over the buttons when the French delegate said, “Has this information been verified?” The P.M. looked at me.
“I’ve got no idea,” I spluttered, “I was brought straight here as soon as I’d reported it, you’d better ask Eric?”
“Who’s Eric?” it’s amazing how world leaders can speak with one voice when they want to.
“Eric’s my handler, he’s the one in charge of the department, a sort of foreman without the overalls.”
The Prime Minister grabbed the telephone from the desk and ordered that he be put through to Eric immediately. After a few moments he was in conversation with the man that I would trust my children with, if I had any. He slammed the phone back into it’s cradle and addressed the Zoom meeting.
“Eric said that it will take a little time to get it organised so I suggest that we adjourn this meeting and we’ll reconvene when he’s got back to me.”
The Prime Minister told me that Eric was arranging for one of my colleagues to confirm what I’d seen before he ordered the strike.
That was the last job I ever did for the British Security Services, it turns out that the terrorists were next door and I had gone to the wrong address which was the BBC studios where they were filming an episode of Dr Who and the Cybermen.
You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you. Cardiff could have been wiped off the face of the earth just because I got a couple of digits wrong, which would have been a shame to be honest as I like the Welsh.
The good news is that I’m now out on my own looking for mysteries to solve, you could say that I’m a dick for hire.
KEITH WOODHOUSE VOICE OVER ARTIST
- Cookie Policy
- DMCA
- Privacy Policy
- T&Cs
- Terms Of Use
- Copyright Keith Woodhouse Ltd 2022