D.A. Corbett Detective Story

Author: Sadeer Nasser

Trainee Detective D.A. Corbett stared at the abyss before him. The man he was chasing had leapt it easily enough but could he? The man had planted a bomb in the middle of a town, people were dead and abyss’s like this had appeared all over the road. They weren’t very deep but were still wide enough to make it hard to jump and deep enough to break a leg or an arm. As the man sprinted round a corner Corbett made his decision. He stepped back and then ran forward leaping the crack with ease. Hot on the trail, he turned round the corner only to see the man pointing a short, snub-nosed gun at him. Corbett could make out every stitch on the man’s black balaclava but before he could make a move a flash of red light erupted from the barrel. Corbett felt a stab of pain in his chest and jerked back, tripping over a rock and landing with a thud on the ground.

Massaging his back, Corbett stood up. The man had taken off his balaclava and was looking at Corbett with pity in his cold, hard eyes. “Failed again David.” He said very calmly before suddenly shouting. “Every time! It’s always some basic operational mistake and one day, if you ever qualify to be a full fledged Detective, It’s the sort of mistake that will cost you your life! Understand?” Corbett hung his head and looked back up at the angry man before answering. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” The man looked at the special suit that Corbett was wearing and then politely enquired all traces of anger gone. “I expect that the laser hurt wearing that.

That suit was meant to make you fearful of being shot but you always mess things up and do something wrong a five year old could do!” The man looked at Corbett sadly before turning around and marching away.

Corbett stared at his back, wishing for the millionth time that his boss wasn’t quite so infallible. Sir James Gatling, the man who had shot Corbett with the laser, had been a Special Agent in MI3 for twenty years before becoming the Chief of MI3. The common view going round the Trainee Detective barracks that he chewed bottles instead of chewing gum. Corbett stood there for a few more moments before slowly, aimlessly wandering away.

As Corbett walked out of the P.T.C. (Physical Training Compound) he paused, looking through the doors. As he had failed another training test his goal to become a Detective was becoming further away. He would probably soon be having training missions in a Virtual Reality setting. Feeling really annoyed, he turned away and made his way back to the trainee living quarters.

When he arrived, his worst fears were confirmed. Sitting in his pigeon hole was a red letter. That was bad. The second bad thing was someone else was sleeping in his bed! Corbett ran to the pigeon hole and ripped open the red letter. It was worse than he had thought. He was being expelled from Detective school. Sudden sadness gripped Corbett and he sat down. The letter told him to pack up his stuff, return all live ammunition and guns and leave by tomorrow at midday. Corbett stared at the letter for five minutes, only being shaken from his daydreams by someone else who was on his course, Stephen Thomas. Stephen (or Steve to his mates) was a smart, but headstrong young man. He was 22 and 4 years older than Corbett but Steve could pass for younger than Corbett. Steve was always being praised by the boss and for a moment, Corbett felt a twinge of jealousy. Steve was his best mate but Steve was a better detective. Steve was all that Corbett wanted to be but could never achieve, could never even dream of.

“Hey David! Heard Gatling gave you a hard time earlier. You O.K.?” David nodded, hiding the letter behind his back.

“Yeah, he did. But I’m fine.” David replied.

“Good. I’ve got to go and get changed so I’ll see you at dinner perhaps?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Steve wandered off to his dormitory as Corbett came to a decision. He would prove to Gatling that he was a good detective. Corbett stood up and sprinted out the door, running to the armoury.

Corbett skidded into the armoury, almost running into Arnold Coleman, the armourer.

“Watch it!” The lanky armourer yelled.

“Sorry Coleman!” Corbett replied. “I was just coming to hire out a gun with 50 bullets…am I too late?”

“No, you’re O.K. What kind of gun?”

“Handgun please” Coleman sat down at his desk, typing in his password and selecting a handgun, dragged it down to the immediate release button. A small plastic box shot out of the wall, hitting Corbett in the stomach, winding