The small bar in Via Gregorio VII was in danger of becoming the Wabbit's new office. The sun was piercing and although it was late September it was pleasantly warm. He felt no need to turn up the heating in his coat. So he smiled to himself, ordered a glass of prosecco and relaxed. But the radio crackled. He forced a grin, "Wabbit! Speak!" Wabsworth voice penetrated the static. "You're very managerial today, Commander." The Wabbit heaved a sigh. "Surely not work, it's Saturday." He could feel Wabsworth's shrug. "Foul deeds care not for the weekend." The Wabbit contemplated Macbeth. "There's been a murder." For an android, Wabsworth could be dramatic. "You think you're Taggart?" The Wabbit relaxed again. He could see his prosecco coming. "So why is it our business?" The Wabbit was in a don't care mode. "It's an Agent," hissed Wabsworth. "Take a few of my personal guard." "They're on a drinking holiday." The Wabbit groaned. He was going to suggest Lapinette's personal guard but knew that without proper authorisation Lapinette might get the hump. "I'll get in touch with Lapinette. Her personal guard can handle it." Wabsworth flinched. "They frighten me." The Wabbit laughed. "Me too. Give them forensic kits and set 'em loose." There was a long pause. The radio crackled again. "That dead Agent, he's got no head."
