Liverpool Detective Agency: Arrest Report

**Writer's note: There's no reason for this to be posted except for that I felt any hardboiled detective story needs to show the arrest taking place. This picks up at the "Conclusion" section in the real piece.**

It was that moment that I finally saw him, masquerading in plain sight throughout the various locations I'd scouted while on this search for '14-'15: greeting me at the Melwood medical room when speaking to Lazar Markovic and Dejan Lovren; serving me tea when seated with Ian Ayre; and fixing my WiFi just before receiving the message from Luis Suarez's representatives. Injury. Under my nose the whole time.

Knowing this, I rushed back to Anfield just in time to find Injury cornering Dr. Zaf Iqbal, stethoscope in hand.

"Put it down, one else needs to," I said. "Back away, tell me where you've stashed '14-'15 and no one will have to know about this."

Sweat beaded above Injury's brow as he stammered, "I...I...c-...can't stop now, Joven. Not for no one! I'm so c-close...Muscle Strain and Fatigue are almost done casing Javi Manquillo and Dreem's shared apartment as we speak!"

"I've got back up headed their way, Injury..." I inched closer, medical bench between us. "I've got them cornered. They're all but cuffed. You've got a chance to get out right now. Tell me where -..."

"Another step and Iqbal gets his lungs listened to!" Injury waved the stethoscope high above his head to further animate his point.

"Do what you have to do to save the season, Joven," Zaf yelled. "My lungs are clear! MY. LUNGS. ARE. CLEAR."

Injury slapped Iqbal. "Not another word!"

"Oh, head! And my muffin fell on the floor! What is this life even?!" Iqbal screamed.

Injury suddenly got remorseful and asked Zaf if he was ok. It was at that point that I finished my inching (all 6 of them) and was able to slap my custom Suso Rules handcuffs on Injury.

"You'll never get Sterling now, mate," I said.

"There's always November, Joven. There's always November," Injury replied, knowing all too well.

As I moved to respond, Zaf put a tender hand on my shoulder and said, "Forget it AJ, this is Anfield."

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