19: Family Heirloom
Harrison’s voice echoed through the hallways as he complained loudly. “Why is it always some fucking old money asshole’s family heirlooms going missing, huh? This shit gets boring, you know?”
David tried to keep the amusement off of his face. “Well, the thing is that family heirlooms tend to be worth a lot of money, Harry. Makes them all kind of tempting for the criminal element.”
“Or for the aggrieved and estranged sister or husband or whoever the fuck,” groused Harrison.
“Look at it this way,” David soothed, “they also pay us well to retrieve them.”
The two reached the door to their shared office, and Harrison allowed David to enter first. David nodded to their receptionist pleasantly, then swiped the stack of papers off the desk. Harrison entered and made a beeline for the glass tumbler of bourbon on his desk and began hunting for a glass that would meet even a passing definition of “clean.”
David waved the papers in Harrison’s direction. “Drink later, case now. Here’s all the research our intrepid assistant pulled for us – come on, don’t let their efforts go to waste, now.”
“Yeah,” the assistant added, “it would totally break my fuckin’ heart or whatever.”
The sigh that left Harrison seemed like it came from a man who had endured all of life’s hardships only to be presented with one final indignity rather than a PI whose only indignity was that his partner had made him get out of bed early. “Fine, hand it over.”
After a few moments of flipping through the files, Harrison frowned. “A sword? The family heirloom is a fuckin’ sword?”
“Why’s that matter,” the assistant piped up, “are swords like, verboten for you or something?”
Harrison fixed his assistant with a pitying look. “My dear Daria, assistant and receptionist extraordinaire, the problem with swords is that there is now a seventy-five percent chance at least that when we find the sword, the person who stole it will attempt to use the damn thing as intended – meaning they will try to put the sharp end of it into me or David without asking our permission first.”
“Really? Sounds like a hassle.”
“Oh you have no idea,” Harrison said, finally locating a glass and pouring himself a drink, “last time David nearly lost a couple fingers.”
David waved a hand dismissively. “Hardly. I just caught the blade in my hands is all – and besides, it’s more like a fifty percent chance.”
“That’s still too big of a chance! Fingers are important! You should keep them attached if at all possible!”
“Aw, you do care,” David said, voice dripping with affection that was only partially mocking. “That’s nice to know.”
“Yeah, just remember that when our target stabs me in the kidneys and call a damn ambulance in time, alright?”