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Back when I was slogging the trenches for my uncle Sammy, I developed some pretty fast reflexes. Getting shot at does things to your brain. I was on the floor before my mind could say, "Wait... What?" I was about to crawl off toward the fire escape when the door flew open and added the injury to the insult by beaning me. I replied as only a veteran of a shooting war could.
"What are you doing out here?" yelled Red, pointing a large bore cannon at my face.
I don't like guns. Not in the way that the longhairs over at the University are always going on about in a moral imperative sense. Rather, in the sense that I don't like them pointed at me. Especially when held by crazy Texans with a habit of shooting first and letting the cops ask the questions later.
Of course, I also don't like guns that are pointed at me, because they keep me from responding in the way that I would normally react.
"Why, hello, Red," I said, politeness oozing from my pores along with the sweat, "How are you feeling on this fine day?"
"Well, the lumbago is acting up a bit and Mindy asked for another raise. BadGoodDeb just filed her last expense account and I have no idea what she would be using an anvil and thirty feet of chain for. Oh, and I just superglued a punk to one of my chairs. Now I'm going to have to reupholster."
"Speaking of holstering, would you mind very much holstering that howitzer you have pointed in my general direction, not that I have any doubts that you have complete control over it at all times..." I'm not good at grinning like an idiot, but I did my best.
"It's just a .22," he said, slipping the gun into his back holster.
"You try having a maniac wave it in your face and see how big it looks," I said, as I grabbed Red's proffered hand and hauled myself upright. "What was all the shooting and the shouting about, anyway? I ought to be asleep by now."
"You wouldn't have to sleep on your couch if you would take on clients of a more... solvent nature," he said. Red has been trying to get me to upgrade ever since we moved into the same building years ago.
"I do just fine," I said. "Besides, how would I have tales of noir to tell if I had only royalty to deal with? They tend to be sleazy and underhanded on a global scale, not locally."
"She came to you with that MobileRead case," he said, bitterness obvious in his voice.
"That was Turcic. He sent her to pick me up. And before you say it, that job for pshrynk was all about keeping in the era. The thirties are my specialty."
"Hmph!" He turned back to his office.
"You still haven't told me what the shooting... Holy mother of God! What did you do to that boy?" A youngish man had managed to drag himself and the chair that had become attached to his nether region out into the waiting area. The cat walked in and sat next to him, staring.
"Just a little superglue, like I said. He'll get over it."
"Who is he?" The cat started licking its lips.
"Meet Little Juan, part time crook and full time moron. We were just having a little discussion about a friend of mine. He was about to tell me everything he knows. You might want to stick around and hear this, Rock."
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