KINK KINK BANG BANG
All right, here is the MAIN POST for the Kiss Kiss Bang Bang kink meme!
The rules are thus:
-ONE prompt per comment. It may contain any pairing you like, any kink you like, any prompt you like, as long as it's nothing intentionally offensive ( Read more... )
The rules are thus:
-ONE prompt per comment. It may contain any pairing you like, any kink you like, any prompt you like, as long as it's nothing intentionally offensive ( Read more... )
I shrugged. “What? That’s in New York. They’re not gonna look for me out here. Anyway, you already said I’m not going to jail.”
“That was for you pretending to be Frank Castle’s wimpy little brother out there on the 405, dipshit.”
Huh. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess I kinda was like that. Although, I always saw myself more as, like, the Tony Stark type. Only, you know, without all the girls and money and… fancy beard.
“Are you even listening to me?” Perry asked.
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” I said quickly. “No. What?”
Perry covered his face with his hand and sighed, and I knew that he was about ten seconds away from starting in with the shouting.
“Look at me and listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth,” he said. “I have a reputation to maintain. Dabney isn’t my only client. If word gets out that I’m associating with a known criminal, I’m out of business. So stop stealing shit, stop breaking the law, and try to behave like a responsible adult and stay the fuck out of trouble, all right?”
Well, fuck. When he put it like that… I mean, I knew he didn’t have a whole lot of faith in me, but what really hurt was that he didn’t trust me either. I mean, I thought we were friends. What kind of asshole would I have to be to deliberately fuck him over like that? But it was pretty fucking clear right then that he only let me stay on his couch because he knew it would get back around to him if I did anything to get arrested.
“Yeah. Fine. I get it,” I said. “I see how it is. I save your fucking life, and all I get in return is you accusing me of stealing your shit and telling me to I’m not allowed anywhere in the house except for on your couch? What the fuck? Thanks for the gratitude, princess.”
“You hypocritical little pussy,” Perry said. “Talk about gratitude, you’d be in fucking prison right now if not for me, so why don’t you try showing a little respect for myself and my business?”
And by now, he was getting all up in my face like he was about to start something. And he’s a pretty big guy, you know, and I won’t lie, the son of a bitch could easily take me, and I already tried taking him on once, and well, you all saw how good that went.
“I don’t want anything to do with your goddamn business.” I tried to step back, but damn near fell over a small table instead. “I just want to get on with my life. Just give me some time to find a job and then I’ll be out of your perfectly teased hair forever.”
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I should also probably mention that when I say that I work for Perry, I don’t actually mean that I’m a PI. I can’t get a license to do that sort of thing and I’m technically not even allowed to handle a gun because of a felony from when I was twenty-three. So, really, I’m Harry Lockhart, glorified secretary. Perry found out about the felony thing when him and his police contact buddies or whatever they are did their thing and pushed all that Christmas bullshit under the rug. But I gotta admit, at the time, I wasn’t even thinking about that shit. I was just trying to solve the case. So, after I bombed more interviews and background checks than I could count, Perry started paying me to answer his phone calls and take down notes, and even though I’m not a PI, he does let me go on cases with him sometimes, if they’re short and simple enough. Which isn’t very often, since a lot of times, they just turn out to be long and boring. He even still lets me crash on his couch sometimes whenever Harmony throws me out.
And that’s how we got to Perry’s office with a deck of cards. Which sounds a little like a solution to Clue, now that I say it out loud, but what can you do?
“Yeah, nice try, dick. That was all you.”
Perry was on a case at the time, and he’d only come back to the office to grab his camera and some other gear. Which I have to admit, did distract me from my original problem I was having.
“Oh, have we got a stakeout?” I asked.
“No,” said Perry. “I have a stakeout. You are going to stay here, answer the phone if it rings, and keep your feet off my desk.”
I got up to follow after him anyway, because I was sick of staring at the phone and waiting for it to ring.
“You said you were gonna teach me this detective stuff,” I said. “Come on, I wanna learn. I’m ready to get out there. You know, for real.”
Perry stopped and shook his head, and then nodded, which was really fucking confusing. “Yes, I’m going to teach a convicted felon how to be a PI,” he said.
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“No, of course I’m not!” And then he hit me on the side of the head. “It’s called sarcasm, moron. Look it up. If I keep taking you with me, I’m gonna in serious trouble because your little fuck-ups are bound to become massive fuck-ups.”
Well, that hurt. Not just the hitting, which also hurt, but what he said. He started to leave again, but I kept following.
“Come on, it’s just a stakeout,” I argued. “What can possibly go wrong? We’re just sitting there watching someone, right? Not a whole lot I can fuck up. Not that I do fuck things up anyway.”
Perry didn’t say anything until we got out to his car and he was loading his gear into the back seat.
“Why are you still following me?” he asked.
“Because I want to go with,” I said. I tried to get into the passenger seat, but the door was locked. “And I know you have your office calls forwarded to your cell phone, because that damn thing hasn’t rang in two fucking weeks, but somehow, you still have cases. So, explain that, MacGuffin.”
“MacGyver,” Perry said, looking at me over the top of the car.
“What?”
“A MacGuffin is a plot device used to get the story going. You’re thinking of MacGyver, dipshit.”
I had no fucking idea what the hell he was talking about, and won him over by sheer force of standing there. He finally unlocked the door and let me into the car.
“No matter what happens, you stay in this fucking car,” he said, pointing a very mean-looking finger at my face. “Now, why are you going to leave this car?”
“Uhm…” Seriously, was that some sort of trick question?
“You’re not,” Perry said. “You stay here until I tell you to get out.”
“Right. You said that,” I said. And just to keep him happy, I even put on my seatbelt.
“Good. Glad to see you’re keeping up.” He started the car and took us to wherever it was we were going. Somewhere in Fullerton or something. I don’t know; I still get fucking lost in this city just trying to find a Starbucks.
The client was some yuppie chick called Janet Rothstein, and had hired Perry to track her husband. She thought he was having an affair because that’s what people in LA do for fun, or something. But like most idiots Perry investigates, he sucked at covering his tracks, and his wife noticed a lot of spending that she never saw anything from. I’m talking like, thousand-dollar withdrawals and shit. I mean, how stupid do you gotta be?
Apparently, Perry had been trailing this dick for about a week, and he was certain that it was gonna be this particular night that he finally got photographical proof of the affair.
We were parked about half a block down the road from their house, watching a whole lot of nothing going on for about two hours. After a while, I got bored and took the binoculars from Perry’s glove box and tried to see if I could see anything going on inside the house.
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“Perry, check this out, man,” I said, pointing at a house closer to where we were parked. “Two-sixteen is into some pretty wild shit. Is that a squirrel?”
Perry looked at where I was pointing and then slapped the binoculars away from my face. “Would you knock it off and pay attention,” he snapped. “This. Right here. Potential fuck-up waiting to happen.”
“Killjoy,” I said.
I turned the binoculars back to the house we were watching, and that’s when I saw her. She wasn’t like every other Hollywood Diet, bottle-blonde girl I’d seen in LA. For one, she looked fucking real. And I mean every part of her, right down to the D-cups.
“Oh, fuck. Who’s this?” I asked.
“That’s my client,” Perry told me. “She gets off work at ten. I knew she’d be here tonight.”
I nodded and watched her go inside.
“You’re a lucky man, Mr Rothstein,” I said. “The chick he’s banging on the side had better be a fucking porn star or something. Seriously, this guy’s an idiot. I mean, just look at her. Did you see the rack on that?”
“Really?” Perry asked, giving me that look that said he was about two seconds away from calling me an idiot.
I rolled my eyes so hard that I thought they might fall out. “You’re such a gay.”
“At least I’m not a pervert. Give me those fucking binoculars.” He grabbed them away from me and tossed them in the back seat. “Wait, hang on.” He leaned forward and pointed out the window. “That’s him, right there.”
“Are we gonna follow him?” I asked, trying to see where he was pointing. A guy was just coming out of the house, so I assumed it was him. Which, if it was, he must have been the biggest idiot in the world to be going out to meet someone else with his wife right there.
“No,” Perry said. He grabbed his camera. “I am. Don’t move.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Sit. Stay. Don’t chew on the seatbelts.”
Perry actually fucking smiled at me and ruffled my hair. “Good boy,” he said. What a goddamn prick. I knew I could handle this stuff, but he still seemed determined not to trust me at all.
I watched him go off to do whatever cool shit he was no doubt doing while I was left in the car like some annoying yappy dog that you can’t take into the store with you. You know, like one of those fuzzy little fuckers that barks at everything? I swear to God, that must be how he sees me sometimes, because it’s sure as hell how he treats me.
But I stayed in the car, because I wanted to prove that I could do something without fucking it up. I didn’t even grab the binoculars, which he left in the back seat. If this was a test, I was going to fucking ace it. I’m nobody’s fucking lapdog and I needed to get off this goddamn leash before he strangled me with it.
There’s a good chance that in not doing anything at all, I may have fallen asleep.
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