Introduction and fic preview!
“Idiot,” comes the voice in my ear
and I nearly topple from my chair.
He was home early and damn it
If I was slacking on the job.
My yelp of surprise
Only makes him roll his eyes
And say sarcastically,
“I knew I could count on you, Harry.”
I keep it cool with a chagrined grin
But, Jeez if I don’t feel five years old
With my ratty t-shirt and unkempt hair
Next to his perfectly pressed perfect Perry suit,
Saying he’s ready for work and you’d better not fuck with him.
“What have I told you about feet on my desk?”
He’s menacing, as per usual, but minus the
Oh so endearing “fuckhead” tacked on to the end -
Just in case I forget who I’m talking to, I guess.
He must be in a good mood, because he’s
Actually speaking rather than growling, but
Maybe that’s not so good. He sounds so
Wild when he’s glinting teeth - a fake LA
Smile plastered to his face.
It’s thrilling and in a much less tacky way
Than a Gossamer novel.
I remove my sneakered feet
From his desk, but his teeth
Stay near my ear.
For a second I’m afraid I’ll
lose it - the ear I mean.
And having one ear and nine fingers
Makes me almost as damaged as LA’s chicks.
Not that I’m a woman.
But god, would he ditch the sinister act, already?
I whip around hoping to catch him off guard,
But when I look he’s gone and suddenly
I’m flat on my back,
Drool sliding from my mouth
And the room slowly coming into focus
As I wake up on the floor
to an empty office. The fuck?!
K*K*B*B
When I open the door, all I see is an empty desk. How surprising.
“I knew I could count on you, Harry,” I mutter to myself, the sarcasm left hanging in what I thought was an empty office.
I hear a sharp intake of breath, and there’s Harry, drooling on the floor, hair a disaster like he’s been sleeping there all afternoon. With my luck he probably has.
“What did you just say?” Harry slurs, glaring at me through sleep-mussed unfocused eyes - while still laying on the fucking carpet, I might add. It’s not effective - not that he’s ever managed to intimidate me.
“What? I said ‘I knew I could count on you, Idiot.’” Was he drunk?
“No, no, no,” his slur seems to get progressively worse until I’m not sure he’s saying actual words. “You called me ‘Harry,’ not ‘Idiot.’”
Definitely drunk. “Oh, I’m sorry, moron. I don’t know what I was thinking the first time around. Why are you on the floor?”
“First time? No, second time,” he blathers and, as usual, blatantly ignores my question. He’s fucking insane, I swear. “Wait,” he lurches into a sitting position behind the desk - my desk. “How long have you been here?”
He's really testing my patience, now. “Are you drunk, fuckhead? Because it sure seems like it. My house, my questions first. Why are you drooling on my fucking carpet?”
Again, he ignores me. “You were definitely just here, being a total jerk-off creep, by the way - whispering in my ear and shit.” He looks confused. The feeling is mutual.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Harry? I just walked in and found you drooling on my carpet and asking me dumb shit questions.”
The confused look remains - a permanent fixture to his face. “Unless I dreamt it.”
That was rich, coming from Harry Lockhart. “Oh so now you’re sleeping on the clock and dreaming about me, too? Christ, Harry, get up.”
In case you don’t know - and for some reason feel the need to waste you brain capacity on useless information - Harry’s my, well - my employee. He’d say he was my partner, and then burst out into giggles. And they call me the gay one?
We did a fucked up case together a few months ago - don’t even ask how he got involved. He’s not even qualified to do anything short of eating whatever’s in my fucking fridge. And I’d say he’s not qualified to do that either, but Harry repeatedly proves me wrong. Moron.
So, now he’s my bitch - and not in that way, assholes. He does my paperwork and I teach him how to not get himself killed in LA. Welcome to the party - do not fuck up my carpet.
“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, rubbing his head as he sits up and takes a seat at my desk. Did he fall out of his chair? Jesus. “I dunno what happened. I was sitting here - ”
“Feet on my desk,” I interject, uselessly.
“Feet on your desk,” he repeats it, his four-and-a-half-fingered hand making checklist motions in the air. He’s completely oblivious to my annoyance. “Talking to you, and then BAM! I’m on the floor waking up. Weird, huh?”
“Sounds boring.” I’m so not in the mood to humor him.
At that he furrows his brow and out of nowhere, he’s blushing, still prodding at his head. “Yeah, guess so.”
“Well, I actually do need to talk to you, now. Do you think you can handle that, Chief, without hurting yourself again?” His blush hasn’t quite faded but his eyes are actually focused when he looks at me.
“Sure, Boss, shoot.”
“I have to go out of town for a few days,” I say, and dread my next decision. “I’m leaving the house to you. Do you think you can manage to feed yourself while I’m gone - and not burn the house down?”
“Wait? What? Where are you going?”
I start to explain the latest case to him - minus the fact that “out of town” means “back home” - back east. I wasn’t lying when I said I dig the cold. And when I said I’d “been to Baltimore,” I failed to mention I was practically a native.
“Wait - Robert Mills,” Harry muses after I fill him in. “Why does that name ring a bell?”
I stare blankly. He can figure this out on his own.
“And Baltimore? Yeesh, what a drag.”
“What do you have against Baltimore?” I try not to sound too defensive, and refrain from any name-calling.
“Well, I dunno, it’s Baltimore. They have some weird obsession with naming sports teams after birds that I don’t get. There’s water but no beach, only a harbor on a fucking bay. Ew.”
So basically he doesn’t give a shit about Baltimore - Harry knows fuck-all about sports and all he does at the beach is watch the sun set like the sappy idiot that he is. You can watch the sun set in the Inner Harbor and it’s just as nice. It just happens three hours later.
“And another thing,” Harry continues flapping. “Why’s this dude hiring you from like a thousand miles away, anyway?”
“It’s more like 2,600 miles, genius.”
“Whatever, it’s fucking far away. Don’t you mostly do local cases?”
I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I thought I could avoid telling him the truth. “I have connections in Baltimore, Harry.”
A light bulb seems to literally flash on behind Harry’s eyes. “Oh yeah, right - you’ve been to Baltimore. I remember you telling me that.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Hm, connections, huh? You mean like other consultants or detectives? I still don’t see why you have to fly all the way over. I mean, that’s what phone calls are for and of all the east coast cities - ”
That’s it. “Harry, I’m from Baltimore. Jesus Christ, do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Oh.” And I’ve stunned him speechless. I should really learn how to do that more often. “So this Robert Mills guy, you know him from home?”
I stare. Like I said, he can figure this one out, Mr. Johnny Fucking Gossamer.
“Oh - wait, Mills? Robert, as in Bobby Mills? The dream girl - er, I mean boy? The one who got away?”
“That’d be the guy.” I sigh, hoping he’ll leave it be and save the destiny spiel for someone who believes in that bullshit.
“Wow, they must really be incompetent in Baltimore, if he’s flying you in.”
“He knows me, idiot. He trusts me to keep it quiet. Especially since I have next to no ties to the city anymore. At least, nothing personal.”
“Oh, right,” Harry mutters. “Guess that makes sense. What about your family? They not around anymore?”
Here we go with the twenty questions, again. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Harry.”
“What? C’mon, Perry, I thought we were friends!” he squawks indignantly. It’s not an attractive look on him. “You can trust me - it’s not like I have anyone to spill your secrets to.”
“I told you about my dad before. You can fill in the blanks yourself.” Like I said, not having this conversation. Not now, not ever.
“Fine.”
I restrain myself from raising an eyebrow - Harry’s actually dropping it? It must be my lucky day.
Harry moves across the room from the desk to the couch, slouching into the white cushions. “So, can Harmony come over while you’re away?” he asks, sounding like a petulant child - and I feel like a conflicted parent. On one hand, Harmony can actually make sure Harry doesn’t starve to death. But on the other hand, she’s broken his heart before and could do it again. The idea of a depressed Harry alone in my house does not sound like a good idea.
“Um, yeah, sure,” I say impassively. There’s only a slight edge to my voice when I continue. “But I’d better not come home to a hell-hole, Harry.”
“Fuck, Perry, I’m not five years old. I can manage on my own for a weekend, for chrissake!”
I can’t restrain the lifted eyebrow any longer. “I’ve seen your room, idiot. I let that slide, but not the rest of this place, you hear me?”
“Jesus, what do you think I do when you’re not around? Prance around naked lighting joints and breaking shit?”
Now that’s an image. “And no smoking, either.”
He rolls his eyes at me, the authority in my voice lost on him - it is my house, so it’s not like I don’t have a say in this. “Cross my heart, Per. You can have Harmony keep an eye on me if you’re really that scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I counter - maybe a little too quickly. But the idea of Harmony actually keeping an eye on him has me thinking. I could pay her to watch the house - she could use the extra cash, I know. “But now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure she’s free this weekend to housesit if - ”
“Perfect,” Harry quips, but I can tell he’s just humoring me as he smiles from the couch. “Now we all get what we want. You’ll get a clean house, I’ll get to hang with Harmony and she’ll get paid. Win-win-win.”
I sigh and nod, feeling suddenly grateful that he’s not giving me too much crap about this. I sit down at my desk and boot up my laptop. When I woke up this morning I hadn’t had any idea that I would be booking a flight into BWI - and now I was going home for the first time in over 15 years and working on a case for Bobby Mills, of all people.