KKBB Fanfic Perrylouge "Click" Part 2
Hey all! As requested, I wrote up a companion piece to the Harrylouge fic.
Title: Click. (Part 2 of 3)
Fandom: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they belong to Shane Black
Summary: Rated R for swearing and sexual references. Perry P.O.V; Perry comes home after a hard day at work to find a surprise.
A massive thank you to gentlemanlycad for betaing this monster. I can't write Perry too well so he helped me a lot with sassing Perry up! xo Thanks so much, man, you're one of a kind.
Click Part 1
I hear the key click in the lock as I open the door. I sigh, feeling the unease build instead of release. I’m tired and frustrated and I really need a drink. Some of the J.W my mom got me would do the trick right about now. Don’t you hate it when you spend days on a case, and the client ends up getting popped off? This is why I should always take payment up front.
I walk into the lounge-room. The place is dark, quiet and unwelcoming. I’m thrown by it, as usually the idiot has the T.V blaring, mess all over the place, greeting me like an excited dog. It reminds me of some of my low times before he moved in.
Yes, Harry is living with me. In my house, filled with IKEA, fancy abstract art and other useless shit I don’t need. My useless shit, that I earned with my own blood, sweat, and whatever I have instead of tears. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I cried; it’s a waste of energy.
I run a hand over the lounge, and pluck a single brunette hair from the leather, wondering if he’s been in here all day. I should be used to it by now, the way he's changed. You see, he’s been acting well behaved. He’s been neat, clean, hard-working, keeping to himself, quiet… Something is definitely wrong. However, I don’t care.
I just don't.
I keep telling myself this. Hell, it’s worked the last thirty odd years, so I’ll do more of the same. Except this time, it’s really not working. Harry is one of the most annoying, loud, immature, ‘bad-joke-telling three-year-old in a thirty-five-year-old’s’ body I’ve ever met. By all rights he should drive me totally insane (sometimes he does) but somehow he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
Harry Lockhart; The Charmer. He’s like a really kitschy yard sale where you end up finding a rare limited edition record of your favorite 1920’s singer that makes the smell of old people and screaming kids worthwhile. He doesn’t make a good first impression to most and never makes life easy for himself. It’s easy to judge him, but I now know a lot of it to be surface crap and that there’s actually a more decent human being than most underneath. Sure it’s a bit Disney, but the kid’s got a kind heart. It’s true he can fuck up royally sometimes, but he’s turned out to be a helpful and competent partner when we work cases.
Yes, Harry is working for me. It sounds like I’ve lost my marbles but he’s got a unique perspective on people and cases, and his street smarts and history with crime come in handy. His black cloud of bad luck seems to be balanced by the odd convenient-bullshit-amazing miracle. He really blew my socks off when he saved Harmony and me.
So, me not caring isn’t working out so well. It’s pretty much the opposite. I know caring about people usually ends up with someone getting hurt, and even though he’s been around rough characters in criminal circles, I can’t help feeling like I’m putting him in jeopardy.
The first time I took him out on trial, halfway there in the car I began to regret my offer. I was expecting the worst by the time we arrived; he’d started spazzing out, crapping on about how he’d always cut-and-run in the past, and how he fucked things up. I did my best not to yell at him and explained the simple instructions. He was to take pictures of the cars going in and out of a parking lot and make sure to get a shot of this particular number plate and the guy driving the car. During the trial he managed to break the camera, set off a car alarm and attracted the attention of the police. Despite all this he somehow managed to convince the Parking lot guard to give him a copy of security footage which was not an easy thing to do. He was sweating it big time when he presented to the edited clip to me, blurting out the whole story and saying he’d understand if I never wanted him around again. I had to grab him and shake him to make him stop, explaining he’d managed to do better than what I’d asked. I told him he had to try and follow instructions more closely, but so long as he got results, I didn’t care how he did it. The shift from fear to joy sparked a light in me I didn’t know existed.
The buzz of memories isn’t making my day any easier. I get myself a crystal class and some ice and move through my empty home to fetch the golden liquor. I sigh again as I wonder why I even bought half of the crap I own, never having contemplated to consumerism as much, but Harry makes me think about a lot more about the meaning of my life and it’s starting to freak me out.
The more time I’ve spent with Harry, the more little surprises I’ve discovered. His attitude towards relationships for one and his treatment of women is more sincere that I’d expected. He doesn’t do one night stands; he’ll always see the girl off and actually returns calls. Generally he won’t sleep with any bit of skirt that that flashes her indecency at him either. It surprised me to learn he didn’t do ‘easy’ sex. I was privy to this info after he’d had a bit to drink and I asked him why he’d turned away this woman who’d been all over him that night. He explained he didn’t like it to just be handed to him, it had to mean something. I couldn’t help but laugh, surprised by this and he took it as me being patronizing but he forgot in about two seconds.
One time he managed to make me feel like shit with his incidental moral high-ground. It wasn’t on purpose so I didn’t go off at him and kept it to myself. It was one morning after he’s been out clubbing and I’d brought a plaything home. I came downstairs for coffee to Harry with a big grin and expectant look on his face.
“Where’s Dean?” He says.
“Who?” I say nonchalantly.
Harry looked shocked. “The guy you, y’know, boned? We were hanging out last night, he was pretty cool.” I tell him I sent Dean home in a cab last night after we were done. Harry frowned and opened his mouth to say something but stops. I pressed him to talk and he says “Why? Guess it didn’t work out.”
“We fucked, Harry. Worked out just fine. I don’t want ‘em hanging around in the morning.” the look on his face suddenly had me feeling like a total scum-bag, “Why the fuck do you care?” I snorted with a laugh. “He was nice. I got breakfast for us all.” He said sadly and proceeded to toss a bag of McDonald's, rifle through and eat his bacon and egg muffin.
I want to say I’ve never felt shit for the way my sex-life works, but right I felt like a hypocrite for bad-mouthing all the little clone queens who just get off their face every week and treat people like dirt and only fuck supermodel-wannabes. Seeing Harry like that brought things to the surface I didn’t want to think about. I just didn’t.
Just no.
Once I’m nearly at the cabinet when I see his grey hoodie slung over the back of a chair. It’s not carelessly on the floor, so I guess he’s learning, but then I wonder again if it’s something else. It’s like he’s scared. My mind seems to have the doe-eyed brunette hovering around a lot lately; I couldn’t stop thinking about him all day even when I was working and it threw my game. He’s a fully grown man, so he can take care of himself, but sometimes I wonder. He’s got street-smarts out the wahzoo, it’s the domestic side he fails at. It surprised even me when I told him he could stay with me. For some reason (we’re not going to say what it might be) I was worried about him. It feels good to see him happy; his smile is one of the most beautiful in the world.
The problem is he makes me feel too good. Harry is off limits. Not because he’s straight, hell, I’ve fucked plenty of heterosexual guys who swore they didn’t love the cock. It’s because he’s Harry.
Initially I thought he was cute, in a dumb dog kind of way, all busted up trying to protect his high-school sweetheart (it’s wrong how good he looks with cuts and bruises.) Then I found he may be a few clowns short a circus (not that I always sleep with the brightest tools in the shed). Then he proved to be a possible threat to my life (a fact I still ponder on whenever I trace the bullet hole in my chest). Then he had to go and be a big damn hero and win my heart. I wouldn’t tell him I thought that or his tiny brain might do nuclear from pride.
The point is, he’s too important to me for us to have sex. Sex is just to fill the primal need your body asks for and whether you get off fucking men or women or both is irrelevant. I like having Harry around and he’d run for the hills if he realized I was even remotely interested in his ass (even if I could blow his brains and make him scream until he lost his constant running commentary).
Despite my caution, there have been a few close calls. One night we were on patrol and he was cold, so I warmed him up. I got this intense urge to stroke his neck and kiss the soft skin at his hairline. I had to spend some alone time in the shower when we got home.
Another time we were at ‘Leo’s’, a bar with an equal share of straight and queers and anything in between. We were both pretty plastered, having a really great time in that dreamy haze where the lines of personal space blur; Harry gets all grabby when he’s drunk. Then this greasy Ricky Martin wannabe comes thrusting his hips in my direction. And I was having such a nice time, shame I’d have to break someone’s nose. Harry shocked me when he stood dead between me and slagball and started bitching him out like a pro, expressing that I was his and telling the sleaze to piss off. He turned and said “You looked disturbed.” Then he got this hilarious expression that had me laughing for the rest of the night, you know, like one of those snobby waiters who think they’re king shit, and he says “He really wasn’t your type.” Any other time I think he would have freaked out about cock blocking me (even though he his judgment was spot on about me not wanting to touch that guy with a fifty-foot-skewer). He had this burning courage that only poked it’s head out occasionally, but when it did, you really noticed… Apparently more so when drunk.
I suddenly wanted him, my cock at attention, needing to know what his body tasted like and what kind of noises I could get him to make. He was attached to me all night, uninterested in finding a girl and only wanting to have fun with me. He actually tugged me into the wave of hot bodies and danced (badly). I was in heaven for a few minutes when he playfully danced against me, every second his body pressed into mine was an excruciating tease. Somehow despite my intoxication I managed to control myself and ended up dragging another boy to bed to alleviate the desire. I remember feeling weirdly depressed as I thrust into the random flavor of the night, only able to imagine Harry's soft form under my touch. The one-nighter was a lousy lay which made it worse and I didn’t even get off before I sent him on his merry fucking way.
I was a real cunt to Harry for a while after that. I left him in the office to deal with paperwork instead of to help me in the field. Major cold shoulder mode. It wasn’t his fault but I needed to put distance between us, ironically so I wouldn’t lose him. What really got to me was when he got the wounded puppy look and I actually felt ache in my chest. Feeling like that made me even more a jerk, to the point where he avoided conversation altogether. When we did talk, we’d fight. I was halfway between anger because of his heterosexuality, knowing better than anyone you can’t help who you’re attracted to, and frustration with myself for liking him. I got concerned he’d up and leave, but decided it might be for the best.
The bastard managed to break my shield when pulled off one of his magic tricks.
A distraught woman, Mrs. Hutchinson, came to us and explained her son had been kidnapped and was held hostage for a ransom. She then told us her husband had been murdered by the same men. I didn’t get a chance to speak before the idiot said we’d help her. I refrained from shoving him and asked why she the police. She produced a letter explaining if the cops got involved, they’d kill her son. Typical. I wanted to tell her if they did that, they’d have nothing to bargain with but again Harry opened his big yap and promised to get her son back. I really wanted to belt him over the head, having no idea who these psycho’s were or how we’d get the kid off them. The woman asked for a quote for our services and Harry just about signed his death warrant when he took her hand and said she wasn’t to worry about the money until her son was back in her arms. Mrs. Hutchinson burst into tears and hugged the little shit then thanked us a hundred times before leaving. Once she was gone, I glared at him, trying to kill him with my eyes. He realized how much trouble he was in and rambled for a solid two minutes about how he’d make sure we’d get paid and didn’t think before he spoke and how she was so upset and reminded him of his sister and - UHG! I yelled at him, telling him this was a business not a charity and it wasn’t just money at stake but our lives and most importantly my reputation! He has this habit when he’s worried that makes me want to slap him and ruffle his hair at the same time where he chews; on his lip, nails, sleeve. Anything. Right now I just wanted to throw him off the U.S Bank Tower.
Harry looked me dead in the eye, cool calm and collected, and said “Settle down, Perry. It will be fine.”
I have no idea how he managed to convince me with that, but I relaxed. We started working right away with all the information Mrs. Hutchinson had given us. As I suspected, her late man had run up a debt with the wrong crooks (as opposed to the right ones?) and wound up screwing his family over before dying. Harry was more professional than I’ve ever seen him, no dumb questions, no stupid jokes or mistakes, totally focused.
We managed to figure out who was holding the kid hostage and where to go, paying off the right thugs to get into the spiders web. I made a call to my cop friend, telling him what was going down and plainclothes was best. He came along with us, lining up back up in case it went south. It was all going fine until one goon, smarter than the rest picked up on our game and all hell broke loose. Thankfully for us, there was some disgruntled plebs who turned on the rest of the gang, seeing an opportunity to climb the ladder in this ring and two sides started a gun fight. As we were hidden while they duked it out, Harry spotted a big beefy guy dragging a small person and cried out that it was the kid. Before I could stop him I watched him run directly towards the man, who was on the other side of the crossfire, horror filling me as I was about to watch my best friend become Swiss cheese.
What happened next was like something right out of a comic book.
He dodged several bullets, ducking and weaving behind obstructions and using goons as shields as he sped towards his target. One bullet clipped him, a spray of blood bursting from his arm, but Harry didn’t even seem to notice. The beefcake looked ready to squish Harry’s head between his thumbs but obviously wasn’t ready when Harry rolled, picked up a lead pipe, let out a huge roar and swung the bar right into the guys groin. He dropped like an anvil and Harry scooped up the kid, dashing out of view, several shots following him. A few minutes later, the cops busted in and it was over.
We stood outside the very deceptive looking shop front that advertised wares for pool supplies as red and blue lights flashed and criminals were taken away. It was one of the most successful and rewarding cases I’ve ever worked on. We’d managed to uncover a group that had alluded the police for months and only now with our very specific information had they linked their location. We called the kids mom right away as Harry demanded it. Watching the Hutchinson’s reunite was quite emotional, Harry blubbering as mother and son held each other. The kid didn’t stop motor-mouthing to her about how Harry had rescued him and that we must be superheroes. The family gave us a last hug and kiss goodbye and Mrs. Hutchinson tucked a money order into my hand for an amount more than I would have asked. Some moments later, Harry collapsed and we remembered he’d been shot, dragging him to the ambulance. In his delirious state, while the ambo was stitching him up, he asked my cop friend if he could have his handcuffs because the ones from the sex shops always break the first time you use them. Everyone burst into laughter, and Harry ended up with a set of cuffs hanging from his belt.
I looked after him while he recovered, both of us bonded by the incredible experience. I honestly thought that would be the end of him and it worried me to the core. That was the last time we were really close. Ever since the case at that stupid Launch party he’s been like a totally different man. I miss his dumb jokes, I miss his rambling and his weird logic, I actually miss his mess. I just want the kid to be happy. Lately I’ve been waiting for the day I wake up and he’s just gone, finally cut-and-run. My house would never be the same without him and would just go back to being full of useless crap with no meaning.
I lean down and open my cabinet, noticing right away things are out of place. The liquor I wanted is missing, the other bottles jumbled up, no longer in order of year.
Harry.
I hunt through the house for him, checking the balcony, the bathroom, his room (frighteningly clean). I think logically; my best booze is missing, he’s been oddly depressed of late... ‘Harry, I hope you’re not doing something stupid. Wait, it’s you. Nevermind.’ Maybe he’s wandered out into the street. I move to get my keys and go look for him when I consider there is a hot tub attached to my room and it’s possible he’s up there. I’m expecting water all over my carpet; loud drunken singing and hopefully Harry finally back to his old self. It’s sad to wish for that, knowing my room will probably be empty, lonely as usual, and he has actually finally gone.
When I fling open the door, my heart stops.
Title: Click. (Part 2 of 3)
Fandom: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they belong to Shane Black
Summary: Rated R for swearing and sexual references. Perry P.O.V; Perry comes home after a hard day at work to find a surprise.
A massive thank you to gentlemanlycad for betaing this monster. I can't write Perry too well so he helped me a lot with sassing Perry up! xo Thanks so much, man, you're one of a kind.
Click Part 1
I hear the key click in the lock as I open the door. I sigh, feeling the unease build instead of release. I’m tired and frustrated and I really need a drink. Some of the J.W my mom got me would do the trick right about now. Don’t you hate it when you spend days on a case, and the client ends up getting popped off? This is why I should always take payment up front.
I walk into the lounge-room. The place is dark, quiet and unwelcoming. I’m thrown by it, as usually the idiot has the T.V blaring, mess all over the place, greeting me like an excited dog. It reminds me of some of my low times before he moved in.
Yes, Harry is living with me. In my house, filled with IKEA, fancy abstract art and other useless shit I don’t need. My useless shit, that I earned with my own blood, sweat, and whatever I have instead of tears. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I cried; it’s a waste of energy.
I run a hand over the lounge, and pluck a single brunette hair from the leather, wondering if he’s been in here all day. I should be used to it by now, the way he's changed. You see, he’s been acting well behaved. He’s been neat, clean, hard-working, keeping to himself, quiet… Something is definitely wrong. However, I don’t care.
I just don't.
I keep telling myself this. Hell, it’s worked the last thirty odd years, so I’ll do more of the same. Except this time, it’s really not working. Harry is one of the most annoying, loud, immature, ‘bad-joke-telling three-year-old in a thirty-five-year-old’s’ body I’ve ever met. By all rights he should drive me totally insane (sometimes he does) but somehow he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
Harry Lockhart; The Charmer. He’s like a really kitschy yard sale where you end up finding a rare limited edition record of your favorite 1920’s singer that makes the smell of old people and screaming kids worthwhile. He doesn’t make a good first impression to most and never makes life easy for himself. It’s easy to judge him, but I now know a lot of it to be surface crap and that there’s actually a more decent human being than most underneath. Sure it’s a bit Disney, but the kid’s got a kind heart. It’s true he can fuck up royally sometimes, but he’s turned out to be a helpful and competent partner when we work cases.
Yes, Harry is working for me. It sounds like I’ve lost my marbles but he’s got a unique perspective on people and cases, and his street smarts and history with crime come in handy. His black cloud of bad luck seems to be balanced by the odd convenient-bullshit-amazing miracle. He really blew my socks off when he saved Harmony and me.
So, me not caring isn’t working out so well. It’s pretty much the opposite. I know caring about people usually ends up with someone getting hurt, and even though he’s been around rough characters in criminal circles, I can’t help feeling like I’m putting him in jeopardy.
The first time I took him out on trial, halfway there in the car I began to regret my offer. I was expecting the worst by the time we arrived; he’d started spazzing out, crapping on about how he’d always cut-and-run in the past, and how he fucked things up. I did my best not to yell at him and explained the simple instructions. He was to take pictures of the cars going in and out of a parking lot and make sure to get a shot of this particular number plate and the guy driving the car. During the trial he managed to break the camera, set off a car alarm and attracted the attention of the police. Despite all this he somehow managed to convince the Parking lot guard to give him a copy of security footage which was not an easy thing to do. He was sweating it big time when he presented to the edited clip to me, blurting out the whole story and saying he’d understand if I never wanted him around again. I had to grab him and shake him to make him stop, explaining he’d managed to do better than what I’d asked. I told him he had to try and follow instructions more closely, but so long as he got results, I didn’t care how he did it. The shift from fear to joy sparked a light in me I didn’t know existed.
The buzz of memories isn’t making my day any easier. I get myself a crystal class and some ice and move through my empty home to fetch the golden liquor. I sigh again as I wonder why I even bought half of the crap I own, never having contemplated to consumerism as much, but Harry makes me think about a lot more about the meaning of my life and it’s starting to freak me out.
The more time I’ve spent with Harry, the more little surprises I’ve discovered. His attitude towards relationships for one and his treatment of women is more sincere that I’d expected. He doesn’t do one night stands; he’ll always see the girl off and actually returns calls. Generally he won’t sleep with any bit of skirt that that flashes her indecency at him either. It surprised me to learn he didn’t do ‘easy’ sex. I was privy to this info after he’d had a bit to drink and I asked him why he’d turned away this woman who’d been all over him that night. He explained he didn’t like it to just be handed to him, it had to mean something. I couldn’t help but laugh, surprised by this and he took it as me being patronizing but he forgot in about two seconds.
One time he managed to make me feel like shit with his incidental moral high-ground. It wasn’t on purpose so I didn’t go off at him and kept it to myself. It was one morning after he’s been out clubbing and I’d brought a plaything home. I came downstairs for coffee to Harry with a big grin and expectant look on his face.
“Where’s Dean?” He says.
“Who?” I say nonchalantly.
Harry looked shocked. “The guy you, y’know, boned? We were hanging out last night, he was pretty cool.” I tell him I sent Dean home in a cab last night after we were done. Harry frowned and opened his mouth to say something but stops. I pressed him to talk and he says “Why? Guess it didn’t work out.”
“We fucked, Harry. Worked out just fine. I don’t want ‘em hanging around in the morning.” the look on his face suddenly had me feeling like a total scum-bag, “Why the fuck do you care?” I snorted with a laugh. “He was nice. I got breakfast for us all.” He said sadly and proceeded to toss a bag of McDonald's, rifle through and eat his bacon and egg muffin.
I want to say I’ve never felt shit for the way my sex-life works, but right I felt like a hypocrite for bad-mouthing all the little clone queens who just get off their face every week and treat people like dirt and only fuck supermodel-wannabes. Seeing Harry like that brought things to the surface I didn’t want to think about. I just didn’t.
Just no.
Once I’m nearly at the cabinet when I see his grey hoodie slung over the back of a chair. It’s not carelessly on the floor, so I guess he’s learning, but then I wonder again if it’s something else. It’s like he’s scared. My mind seems to have the doe-eyed brunette hovering around a lot lately; I couldn’t stop thinking about him all day even when I was working and it threw my game. He’s a fully grown man, so he can take care of himself, but sometimes I wonder. He’s got street-smarts out the wahzoo, it’s the domestic side he fails at. It surprised even me when I told him he could stay with me. For some reason (we’re not going to say what it might be) I was worried about him. It feels good to see him happy; his smile is one of the most beautiful in the world.
The problem is he makes me feel too good. Harry is off limits. Not because he’s straight, hell, I’ve fucked plenty of heterosexual guys who swore they didn’t love the cock. It’s because he’s Harry.
Initially I thought he was cute, in a dumb dog kind of way, all busted up trying to protect his high-school sweetheart (it’s wrong how good he looks with cuts and bruises.) Then I found he may be a few clowns short a circus (not that I always sleep with the brightest tools in the shed). Then he proved to be a possible threat to my life (a fact I still ponder on whenever I trace the bullet hole in my chest). Then he had to go and be a big damn hero and win my heart. I wouldn’t tell him I thought that or his tiny brain might do nuclear from pride.
The point is, he’s too important to me for us to have sex. Sex is just to fill the primal need your body asks for and whether you get off fucking men or women or both is irrelevant. I like having Harry around and he’d run for the hills if he realized I was even remotely interested in his ass (even if I could blow his brains and make him scream until he lost his constant running commentary).
Despite my caution, there have been a few close calls. One night we were on patrol and he was cold, so I warmed him up. I got this intense urge to stroke his neck and kiss the soft skin at his hairline. I had to spend some alone time in the shower when we got home.
Another time we were at ‘Leo’s’, a bar with an equal share of straight and queers and anything in between. We were both pretty plastered, having a really great time in that dreamy haze where the lines of personal space blur; Harry gets all grabby when he’s drunk. Then this greasy Ricky Martin wannabe comes thrusting his hips in my direction. And I was having such a nice time, shame I’d have to break someone’s nose. Harry shocked me when he stood dead between me and slagball and started bitching him out like a pro, expressing that I was his and telling the sleaze to piss off. He turned and said “You looked disturbed.” Then he got this hilarious expression that had me laughing for the rest of the night, you know, like one of those snobby waiters who think they’re king shit, and he says “He really wasn’t your type.” Any other time I think he would have freaked out about cock blocking me (even though he his judgment was spot on about me not wanting to touch that guy with a fifty-foot-skewer). He had this burning courage that only poked it’s head out occasionally, but when it did, you really noticed… Apparently more so when drunk.
I suddenly wanted him, my cock at attention, needing to know what his body tasted like and what kind of noises I could get him to make. He was attached to me all night, uninterested in finding a girl and only wanting to have fun with me. He actually tugged me into the wave of hot bodies and danced (badly). I was in heaven for a few minutes when he playfully danced against me, every second his body pressed into mine was an excruciating tease. Somehow despite my intoxication I managed to control myself and ended up dragging another boy to bed to alleviate the desire. I remember feeling weirdly depressed as I thrust into the random flavor of the night, only able to imagine Harry's soft form under my touch. The one-nighter was a lousy lay which made it worse and I didn’t even get off before I sent him on his merry fucking way.
I was a real cunt to Harry for a while after that. I left him in the office to deal with paperwork instead of to help me in the field. Major cold shoulder mode. It wasn’t his fault but I needed to put distance between us, ironically so I wouldn’t lose him. What really got to me was when he got the wounded puppy look and I actually felt ache in my chest. Feeling like that made me even more a jerk, to the point where he avoided conversation altogether. When we did talk, we’d fight. I was halfway between anger because of his heterosexuality, knowing better than anyone you can’t help who you’re attracted to, and frustration with myself for liking him. I got concerned he’d up and leave, but decided it might be for the best.
The bastard managed to break my shield when pulled off one of his magic tricks.
A distraught woman, Mrs. Hutchinson, came to us and explained her son had been kidnapped and was held hostage for a ransom. She then told us her husband had been murdered by the same men. I didn’t get a chance to speak before the idiot said we’d help her. I refrained from shoving him and asked why she the police. She produced a letter explaining if the cops got involved, they’d kill her son. Typical. I wanted to tell her if they did that, they’d have nothing to bargain with but again Harry opened his big yap and promised to get her son back. I really wanted to belt him over the head, having no idea who these psycho’s were or how we’d get the kid off them. The woman asked for a quote for our services and Harry just about signed his death warrant when he took her hand and said she wasn’t to worry about the money until her son was back in her arms. Mrs. Hutchinson burst into tears and hugged the little shit then thanked us a hundred times before leaving. Once she was gone, I glared at him, trying to kill him with my eyes. He realized how much trouble he was in and rambled for a solid two minutes about how he’d make sure we’d get paid and didn’t think before he spoke and how she was so upset and reminded him of his sister and - UHG! I yelled at him, telling him this was a business not a charity and it wasn’t just money at stake but our lives and most importantly my reputation! He has this habit when he’s worried that makes me want to slap him and ruffle his hair at the same time where he chews; on his lip, nails, sleeve. Anything. Right now I just wanted to throw him off the U.S Bank Tower.
Harry looked me dead in the eye, cool calm and collected, and said “Settle down, Perry. It will be fine.”
I have no idea how he managed to convince me with that, but I relaxed. We started working right away with all the information Mrs. Hutchinson had given us. As I suspected, her late man had run up a debt with the wrong crooks (as opposed to the right ones?) and wound up screwing his family over before dying. Harry was more professional than I’ve ever seen him, no dumb questions, no stupid jokes or mistakes, totally focused.
We managed to figure out who was holding the kid hostage and where to go, paying off the right thugs to get into the spiders web. I made a call to my cop friend, telling him what was going down and plainclothes was best. He came along with us, lining up back up in case it went south. It was all going fine until one goon, smarter than the rest picked up on our game and all hell broke loose. Thankfully for us, there was some disgruntled plebs who turned on the rest of the gang, seeing an opportunity to climb the ladder in this ring and two sides started a gun fight. As we were hidden while they duked it out, Harry spotted a big beefy guy dragging a small person and cried out that it was the kid. Before I could stop him I watched him run directly towards the man, who was on the other side of the crossfire, horror filling me as I was about to watch my best friend become Swiss cheese.
What happened next was like something right out of a comic book.
He dodged several bullets, ducking and weaving behind obstructions and using goons as shields as he sped towards his target. One bullet clipped him, a spray of blood bursting from his arm, but Harry didn’t even seem to notice. The beefcake looked ready to squish Harry’s head between his thumbs but obviously wasn’t ready when Harry rolled, picked up a lead pipe, let out a huge roar and swung the bar right into the guys groin. He dropped like an anvil and Harry scooped up the kid, dashing out of view, several shots following him. A few minutes later, the cops busted in and it was over.
We stood outside the very deceptive looking shop front that advertised wares for pool supplies as red and blue lights flashed and criminals were taken away. It was one of the most successful and rewarding cases I’ve ever worked on. We’d managed to uncover a group that had alluded the police for months and only now with our very specific information had they linked their location. We called the kids mom right away as Harry demanded it. Watching the Hutchinson’s reunite was quite emotional, Harry blubbering as mother and son held each other. The kid didn’t stop motor-mouthing to her about how Harry had rescued him and that we must be superheroes. The family gave us a last hug and kiss goodbye and Mrs. Hutchinson tucked a money order into my hand for an amount more than I would have asked. Some moments later, Harry collapsed and we remembered he’d been shot, dragging him to the ambulance. In his delirious state, while the ambo was stitching him up, he asked my cop friend if he could have his handcuffs because the ones from the sex shops always break the first time you use them. Everyone burst into laughter, and Harry ended up with a set of cuffs hanging from his belt.
I looked after him while he recovered, both of us bonded by the incredible experience. I honestly thought that would be the end of him and it worried me to the core. That was the last time we were really close. Ever since the case at that stupid Launch party he’s been like a totally different man. I miss his dumb jokes, I miss his rambling and his weird logic, I actually miss his mess. I just want the kid to be happy. Lately I’ve been waiting for the day I wake up and he’s just gone, finally cut-and-run. My house would never be the same without him and would just go back to being full of useless crap with no meaning.
I lean down and open my cabinet, noticing right away things are out of place. The liquor I wanted is missing, the other bottles jumbled up, no longer in order of year.
Harry.
I hunt through the house for him, checking the balcony, the bathroom, his room (frighteningly clean). I think logically; my best booze is missing, he’s been oddly depressed of late... ‘Harry, I hope you’re not doing something stupid. Wait, it’s you. Nevermind.’ Maybe he’s wandered out into the street. I move to get my keys and go look for him when I consider there is a hot tub attached to my room and it’s possible he’s up there. I’m expecting water all over my carpet; loud drunken singing and hopefully Harry finally back to his old self. It’s sad to wish for that, knowing my room will probably be empty, lonely as usual, and he has actually finally gone.
When I fling open the door, my heart stops.