Mechanical pigeons were high on my list of untrustworthy mechanics, right up there with toasters. I have yet to come across a toaster that worked properly and I have developed a grudge. Even the rumors about the pidgeons had solidified my distrust.
"You want to know how much it will take to find mechanical pidgeons?" I stare at the mashed potatoes in the sink.
"Indeed I do."
"How much you got in your wallet?" He pulls out a wallet that looks like it has seen better times. I grab it from him before he can open it.
"Maybe that's why you lost mechanical pidgeons," I scoff. "You can't even keep a wallet." I pull out a wad of cash before he can remove the cheap pleather from my hands. "It will take this much," I say, stuffing the bills into my pocket.
"Seriously? That's it?" he says, perplexed. "You know this is of national importance, right? A million dollar job at least?"
"It would give me no greater pleasure than to help out our government." I sigh and turn back to the man. He is looking at me.
"Your flier said you were the cheapest detective in the midwest but I didn't believe it." He turned and led himself to the door, and I wished it would be the last time I saw his face. But these things never go my way.
He turns back to me. "Are you coming?" he asks. "We have some birds to locate."
We walk down twelve flights of stairs in awkward silence, the elevator having broken down weeks ago. The man says with me the whole time, like a bad habit. By the time we get to the lobby we are as close as best friends without the convenience of conversation. We were more like cellmates.
When we walked out of the building it was raining.
"Fabulous," I say under my breath.