I’m not threatening you. I’m merely predicting a sad and humiliating future for you.
“Constance, would you be so good as to look that up on... What is this website? It was named after a large mathematical number.”
“Google?”
“Ah, yes. Google him for me, if you please.”
“But a bottle of wine as payment? Next you'll be offering your services in exchange for a Shake Shack hamburger.”
“Now… I see some lovely Hawaiian shirts in that shop window — and they’re even on sale!”
<...>
“How many yards of execrable taste, exactly, did you buy?” Constance asked, eyeing the bag.
“I’d try it if I didn’t hate licorice. Isn’t wormwood supposed to cause brain damage?”
“The act of living causes brain damage.”
Gavin was already curious about the man who had managed to get the chief so riled up. Not that it was hard to do — all the chief needed to get worked up was to be given some actual work.
Gavin gave the guy a long, steady look. “You really want to go there?”
“Go where? I’m not going anywhere.”
Gavin couldn’t tell if the guy was a wiseass or a dumbass.
There was a silence as they looked at each other. Gavin finally spoke. “I’ve been doing police work for a long time, and I’ve made one bedrock observation about crime.”
“Which is?”
“That most crimes are banal. Moronic. The obvious explanation is almost always the right one. And in this case, robbery is the simplest explanation, with those crazy markings the work of drug addicts.”
“If most crimes are banal and moronic, it’s because most people are.”