Case of Financial Woe: Chapter 4

Hey folks!   Sorry for the writing blog delays.  The editing for a movie review takes me at least two to three days overall, so here's a continuation in Case of Financial Woe.  Enjoy!

Chapter 4

A cultured Spanish voice inquired, "Senor Malone?" I scooted my chair back and pointed the Sig right at his stomach, "Tell your goons to drop their cannons in the front room, then everyone comes in nice and easy." "Do you always do business at gunpoint, Senor Malone?" I smirked, "It's a tough racket and I might not always want to hear what the potential client has to say. Drop the rods and grab a seat, fellas. Last warning." Reluctantly the apes dropped a Desert Eagle .44 and a Ruger Blackhawk. Good God. Were they expecting grizzly bears in my office?

Thugs 1 and 2 took seats on either side of their boss as he causally sat down and removed his hat revealing a slowly thinning head of hair and placed his hat in his lap. "Look Mr. Motoya, it's not that I am not glad to see you but we've had some friction in the past." Montoya sneered at this. "Friction? Malone you held my associates and I at gunpoint, called the cops on us and then took pictures of us being hauled away." He sighed. "Let the past be the past, Malone. I have need of a detective to find a man."

I damn near laughed. I held it in but snickered a bit. "Yeah I think you can find a much larger sucker than me." Montoya looked irked. "We came here to discuss business like civilized men. If you do not care for the proposal, I will leave and not return." With an incredulous scowl on my face, I ventured. "And if by some small miracle I agree, you what? Smoke the guy I find for you? Not sure I can live with that at any price."

Montoya leaned back in his chair at ease. "Not only will you recieve a substantial fee but I will owe you one. The man I wish found has stolen from me and he has...what is term? Ah besmirched my name! I will have what is mine and you turn him to police, yes?"

I try to hide my smirk rapidly approaching my face. "Let me get this straight. You want to hire me to track down a former "associate" of yours, giving him over to you, doing God knows what and I should take my money and keep quiet?"

Montoya stirred in his chair. I reminded him of the sig in my hand by cocking the hammer back.

"My professional advice, Mr. Montoya is to find a less moral P.I.and offer him the same terms. No I will not call the officials because technically you have not committed a crime. I think you need to leave and you will leave your hardware on my floor."

Thugs 1 and 2's gaze got shifty like they were actually going to dive for their cannons when Montoya cleared his throat, straightened his tie clip (silver of course) and placed his fedora on his head and proceeded to carefully leave his chair. "Very well." He turned to face his goons and with a head nod assured them they will get replacement cannons. Five minutes tick by as they all left my office. I finally exhale and put the hammer back. Yeah that wasn't too stressful. So I have the US Marshals pissed off, a con man's kill happy gunsel and now the lieutenant of the Montoya syndicate looking rather annoyed with me.

Yup when it rains, it strikes the ground with lighting and fries everything in its path. Also it pours.

I glance over what I know thus far. Chet is looking to burn the Montoyas and the feds are trying to close the noose around their necks. This info has to be juicy enough for them to take it serious but they won't argee to scumbag Chet's wishlist. Chet being the decent soul that he is hires his Moose and Jimmy the knife nut that wants me or should I say, my cover ID gone. Reynolds and Clarke sat on my place for at least a couple of hours but didn't know my client and yet figured out who I was.

I never met those guys until today so who circulated my pic to them? Did they make a trip downtown to my favorite precinct? Did that little prick Marsden show them my file? God dammit.

Once again I play pool and I'm behind the 8 ball. Well the mob are honked off, I loathe Bishop so that's out. The cops won't be much help and the feds can kiss my ass.

Time to go bend Chatty Charlie's ear. If I hustle I can catch him at Shooter's. I speed dial and head out the office. "Shooter's. Shelby speaking." Somethings will never change. "Hey Shelby, Malone here. Charlie in?" Shelby snorted. "Yeah and he's sharking the tables again. Some of dem hipsters are gettin' their asses handed to them." A gin graced my face as I unlocked the Impala. "Well I am in route. Let him know, would you?" "Sure thing, kid. See ya when we see ya."

A quick hop on the freeway and I am in Shooter's parking lot. Not so odd considering the hour. Not that many hardcore drinkers at 2 in the afternoon. Before I go any further, I turn off my smart ass smartphone and pull the memory card. Paul once told me the easiest way to trace a guy is to bounce a signal using cell towers to triangulate a perp's location. Well I'm not the bad guy but these cats don't seem to realize that. If I am going to make any headway in this with Baker, I am going to need Charlie's help.

People look at Charlie, they see an 40 to 50 pounds overweight drunk in a velure track suit and a pool cue. Me? I see the man with his fingers on the pulse of the underworld. Charlie knows so many crooked cats, cops and mouth pieces it is a wonder he doesn't know what's going down in Hell right now. From a package boy to running numbers in the day, to info and pool sharking, if Charlie doesn't know then it's not happening. Hell Charlie and Clancy were kids in the neighborhood in Chi Town. Guess Clancy couldn't ever give up on Charlie.

Coming in the front, the smell of smoke, whiskey and beer hang in the air. This watering hole brings back memories. Some good, some bad and all the ones inbetween.

I give a nod to Shelby. Ex-Marine 25 years in, 6 foot 5 black with a shaved head and enough scar tissue you'd think he was in a fire. I think he's almost 55 now? All I know is no one fucks with Shelby in his own bar. Under the counter is a pair of twin Colts and a very illegal Mossberg with a magazine giving him 8 rounds of double ought buckshot. Arms and legs as thick as rolled carpet. This is one gay man very few have the balls to mock. I see he is back into his martini shirts and khakis again. I belly up to the bar. "Geeze Shelby, you watch a Burn Notice marathon or something?" I saw out of the corner of my right eye some of the patrons scoot down from the tops and away.

"Hey punk. You wear anything but suits in 80 degree weather?" I smiled. "Fair enough. How the hell are you Shelby?" "Kid I barely got hit on at all this week. Starting to lose my touch." he stated sliding me and Charlie's scotches, light ice.

I scooped up the drinks, sliding $40 on the bar top and had a chuckle burp up. " Hell if I wasn't already seeing someone, Shelby I'd give you a pester."

"Scram kid, yer bothering me," Shelby exaggerated in a horrific impression of W.C. Fields.

It's not that the inflections were dead on, it's the trachia scar that makes Shelby sound like the Kurgan in Highlander. I've never had the balls to ask him how he got it because...well he would tell me and probably scar me for life in the process.

Moseying around the tables, eyes slightly tearing up from all the smoke pluming in the air, I spotted Charlie smoking a table filled with hipsters standing mouths wide open as he clears the table. I dont't think the little pukes even got to play. Begrudgely they toss their money down and put up their sticks. Charlie maybe getting older, the bursitis is kicking in but his reflexes on the green felt never looked better. I think he lost a bit of weight since last I saw him. "Come back again if you want a rematch," Charlie bellowed and the kids stomped off and out the door. I cocked my head at him shaking it in disbelief, "When are you going to give these kids a chance, Charlie?" Charlie swung his head around and with a broad grin replied, "Hey Jakey, I let them break first. Not my fault if they suck."

I just smiled in response. I mean you can't argue with his logic. The man is a pool hall legend and every young buck keeps trying to knock him down a peg or two. "How's Madge?" Charlie slumped to a stool. "She's got me on this macrobiotic diet or she's tossing me out on my ass. Don't get me wrong, the food's okay but she's harping about my drinking again." I smirked, "Well Charlie maybe she just wants to keep you around a little longer." Scoffing, Charlie swung his scotch back for a gulp. "I tell ya Jakey, it's gettting so a man can't have no vices no more. Toss me a smoke and let's hear it."

I opened the silver cigarette case Tom got for me and presented a smoke for Charlie, struck a match with my thumb and lit it. "So what's the worry, kid? You look nervous as Hell." So I laid it out for him plenty. The client's problem, the scumbag, the visit from Montoya and even the WitSec scuffle. Charlie seemed to be taking it all in stride. I swear the archangel Michael could roll up in here, flaming sword in hand, dispatching sinners and Charlie wouldn't blink. Tough old bird.

Charlie puffed a bit, mulling it around and I could see he knew the score once again. "Well kid, it's like this. Montoyas' goon squad has been looking for your boy Chet for over a month. He's kept well hidden where he hangs his hat but you know it is only a matter of time before they find him." I nodded thinking why the hell haven't they scoped out La Jolla. Then it dawns on me that is Caprici territory and reigning lieutenant, John Bishop would have them cut up into parcel sized packages and set back to the family with postage due.

"So Charlie, how much jack is involved finding this cat's whereabouts?" Charlie thought about it for a moment, "Well my boy, I could take Madge on that Carnival cruise she wants to go on free and clear. $50 gees last I checked." I choked on my scotch for a couple of minutes, coughed and righted myself. "Okay, then with that hanging over his head, why doesn't he take the deal and get out of town? I am scratching my head on that one." Charlie smirked a toothy grin, "Kid, you know them feds ain't gonna let him hold on to any of that con money or whatever swag he bought with it. The guy's had a taste of the lifestyle out here and he wants to get fat."

"Yeah but they need this little prick, his info and testimony so why the fuck is it taking so long to toss him in Arizona or Omaha with a new name and house? You'd think they would transfer some of his dough to an account or something."

Charlie just shook his head. "Nah kid. They make an exception like that and before you know it, the goobahs and the goodfellas that want out but still living large is going to be on Johnny Taxpayers' dime. Nothing doin'."

I looked at my watch for the time. Still three hours before my meet and greet with Gruber. I'd better scout out the location prior. I tossed the usual cabbage to Charlie plus a couple hundred extra. "You're a prince among men, Charlie. I got to jet." "Thanks Jakey. Hey Madge wants you over for supper. I think she's found you yet another girl to look at." "I'll call you if work gets less screwy this week. Bye Charlie."

Got back behind the Impala, starting piecing it together. Why would Baker roll on Montoyas if he thought the feds couldn't work with him? Why haven't they pressed him for the info? What is the end game? Why would Montoya, a guy who loathes me even offer to pay me to rat Baker out? Who the hell did Madge find this time to lump me with?

I drove down to the Broadway, locked up the ride and made my way through the food court area. I love how when clandestine meetings go down the guy that agrees too eagerly to the terms thinks you'll sit and kill time until the meeting happens. Like those are the rules or something. Three hours is long enough to put together a force to nab, apprehend or even bump me off if needed. Maybe I have just dealt with too many mobsters, pimps, drug kingpins but you tend to trust your instincts when it comes to dealing with men in power.

A cursory glance around the court shown more than 4 guys in sunglasses in tacky civvies monitoring the area with newspapers in hand, some walking about and window shopping but you can read between the lines. I ducked back towards the comic store on second level and spotted a "couple" walking a bit ridgid and their off the rack coats didn't conceal their bulges very well. Oh yeah Gruber wasn't taking any chances on this one at all. So what's the deal? He can't be serious in nabbing me up and keeping me on ice. He's not Hoover and his authority for this clearly less than legal maneuver must have him scared about something.

I putter around in the shop for a few minutes, browsing back issues I'd actually buy but on the job prevents such bliss. Instead I get a Hellboy ballcap and wear it out of the store, exiting down the walk ramp and head towards the parking lot. No need to go rushing to the Impala. Look cool and calm and no one questions your motives. My SEAL buddy, Ecarde taught me the fine art of hiding in plain sight. Fiddle with a phone, wear clothes appropriate the scenario and occasionally play "Lost Tourist" and no one thinks anything of it. Now if you are trained to spot details, movement and expressions on a perp's face, you know that no everyone can keep their cool. A $25 dollar hat and just causal walking allowed me to leave their sting operation. Hmm, now that I know that is in play, how do I handle it? Quiet, diginity and grace? Loud and obnoxious? Do I drop dime to the cops I think there is something shady going on near Fuddruckers?

Could also point out to Ray that the FBI is probably wondering why WITSEC is going to this length. I mean I don't know the ins and outs of their jurisdiction but plotting a snatch and grab cannot be legal in the least. I text Ray on my burner what's going on at Broadway and tell him I won't provoke them too terribly. I place a call to Gruber's office with my cell and his secretary tells me to she'll connect us in just a minute or so. Back at the office, I notice no lumbering shapes of terror looming about.

A couple of minutes tick by as I am subjected to muzak via Hungry like the Wolf. No justice in the world sometimes. Gruber finally picks up and sounds flustered. "Yes, Mr. Malone? Is there something we needed to discuss before the meeting?" "You sound a little out of breath, Special Agent Gruber. Everything alright?" I can envision wrinkles forming on his face. "You are well aware of the situation at hand and my need to resolve quickly so I may get back to work."

I grinned. "Yeah about that. I am stuck at the office filing at least a dozen reports right now. I just wanted to make sure you knew it may take me longer than I predicted. Perhaps we should shoot for another time?" Gruber cleared his throat and I heard the sound of kids shouting and playing in the background. Fun fact, did you know cheaper cellphones have an omni-directional microphone that picks up a lot of sound? Guessing his Cricket is doing just that as he regains his composure.

"I'm sorry, what?" he burbled. I felt a smile and I hoisted the sound of warm telemarketer voice. "It's just with you handling your case load, dealing with subordiants and whatever else your job entails, you can't be drug out of your office at a moment's whim. I am thinking you're right I should just come down to your office, I'm heading out the door now." Gruber sounding like he was choking on a big piece of steak came back with, "Well see here now...I'm, I'm right in the middle of something on my cases and can't be bothered...right now...that is."

With the same jovial tone, "Oh it's no worry, Special Agent Gruber. I can wait in the lobby untill you are ready to recieve me, unless today's just not good for you either."

You could almost hear the beads of sweat dribbling down his presumbly chubby face with all the hard b's he has been attempting to conceal. Tersely he came back with, "Mr. Malone! We have an agreement! We meet at 4 o'clock at the Broadway at of all places, the Fuddruckers." "Well I do enjoy a good burger and fries. I just rethought the whole situation and felt I was being entirely too harsh. To offer an olive branch if you will. I could even swing by Fuddruckers on my way to your office and snag you some dinner." I made sure he could hear my car door unlock.

"NO! That is...that won't be necessary, Mr. Malone. Just meet me down at the mall at 4 would be fine." Gruber blurted out. My God, how long as it been since he was on a sting?

"Okay well I guess I could just head there, maybe fine a book to read and wait for you there," I said starting up the car. "Sorry got to put you on hands free." "Mr. Malone...um...yes well." Gruber was afraid the gig was up and trying to rally a new course of action. I hadn't the heart to end this little show. More entertaining than anything on HULU right now.

"Say Agent Gruber, can you close the door to your office. I can't believe how busy it sounds there." I actually had to bite my tongue hearing him run to I am guessing the bathroom to continue his ruse.

Within a minute I hear a bit of panting. Our boy must be more out of shape than I thought. The moment I heard a gasp it echoed like a cathedral or a ceramic tiled bathroom with enough reverb to be worthy of an auditorium. "Alright, Mr. Malone I have had quite enough of this. We are going to meet at the designated place...at... the designated time. Am I understood?" I let it hang in the air for a moment trying to stifle a laugh. Tears rolling down my eyes, "Well Agent Gruber, I was just hoping for some plain old fashioned honesty and not a ruse." "Excuse me?!" Gruber barked back. I smirked. "A ruse. That bit of cunning to orchestrate a trap or ensnarement."

Gruber sounded as though he wanted to rip my nuts off and force me to wear them as earrings. "YES! I know what a ruse is! What is your point?"

Finally I couldn't hold it back. I started snickering in the phone. "What is so DAMN FUNNY?!!" Gruber added, his tone vibrating against the tiles again. "Sorry I am just envisioning you in a bathroom getting irate and your voice ringing isn't helping. So do you write all your reports on the can or just when your stomach acts up?"

Gruber went silent. "I'm. I'm not sure what you mean." Piping up before an even more pathetic lie crept into conversation, "Fun fact, Agent Gruber. Some cheaper model cellphones have an omni-directional microphone that picks up background noises something fierce. So unless your office is Spanish tiled, you sound as though you ducked into the head." Gruber sputtered a bit and I continued on. "See I went with an smartphone myself. Pocket sized computer, phone, great net surfing tool and I am warming to the apps."

Gruber finally had enough. "Who the hell do you think you are, Mr. Malone? You call me to mock me about an agent that may or may not have been in his right mind, you demand this audience at a Fuddruckers and now you are changing the time of the meeting? Just who the fuck do you think you are messing with??!! By God I will have your license pulled, your ass thrown in jail and maybe even your business closed. Yes I think with the right strings even the IRS will look at you funny!" Sounding shocked, "Why Special Agent Gruber, what are you saying?"

Frustrated and clearly out of patience, "I'm saying if I can't have you banned from the P.I. Business, maybe I will just have you shot for the sake of National security!" Just then, it dawned on him. I went quiet and let him sweat.

"Oh. Oh my God. My God you are recording this, aren't you?" Just rubbing my index finger and thumb on my right temple. "Hey, now. There's a plan. Kind of like a clearly less than legal snatch and grab at say...oh probably a mall next to a family restaurant? Which of course is by the book if I were a guy that ducked out of WITSEC. Of course I'm not so just looks as though your brute squad is standing around in this heat waiting to snag a private citizen."

Gruber back to making his motorboat sounds, "Now s-see here..." I interrupted, "Nope, this is how this is going down. This recording goes next to the previous one. Already stopped recording and submitting it to every national newspaper in the country. You want this black mark? You start explaining yourself damn quick, alone and now a new time and place. I catch even a whiff of your stooges and Agent Reynolds and you can both share some cell time together. Decide." I hung up letting it sink in.

Shockingly enough my cell blew up with Gruber's cell number. Meh, swipe left.

A quick dial to Bernie Libowitz, my attorney and I sent him both digital copies of my harassment.

"Jakey my boy, you trying to put me in the grave? Why can't you be a mench and find a lost dog or long lost relative for a will? My uclers hate you."

"Well Bernie, if detective work was easy, everyone would be doing it. Hold on to that. You don't hear from me in two days, you sling that damning recordings all over. Leak it to papers, the news, the net. Hell chuck it at Twitter for all I care."

"Alright kid. You've got yourself one fine mess but I will see what I can do. Watch yourself."

"Thanks Bernie. You're a good man. See ya."

Hanging up with Bernie I am still unclear what to do about Montoya. I check out the window to see any obvious black SUVs again and thus far nothing. That could just mean they're up the block. I lock my office but left the front open as per usual. Passing the dentist office I can see Doc Mitchell passing out some sugar free candy to a 5 year old as he gabbed with the boy's mother.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted me so I flipped him off just to see him get beet red.

Yup the little things in life really give you joy.

Down the block I walk nice and slow to see if I have any activity coming my way and shoot a message to my favorite skirt chaser Ex-SEAL and give him the lowdown. From my burner, duh. I don't know if Gruber can arrange a tap on my phones, home, office and cell but I am not taking any chances. We settled for a quick trip to Mr. D's. Being only just shy of 3, the joint should be fairly calm but enough background noise to drown out YET another conversation I rather not heard.

Paul looked good. I swear the man should be swinging a beer and a shot belly by now but he runs every day, hits the weights and I think he's even in a spin class. Gotta be for the spandex clad girls to oggle. Looks like he recently dyed his hair back to the brunette of his youth and sporting yet another blinding martini poly-silk blended shirt and khakis. There ought to be a law against that much rayon.

I slide a scotch neat as he bellied up to the bar, we clinked glasses and took back a pull. I'm not a heavy drinker by nature but this job could drive you to chugging paint thinner some days. Paul was all smiles but it didn't quite reach his eyes when he saw my hound dog face. "Alright kid, one of these days we just go to a ball game or cruise for chicks. Deal?" "Hell Paul, I think that sounds a ton better than what's on my plate." We sipped our scotches and I gave him the full skinny. Paul's good people and I am not about to bullshit him. He's earned my trust tenfold.

Paul scratched his stubble beard giving this all some thought. "So your client, is she stacked?" I nearly choked on my drink. "Christ Ecarde, is that all you took away from this? " I wheezed out. Paul shot me a grin not unlike that of every used car salesman that has screwed me over and replied, "Well sure, kid. You in a pickle, suits are getting in your business and you managed to piss off the mob again. Now back to her funbags." With a face palm later I reluctantly agreed, my client was a looker but I try my damnedest to never mix business and pleasure.

"Okay, I know a guy that owes me since Desert Storm. Pulled his ass out the frying pan. Lemme make a couple of calls and see what's what. Be right back." I waved and ordered another round. Looking around at the afternoon crowd was mostly college kids playing some pool, a few near-do-wells talking in booths and at the bar mirror I spotted it. A black GM SUV, tinted windows and they were down for peeping. Thankfully at this hour, the sun's glare off the glass makes that two-way window difficult to make out anything. Why Mr. D's needs that for the customers? Hell I don't know. I barely get by with search engines most days.

A stunning black girl at the end of the bar seemed to be engrossed in a Anne Rice novel with a martini that looked barely touched. Either that or she passed on the ice. Tall, lean muscle and leggy I can't begin to believe no one has talked to her. Before I can muster looking less dishoveled, Paul made his way back, slipped his cell in his pocket and downed what was left his drink in a gulp.

Signaling the redhead behind the bar for another, he clasped my shoulder. "Well buddy I've got good news, bad news and what you come to expect. What do you want first?"

"Oh God, this is going to hurt." I thought. Fuck it. "Alright, bad news me, Paul." "Bad news is Baker's case looks like it's getting tossed. Without the crucial evidence that he is holding, the boys upstairs aren't interested in helping his scum bag ass out so this will be all over in less than a week." I frowned. "Wait, that's the bad news?" Paul sipped some more scotch. "Well buddy the good news is, it looks like Montoya didn't put a contract out on you after all so yeah happy times."

I blinked in disbelief. "Paul, what does your "friend" do?" He smirked with a cherise grin, "Oh a little of this, little of that. Not entirely...legal persay but.." "Yeah I get it." I interrupted. "Okay so what is the news you come to expect then?" Back to scratching that Don Johnson stubble, Paul looked cagey. "Well, skuttlebutt saying in-house shakedown. Not sure but seems like someone at WITSEC is dolling info out to the Montoyas because it is too ripe. If I had to guess I'd say someone is getting fat from the Montoyas giving up people."

My stomach just sank. It's so crazy but it makes damn good sense. Gruber is losing witnesses to what? Contract killers? 10-to-1 their common link is the Montoyas doing dirty deeds, seeing it in action and afraid for their lives. Gruber is piss scared his investigations, witnesses and probably career are all on the line. I glanced at my cell. 25 messages all Gruber. I guess I better rethink this strategy with him. Damn. He might be an overbearing asshole but he might also be one of the good guys.

"You okay, kid?" Paul asked around a glass. I rubbed my forehead. "Yeah it really does put things in perspective. Okay, assuming Gruber isn't the guy on the take and going on a further limb, assuming he is trying to find his mole, what the hell can I do? I'm not qualified for this. Shit, I am hard pressed to think of a guy that could fix this."

Gulping scotch down I placed the glass down for a refill. Paul's never one to sugar coat things of dire importance but God I wished he did this time. I looked up to realize he left to pester that gorgeous girl at the corner. Dammit not again. The man is a poacher. Not like I called dibs or something like that but just once he could keep his libido in check. I start watching him go into his speil and she placed her bookmark away, saving her page. It just hit me. She's not under his spell.

I think she is just letting him ramble and schmooze as he knows how to what? Pass the time? Idle entertainment? She reaches in her purse, pulling out a ten placing it on the counter then turns to face the master. I can't read lips but I think she is... Heh. She is graciously turning him down. Wow.

She walks with the fluidity of someone who enjoys a good stroll. Dressed in a light sweater and jeans with deep brown eyes. No, they're hazel, a smile that could melt butter and a carefree attitude, she walks over...to me? Huh?

This tall drink of water looks down where I am sitting and casually leans a hand out. "Janine." I took her hand gently. "Huh?" "My name. You've got one?" "Uh yeah, Jake." "Hi Jake." "Hi Janine. What can I do for you?" "Oh you can ask your friend to be a little less forward." I glanced at Paul giving me slumped shoulders and the what the hell expression and stared back at this goddess among men. "Yeah he's. He can be a bit full of himself but harmless. Mostly harmless."

This got another dazzling smile out of her. I noticed a slight tinge of red to her hair. I couldn't say it was bottled or a weave. I'm really a doof when it comes to treatments.

"Well his friend seems nice enough, Jake. I am going to need that hand back through." (internal scream) AHHHHHH!!!!!!! I smile and relaxed my grip. "Sorry. Been a bit of a day, well a few days now."

She snatches up a cocktail napkin, producing a metal ballpoint pen and hands me the napkin with a few words, "I am giving you this and you decide what you'll do with it. Nice meeting you, Jake." And before I can reply she pivots her curvy hips with a saunter that was easy on the eyes. A minute later I looked down at the napkin. Yup, that is definitely a phone number. I'm a detective. I notice details.