"Hardwick," Archer responded. "But yes, sometimes, boredom has to happen. I prefer to think of it as patience."
"You make a good point," Boner said. "There is a fine line between boredom and patience. Especially in our line of work. And by work I mean..." He trailed off and glanced around.
"We know what you mean," I said quickly. "I'm sure you're never bored at the gallery."
"I’m usually too busy to be bored," he agreed. "Like you at the restaurant. There's always something going on. Something that needs doing. Something that needs to be cleaned up off the floor. Did I tell you about the time someone dropped a squid on the floor?"
"A squid?" I asked. Maybe I shouldn't take the bait, but he had me curious. I mean, what was a squid doing in a gallery?
"An actual squid," Boner said. "It wasn't alive. The guy thought it could be a new type of art installation. You know, place it on the floor. Position its tentacles and voila, art."
"You didn't agree?" I asked.
"Oh no, I agreed," Boner said. "It looked amazing, but it smelt like shit. Had to ask the guy to remove it. It took some cleaning to get the smell to go away."
"What happened to the artist?" I asked.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I never heard from him again. I think he decided on another angle, something less pungent."
"Sounds like it would have worked better at my restaurant on a plate, not on the floor in the gallery," I said.
He snapped his fingers, "You're right. If I knew you then, I would have sent him to you instead. That squid would have made a nice lunch."
"You lead an interesting life," I told him. "I bet you get all sorts of strange people at the gallery."
"Some days I'm not the strangest one there," he agreed. "I bet Archer has all sorts of stories like that. Peculiar people in a theater or movie studio?"
"A few," Archer agreed. "Usually it's people telling me I should turn their life story into a screenplay."
"Have you ever done that?" I asked, trying to keep an eye on the direction we were walking while glancing over my shoulder.
"No," he said with a half-shrug. "I tell them they should write it themselves."
"Do they?" Boner asked.
"Not that I know of," Archer said. "It's possible they try, but discover, writing is harder than they think."
"Is that true, Cass?" Boner asked, another grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "How difficult is it to write fire hydrant smut?"
"Very difficult," Cass agreed. "More than I expected."
"Approximately three percent of the population ever write and complete a manuscript," Archer said. "The percentage of people who want to do it is much higher. Well done for finishing yours."
"Thank you," Cass said, looking surprised. I got the impression he'd never given it much thought beyond actually writing the story. Archer was right, though. Getting it down on paper, or on screen, was a big achievement.
"When do we get to read it then?" Boner asked. "Don't think I'm going to forget."
"I don't know," Cass said. "It’s not very good." He was visibly relieved when we arrived at the restaurant.
I unlocked the door and we hurried inside, out of the rain, the topic of fire hydrant smut forgotten for now.
CHAPTER 15
HARLOW
You know the exact moment you think everything has been too quiet and then things blow up in your face?
I saw no sign of Detective Getzoff for four days. I almost started to forget he existed when he walked into my restaurant, almost at the end of the dinner service.
