Summary: Just a little something
Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.
Calmly, Suhara stepped forward, placing brown wrapped parcel on the cheap desk. "Happy Birthday." He said dryly.
"I don't have a birthday." Carmen deadpanned, not looking up.
The teacher coughed.
Sighing, the detective looked up. "What?" She asked, somewhat kindly.
"Amy's cat." He declared adamantly, "Has a birthday."
"I don't."
"Too bad. Take the package."
"You got me sardines and a catnip mouse?" Carmen teased, reaching over and hefting the offering in her hands.
"If you think that," Suhara responded easily. "You're losing your touch."
"Book." Carmen countered, more seriously. "Several hundred pages, probably an anthology." She smiled contentedly. "Nice binding."
"Which author?"
"Conan Doyle."
"Make an effort."
Carmen squinted. "Jules Verne." She declared. "You think I need a sense of adventure."
Suhara chuckled.
"And that is hilarious." Carmen added, "Coming from a man who would never leave his apartment if not for me."
"Ah…" Suhara said. "But I see the voyage. You see work."
"I'm not going to get a sense of wanderlust," Carmen announced, "From a book."
"That is a shame." Suhara countered, "I think it would help you."
Carmen looked down. "Like a birthday?"
"Like a birthday." He smiled.
She shook her head. "Where did you even get the date? I don't even know when they think I was born."
"Did you want to?"
"You might have asked me that before you began this conversation."
"Chief did something with the government records. He found their best guess, legally speaking."
Carmen stood up sharply. "Chief's in on this?" She asked.
Suhara nodded.
"So chaos will descend in about…"
"Ten minutes."
More than a decade later
"Boss?" Sara demanded shrilly. "Boss!"
Carmen looked up. "What is it, Sara?" She demanded.
"Don't touch that."
Carmen raised her eyebrows.
"We haven't checked it out. It could be a bomb or a bioweapon!"
Staring down at the brown paper package, Carmen declared disdainfully. "Don't be ridiculous."
"But it could be…"
"It's a book." The master thief snapped. "Moby Dick." She took off the paper. "There. See? It is nothing unusual. I expected it!"
Sara frowned suspiciously. "This is about the detectives."
"No." Carmen responded immediately. Then, she frowned. "Not…" she ground her teeth.
"Then who is it?" Sara demanded, recognizing the usual pre-heist agitation in her employer, but for once not ready to give in.
No answer.
"Carmen, talk to me."
"Sara, we have a heist." Carmen said, shoving the book in a drawer and bringing out a complicated scheme, with clues to a scavenger hunt scattered about it. "In fact we have several. And right now, I need your expertise."
"You never deal with things!" The scientist exclaimed, her face flushing and her hands tightly drawn into fists.
Carmen stepped forward, seemingly calm, but breathtakingly hostile. In a few weeks, when she was lying in a holding cell, still wearing half a pair of red shoes, the scientist would remember this moment as the last straw. She would wonder if Carmen had learned something, anything, from her accusation and its results. For now, however, she simply backed down, seething but cowed.
"You," Carmen declared coldly. "Have no idea."