Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: Big thanks to pocketsevens for providing an important detail… and, as always, to my faithful beta reader and dear friend, niagaraweasel.
The grand opening of the new museum's wing was an important social event, although it was scheduled for a Monday morning. The museum's board of directors would have preferred to move the festivities to a date more suitable for the regular attendees – Monday morning was usually reserved for dates with hairdressers, manicurists and pedicurists, not dinosaurs – but the main sponsor had a tight schedule, all those charity events she had to grace with her presence… so it had had to be eleven o'clock on the first workday of the week for Mr. Jurassic Park.
The international expert audience that had been invited, too, didn't care at all about the unorthodox timing of the opening. They were way too excited to finally see the heart of the exhibition, the almost completely preserved t-rex skeleton that museums all over the world had tried to obtain. The origins of the skeleton were quite mysterious – ten years ago the bones had been discovered in a forgotten chamber of the remains of the Fuehrer's bunker in Berlin, meticulously packed for carriage overseas. Nobody knew where Hitler or one of his minions, Goering, most likely, had gotten the skeleton, but everybody was eager to see the "Nazisaur".
"This skeleton is an awe-inspiring reminder of the fact that there was a world before mankind", Timothy Thornthrope told the audience, doing a very good job of pretending that he was not completely shell-shocked. The skeleton, the goddamn t-rex skeleton, was standing exactly where he had last seen it, on a pedestal in the middle of the new wing. For heaven's sake, this was impossible!
According to that idiot detective there had been no problems at all on Sunday, a quiet day, nothing out of the ordinary. But the apothecary people had told him they had retrieved the skeleton from the museum and disassembled it! What the hell was going on? He hadn't been able to reach anyone at the apothecary ever since yesterday morning and now this! The skeleton! At the moment it was concealed with a huge white blanket, but he had checked, this was no trick by the detective, the t-rex really was underneath – in one piece.
"It belongs to the public and should be made available to as many people as possible, to serve as a reminder that we are only guests on this earth, visitors who should better behave well – or we'll be forced to leave one day, just like the dinosaurs", Timothy continued his speech. He had always been good with words and he could tell that the audience was with him; unfortunately his creditors weren't of the sympathetic ear sort.
"Forces of evil far too long kept this beautifully preserved witness of pre-human history from its rightful place in the middle of our society. From now on forever, this shall never happen again." Timothy punched the button that would trigger the automatic lifting of the white blanket. "Welcome to San Francisco!", he shouted out emphatically as the bones slowly came into view. The audience applauded.
The first few minutes afterwards everything seemed perfectly normal. The various sponsors wanted an up close and personal shot with "their" t-rex and the press in attendance was only too happy to oblige. Some of the female philanthropists clearly showed signs of recent visits to the beauty surgeon and what better background to a tediously restored lady of society with puffed up collagen lips, unnaturally pointed cheeks and a rather frozen Botox smile than a dinosaur?
Then it was the experts' turn to take a look.
From the corner of his eyes, while talking to the most important of their sponsors, the generous lady thanks to whom they had had to move the whole function to Monday morning, Timothy saw one of the professors point at the dinosaur's left foot. Another professor looked at the spot in question, frowned, bent over to get a better look, waved to a third colleague to join in… uh-oh, sudden clumping of dinosaur experts…
"Is there a problem?", Thornthrope asked, walking over to the growing group.
"Well, son, there actually is", a professor from Cambridge addressed him with a fatherly smile. "It seems you somehow mixed up the metatarsophalangeal joint of the middle toe with the tarsometatarsal joint of the smallest toe."
"And that's not all!", another expert chimed in. "Look at the tail! The caudal vertebrae are in the wrong order! Number six and number twenty-three should clearly switch places – the size alone makes it clear, not to mention the shape! How in the world could such a mistake happen under your watch?"
Very good question. And it became even harder to answer when a prehistoric dentistry expert discovered a couple more mistakes regarding the creature's teeth.
Oh good Lord, not only had the reemergence of the skeleton positioned him in a very tight spot with his creditors, it now also turned out to be his professional downfall in the world of prehistoric experts – the press was here, the journalists were eagerly scribbling down all flaws in the skeleton… no museum anywhere would ever hire him again!
Timothy seriously wondered if maybe he should save his creditors the trouble and take a dive into the Bay on his own.
"The Marshall Pucci Foundation is currently launching a history project in Outer Mongolia", just then a by now familiar voice whispered into his ear. "The evolution of the Mongolian marmot eagerly awaits exploration… we could use a good curator, willing to work for board and lodgings", Ilsa smiled at him.
At least Thornthrope knew when to give up. He accepted Ilsa's generous offer to arrange the necessary papers and pay for the flight.
They could have called the case a success at that point… but there was still Harry and the curse…
… … …
Nelly, Harry's wife, had had no trouble at all to come up with a solution for her husband's situation. There's no place like home and Nelly's home was a farm full of people who knew a lot more about things in heaven and earth than were generally dreamt of in anyone's philosophy. She told the people who were more family to her than blood ties could have ever provided about Harry's little problem and they, predictably, were only too happy to help him out.
"Shouldn't negative energy negate negative karma?", Moira asked, studying Harry through a giant magnifying class.
"Theoretically yes", Clarence nodded. "But in severe cases…" He tapped against Harry with a chicken bone.
Harry gulped at the word "severe".
"Nothing a well adjusted magnetic field can't cure!", the scientist called from the back of the room, already setting up his equipment.
"Luckily the constellations of Mars, Jupiter and Pluto are just right tonight." Chantrelle, painting large circles on the floor with sycamore syrup collected in a moonless night while a screech owl had been crying, interrupted her constant chanting of ancient Egyptian anti-curse incantations for a moment to glance out of the window.
"A good reading of some classic political literature – Marx, for example, or Lenin's early works, would free his head from all that curse nonsense", Nicole, the anarchist, grumbled from her seat.
"I really don't understand why we all have to wear clothes", Garcia remarked for about the tenth time. "If we all were a little more equal the curse wouldn't know which person to befall."
"Do you really think this'll work?", Harry asked his wife as Chantrelle powdered his hair with pulverized minerals.
"I grew up here, darling. Trust me, these people know what they're doing." Nelly put on a reassuring smile and helped Moira lighting candles.
After a thorough discussion of several hours they of course hadn't been able to come up with a solution that satisfied everyone, so they did what they always did when they couldn't reach an agreement: They decided to try all anti-curse strategies at once and with a little luck their combined energy would free Harry.
Guerrero brought popcorn and took a seat very close to the emergency exit of the farm's common room. The others followed his example.
Good idea.
The scientist's magnetic field blew the farm's main fuse.
One of Moira's candles set a piece of the floor on fire, but Chance extinguished it on time.
When Harry danced along the lines of the circles Chantrelle had drawn he lost balance and stepped into one of Clarence's chicken bones. One of its splinters cut Harry so badly, they had to take him to hospital… where they discovered while routinely checking his blood levels that he was very close to a hazardous magnesium and zinc undersupply, which would have resulted in severe damage to his intestines, hadn't they discovered it in the last minute.
"See", Nelly told her husband, "the curse is lifted. If not for the accident with the chicken bones, you'd be in intensive care right now." She squeezed his hand and watched him drifting off to sleep, smile on his lips.
Now they could call the case a success.
… … …
When they finally got back to the warehouse, someone had left a message for Guerrero.
"News about the dragons, bro", he said, riffling through the contents of the thick brown envelope his contact had delivered. "Police found out the dragon paintings were left by different persons. Footage from surveillance cams indicates different heights, on some occasions CSI was able to retrieve DNA samples, they don't match…"
"Anyone we know?" Chance held up leaflets from various pizza delivery services, gesturing for the team to decide on one.
"Yes, dude, one could say so."