Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Meierle was still staring at the men, in a rather smug "I'm looking forward to hearing your version of the story"-way.
Winston, who had spent half his cop years at loggerheads with people who wore exactly that expression, harrumphed.
"As Mrs. Pucci pointed out…", he began.
"Didn't steal the necklace, dude."
Winston rolled his eyes heavenwards and turned towards Guerrero. "You want to explain this? Fine, go ahead, explain!"
"No need to waste time with explanations – we didn't steal anything. Period."
"You really think being stubborn will solve this problem?", Winston exploded.
The expression on Guerrero's face indicated to everyone who knew him that he was already thinking of solving the Meierle problem with a more hands-on approach than mere talking.
A dive in the Bay, for example.
Or a visit to the lumber mill.
Choices, choices…
"As Mrs. Pucci already pointed out…", Winston began again.
"We were seen upstairs 'cause the musician from the band went upstairs. Needed to follow him. None of your business why."
"Are you trying to get on my nerves on purpose?", Winston snarled at Guerrero.
"Just trying to save us all some time and energy, dude."
The smug look on Detective Meierle's face had disappeared in the meantime. He was way too busy trying to make sense of the conversation between the two men, trying to figure out of what nature their relationship was. He had initially thought they were friends, but judging from their hostile back and forth…
At first Ilsa wanted to interfere, call both men to order – she was the boss here after all, wasn't she? – but a warning glance from Ames stopped her. It took Ilsa a moment, but then it dawned on her. An insurance detective puzzled by two men seeming to be good friends and mortal enemies at the same time was an insurance detective not contemplating too deeply the nature of her "security" business and not concentrating on nailing her for thievery.
"Long story short, the musician was fast and we were, for obvious reasons, not…" With a meaningful look in Winston's direction, Guerrero reached for the fruit basket Ilsa kept in the conference room and started munching on an apple.
"A stab at my weight now?" Winston seemed to be short of stomping out of the room. "What comes next, a baldie joke?"
"Interpreting every sentence as an insult to your physical appearance speaks of self-image issues, Winston. Ever considered counseling?" Guerrero finished off the apple and proceeded to a banana.
"The musician unexpectedly turned around and headed downstairs again, so we had to adjust our strategy. The most logical option called for us taking cover in an unoccupied hotel room", Winston continued his report, his expression threatening Guerrero with a violent death, should he interrupt again.
Guerrero grinned.
"So you admit breaking into a hotel room?", Meierle suddenly asked, and the way he asked, razor-sharp and to the point, made it very clear that they had only contemporarily managed to distract him. Ilsa clenched her teeth. This mole on legs was starting to get on her nerves… this issue, so shortly after the blown up perfumery disaster… she could already hear Connie disapproving her behavior via late night conference call…
Speaking of distraction… Maybe they could appeal to his more primal instincts? Ilsa wondered if it would somehow help if Ames took her shirt off.
"It's not B&E if the room is not locked", Winston snapped back. "And with our client's well being on the line…" He agreed with Ilsa, it was not good to let Meierle know the whole fuss had been about a violin. Somehow the Austrian detective didn't look the understanding type.
"Shortly after we had retreated to that room, however, a room maid came in", Winston continued. "We wanted to spare her the shock of meeting unexpected guests in what was supposed to be an empty room and thus…" Winston desperately struggled for an expression that would make what was going to come less ridiculous "…we hid outside on the window sill."
Ames, still typing on the laptop, arched an eyebrow at this part of Winston's explanation. She paused for a moment, cupped her hand in her chin and frowned. Then she suddenly came to life again and started typing faster than before.
"As Mrs. Pucci already pointed out, the hotel's staff is highly trained and very experienced." Winston hoped Meierle wouldn't inquire further.
"Meaning?"
Of course Meierle had caught his growing uneasiness.
"The maid closed the window."
Meierle started laughing. "So you were stuck on a small windowsill several floors above ground and couldn't get back in because the Kaiserhof's windows are equipped with security glass? How come we didn't collect you there?"
Both Winston and Guerrero fell quiet.
Totally, completely quiet, as in "I want a lawyer" quiet.
Meierle looked at them for a moment, studied them with gleaming mouse eyes, let them wander between the men, then shifted to Ilsa and finally rested them on…
"She got you out!", he roared. "That little cat burglar you keep in your employ, Mrs. Pucci. She saved these manly man's men's asses!"
"In a group effort, we all made it to the back of the hotel, right at the waterfront, where the musician had fled after the explosion. There we…" Ames struggled a little with the appropriate word choice, too "…took care of the issue with our client."
Actually Winston and Guerrero had beaten the crap out of the man till they got the violin back and he was too thoroughly scared to ever even think of taking the violin again.
"You see? No time for stealing the countess' necklace", Ames quickly continued before Meierle could inquire further how they had "taken care" of the issue. "But I think I know who did…"
At this very moment, Chance came back into the room. The severe way his jaw was set indicated that he had just made a difficult decision. The others were a bit puzzled, but Guerrero knew immediately what was on Chance's mind. Ever since his son had been born he had been faced with the same conflict again and again. What to put first? Family or job?
This wasn't a simple question of either…or – as hard as Guerrero tried to keep both parts of his life separated, there were, as the Marshall Pucci-CIA debacle had proven, inevitable connections, interrelations, and with Chance constantly worrying about Ash's future development, this problem was even more acute.
Chance knew that Guerrero understood and shot his friend a grateful look before he sat down and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand again.