Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
"Harry, this is not Night at the Museum. He cannot have walked out of here." Winston was obviously fighting to keep his composure.
"But the footprints!"
"Why don't you start at the beginning? Tell us what happened, step by step", Chance said, very calmly, very friendly. Had Ames been present, she would have called it his "Harry-Tone". He usually didn't speak like that.
"I was hired by the acting director of this museum to make sure all exhibits of the new wing were well-protected till the grand opening on Monday." In finishing his sentence, Harry made a sound like a whistling teapot with asthma. Even Ilsa with her British boarding school countenance made a face.
"Harry, what are you doing?", Winston asked, overly slowly and very pronouncedly, like he always spoke when his patience was stretched to the limit.
"Pranayama - the art of yoga breathing control – learned it at the farm last time Nelly and I were visiting."
"One more time, dude, and I'll control your breathing. Permanently."
The look on Chance's face told Harry to take Guerrero's threat seriously and continue, fast.
"They had workers setting up the exhibition till this morning under the regular guards' watch, no need for me to be present", Harry quickly explained. "I came in around ten am, when the cleaning crew was just leaving. It was looking like a true piece of cake job, Chance. All I had to do was watch the exhibits for twenty-four hours. I thought nothing could go wrong!"
"When, Harry, will you finally learn that "nothing can go wrong" and "you" are mutually exclusive factors?" Winston was still exasperated. This was such a typical Harry case!
He decided not to dwell on the fact that with Chance, things usually didn't go completely according to plan either – "there's a camera on the roof…" – "EXCUSE ME?"
Ilsa, however, shot Winston an angry look and reached out to squeeze Harry's hand. "I am absolutely confident that we are going to figure this out, Harry." The poor man looked terribly crestfallen.
"What happened after you arrived?", Chance asked, still in his very special tone of voice.
"After I did my first round I sat down to watch the monitors. I really can't explain it, this is totally against my attitude to work, I'm a total pro, you know that, but… I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up…" Harry made a helpless gesture towards the patch of lawn outside the window where Ames had just finished covering up a couple of spots with the help of a rake. She looked up, saw Harry gesturing at her and came back in.
"I still can't believe it's gone…" Harry turned away from the window and looked at the deserted spot where the museum's newly acquired tyrannosaurus rex skeleton had been on display. His shoulders sagged. Now even Winston felt sorry for him.
"The prints are about three yards apart", Ames said, coming in. "Deeper in the claw region, as if the balls of the feet were used for pushing off at a brisk gait…"
"So it really walked out?" Harry's voice made that wheezing sound again.
"Dude", Guerrero chimed in, seemingly not the slightest influenced by Harry's low spirits. "Someone is messing with you. Slipped you something. Left the fake dino prints to add insult to injury."
"Imagine what the press would make out of this – "Private detective has tyrannosaurus rex skeleton stolen from underneath his nose. Footprints on the lawn point seawards." Chance frowned, deep in thought.
Harry, on the other hand, gasped in terror: "That would totally ruin my reputation!"
"…and help to divert attention from the theft itself", Guerrero added and began rummaging in his backpack. The fact that he didn't point out that there wasn't much to ruin regarding Harry's reputation was the only hint that he was not completely indifferent to Harry's fate. He was a friend of Chance's after all…
"We need to figure out what they slipped you, dude. Most chemical substances are retraceable… you just need to know your way around…" Guerrero produced the small black leather case he had been looking for and opened its zipper. With a barely stifled shriek Harry recognized its content.
"Look, what I'm going to tell you now might shock you, considering my track record – but I'm not constantly the tough SOB everyone thinks me to be…I really don't like needles!" His eyes were bulging with fear and his voice had climbed at least an octave higher.
"A blood sample is the best way to find out what they used, dude. And we need to do it fast, your body keeps processing it while we speak." Guerrero spoke neither overly slow and accentuated, like Chance, nor with extremely strained patience, like Winston. He also refrained from using the hiss he normally underlaid his voice with. All he was doing was laying out the facts. Still Winston couldn't really blame Harry for squirming in his chair – Guerrero and a set of needles were a scary sight.
"I want Ilsa to do it!"
Jeez.
Trust Harry to make the most idiot decision possible in any given situation.
Everybody cringed, even Ilsa herself, who hated nothing more than using a needle on someone. Guerrero had tried to teach her giving injections and stitching skin. He had used the classic method with fruit skin replacing human skin. Half a dozen mauled oranges later, he had gently taken the needle from her hand, carefully placed it out of her reach and then told her in no uncertain terms that unless she was the only other person in a ten mile radius, she was NEVER EVER to use a needle on him.
Chance wondered if they should simply end all discussion by throwing Harry to the ground and restraining him. The clock was ticking against them here and they were wasting precious time.
Ilsa, however, was already one step ahead of him. She gently reached out and took Harry's hand again. "I promise he won't hurt you." Her voice was soft and comforting, but with enough authority to make clear she'd be able to keep that promise. Ames couldn't help but think that Ilsa would have been a good mother.
Harry lowered his head in defeat and nodded. "But do it quickly, will you?"
Wordlessly Guerrero put on rubber gloves, rolled up Harry's sleeve and placed a tourniquet above his elbow. He chose a vein and rubbed the area with alcohol. All that time Ilsa was holding his hand.
"Ah, gosh, I must have pulled a muscle using that rake!", Ames exclaimed just then. "Could you check if there's any sore spot?", she asked Chance, lifting her shirt so that her except for the bra bare back became visible – in full view of Harry's.
Guerrero inserted the needle into the vein.
Not the faintest sound of pain.
As he suavely withdraw the needle without Harry even noticing, Ilsa felt the urge to kiss him.