Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Timothy Thornthrope told himself that there was no reason at all to be concerned. Really, he was being paranoid, that was all. There was a lot on the line, most importantly his personal health. Those people he unfortunately owed money to had a habit of venting their displeasure with a rather hands-on approach. Can you say "broken ribs"? So, perfectly understandable psychological reaction to be a little nervous.
It was a bit strange that this private eye he had hired to keep the exhibition safe hadn't called and reported the theft of the skeleton yet. Well, he had given him a rather generous amount of that sleep-inducing drug he had gotten from the apothecary people, just to be on the safe side. Maybe he was still snoring away happily. Would be great, in that case he could make photos of that sleeping idiot, the insurance company would pay the museum quickly and then sue the private detective's ass into bankruptcy while he, Thornthrope, would finally be able to pay off his debtors with the money from the Chinese apothecary.
It was a perfect plan and from everything he had heard about that PE, there was nothing that could go wrong in its execution. That man was so incredibly naïve, so totally incompetent at realizing what was going on, so completely convinced of his supreme investigatory skills… Timothy had dug around a bit, word on the street was if you want a fall guy, hire Harry.
Aside from that the apothecary people had already sent him a message a couple of hours ago, they had disassembled and retrieved the t-rex without problems, the PI sound asleep in the next room. Transporting the boxes with the bones to their office building on Grant Avenue had gone down uneventfully, too. Okay, the fact that he couldn't reach them now to set up a meeting point for the money delivery was a tiny bit unsettling, but there could be a million reasons for this.
Preparing himself to react totally shocked at the sight of the t-rex' empty pedestal, Thornthrope parked his Corvette in his personal parking bay, got out, crossed the short distance to the museum's side entrance – and was stopped by a beautiful woman with a very distinctive British accent.
"Mr. Thornthrope! Exactly the man I wanted to talk to! I've been trying to get hold of you all day long, what a pleasure finally finding you!"
When a world-famous billionaire and philanthropist such as Ilsa Pucci comes running to shake your hand you don't question why in the world her number didn't show up on your cell phone or how odd it is that she decided to seek you out at your workplace on a Sunday afternoon. You simply take her hand and start talking nice-nice so that she eventually will whip out her check book and finance your next exhibition, or, maybe, if you're really lucky…
"I was thinking about offering you a job, Mr. Thornthrope", Ilsa said, all smiles and enthusiasm. "My late husband and I spent years accumulating a beautiful collection of prehistoric items that I'd now love to share with the public, in Marshall's honor. I need a more than capable curator for this task and according to my sources, Mr. Thornthrope, you're the best."
From an objective point of view, so much praise from someone you've never met before, under such strange circumstances… very suspicious. But praise has this inherent effect to kind of numb people's common sense. People want to believe that they really are as great as they are told. So no, Ilsa's words didn't make any red flags go up with Mr. Thornthrope.
"I think we should discuss the details at dinner. You couldn't possibly make room on your surely tightly filled schedule for me right now? Unfortunately I'll be leaving for England tomorrow morning and…"
Of course Timothy could make room for Mrs. Ilsa Pucci.
… … …
Inside the museum things were going a little less smoothly.
"Harry, I'm absolutely sure this was not the first time something mechanical exploded on you. Remember the time you blew up Winston's electric pencil sharpener?", Ames said soothingly, wiping traces of coffee from Harry's clothes. "Or when you got caught up in the office's electric window blinds and Chance had to cut you out? The museum's coffee machine was probably already very old."
"It was not the curse, dude!", Guerrero shouted from the other side of the room, his voice making it very clear that he was not willing to put up with this nonsense much longer.
The apothecary people apparently disagreed with him. Against the promise that Harry would stay away from them they worked very fast and very effectively on the reconstruction of the t-rex. Winston, with his eye for details, kept walking round and round the skeleton, comparing its current state with the insurance company's drawings that documented its original state. Guerrero, with his talent for creative mischief, was assigned with the correct execution of the second part of the plan. Chance, having already done his part by leading the ambush against the apothecary, had stretched out on the wooly mammoth's fur again.
"I'll never be able to do my job again!" Harry threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of total desperation. "You know, I'm the most rational guy in the world, not a whiff of superstition on me – the fact that I'm wearing not matching socks has practical reasons, that rabbit's foot on my key chain was a gift from a friend and it has been statistically proven that walking under a ladder enhances your risk of getting hit by something falling off it. So, you see, really, not superstitious at all. But these Chinese curses, they are different…"
Crestfallen, Harry sat down on a pedestal that carried a life-size Velociraptor model. He sat down rather heavily, the model lost balance, pitched forward and its plastic teeth cut deep into Harry's shirt.
"NOT THE CURSE, HARRY!", Winston and Guerrero shouted unison.
"We've got to help him somehow", Ames, sitting down by Chance's side, murmured. "He's totally over-interpreting his usual clumsiness."
"You do watch Dr. Phil a lot", Chance remarked, grinning.
She swatted his shoulder. "You've got a better idea?"
"Sure – the oldest solution in the world", he grinned.
"And that would be?"
"We tell his wife."