The Sour Aftertaste of Continuity.
“Did you get it?”
That’s polite. Weren’t you worried about me at all?
“I just wanna get back to my desk. These things are a lot harder to do when I don’t get to narrate.”
It’s right here.
“Good. You didn’t have any trouble getting into the building, did you?”
Please. I am a professional, not an amateur.
“And I’m a critic, not a diva, so what did you do?”
Just an old trick.
There’s really nothing to it. Have two stoolies make a ‘mistaken’ delivery of something large enough for you to hide in-I usually use a wardrobe or somethin-to a house where everyone’s away. Then ransack the place and climb back inside in time for your acomplices to come back to pick up the ‘mistaken’ delivery.
“And in the meantime you’ve escaped to Narnia.”
Alright, smarty-panties, if you’re so clever, how’d you get at his house? He lives in one of those ritzy gated communities, you can’t just waltz up.
“I just put a pizza delivery sign on my car. The guard didn’t even look at me when he let me in.”
“And I don’t want to see it show up in a report someday, you got me? You’ve stolen enough from me.”
Calm down, foxy, we’re on the same side here.
‘For now,’ I think.