Boilerplate Disclaimer: The various characters from the Kim Possible series are all owned by Disney. Any and all registered trade names property of their respective owners. Cheap shots at celebrities constitute fair usage.

[Shego's POV]

What You Know You Don't Tell

It's the code of the west when the boys talk of women
The code of the west what you know you don't tell
The code of the west a man soaps his own saddle
Brands his own cattle and some of his neighbor's as well

I spent much of an afternoon talking with a Middleton lawyer. He doesn't do international, but offered good ideas. There were still warrants out for me in Canada, Germany, and Moldova – along with a couple states with criminal charges pending. I also faced the potential for a bunch of civil suits. The government can be generous and pardon a criminal complaint if it wants. Civil suits are another matter, but at least they can't put you in jail if you lose a civil suit.

He advised me to try and settle the civil suits out of court – it'd save me a bundle on lawyer's fees. Based on what he was charging an hour for consultation I believed him. He recommended a German lawyer, said she was good and could probably handle Germany and Moldova too... I wondered if she'd give him a kickback for the referral... What was that movie, the one with the line about, 'A lawyer with a briefcase can steal more than a man with a gun.'?

Still, I felt good when I got to the Possibles, wanting to make real plans for the future. I'd only been half-way looking for a place of my own, worried that everything would fall apart and I'd have to decide on flight or prison. (Yeah, like I'd actually consider prison. But I'm getting tried of flight.) Now I'm thinking maybe I can lick this. (I know it's dangerous to think like that. It isn't pride that goeth before a fall, it's optimism.)

This was the day Pumpkin was supposed to have the cast off. It was off, but she was wearing slacks and did not look happy.

"My leg looks awful!"

Her mother reminded her, "I warned you. Muscles shrink when they aren't used." She looked at me, "You've been an honorary member of the family for months. You're not pulling your weight."

"What?" I protested.

She handed me several sheets of paper, "Directions from the physical therapist at the hospital. Take Kim to the gym tonight after supper. She will want to overdo things. Make sure she doesn't." She turned to her daughter, "Do anything Shego tells you. Don't do anything she doesn't tell you to. She's in charge."

"Mom!" Kim protested.

I grinned, "I get to tell her what to do?"

"As long as you follow the directions. Too much too soon is not good for her. You have my permission to do whatever it takes to keep her on track."

Kim repeated her protest, "Mom!"

"I get to tell Princess what to do? Really?"

"Of course."

"Dr. Possible, if your husband weren't here I'd kiss you. This is the greatest Christmas gift ever! And it's only May."

"Mom!"

"You want to walk across the stage at graduation?" her mother asked.

"Yes!"

"Then listen to Shego."

The possibility I'd be helping with Kim's physical therapy had been talked about for a month or so. There had been too much chance of arrest for me to take it seriously, but I hadn't imagined I'd be handed the blank check I'd just been given.

At the gym I consulted the directions. "Just a little treadmill tonight. Get on this one." I got on the machine next to Kim and leaned over to her machine to set it. "Speed – two and a half miles an hour... No incline. Time – thirty minutes."

The countdown timer on her machine went down from five seconds to start, and I blew the whistle I had around my neck, "Move your feet, maggot!"

That brought a real trainer over. He was about to chew me out for the whistle, then noticed Kim. "Not so loud, okay?" he requested.

"Two and a half?" Kim protested – noticing I'd set my machine for five miles an hour and an incline of twelve.

"You vill obey orders!" I barked. "Those are the directions! I'm in debt to a brain surgeon... You've heard of loan sharks? They're nothing! They can beat you up. A brain surgeon can repossess your brain."

Pumpkin smiled, "On you it would be an improvement."

Okay, I'd left myself wide open for that one. "I set you up for that line," I lied. "You're not going to be in shape to fight me for months, so I let you have an easy win."

"Before I leave for college," Kim promised, "I'll beat you."

Princess fell silent after a couple minutes, and I concentrated on my own pace. Five miles an hour is a slow jog, but I was doing it as a fast walk – easier on the knees. After about ten minutes I glanced over, Kim was sweating harder than I was.

"Still think that's too slow?"

"Half an hour?" she gasped, "Really?"

"Doctor's orders. Your mom was worried you'd try and overdo. Want me to tell her you're a wuss and couldn't do it?"

"I can do it," she panted, "just wanted to make sure nothing cruel and unusual."

"You did great – for a first session," I told her as we left the gym. And because she'd been feeling down I stopped for ice cream.

Kim continued making progress so a week later I offered, "Want to come dancing tomorrow night?"

"Plans with Ron... And you just want me to go along and keep Will Du distracted, don't you?"

"You could try and teach him something… I almost feel sorry for the moop," I explained.

"He's not a bad guy, he's just so just so full of himself he doesn't have room for a real personality."

"I think it's something else he's full of, but point taken."

"So... You and Hobble seem to be hitting it off."

"If by hitting it off you mean we both enjoy dancing, yeah."

"Sure you're not interested in him?"

"Kim, he's a policeman. I've got no interest in a cop."

"C'mon, you wouldn't be going out with him if you didn't like him."

"I like to dance."

"Well, I bet he's interested in you."

"I'm pretty sure his mental image of me is behind bars. He likes to dance too."

I joked about it with Hobble while we were out that night. I emphasized the part about who needs a cop. He didn't seem amused by it the way he should. "What's the matter?"

"The way you're criticizing the force."

I remembered the stunt his ex-fiancée pulled. "Hell no," I assured him. "I'm not criticizing the force."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay... But I'm a crook. And I make fun of everybody."

"True," he agreed.

"Hey, And criticizing the police isn't saying you shouldn't be one. You're a cop. It's who you are. Do I give you more bullshit than other suspects?"

"Yeah, but I'm trained to put up with a lot of crap."

"See? I'm not asking you to change. Bet you'd like me to change."

"I don't know... I'd need to figure out what you are first. I'm clueless."

"At least you're honest enough to admit it," I laughed.

Mid-May, and Princess was making great progress... Which still means a lot slower than she wanted. I'd like to be at the Middleton High auditorium to see her graduate, and I don't want legal issues to stand in the way. I talked with Wade, and he had nothing definite coming up for me...

Did I mention, Wade and I are talking about a partnership? With Kim away at college, and not back at a hundred percent, he needs someone for missions. And we complement each other – his skill set tends to be mental while mine tends to be physical. He needs someone with muscle and I need someone with tech savvy. Still not positive it will work out, but we're talking. And I'm making it clear that while there may be some charity work this is supposed to be a paying proposition.

But there won't be any work or firm plans until I get my legal status straightened out. So I crossed my fingers I wouldn't be needed in the States and I headed to Germany to meet my lawyer there.

Du, of course, went with me. "I hope there will be no repeat of whatever it was you did in Italy," he told me as we flew over the Atlantic.

"Of course not," I promised. Damn German efficiency. A whiff of scandal and they'll investigate for hard evidence. I would not be able to bluff my way out of the charges in Germany.

I loved Beate, my lawyer, who really took me under her wing. Turns out that, in the Cold War days, her East German father had married a Polish woman. When she saw my real first name she told me I should visit Poland some day and try to find any relatives.

To be honest, I'm not sure what happened in Germany. I smiled and agreed to things. I signed things... For once I was damned grateful to have Will Du along. The man looked over everything and asked intelligent questions. I didn't sign anything until he had given it the okay. All of his help left me in a slightly confused state. For the last four months he's mostly been an annoyance. He doesn't try to be annoying. He can't help it, it's just this talent he has. And now I felt like I owed him one, and maybe Global Justice for assigning him as my watchdog.

Took him out for a beer with my lawyer and her husband when Germany was over. I'm still not completely sure what had happened, but Du assured me it was the best deal I could have possibly received - short of a pardon, of course. As near as I could tell I was on something like probation for the next ten years, and might get the record expunged or something if I kept my nose clean... Germans seem to like really clean noses, so maybe I should just avoid the place for a decade or so. Oh, and fines, of course. And lawyer bills.

"Moldova will be much the easier for you," Beate promised.

"She could use a little easier," Du commented. "The German courts are very efficient."

"Danke." She slid a piece of paper across the table to me. "Go to this address in Chișinău."

"Do I need a lawyer there?" I asked nervously. The bank accounts Global Justice knew about were getting a bit low, and I preferred to keep the others secret if possible.

"No lawyer. If they keep their promise you will not pay fine. Will go very good for you."

Du looked skeptical. "And if they do not keep their promise?"

She shrugged, "Call me. I think will go very good."

Du gave me a little background on Moldova that I'd missed years ago on my fast illegal in and out of the place. Despite the fact most Americans thought it a fictional country from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons it has a hell of history. (But then about half the people in America can't find France on the map.) Every movement of people through Eastern Europe for the last two thousand years has gone smack dab through the place, and left it a patchwork of ethnic divisions.

"And they all get along?" I asked optimistically.

"No. It doesn't meet UN standards for non-discrimination against ethnic minorities, but not many places do. It's better than a lot. I think the economy is the main problem facing the nation."

The next day in Chișinău I double-checked the address on the paper I'd been given. This wasn't a justice building. It was the ministry of tourism.

"A mistake," Du suggested. "Probably the wrong street number."

"Obviously," I agreed and pushed the door open. Maybe someone could tell me where to go. "Excuse me, anyone speak English?"

"Yes... You are Shego?"

"You're expecting me?"

She nodded. "I am so sorry. We did not yet expect you so soon. The minister is at lunch. May you wait?"

I looked over at Du, who looked as clueless as I felt. "Sure, I'm happy to wait."

"And this man you are with?"

"Will Du. He's an agent of Global Justice. He goes everywhere with me."

"We are pleased to have you in our country," she told him and ushered us into what appeared to be a conference room. "I will telephone minister and tell him of your arrival."

I could not fucking believe it. My sentence? Four days of community service – visiting museums and archaeological sites, eating different foods, and drinking great wine – while being filmed for tourism commercials. And the ministry of tourism paid for it all!

"If it weren't land-locked they'd have probably had you visiting a beach in a bikini," Du laughed. "Pour me a little more of that, will you please?"

"Sure." I looked at how much was left in the bottle and tried to give him half. I wanted the rest for me. "I don't usually do bikinis, but I might have." I looked in the direction of the camera man and lifted my glass as a salute, "Your nation is wonderful."

"Thank you," said the translator standing behind the guy with the camera.

The food? Well given the ethnic mix you can find about anything. Some seemed very familiar. The mămăliga reminded me of polenta, which I don't really care for, and brânză was like feta, which I like. Others were kind of familiar, their own versions of pot pie, plăcintă, and chicken soup, zeamă. But the sarmale was better than any dolmades I could remember. (Maybe a real Greek restaurant would offer more variety in the stuffed grape leaves than the Greek diners in the States.) And the Cușma lui Guguță? I may be back to Moldova just for more of that. Chocolate, cherries, cream, and a bit of cognac... What wasn't there to like?

We were debriefed at the tourism ministry before we left. I suggested playing up wine tours. Hell, Americans visit wine country in California for things they can find in the liquor store in Cleveland, Ohio. Why wouldn't they really travel to taste unique wines they won't find in the US? Du advised them to celebrate the ethnic cuisines that accompany diversity and promote that in the ads. He also gave them the names of a couple places that run bike tours... Combine that with the history, food, and drink.

They gave a small banquet in our honor the night before we left.

The next morning we caught a connecting flight to Kiev. From there we'd catch a flight to Paris, and then back to the States.

Du turned his phone on while we waited at a gate in Kiev. He frowned, "Fifty-seven messages... Several of them from Doctor Director."

I crossed my fingers while he returned a call, hoping it wasn't about me.

His half of the conversation, and shocked expression, made me very curious - but didn't give me a clue. After getting cleared to Doctor Director's office I heard, "What? ... No! You're joking! ... Sorry, of course you wouldn't joke about that. ... Could you repeat that? ... No. ... She's still not interested. ... I would rather not, she is seated beside me at the moment. ... We are in Kiev, on our way back to America. ... Yes, an error in the press release is the best explanation." He looked vaguely shell-shocked as he turned off his phone and returned it to his pocket.

"Going to answer any of those other calls?"

He shook his head no. "I know what they're about. Have you turned on your phone?"

In fact I hadn't. "Thirty-one calls. Would you please tell me what this is about?"

"Welcome to Global Justice, Mrs. Du."

He should have had his phone out to take a picture of my expression. I'll bet my mouth was hanging open. "Say what?"

"Either an error in the initial press release from the Moldovans, or an error in translation... Banquet pictures from last night on the web. You are identified as a Global Justice agent and I am identified as your husband... Oh, and we loved our time in Moldova and recommend it as a tourist destination."

"Shit."

"If, by that, you mean your reputation as a villain is utterly ruined you are correct. Global Justice will be happy to accept your application for employment."

"You never give up, do you Will?"

"Tenacity is a valuable quality for an agent of Global Justice."

While I had no interest in applying to Global Justice the ability to improvise is important in my field of avoiding work. The agent at the gate in Paris fell for my story about our elopement in Moldova and bumped us up to first class.

Will opened his mouth; I figured it was to explain the mistake.

I stepped on his foot to shut him up, "Don't say anything, Honey," I told him. "The French love lovers."

He massaged his injured foot, "I was just going to say 'thank you', Dear."

A banner at the Middleton airport read, "Welcome Back, Mr. & Mrs. Du."

Anne greeted me with, "Will can stay in the guest room with you until you newlyweds find a place of your own near Global Justice." Despite my protests they kept pranking me, insisting Will and I were married, for about half-an-hour before admitting they knew it was a mistake.

Ron had handled a couple secret missions while I was gone. Secret for fear Kim would hear about them and want to go along.

Jessica was happy to turn Kim, and her therapy, back over to me. "How do you do it? Kim is impossible."

"Did you hit her?"

"What?"

"Before Kim will listen to you, you have to get her attention. A two-by-four comes in handy."

Jessica gave me a worried look. I just smiled. For a minute there she almost believed me.

Did a 5K with Kim after supper, before I crashed from jet lag. Almost a 5K, it's three times around a small park near the Possible home, along with walking there and back.

"Walk ahead of me," I directed on the second lap.

"Why?"

"I want to stare at your ass."

"Seriously."

"I want to check out how you're moving. You seem to be walking great, no limp."

"Thanks... And yes, I put on fifteen pounds the last few months of sitting around."

I shrugged, "It happens."

"So, can we increase my workouts to get me back in shape?"

"Let me consult the real physical therapist, and your mom."

Kim is a bit vain. Her leg was almost back to normal, but she still wore slacks under the graduation robes. She would have looked fine in a skirt. Hell, it was a hot night and a couple of the cheerleaders told me they just had swimsuits on under their robes. Speaking of swimsuits, Kim hasn't accepted any of Ron's invitations to the beach yet. "Lose another five pounds and I will," she told me.

I figured that was confidential and just told Ron, "She'll go when she feels ready," without explaining what that really meant.

The Canadians sent a polite letter asking me to come up and address the criminal charges against me there. Got to love Canadian politeness.

The Canucks seemed impressed that I was accompanied by a Global Justice agent. My defense counsel said it represented my desire to turn my life around. I smiled and nodded. I think it demonstrated that I didn't have any choice and wanted to keep my ass out of prison.

Ironically the most serious crime I was charged with in Canada got a lot of public sympathy for me. In one of his plans Drakken attempted to start his conquest of the world by using a weather machine to take over Canada – figuring that could be a springboard to conquer the rest of the planet. He'd use Canada as a model for a well-governed country.

A song, 'When Canada Rules the World,' by a group called... It sounded like they said the group was called The Arrogant Worms, but I might not have heard that right. I should probably try and find the song and give it a listen.

The courts allowed media interviews, and I did my best sucking up in all of them. On my lawyer's advice I pled guilty to everything and threw myself on the mercy of the court. The combination of the work I was doing in Middleton, the sucking up, and 'When Canada Rules the World' got me a better deal than Germany. I was a convicted felon, but on probation and even got off without the fines I expected. While I was keeping my nose clean for Germany I'd keep it clean for Canada also.

On arrival back in Middleton Du informed me he was done.

"I still have a couple state warrants and a pile of civil stuff," I reminded him.

"That is all within the United States. You are no longer an international criminal and are therefore outside the jurisdiction of Global Justice."

"But what if I need legal advice? You want me to pay lawyer rates?"

"I am not, nor have I ever claimed to be, an attorney. That would be practicing law without a license, and therefore a crime. Any advice I offered lay entirely outside the scope of legal representation."

"Could you write me a letter of recommendation before you go?"

"A letter of recommendation?"

"I've applied for a private investigator's license. A letter from a Global Justice agent would look good with the application."

"You're a felon!"

"So make it a really good letter."

"Shego, I've worked closely with you for months now. And the thing I've learned is that Global Justice is lucky you didn't agree to apply to work with us. I do not believe you have been rehabilitated in any discernible fashion."

"And that should stop you from writing a letter of recommendation because?"

I couldn't go too hard on the guy. Despite some mixed feelings I knew I owed him. I owed him for serving as something as a parole officer the last four or five months, but having him underfoot had mostly been a pain in the neck. Still, he'd been a real help in Germany. And besides, he was now my ex.

I arranged a little going away party for him. Around twenty people, I didn't actually count, with the Possibles, Wade, Ron, the cheerleaders, and Hobble being those who'd interacted with him the most.

Before the dinner started he pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to me. "Your letter of recommendation."

"Thanks."

"I figured it was better to write it. If you forged one in my name you'd probably misspell things and make me look bad."

I grabbed a couple glasses of wine and gave him one. "You don't need me to make you look bad. You can do it all by yourself. Here's hoping Global Justice never has to come looking for me again."

"Amen," he concurred and we emptied the glasses.

Hobble figured out what I was doing that night during the long series of toasts. I managed to get Du sloshed again. His last night in Middleton would be like his first, spent in the drunk tank at the jail.

"I'll be down to the station early to get him out before his flight," I promised Hobble.

"And if he needs to finish packing? I'm getting tired of having a chaperone when we go dancing."

The potential for civil suits still hung over me in mid-June, but they couldn't result in jail time. So I seriously went ahead looking for an apartment and an office to rent.

Wade and I argued over office space. I wanted something old and shabby, with overhead fans turning slowly, a switchboard and a secretary who'd answer to Doll-face or Sweetheart.

"No. I need modern for all my computer equipment."

"Fine. Your office is high tech. The rest of the place is Philip Marlowe."

"And a switchboard? I'll bet they haven't made switchboards in fifty years."

"We can probably buy one on eBay. It's decor. The suckers will love it."

"And we'll get slapped with a sexual harassment suit if we call a receptionist Doll-face or Sweetheart."

"Not if it's in the contract... There're a couple cheerleaders who aren't going to college, or will attend here in Middleton. Maybe we can get one of them."

Office hunting was going to be a pain. Finding an apartment was easier. Of course until I could buy furniture and get it decorated I was still with the Possibles.

Early July found me casing a bank. Franklin State Bank had been the biggest bank in town when they built their impressive stone building in the twenties. It had been financially sound enough to survive the bank closings in the thirties and lasted as an independent bank into the seventies before deregulation of branch banking and national banks put it out of business.

The place is almost perfect. Bottom floor was now an upscale bar, The Vault. Perfect would have been a dingy bar with a name like "Mike's" and a barkeep who'd been a boxer. Yuppie bar is still better than a Stealbucks. Upper floors retained the original open, art deco, ironwork stairwells. I was warned the fire code called for them to be enclosed. I'd start a fund to preserve the architectural integrity of the place and keep them open. And, of course, they'd put in self-service elevator controls in the fifties. Another little detail off from perfect.

The present owners seemed to be renovating from the ground up. The old bank offices on the second and third floors had been updated and rented out to a couple lawyers, a dentist, an architectural firm, and an accounting business. The fourth floor was a work in progress, and I found it before they ruined it. The place even had transoms! I couldn't believe it, with luck smiling on me I knew Wade would agree.

The suite I wanted was a little larger than we needed... Would probably just use the extra space for storage for the time being.

By mid-July I moved into my own apartment. It's small, but I'm not sure the last time I really had 'my space'. Hell, I'm not sure I've ever had 'my space'. I mean, with four brothers I at least had my own room growing up, but Mom and Dad had the right to check for dishes that never made it down to the kitchen or demand the volume be turned down. It feels good.

Princess invited me along for her first trip to the beach. I passed, but told her to invite me next time and I'd tag along. Three's company and I figured Ron might resent my being there.

I'd originally wondered what Pumpkin saw in Ron, figured she only gave him pity dates. After getting to know him... He's okay. Princess could do worse. He's certainly not as dumb as he looks (he couldn't be). Not that I'd put money on their future together. Most high school romances don't end in successful marriages. Some do, but I figured the odds were against them. Chances are they'll each find someone else in college or later. Kim's guaranteed to be a very popular young woman. But I won't bet money against them either. Some high school romances produce great marriages.

Necessary modifications and constructions were finished on the offices by late July. Wade handled the computer equipment and servers in his office and he could set up shop as soon as the new paint smell is gone.

I'm still working on my office. Shades of gray. I want a client to walk in and think he or she is in a black and white film noir movie set. Of course I may have to adapt my usual outfit to fit the color scheme – at least as long as I'm in the office. The green-and-black will be when I'm working, unless I need to tail someone. The nice thing about the bright green is that people come to expect it. Cover it over with brown tweed and you're suddenly invisible.

Got three cheerleaders who are interested in the receptionist job.

I gave in to Pumpkin's pleadings and did a little sparring. She knows she's not back at 100% and she didn't try to prove anything. But she said it felt damn good to even be sparring. (Actually she said it felt darn good, but I knew what she meant.) She'll probably try to really knock me down before she leaves for college. I'm telling her 'no way', but she comes back with, 'Anything's possible for a Possible'.

If business is good for Wade and me I'm going to suggest we get Kim as an intern next summer. God, fighting with her instead of against her? I feel like we could do anything.

Wade came by on August first and caught me having a finishing detail added to the office. Sign painter was working on the door, putting on the name I'd chosen for the firm. I was in my office, trying to figure out where to put stuff for the most dramatic effect when I heard Wade's squawk from the hall.

"Archer and Spade? Why are you painting Archer and Spade on the door?"

Someone may have answered him. It was soft enough I didn't hear. It was probably the sign painter, and he probably said, "It was what I was told to paint."

"Shego!" Wade bellowed, "What is going on?"

"Don't get your underwear in a twist, Archie," I called and headed out to the hall.

"Archie? Why are you calling me Archie? Why does this door read Archer and Spade?"

"Some comic book company had already copyrighted 'hero for hire'. The door reads Archer and Spade because I like you. I'm giving you top billing."

"My name is not Miles Archer."

"So why are you asking about Archer and Spade? You know the reference."

"I know the reference, and the Dashiell Hammett estate will sue us for using it."

"No they… Hey, that's not a bad idea. I should contact them and suggest it. The publicity will be good for both of us."

"And you're Shego Spade, huh… You know, I should call you Archie."

"No way are you going to be Wade the Spade; that just sounds too racist."

"No, you as Archie Goodwin."

"Archie Goodwin?"

"Appears in more stories than Sam Spade."

"Must be a new character. No noir movies."

"There were a couple movies in the thirties. The author, Rex Stout, kept ownership of the character and thought the films were so bad he refused to let more movies be made."

"So, what's this Archie character like?"

"He works for… Never mind. Look, you can call me Archie if you need to – but you should have checked this with me first."

"But that Archie character—"

"Forget him."

I have a personality flaw… One any way. Princess has the same problem. If you want us to do something, tell us 'No'. For some reason Wade wanted me to forget this Archie character, that's like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Archie Goodwin, leg man for Nero Wolfe. Wolfe was this brilliant fat guy who didn't like leaving home, so he'd send Archie out to do what needed to be done. I'll keep Nero in reserve in case Wade tries to call me Archie again, I can so call him Nero.

I was sitting with my feet up on the battered wooden desk, staring out the window at the late August sun. Two things on my mind. Finally got the office looking just like I wanted and sparring with Pumpkin last night — the kid was coming along great and she might beat me before she leaves for college - when the intercom buzzer sounded.

I pressed the button and growled, "Yeah, Sweetheart?"

She giggled, "There's a policeman here to see you."

"Send him in. I got no beef with the coppers." Force of habit, I almost went out the window. I may not have a problem with the police, but they might still have one with me.

Door swung open and Hobble eyed the room. "Looks just like you described."

"You didn't believe me?"

"Believing you sounds like a dangerous idea. Business picking up?"

"Still too early. I've had a few cases. Mostly Wade has stuff for me to do. I'll get better established with time. I'm not looking to work myself to death."

"Got a bottle of rotgut whiskey and two shot glasses in a desk drawer?"

"No. A, that is a stupid Hollywood cliché–"

"Like the switchboard out there isn't?"

"Switchboards were real, just the idea a detective had to have a bottle in the drawer. No drinking on the job – bad for your brain cells. And B, you shouldn't be asking for a drink while on duty."

"Well, in order, A, I was just curious. And I'm glad you don't. And B, I'm off duty."

"Well, if you were planning to ask me down to The Vault for a drink I still don't think you can do that in uniform."

"Actually… I… uh… wanted to ask you about a job."

"You want to work for me?"

"No, a job for you."

"This police business, or something for you?"

"For me… Uh, maybe you could think of it as a Cinderella case."

"You lost your invitation to the Prince's ball?"

"No."

"Looking for your ugly step sisters?"

"No."

"Got a glass slipper and a serious foot fetish?"

"No!"

"Okay, I give up. Why are you calling it a Cinderella case?"

"You'll need to find a woman for me."

"Do I look like a pimp? Hold on, I don't want to know what you think I look like."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. "I'm looking for the woman who fits this." He handed it over, I opened it. An engagement ring. "Her third finger, left hand."

I let out a low whistle at the size of the rock, "That can't be real. Not on a policeman's salary."

"I kinda mentioned to my partner that I… And he… They passed the hat around at the station for me. Said I could use it for an engagement ring or a lobotomy."

"So, basically every God-damned cop in Middleton knew you were going to make a proposal before you asked me?"

"Worse, the tri-city area. And you seem awfully sure you're the woman I'm looking for. You haven't even tried the ring to see if it fits."

"Trying on an engagement ring is the same as a verbal contract. No way am I doing that. And you asked Wade to give you the exact size, didn't you?"

"Would I do—"

"Ten bucks says you did," I pulled out a sawbuck and slapped it down on the desk.

He made no move to reach for his wallet. There was a minute of silence. I stared at the ring, glancing up at Hobble a few times. The man was sweating hard. I closed the ring box and tossed it in a desk drawer.

"You're accepting my ring?"

"Consider it a retainer. I haven't decided if I'll take the case or not. You'll get it back if I don't… I need to do a little background check, there're things I need to know."

"Like what?"

"Things… Us private investigators never tell the cops everything. It's why you're vaguely suspicious of us – even though you secretly admire us for the way we cut through red tape and get the job done."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What color is the sky in your world?"

"Always gray."

"I'm not surprised. I still want to know what you need to check out."

"Well, one of them is how you are in the kitchen? Can you make a good breakfast?"

"I've got an idea. Come over early Saturday morning and find out."

"I hate getting up early on Saturday morning. I've got a better idea. Let's go out Friday night and I'll just stay over."

Before his brain could process the suggestion I grabbed the front of his uniform, pulled him close, and kissed him hard - like Bogey would have Baby. When you're a hard boiled PI it's important to stay on the good side of the police.

–The End–