L'affaire Bob

26. Frankenstein: Creepy. Lombard? Creepier.

-"It's a beautiful Monday morning, isn't it?" Francesco taunted me as he slid next to me for breakfast.

I sighed, rubbing my temple in a way that said: Not now, Frankie. As expected, I had woken up this morning to another one of these painful hangovers. I would always get them on our Boys' Night Out, and so I had grown quite accustomed to that matinal pain.

-"What are you talking about?" I asked Frankenstein 2.0 while spreading some jam on my sliced bread. "It's not even Monday. I'm pretty sure today is Saturday."

-"Is it, though?" he replied with a smirk. "I don't think that's what you were saying yesterday when you woke me up in the middle of the fricking night."

-"Oh. So it was that bad?" I asked with a grimace, but it turned out more like an affirmation than a question.

In response, Francesco simply nodded.

-"Sorry about that," I told him with an apologetic smile.

Although I had forgotten everything about yesterday night, I was quite sure that it must have been embarrassing. And I'm speaking from experience, trust me. Every time I got drunk and slept over at a friend's, they would fill me in the next day about the different humiliating moments I had. From me going to the kitchen and drinking vinegar, thinking it was wine, to me running around with a pair of pants on my head, I must say, I never failed to entertain my friends.

And, seeing my drunkard history, I simply hoped Francesco had a great time babysitting me.

-"What did I do?" I asked him, wanting to find out how much of a fool I made of myself this time.

-"Other than solve that case you've been working on, and completely humiliate yourself?" Not much," he said with a shrug and bit in the toast he covered with butter and strawberry jam.

-"Wait. What? I finally solved that case? You're kidding, right? Because how in the-"

-"We time-traveled to the day you were supposed to give your boss the file." 

-"Wonderful idea! And quite smart too!" 

-"It was your idea," he retorted, dead-pan.

-"Oh. Well, it's no surprise then," I grinned.

-"Whatever. It turned out that Phacocheret was the one who stole this so-called precious object from Pierrette. And what an item it was," he scoffed, pausing his explanation. "It was the stockings of the woman he cheated with," he ended, rolling his eyes. 

I looked at him, dumbfounded, and blinked. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open, forming a big fat "O."

-"Excuse me?" I exploded, scandalized. "You're telling me that all that fuss has been over a pair of socks?"

-"Stockings, actually," Francesco corrected. 

-"It doesn't matter! She seriously called the most respected and influential detectives' agency for this? Why did she have to bother us with this insignificant matter? I'm sorry, but we're no matchmakers!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. "We're not here to solve her and her ex-husband's problems!"

-"That's what I was saying yesterday," Francesco replied, raising an eyebrow. "Except back then, you one hundred percent agreed with that lady."

-"Oh, bummer! I was drunk!" I shook my head. "When I see that woman, I'm going to give her a piece of my mind. She'll regret ever reaching up to us and asking for our help for this stupid-- this I don't know what to call it! I cannot even call it a case!"

-"Jesus, calm down, Blind Guy! You're overreacting here," Francesco sighed.

I glared at him. Calling me Blind Guy was pushing it too far.