Two phonecalls, launched from different devices twenty miles apart, raced through the ether for victory yet arrived at their destination at the exact same time down to a second. Two annoyingly loud ringtones went off in the detective agency, disturbing a murder of crows that was lounging outside its windows. Crows were notoriously against after-hours phonecalls.

Dirk looked at Farah, then at his hand that was reaching out for the phone, almost in slow motion, like a ghoul reaches for the protagonist’s shoulder in a horror movie. Then he looked at Farah again. He had forgotten how to answer phones, and how to speak in general, and was waiting for permission from his brain to, at the very least, hand the phone over to Farah.

She beat him to it.

“Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency,” she announced cheerfully into the phone, “Farah Black speaking.”

“Who is it?” Dirk demanded, his right hand flapping in the air as he gradually regained speech.

Farah didn’t respond, and nodded at the wall as she listened. Unable to contain his excitement, Dirk began to pace the corridor, almost breaking into a gallop at times. Currently he felt as though all of his blood had been replaced with popcorn butter and syrup, which congealed all of his thoughts into one unbreakable clump and made his hands tingle.

The sensation had only gotten worse when Todd stepped out of the office towards him and said:

“Hey guys, I think I have a potential client on call.

This time, Dirk was the one to snatch the phone.

“Holistic agency!” he almost yelled into the speaker. “It’s the Dirk!”

Todd grinned and leaned backwards against the corridor walls. Few things were as enjoyable to watch as Dirk, delighted and buzzing with energy, about to dive into a new mystery. It took him a moment to realize that Farah was on the phone as well.

“Was it the electrical company again?” Todd asked when she hung up.

“No,” she said and went back to lock the office door. “It was a potential client, I think.”

“No way!” Todd was grinning again. “Finally.”

The key clicked in the lock, and Farah lead the way down the corridor and towards the stairs. From above them came the sounds of heavy thumps, fake laughing, and, occasionally, screams, the kinds of which you’d expect to hear from a person whose soul is being sucked out of their body through their skin pores. The office space upstairs hosted improvisation classes for amateur actors on weekday evenings.

“Who was it, specifically?” Todd asked while they were walking down the stairs.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Just some guy.” She shrugged. “Sounded anxious. Described to me in detail all the “suspicious” things he’d seen this week, like, stray cats he didn’t recognize and misplaced leaves on his garden paths. Then offered 10 million dollars for finding the assassin that his girlfriend hired, apparently.”

“Ten million dollars?!”

“From the way he offered it,” Farah speculated, “I’m guessing he’s filthy rich.”

They’ve made their way out of the office building, through the community garden that surrounded it, and out by the back streets to their car, and all this time Dirk was still on the phone. He was still on the phone during the car ride, when they arrived at the restaurant, when Todd ordered the food for him (he knew the order by heart anyway), and when the waiter brought the food. He continued to talk through mouthfuls of pancake.

“Yes, professor Daly,” Dirk mumbled, wiping chocolate off his chin, “this is where I would start also. Yes indeed we can be there tomorrow! I’ll admit, we’ve had a few cases piling up, but for a sophisticated conundrum such as yours I am more than willing to push them further down the waiting list. Yes, we have our own transport. I am writing down the address now.”

He rummaged the pockets of his jacket for a pen, only found a sharpie instead, and proceeded to scribble down the address on a random piece of paper he found in the same pocket as the sharpie. It was Todd’s med prescription, luckily old and used.

“Got it,” he said, stuffing the paper back where it came from, and placing another piece of pancake into his mouth. “Oh, very much likewise! It was a tremendous pleasure talking to you, professor Daly. I am sincerely looking forward to meeting you in person tomorrow!”

And, adding two or three more words of genuine pleasantries, he finally ended the call.

“Oh.” Dirk blinked, as if coming out of a light dream. “We’ve left the office already?” He regarded his half-finished plate of pancakes with mild curiosity.

“You weren’t lying to him, you know,” Todd said. “You really will have to push a case down the list for him.”

“Wait, seriously?” Farah raised an eyebrow at both of them, as in she raised both of her eyebrows, one eyebrow per person precisely. “We’ve just had ten million dollars waved in front of our faces and we will go for something else instead?” She paused, but no one spoke up. “Guys, come on. I know this is not at all about money, but ten million dollars! This could fund the agency for years to come. Whoever that was can wait.”

“He most certainly cannot,” Dirk dismissed it. “Out of the question. It’s a case that requires immediacy and all of my attention. There’s a music box missing! And the person who made it has also gone missing!”

“The other guy has some… he has… he has misplaced leaves…” Farah said, and sighed. “Look, we haven’t gotten paid in, well, ever,” Farah explained. “Lydia’s money is running out. Our medical insurance pay is ridiculous and repairing the office after the piano thing was a big expense.”

“Hey, guys,” Todd interrupted what was measuring up to be a passionate though pointless argument. “There’s three of us. Can’t we split the work?”

Dirk considered the notion for a few seconds.

“The other one, the one with lots of money. What does he want us to do, exactly?”

“He wasn’t very clear,” Farah replied. “He thinks he’s going to be assassinated so I guess he wants us to protect him?”

“Well, Farah’s a professional bodyguard,” Todd pointed out. “I’m sure she can handle it on her own. Especially if the guy’s just paranoid and there’s no real assassin.”

“That can work, actually.” Farah gave him a single nod of approval. “So I’ll deal with the imaginary assassin and Dirk can handle the professor with his whatever he lost.”

“What about you, Todd?” Dirk asked. “Do you want to come with me to the university and delve into the mystery of the missing music box,” he began with grandeur in his voice, “or go with Farah to the probably enormous fancy house of some Probably very rich dude to probably watch her apprehend an assassin in a cool badass way?” he concluded, thinking that the odds were obviously in his favour.

*

On the Saturday morning, Dirk arrived to the Cooltown University campus. Without Todd.