“So this is the safe that the whip was taken from,” Matt said, leaning and taking a long whiff of the safe.
“Yeah,” Whip said, eyebrow arched as she tried to figure out what the hell Matt was doing.
“Yeah,” Whip said. “It’s a metal safe.”
“Ah.” Matt nodded, a small knowing smirk spreading across his face. “I see. But the metal safe wasn’t very safe, was it? So who’s to say whether or not it’s metallic?”
“Matt. Didn’t you call yourself one of the world’s greatest detectives?”
“Yes. I did say that.”
“How many cases did you solve?”
“Well,” Matt began, scratching his chin as he looked up at Whip’s beautifully painted ceiling. He thought there was something beautiful about it: the female hunter chasing the tiger. Matt knew Whip; he knew it was her metaphor for chasing pussy.
“My cases were more of the, ‘I caught the bad guy in the act and then punched him a couple times’ variety.”
“How many cases did you solve with your apparently-tiny brain? How many did you not punch your way through?”
Matt took in a great big breath of air, “None.”
“So the world’s greatest detective didn’t solve a single case.”
“One of,” Matt explained, “and yes.”
“I’m never going to find the people who stole my whip, am I?”
Matt stroked his chin. “Probably not.”