Professional Courtesy

• WC: 743

The balding Smee sits behind the desk of his corner office, dreading the arrival of the red-cloaked girl now walking across the bullpen. Sweat is beading on his forehead by the time his door swings open. Mioko steps in, and the blinds smack the glass as she closes the door behind her.

She rounds the couch across from his desk and knocks a fedora from the armrest to the cushion to clear her seat.

Smee waggles his finger and stands as she looks at him. “Don’t you dare,” he demands. “Do you have any idea how much easier my life would be if you simply stopped showing up to ask for work?”

Mioko makes a pouty face. “Aw, so you’re not happy to see me?” She asks, then smiles wryly. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“The bounties are dead or alive. And it’s expected that some will actually return alive.” Mioko opens her mouth, but Smee raises his fingers. “Bu-bu-bu-ba, no, those comas don’t count. Alive doesn’t extend to beaten-comatose.”

“Well, I'm sure you enjoy the view from your high horse, on your little island of indignation, but those assholes had it coming; I'm just the consequences. And if they bothered to count their blessings, they'd realize that the coma was one of 'em.”

Mioko extends fingers as she counts off. “Karl Stanton, human trafficking. Ted Mosby, serial stalker. Earnest Hemingway---”

Smee laughs. “Really?” he asks, eyebrows flexing. “Hemingway's coma was a gift? The guy was just using the name to promote his poetry.”

“Yeah, and it was terrible. Trust me, I did God’s work that day.”

“None of this even matters,” Smee blurts, raising his hands. “Ok? The boss is pissed. She’s not having it and is hell bent on some positive reinforcement... the physical coercion sort, if you get my drift. Last I heard, she was gone looking for a bigger stick.”

Smee moves over to his office window, looking out to the bullpen before closing the blinds. “Your best bet is to lay low,” he continues. “Hopefully, no one told her you arrived.”

“I’m not worried about your boss, Smee,” she says smirking and crossing her arms.

“Who cares about your worries? It’s my ass that’s on the line here. I’m the only one dumb enough to still give you contracts.”

Mioko extends her palm, gesturing back to his desk. “Could you just check the thing and find me some tool to curb stomp?”

Smee shakes his head with upturned hands. “Ugh, no? We’re not the place for you to work out your anger issues. We’re a prof---oh, shit!” he says, withdrawing from the side window.

“What is it?”

Smee shakes his finger towards the window facing the parking lot. “Sha-sh-sh-she just pulled the damn streetlight out of the sidewalk.”

“Oh. Well at least she found her bigger stick. But it's fine. I’ll go deal with it.”

Smee rushes back around his desk. “Now, let’s not get too hasty, kid. You know, I actually like this one, right?”

“And?”

He brings his palms together in front of his face. “Can you please just leave the guns and sword in here? It’s so hard to find decent management these days.”

“You know I don't do requests.”

“Come on. Where's your professional courtesy? You owe me that much.”

“Ugh, fine. But you better not touch ‘em while I’m gone.”

Smee laughs, nervously. “Are you kidding me? I might not take care of myself, but I do value my life.”

Mioko unholsters two Springfield 1911’s from the back of her coat, sets them on the couch, then retrieves a katana and scabbard from within her jacket collar to set next to them.

Smee sighs and leans back against his desk as Mioko turns to open the door. “When you need me,” he says. “I’ll be here, sitting on my desk, singing Yankee Doodle fucking Dandy.”

Mioko points over to his desk chair. “Can you just look me up the meanest guy you got? He doesn’t have to be the highest paying; just someone fun. Oh, and send someone out to the parking lot with a bell or horn or something in case I don’t notice her taping out.”

“Sure. And kid?” She stops as the door is about to latch behind her. “Try to ease up some, will ya? One of these days, it might be your name that I have to hand to someone looking for work.”

The door closes.