[url=http://www.mens-hairstyle.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Short-trendy-haircuts-men.jpg]James[/url] laid down the case file on his desk. Inside the file was the week old case of David Vale, father of his client Gwen Vale, and Kara Smith. He exhaled loudly and closed his black eyes as he rubbed them. His right leg he had propped up on the spare chair twinged. The Private Investigator opened one eye to glare at the offending leg. The knee wasn't good anymore. Most of the time it was fine, as long as he didn't run, jump, or twist it. James grimaced as he recalled just what had happened to hand him back in a brace and crutches.
Three Days Ago
[center][i]James looked down at the address that had been scrawled on a bar napkin. The previous night he had been to Zero's, a local bar that was a popular hang out for a man named Avery Dale Higgins. Avery was an older man, about in his late thirties. He was an average looking man, brown hair, eyes, a little tan. Avery's vice was that he like to drink. And drink he did. A lot. Mainly at Zero's where he often meet with Kara. 

James had been following Kara since six days ago when he first accepted Gwen's case. Gwen had come to him, sure that her father was being swindled out of his fortune. Gwen had told him that she suspected her father's new fiance, Kara Smith. Gwen said her father had jumped into Kara's bed only days after his nasty divorce from his last wife Nikky. Gwen asserted that her father had been distraught and Kara was taking advantage of him. James had agreed to look into on that basis. It wasn't often a twenty seven year old went after a seventy eight year old man. Being twenty seven himself James couldn't understand falling in love with anyone that old.

So there he was, sitting in his truck in the morning sun outside of a shabby apartment complex on the north-side of town. James pressed his lips together as he double checked the address. He reached over to the glove box but hesitated. Inside the glove box was a small handgun, a Ruger. He hesitated to bring it out. He wavered over it before withdrawing his hand and leaving the gun where it was. 

James popped open the truck's door and stepped out into the sun. It was a warm morning and it promised to be an even warmer day. Having been born and raised here, James like the heat and it didn't bother him. However he was still dressed in a short sleeved shirt that showed off his muscular physique. Just because he kept off his right leg didn't mean he would let himself get out of shape. He was military born and raised, even if he had been discharged.

James carefully walked up the stairs to the second floor. He had just walked past the first door when he heard a small sound that had him driving for the ground. James was a firm believer that you could leave the war but the war never left you. Indeed the small sound he heard had been someone flicking the safety off their gun. James rolled just in time to have the bullet pass harmlessly overhead. The ex-Army man rolled back onto his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg and turned to the door that he had just passed. It was now wide open. A man stood there with a gun pointed at James' chest.

"Don't shoot." James said raising his hands, cursing himself mentally that he didn't being his gun. That he had let his weakness get the better of him. "I'm not here to cause no harm."

The man with the gun didn't say anything but his stance did shift just a little. James having been on the business end of a weapon too many times knew what that mean and he lunged at the man, hoping to get the gun away before he was shot. If James hadn't been pinned in with nowhere to go, he probably would have run, but the only stairs were behind the gunman. 

The gunman cursed as James tackled him to the ground. The gun went off, loud in James' ears, and for a long moment he wasn't home he was elsewhere. Then he got a boot in his face and he remembered just where he was. The gunman had gotten the gun away from James' hands and was preparing to shoot again. James punch the guy as hard as he could in the upper thigh, the closest area, and rolled off onto the stairs. A bullet ricocheted off the concrete floor and past James' body. James scrambled down the stairs as another two bullets came in his direction. By the time he was down the stairs the gunman was retreating. James could see other people coming out of their houses. 

James sighed in relief as the door slammed shut. His right leg was hurting something fierce, and it was a chore just to get back to his truck. Once he was in he fished out his cell phone and called the cops to report what had just happened.[/i][/center]

When all was said and done, the police had came, but that was no one in the apartment. No one at Avery's address either for that matter. James had been sent off to the hospital to get his leg looked at then sent home with firm orders to keep off his leg. James rolled his head backwards and stared at the ceiling. He exhaled heavily again, his mind whirring about the case. Apart from the shooting incident everything pointed towards Gwen's theory. Indeed, as far as James could tell Kara Smith was setting things up to swindle Mr. Vale. It also appeared Avery Higgins was helping her. However Kara wasn't happy about that as was perpetuated by the shouting matches between the two. If the shooting had never happened, James would have called it quits, but now, he wasn't sure. What else was going on and who didn't want him looking into it?

James didn't know how long he stared at the ceiling. He did know he probably would have budged if it wasn't for a knock at his office door. 

"Come in." James hollered. "It's unlocked." He reached under his desk for his Ruger. He wasn't going without it now. He watched the door open with a carefully neutral face. 

~~

The man behind the desk was watching Harper like a man looks at a snake behind glass. Standing just behind Harper, Venti could get a full look on the private detective as the man at the desk sent his discerning gaze at all of the important bits – waist, crotch, arm, ankle – first. Then he moved to secondary threats, Venti (who he dismissed rather quickly, Venti noticed, no doubt because Venti looked as dangerous as a kitten in the rain), then Harper's stance, his drawn back hair, his clothing. Venti knew what the other man saw. A tall, bookish looking fellow in a tweed jacket who, nevertheless held himself like someone with military training, being trailed by a kid who was probably a dancer or a runner or something athletic. Neither Harper nor Amel could fully dispel their non-verbal signs of training. But neither could Venti impress older men who had just narrowly escaped death, if Mrs. Parks was to be believed. They'd been more than willing to take on a job to set a mother's heart at ease, but mothers also were well known to be overprotective. 

Then again, being shot was never a pleasant experience. Repeatedly shot at, even less so. 

“You must be James,” Harper said in his smooth voice and ignored the tense set of the detective's shoulders as he pulled up a chair. 

Venti quickly scooted into the chair beside, then leaned forward and stared at the man's leg. “She didn't say anything about you getting shot in the leg,” he let drop artlessly. 

“I believe that there was some mention of an old war wound?” Harper tilted his head. Beside him, Venti grinned. It was fun to throw guys like this off balance. Just a little. They had a short window to impress on the other man how truly in danger he was and the game he and Harper played was usually enough to do the trick. 

~~

James' black eyes narrowed as two men came through his door. They didn't immediately appear to be armed, but James hesitated to release his Ruger. They seemed normal, but that was no indicator. The first through the door was a younger man, probably still in his teens, with a rainbow for hair. He didn't dismiss the youngest because of the next man who walked through the door. He was a blond. Despite being slender and probably about James' own six-two, he held himself like he'd been trained. Possibly military. Never underestimate. James had taken that away from the war and didn't forget it even back home.

James shifted a little in his chair, causing it to creak. The two had just come straight in and made themselves at home. James flexed his fingers on his Ruger to keep them limber as the Blonde spoke. James didn't bother with a reply to the question, not that he could have gotten one in anyways. For the shortest one with the rainbow head opened up his mouth and nonsense fell out. James spared a sideways look at his leg. It didn't look like he had gotten shot. His bluejeans were intact and covering the scars underneath. The only thing visible was the brace that kept him from putting more strain on his leg.

James turned his attention back to the original speaker when the Blonde jumped right in with his own observation. One blackish-brown eyebrow raised up, a direct match to his dark brown buzzed cut hair. James wasn't quite sure who these guys are but they were all over the place. It was almost amusing. Almost.

"How nice." James droned sounding bored. "Done showing off yet?" They could chipper on about how much they knew about him and try to show off. But James wasn't in the mood. Today had been the first day since he messed up his knee again that he was allowed to crawl out of bed for anything more than a bathroom trip. He sure as hell wasn't going to put up with this. Either they got to the point or got out or he could go for the third option which was typically frowned upon: shooting them. 

~~