Page 4

Harry sat at his desk and motioned for his visitor to take a seat opposite him. A mime.

It had taken five minutes just to coax the mime into the office after knocking, and it was nearly as hard to get the man — this mime — to simply sit down.

He’s in full mime makeup, Harry mused. And he’s acting the part. Please, just sit down.

Harry hated mimes.

The mime, of course, had to wade through an ocean of imaginary obstacles to reach the chair. Harry didn’t bother picturing it — until the mime clearly became a peacock.

Please. Just… sit down.

It felt like a victory when the mime finally did, though the real battle was only beginning. Harry was never good at charades — in fact, he’d never found the need to play it, a decision he now regretted. It took nearly thirty minutes to ascertain that the mime was requesting help against a thief who was apparently invisible.

“You need me to find an invisible thief,” Harry said at last.

The mime nodded enthusiastically.

Harry let out a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what was worse: feeling obliged to take the case (he hated saying no to business) or needing to take it so he could pay the rent.

Harry nodded slowly.
“Perhaps you should write down for me what the thief took — and where — so I can put it in my case files,” he suggested. “Taking the case will be two hundred dollars.”

The mime, nonplussed but thrilled, mimed counting money — imaginary money — and handed it to Harry with a hopeful face and an empty hand.

Harry felt a year of his life slip away. This was his life, he thought grimly, and there was no escape.

He reached out his own hand and mimed taking the imaginary money.