It's always best not to get involved, really - they're just here to do a job, make notes, report the facts. Theirs is not to wonder why, or to speculate the how, nor to make bets on the when.
"Fifty bucks say they're getting it on."
"Fifty say they don't. I mean, geez, woman. Burke's happily married, and as straight as they come - in all senses of the word. You ever read his file?"
"I have, actually. So."
The guy - the subject, target, mark, whatever - is ridiculously good-looking. Also: charming, slick and all too eager to complain about Burke taking him home to pull an all-nighter, working on a case.
"Don't tell me you actually bought that bullshit story."
"Why not? Sounded solid enough to me. Burke's a workaholic; everybody knows that."
"You're an idiot."
Burke's visit is more of a surprise; he knows about them, of course, but he's supposed to keep his distance, let them do their job while getting on with his.
"Guy needs to lay off on the coffee for a bit, if you ask me. I mean, what the hell does he think we're here for? To not keep an eye on wherever it is Caffrey goes?"
"Wonder if he's as bossy in bed."
"You really do have a one-track mind. And I'm still saying it's just Burke being a workaholic. I mean, with his wife right there? No way, José. Nu-uh."
And then there's Burke's wife, who comes bearing milk and cookies and a whole bunch of funny stories about her husband, the worrier; her husband, the workaholic; her husband, the romantically challenged.
"Her husband, the Don Juan, more likely. I mean, can you believe this guy?"
"Doubt if it was his idea. My money'd be on the wife, or maybe Caffrey. Maybe both."
"How much money we're talking about here, then?"
"How about we make it double or nothing?"