“Miss Graves was admitted to DeGustibus Cooking School.” Finch taped up a picture of Lacey in a full chef’s uniform. The picture promptly fell off the whiteboard and fluttered to the floor.
“She graduated in- hm?” He was interrupted by Reese laughing.
“Your- haha…” Reese pointed at the board. Finch turned around searching for the photo. He sighed when he saw it lying on the floor. “Oh, for *bleep* sake…”
Reese looked around the kitchen. Everything was where it was supposed to be. As he was looking at the stand mixer to his right, he bumped into the counter island in the middle of the room.
“That’s the thing about criminal manasta- hahaha… oops.”
“That’s the thing about criminal mastermim… *bleep.*”
“That’s the thing about criminal masterminds. You never know that they’re masterminds until it’s too late.” Reese could be heard cheering off camera. Finch chuckled.
Reese exited the building he’d been perched on and started across the street at a dead sprint. About a foot from the curb, he tripped and went flying forward.
“OH my!” Finch exclaimed, rushing to help him, “Are you alright?”
Reese dusted himself off, smiling. “Yeah. From the top?”
“How do you know I’m driving it?” Reese teased, “You’re not still trying to follow me, are you?”
Fusco scoffed. “Please. We didn’t start working together yesterday, mother *bleep.*”
Fusco smirked at the camera as the crew groaned collectively. “Cut!”
“He’s a bad guy for hire, but he’s hired by more than just bad guys. He’s gone on trial for cases involved legal execs and CEOs.”
“Guys like Harvey Pendleton?”
There was a pause. “Caldwell,” the director called out.
“Harvey Caldwell. Not Pendleton.”
“You said you’d tell me a bit about your friend,” Reese began, “but no one else works at the bakery, and… and I- I just looked directly into camera.”
Emily groaned, but couldn’t hide a smile.
As the elevator descended, Reese tried to tuck his gun away. “When we get down to the first floor, we’ll…” He glanced back at his pants and tried again. “We’ll take the service exit to-” He sighed, failing yet again to stick his gun in its holster. “Dang it.”
Emily tried to suppress her laughter and failed.
“If DeLano’s clientele is high profile upper class, any connections would result in public scandal, honestly, did you hurl yourself into the bullet?”
Finch sneakily poked Reese in the side with the forceps. Reese yelped and jumped off the desk, sending papers flying everywhere. “Hey!” he snapped, barely concealing a grin.
“What? I was trying to get an authentic reaction!”
As soon as he heard the snap of the thread being cut from the stitches, Reese stood up and readjusted his shirt.
“Ah- hey! I wasn’t fi- haha, oh no…”
Finch’s scissors were dangling from Reese’s shirt, having gotten hooked on his outer pocket. Chuckling, Reese pulled them out and handed them to Finch. “Whoops.”
“Of course, Mr. Caldwell,” Finch said, “It’s what we do.”
“Pendleton!” the director called, exasperated, “Not Caldwell!”
“Pendle- aw, hell.”
“I’m not going to kill you Mr. Caldwell,” Reese said calmly, “I intend to make you squirm like the pathetic mealworm you are.”
There was a pause. “Mealworm?” he echoed.
Reese sighed. “Not working for you, huh?”
“I intend to string you up by your toes and make you sing like a canary.”
“Nope!” the director called.
“I intend to rip your hairs out one at a time and feed them to you.”
Reese threw up his hands. “This is what happens when you guys make me improvise?”
“You think we’ll ever see her again?” Reese asked.
“Only time will tell, Mr. Reese,” Finch replied, “Only time will tell.”
As the camera followed them walking away, Finch reached out to take Reese’s hand. Playing along, John started skipping, and they skipped down the sidewalk together.