Rain. Always rain on Wednesday 30 April. You could guarantee
it every year. And yet Harry never made the effort to place a bet at the bookies
across the road. For Wednesday was the day that his partner got shot three
years ago. So instead, he'd sit with his feet on his smoking his pipe as he did
every year. He took a big exhale and let out a huge sigh alongside the smoke as
he looked around. Things were not good. He hadn't had a case for ages, mainly
because he had to let his secretary go to keep the business running. He'd toyed
with the idea of hiring an apprentice rather than some bimbo who just sat all
day polishing her nails; but in his current situation he'd only get students
staying for a few days to get work experience. And then there was the rent. At
some point he'd have to find a new place to live. He might as well move into
the office and put his belongings in storage given he amount of time he spent
there.
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