A gift for Great Leader
"I appreciate this black, wrinkly pen you gave me.”
“Oh, Junior Detective Cat Lady,” Great Leader says, picking up my gift, “you should have!”
I’m about to say “you’re welcome” when I realize what he actually said. I clench my jaw and nod. “Of course, Detective Great Leader.”
He frowns, pointing to the Santa hat he is wearing. “It is Great Santa Leader right now. We are off the clock. For the festive event!” He waves his hand at the office, which has been lavishly decorated for the First Annual Great Leader Detective Agency Non-Specific Winter Holiday Party.
“Of course, I have been giving you presents all year long, as I am the most giving,” Great Leader says as he unwraps my gift. “I suppose it is nice you finally got me this one thing, though.”
I throw a confused look to Ronathan, Great Leader’s valet. His slightly tired appearance indicates he was the person in charge of frantically decorating the office after Great Leader saw A Christmas Story for the first time last week and declared that today, the nineteenth of June, would be our holiday party.
Ronathan mouths the word “presents” back to me.
I shake my head.
Ronathan sighs. “Thank you again, sir,” he says, maintaining eye contact with me. “Your presence is truly the greatest gift.”
I barely suppress an eye roll. I should have seen that one coming.
“Of course.” Great Leader smirks. “That is why I just said that. But thank you for reminding me that I just said something very wise. It is hard to keep track sometimes.”
Ronathan nods.
Great Leader throws the wrapping paper to the side. Field Marshal Mittens, who had been lounging on the sofa, snatches it and then darts up on top of the filing cabinets behind Great Leader’s desk, where he promptly begins to shred it.
“Hm,” Great Leader says, “this is a most interesting gift, Junior Detective Cat Lady.” He holds it up.
“It’s a pen,” I say.
“I know,” he snips. “I know what pens are. I have the most pens, in fact. I won an award for that. I am just used to seeing them covered in skulls or snakes, or, at minimum, gold. What is this?”
“It’s sharkskin,” I reply. “I knew how much you liked sharks.”
Ronathan cringes.
Great Leader drops the pen on his desk as his eyes go wide. He jumps out of his chair, causing Field Marshal Mittens to scramble for cover behind the festive not-specifically-Christmas tree.
“Trey!” Great Leader gasps as he strides for the door. He stops at the entry and pivots on his heel to face me. “Junior Detective Cat Lady, how could you?”
Oh no. He thinks it’s made of his shark.
I suddenly realize that giving a sharkskin pen to a guy who owns a pet shark may have not been the genius move I thought it was.
“What? No, no! It’s not made of Trey!”
He raises his eyebrows.
“It’s made of ethically-sourced sharkskin! From restaurants!"
“YOU EAT SHARKS?” he exclaims.
“Not, like, personally,” I stammer, this conversation really going a different direction than I had planned. “I guess in Italy, though? It’s by Grifos. They’re an Italian penmaker.”
“That makes no sense,” he says, crossing his arms. “Sharks eat people. Not the other way around.”
I purse my lips.
“And everyone knows Italians make pizza and do plumbing,” he continues. “That is two things. They cannot be good at a third thing; this is basic anthropology, which I know because I went to the most school. I do not know why you feel the need to lie.”
I look to Ronathan for help, who very pointedly does not meet my gaze.
“Oh!” Great Leader says, relaxing his posture. “You are joking, of course, which I naturally understood from the start because I have the most humor. It is very funny how I pretended not to understand.” He eyes us as he returns to his desk.
“The most funny, sir,” says Ronathan.
“Yes, the most funny,” I say.
“Meow,” says Field Marshal Mittens.
Great Leader nods. “Very well-said, Detective Field Marshal Mittens. You are welcome for my gift of humor, Junior Detective Cat Lady. And of course, as I am the most gracious, I appreciate this black, wrinkly pen you gave me.”
“It has the most wrinkles,” I offer.
He nods.
“It does appear that the wrinkly substance is a bit thicker on one side than the other,” he says, inspecting the pen.
“That’s because it’s handmade from real shar—from real wrinkles,” I say.
“Ah, of course,” he responds. “Wrinkles are notoriously uneven. It is how you can spot a fake. I am wise to notice this.”
I nod. “Very wise. The nib is made of steel and it writes pretty well, too.”
“How do you know that?” Great Leader raises an eyebrow. “Did you play with my gift before giving it to me?”
“Uh, no,” I say, drawing out the word in an effort to think of an excuse.
“I am joking again!” Great Leader laughs. “I would of course expect you to test it, to make sure it did not contain poison, or explosives. It is the same reason Ronathan tests all my food.”
“And for deliciousness,” adds Ronathan.
“Yes,” says Great Leader, “and to ensure deliciousness.”
“Right,” I say. “Well, happy Generic Winter Holiday.”
Great Leader scowls. “It is happy Non-Specific Winter Holiday, Junior Detective Cat Lady. I will not tolerate the War on Non-Specific Winter Holiday in my own office.”
“Of course,” I say. “My apologies.”
“Apology accepted, as I am the most forgiving.” He puts the pen on his desk. “Very good! Now that we have had the most festive and inclusive office party, it is time to go back to work.” He takes off the Santa hat and puts his fedora back on.
“We have a murder to solve.”
Same pen, but in ANCIENT BOG OAK (+3 charisma, -2 luck) was discussed here. More from Great Leader soon—subscribe below.