Ben Hansen
"Well, I guess we'd better get on with this murder investigation, then," Ben sighed, taking a sip of his nog-coffee. Discovering that the taste of egg nog only made the coffee taste that little more foul, he spat it out, throwing his mug at the wall in the most apt demonstration of his disgust that leapt to mind.
In one of those bizarre twists of chance that no self-respecting author would put in a book - the sort that can only occur in real life - the mug bounced, ricocheting off the lamp to land with near-perfect accuracy on Hugh's crotch, followed a moment later by the foul goo that had so recently occupied its ceramic shell. To his credit, the smaller man only flailed a very little in panic.
"Guess so," Hugh responded, picking the mug gingerly from himself and placing it on the desk. "And I was looking forward to a Christmas where we couldn't eat so very much..."
"I do have one tiny question, though," Ben said, lifting himself wearily from the chair in which he reclined."
"Mm?"
"How can we investigate a murder when the victim's not dead?"
"About the same way we investigate stabbings, I guess."
"But we don't investigate stabbings."
"No? Why not? Seems like a lucrative niche for us to fill."
"Yeah, but if we meet a stabber we might get stabbed."
"Ah. Right." Hugh lifted his nog-sogged crotch from his chair and, pausing only to grab a handful of paper towels, followed his oversized counterpart out the door.
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