Pov Ayanokoji:
That would hurt even me.
Quite a lot.
I'm sure falling backwards out of Beck's window is already a good height, especially if we consider not only the distance, but also the ground: it's not asphalt, but a small garden with uneven stones.
I wouldn't be surprised if Joe has bruises of various sizes on his back all week.
I was curious about the message I had received from Beck that morning: she had been notified that a gas leak had been reported in her home. She told me that she didn't have a good sense of smell, so she hadn't noticed, and that she was actually grateful to the neighbor who reported it.
But most of the neighbors on her street are elderly, and I highly doubt they have keener senses than Beck.
Or keener than me.
When I was at her house, talking about books and then planning to watch a movie—which we never finished because my boss happened to ask me to come to the store to calculate the monthly income—I never noticed any smell of gas.
That's when I remembered a rule I learned in Japan, but which actually applies in all countries, or so I understand:
If a gas leak is reported, by law you must allow workers to inspect the premises. Beck had classes that day, so she couldn't be there.
Many years ago, a classmate used that same tactic on me.
Matsushita.
She had been harassing me for a while, and I wasn't surprised to find out she was following me. What did surprise me was that she suspected I was hiding my abilities. Quite perceptive, I must admit.
My boss got up after thirty seconds, noticing that Beck wasn't looking out the window. He started running down the street, his back covered in dirt and bits of grass stuck to it.
I wonder if this would be considered funny.
At least to someone who doesn't know why he fell out of that window.
"Peach and Lynn invited me to a bar in Greenpoint. I was wondering if you could come." My phone vibrated and the screen lit up. It was a message from Beck.
"I'm not good at small talk. When would that be?" I replied.
I looked up and noticed that my harassing boss was nowhere to be seen.
"Don't worry about conversation, they're good at talking a lot! It would be today, around 10 PM." My phone turned on again. I hesitated for a moment about what to reply.
I sent him a thumbs-up emoji.
I put my phone in my pocket and then looked at the camera on the floor, held up by a tripod. I confirmed that everything was in order and that I hadn't messed up the angle.
Everything was recorded.
Will Mr. Mooney let me have the bookstore if the boss ends up in prison?