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The thing about being both a wizard and one of Starling City's finest (by which I mean a cop) is that all too often, I brought the wrong tool for the job.
Sure, a bullet in the right place (well, right for me) might seriously cramp a wizard's style - and several magical beasties weren't too keen on getting shot either, but then again, some of them couldn't care less about a plain, non-silver bullet.
Bringing a wand to a gunfight didn't always work out so hot, either. People had a somewhat unfortunate tendency to notice when you were throwing fireballs at the bad guys, instead of firing bullets, the way regular cops did.
Naturally, Starling City's very own vigilante carried a bow and arrow, which seemed to make him as susceptible to getting shot as to getting blasted by my wand - especially since I was pretty sure he didn't have the first clue I was packing a bit more under my jacket than a standard-issue service weapon.
Pity that, in practice, somehow it never quite seemed to work out that way.
"Detective."
Of course, it probably didn't help that most of the time we came close enough for me to slap a pair of handcuffs on him and read him his rights, he had me bent over the hood of my car (or whatever else was nearby and handy), in a position that might charitably be called 'extremely compromising'.
"Mr Vigilante." As always, there was something maddeningly familiar about his voice, like I wouldn't even need to take his hood off to figure out who he was. All I needed to do was listen just a little more closely, figure out who talked just like that, even if they might not sound quite the same.
Given the limited number of proficient archers I'd met over the years, you'd think it would have been easier to figure out who of them had decided to play Robin Hood - and cast me as their Maid Marian.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
Cheesy. Extremely so. Unfortunately, that didn't narrow my list of suspects any.
"Well, it's not a gun." If I turned now, I figured I stood a more than fair chance of blasting him clear away. It probably wouldn't even kill him, just give him a good headache for a couple of hours.
"There's a warehouse on the corner of Sixth and King's. You should take a look." From the feel of it, he didn't have a gun in his pocket either - or a wand, for that matter. Not that I had expected him to.
Did it count as pillow talk if there weren't any pillows around? "I'll see if there's an empty spot in my schedule this week. I'm a busy man, you know. For one, I actually work for a living."
No telling if that had hit home or not. It seemed reasonable to assume he was doing this vigilante gig full time - it's really only in the comics that people have enough time to hold down a steady 'cover' job and fight crime by way of a hobby.
"I guarantee it'll be worth your while, Detective."
That and two dollars might get me a cup of coffee, if I was lucky. "I'll give it some consideration."
"Do so."
I wasn't sure what he had to sound annoyed about, given that we both knew I'd probably be checking out that damn warehouse first thing tomorrow. I couldn't afford not to. His tips had always been good before, and with all of these new drugs hitting the street, we needed all the 'lucky breaks' and 'gut feelings' we could get.
"You know, one day, you really ought to buy me dinner."
On the other hand, my dating life being what it was, perhaps I should be grateful with what I got. It might not be the stuff of romance novels (aside from the juicy bits that were Bob's favorites) but at least it was something.
Pity I'd probably end up getting him either locked up for life or killed.