“How was I supposed to know there was a fire extinguishing system?” I asked as I towel dried my hair.
“Ya could’ve asked,” said Fisheye Frankie from the doorway. “And I would’ve told ya.” My employer stalked into the room while his two bodyguards hovered just outside.
I had posed the rhetorical question to Michael, my intellectual guardian, who was sitting on a stool with one thumb hooked behind his suspenders. Hair stuck out beneath a floppy flat cap and he wore a carefully hidden smirk. He was the only one of my companions allowed in the dressing area since Frankie had trust issues with most adult males and was discovered to be terrified of pygmies. It was one of the few instances where Michael, being eternally stuck as a nine-year-old, didn’t mind his shortcomings with age.
“That was quite the impressive show ya put on out there, Cera. My customers are wondering when the next one is.”
I preened beneath the praise.
“Too bad I had to cancel it to deal with water damage.” Frankie folded his arms and glared at me with his one good eye. The other was wide and watery, much like a fish, and I guessed that was where he got his name. “Ya mind telling me what possessed you to light a fire on my stage?”