#7: Failed Forensics.

Drake sighed. Of course she’d gotten away. Well, at least he had her revolver, from which he could obtain fingerprints. He headed back to the house and went downstairs to the laboratory.

Three hours later, his tests had yielded nothing. Aside from Drake’s own prints, the gun was clean. He found no trace of human hair, oil residue from her hands and no skin fragments. The serial numbers had been filed off, but there were no other scratches or similar marks to indicate that the firearm had been used previously. Obviously his would-be assassin had known what she was doing.

The conundrum irked him, yet he worked at it tirelessly, leaving his breakfast untouched on the bench behind him. He hadn’t even emerged when the Police arrived, leaving his butler to apologize for wasting their time and send them on their way.

Around midday, Nickelby buzzed him over the intercom.
“Telephone for you, Master Drake,” he said. “It’s your brother.”
Drake rolled his eyes. Ordinarily, he’d just ignore the call, but his mother had made him promise to answer ANY call from his brother, no matter what. Being a staunch believer in one’s word being bond, Nickelby ensured that Drake kept that promise.

“Fine, I’ll be up in a moment.”

#8: Curt Conversation.

Muttering absently to himself, Drake picked up the phone.
“Please make it quick, I’ve got work to do.”
“What, no hello?” asked his brother.
“Fine,” Drake sighed, “Hello Jake. Now what do you want?”
“Can’t a dude just call his little brother?”
“So you don’t want anything?”
“Well, I didn’t say that.”

Drake groaned inwardly. They had this conversation EVERY time.
“Look, Lola and I were wondering if you’d come to dinner tonight.”
“Lola?”
“My girlfriend, remember?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Lola and her parents are coming around to the restaurant tonight; I’ve got the place reserved especially for us. Then I’m going to pop the question.”

Drake felt a grin forming.

“I see. What do you want me there for?”
“Support mostly,” said Jake. “In case she says no. Look, I know we don’t have much to do with each-other lately, but it would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

Drake took a minute to think about it. He was reluctant to make such a long trip just for dinner, but there was something in his older sibling’s tone of voice that told him that he should accept.

“Alright, I’ll be there. But I’m bringing the butler.”
“Most excellent! Thanks so much bro!”

Hanging up the phone, Drake called for Nickelby.
“Yes sir?”
“Fire up the jet Nickelby, we’re going to Jake’s for dinner.”
“Right away, sir!” said the butler.

#9: Brother Bother.

After a five hour flight, Nickelby expertly set Drake’s Cessna 680 Sovereign down safely at a small airport owned by one of Drake’s friends. From there, they drove to Jake’s restaurant, The Bottled Oyster. His brother greeted
him at the door.

Drake and Jake Mandible could not have looked more different. Unlike his tall, tanned, muscular brother, Jake was a good foot shorter, had fairer skin and while by no means scrawny, he was of a more slender build. With his sandy-blond hair and clear blue eyes, Jake looked like typical Californian Soul Surfer, with a laid-back personality to match. It was this phlegmatic demeanour that sometimes irritated Drake.

As a rule, Mandibles were known for being strong-willed, competitive overachievers. Jake however, had been content to settle down and open his restaurant, losing the drive that had motivated his younger brother to do everything he could to escape the shadow Jake had automatically cast by being the eldest.

“Bro, I am STOKED you could make it!”
“Hello Jake,” said the younger Mandible as his brother hugged him.
“And Nickelby, it’s good to see you again!”
“An absolute pleasure as always, Master Jake,” replied the butler, almost knocked off his feet by Jake’s enthusiastic hug.

“Come on in!”