Brain surgery and advertising

 This is a bit from my novel, Burgle Back:

Brad opened the fridge, rummaged around, pushed stuff out of his way.  “They want to rename their shock absorbers.  Well, the idiot Les does anyway.  He punctuated the absurdity by giving it a hand job.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Never mind, just stupid work stuff.”  Brad found the leftover chicken from two nights ago.  He took a chicken leg, which would do nicely for his dinner.  Plus it had the advantage of not requiring a plate, napkin, or anything else Martha Stewart-ish.

“Don’t you always have food at your meetings when they’re in the evening?

Brad chomped the drumstick down in three big bites.  Martha would have been horrified.  “Actually, the meeting wasn’t supposed to last as long as it did.  We weren’t as sharp as we could have been, and the client sprung the stupid Pleasurider surprise on us at the end.  I probably should have taken everybody out to dinner, but I was so fried I just didn’t think about it.”

Kathy frowned as she looked at Brad’s dented case.  “What happened to your briefcase?”

“Oh.  Yeah, well --” Brad sheepishly glanced at her.  “You ought to see the mailbox.”  He tossed the chicken bone in the trash, grabbed the dishtowel from the rack, and wiped his fingers on it.  “Hey!”  Kathy took the towel from him before he could put it back, tossed it in the laundry basket and shook her head.

“Sorry.”  Brad shrugged and dropped into a chair.  “Ah, this is just crap.” 

Kathy sighed.  “Remember, Brad, it isn’t brain surgery.” 

“Yeah, it’s far more important than brain surgery -- it’s advertising.”  Brad laughed.

Kathy ignored his tired old joke.  “And remember, you can’t work late tomorrow.  We're having burgers with Randel and Jewel tomorrow night.”

“Speaking of names -- Randel and Jewel?  Jeeze.”

“They're from New Jersey.”

Randel’s a thief.  Brad doesn’t find out right away.  And when he does, it’s too late.