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AUGH! Who did this? The Dame's scream hit an octave usually reserved for calling dogs, but it meant I had a case, and the sound of greenbacks slapping across my palm is music to my ears any day. After all, I'm not an opera critic. I'm a private eye.
Mom sees a night stand dumped over with a broken lamp. She yells 'Who did this'. In his office, Tracer Bullet hears Mom's yell. He knows he has a case. He says the sound of greenbacks slapping across his palms is music to his ears. He's not an opera critic, he's a private eye.