I still remember the fourth book in the series and how Narang was never convinced about the plot.
It'd been a hot day and he'd been tailing a car for a couple of hours on the district highway, not a happy scenario considering it was the middle of June and the air conditioner wasn't working. Narang was obviously irritable.
"Narang, can you still see the Honda City?" I'd asked.
"You said it was a Toyota," he'd grumbled.
I'd scrolled back on my laptop and sure enough he'd been right.
"Yes, yes, the Toyota car," I'd muttered, "just don't lose sight of it."
He'd just groaned in protest, his face shining with sweat.
He'd followed the car until it suddenly swerved off the road and stopped. Narang had braked right behind it.
"Take your gun," I'd whispered.
"I don't have one!"
"You're a private detective, you need to have a gun," I'd admonished.
"Well you didn't give me one!" He'd shot back.
"Oh well...I'll just add that later. It's in the glove compartment."
"A revolver!" He'd smirked looking at it, "are we in the 70's?"
"Look I don't know much about guns, I'll google, and give you the latest, later."
He'd quickly made it to the other car. It was empty.
"Check the trunk."
Narang had opened the trunk and found a large bag. When he'd unzipped it he had found a woman's body with a rope around her neck.
"It's a case of suicide," I'd explained.
"What?" He'd looked horrified, "I came all this way and there is no gory murder?"
"Well that's the twist in the story," I had tried to calm him down.
"I don't know how the hell your books even sell," he had shaken his head and stomped off.
I had then made it rain.