He usually didn't talk so much. God love that man's ulcer. Missing bonds aren't my favourite cases. Missing husbands of blondes, now that's more to my taste. It's just that bonds are, well, dullsville.
Somebody needs money, so they sell a bond.
Promise to buy it back twenty gazillion years down the road and pay interest in the meantime. End of long story. I throw the report in the circular file and phone Slick Phil down at the brokerage office. Smart mouth, smart dresser, smart corner office, shame about the track record. Hello, this is Phi . . .