Troy took the kazoo out of his mouth and held it like a cigar, still grinning like a fool. "I'm a man of hidden talents." A talent for ridiculousness. A talent for having the right tools in his briefcase. A talent, apparently, for picking women who wouldn't throw him right out of the apartment.
"I also," Troy added, fishing around in his trouser pockets for his keychain, "have a small torch." It was one of those tiny ones that barely lit your lock in the dark, but he clicked it on and moved over to the table, with the intent of sitting it upright like a candle.