George had been searching for the lost box of receipts and things that they'd realized they needed to give to Troy so he could figure out their accounts. George was fairly sure that it was a small box in a bigger box that had something in it. He didn't remember what though, which made looking for it difficult. They had a lot of boxes. It was made all the more difficult by the fact that George kept getting distracted by things that were IN the boxes that he'd forgotten existed in the first place. "Oi, FRED, I forgot we made coffee flavored edible Dark Marks. Why didn't we sell them again?" he called absently.
He remembered that Fred wasn't actually there at the moment, being off at the other shop, when his twin failed to answer. He also remembered why they hadn't sold the Dark Marks when he smelled one and they smelled like Dead Cat. Right. They'd meant to fix that. Oh well.
George tossed aside the box and eyed the vast array of Other Boxes still sitting in front of him.
Sod it. Fred could finish. Or Roger. What good was a shop boy if he didn't wear a mini skirt and sort through boxes of things George had forgotten about. (Although maybe George should have him make a list of what he found so George could discover it without actually working.
He hefted himself up off the floor, walking over to the to dig out their emergency, Junior Quidditch League Day bottle of firewhiskey, and picked up his journal. He flipped through absently, and then stopped when he saw a note from Angelina. "Bugger." He jotted an answer back and then pulled on his coat, popping out to the police station.
Or at least he tried to. He hadn't actually BEEN to the police station before. So he ended up a few blocks off, and scared the shite out of some old lady walking a tiny, fluffy rat. (Possibly a dog, but it didn't look it.)
He found it with a bit of trial and error and walked in, watching people bustling about and walking up to the nearest counter. The officer there was a tiny, curvy brunette with the kind of glasses that made her look like the sort who'd be all hot in bed if you could get her there. Like maybe she'd want to spank you and tell you that you were naughty. Which George could be all right with.
He smiled at her and asked after Angelina. George was a bit busy staring down her uniform and trying to figure out if she was accentuating what was there with wires, or trying to play it down, and when she asked him about "Angel", he went along with it, saying something about paying to get her out.
George wasn't actually sure what he said. But it turned out that "Angel" and "Angelina" weren't at all the same thing. Angel was, however, in the same cell as Angelina, wearing a leather miniskirt, and apparently could be bought for a low, low rate. Which the hot desk sergeant thought George had paid, or something.
It probably didn't help when he asked for her number, and thought she was saying something about how much she'd be worth, and George said he'd pay loads more for her. (Desk copper, not Angel. Angel was a bit terrifying and George wasn't sure she was actually a she.)
It REALLY didn't help that she was dating some big bloke with two brain cells and a bowl hair cut, who happened to overhear. George didn't know if they actually thought he was drunk, or if it was just payback. But he ended up in the cell next to Angelina. (And Angel)
He managed to talk them into letting him jot a note at least, and called out to Angelina to say hello. And ask if she'd dropped the soap yet. For the time being, he had his cell to himself, and lamented, loudly, the lack of harmonica, or a cup to bang against the bars while he waited for Fred to come get them.
He also told Angelina repeatedly that he should get points for coming to rescue her. Even if it didn't quite work right. (Not his fault. The desk-copper-lady had it in for him. And bowl-head was jealous.)