Peter seated himself in a chair in the reception area, wincing as his heavily-bruised back and sides came in contact with the chair. "For the record, boss, I am completely opposed to being the punching bag for horrifying demon monsters."
He grinned, then dug a box of 9mm bullets from beneath the chair, pulling the empty clip from his jacket. He began reloading the clip casually, whistling a disjointed but undeniably jolly tune.
After the fifteenth round had snapped home, he pulled his jacket off and flipped it open, revealing the various tools, stakes, bullets, the keyring covered in various religious symbols, his knife, lighter, and various other pieces of vaguely supernatural paraphernalia.
"Well, lost a stake. Thanks for grabbing the ring before I could dig it out of the ugly monster's guts."
He reached under the chair again and withdrew another stake. "It's too bad only wood and silver work, I could just start sharpening down pieces of rebar. Then I wouldn't have to hold the Vampires down and use a mallet to get it through their ribs."
He continued running his checklist. "They really ought to make some kind of miniature flamethrower for us, lighters and bottles of hairspray really aren't very efficient." He reached under the chair again and withdrew a bottle of hairspray, put it into one of the slots for stakes, and leaned back in the chair. "No broken ribs this time, though that thing did dislocate my shoulder."
The door squealed as it came open, and he pulled his jacket back on, concealing the bizarre equipment. Belatedly, he realized there was still a stake laying on the couch.
He smiled at the middle-aged woman who had entered the building. "I'm Peter Tudor, Third Eye Investigations." I really hope she's not going to ask us to prove her husband is cheating on her. He supposed that they technically were Private Investigators, but..."How can we help you, ma'am?"