personal lives of those who help them.
Keaton walked in and nodded to me. After five minutes of sorting through papers, she shook her head. “Just like he said,” she said. “Looks like he kept his part of the bargain.”
Her cryptic comment was the first she had made today. We made ourselves comfortable and waited, presumably for the good former-Doctor’s arrival.
Zielinski came home three hours later, well past dark. He came into the kitchen from the garage and turned on the light, moving with a tired slowness, looking ten years older than he had in St. Louis. His shoulders slumped and bags sagged under his eyes. He dropped his briefcase on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator, where he pulled out a bottle of milk.
When he turned back to the kitchen table he almost climbed out of his skin, as Keaton and I had crept into the kitchen and taken him by surprise. I caught the milk bottle he dropped by its little plastic handle before it hit the floor, and gave it back to him.
He moved back, away from us, and reached into his jacket where he kept his weapon. Keaton took his weapon from him and handed it to me, a Beretta M951 pistol, not quite what I expected. “Hi, hun,” Keaton said, in her mock sexy voice, as she followed him and pinned him up against a kitchen cabinet. Gave him a hug. Stepped back.
I covered my reaction, as I thought it unprofessional to hug your prey. Keaton caught my reaction, but didn’t react with more than a twitch.
“Arm Keaton, Arm Hancock. Ma’ams, what can I do for you today?” Zielinski asked, already over his initial surprise. Well, it was nice to know that despite his troubles he hadn’t lost all of his arrogance or his spine. In the time since I last saw him in St. Louis, I had come to realize how rare those traits were in men with an Arm in their face.
I did wonder, though, where he picked up his screwy ‘Arm Hancock’ honorific.
Keaton turned and led us to his library without saying a word, although I could swear some kind of communication passed between the two of them. Keaton absconded with the God position behind his desk. Zielinski sat on the low stool with casters, apparently without permission. He could barely hide his excitement.
“Tell me all you know about male Major Transforms,” Keaton said.
“Anecdotal or scientific?”
I didn’t like his attitude, though it didn’t bother Keaton. I let it show. The skeevy old bastard didn’t even notice.
“Scientific of course,” Keaton said. “If I wanted anecdotal, I would be talking to someone else, wouldn’t I?”
“Ma’am,” he said, the most perfunctory ‘ma’am’ I had heard in a long while. “Although I’ll gladly give you the scientific information, you shouldn’t discount the anec…”
“Fuck you, Zielinski,” Keaton said, and shook her head. “It’s gotten to the point where I don’t trust anecdotal information, even when the anecdote happens to me.”
Huh? Was she talking about the Monster Arms encounter?
“Well, we could always trade our tall tales after I pass along the scientific information,” Zielinski said.
Keaton laughed.
I’d had enough of his attitude. I leaned forward out of my chair and half snarled, giving Zielinski my nastiest predator pose, visualizing him peeing in his pants.
He didn’t move, but his heart rate spiked and he slowly licked his lips. “Ma’am. Let me…”
Keaton held up a finger after giving me a hot intolerant glare. I sat back down and Zielinski shut up. The tension felt cuttable while Keaton thought, hard, for two minutes. While she thought, I replayed my own reactions in my head and didn’t like what I saw. Despite Zielinski’s provocations, I had overstepped my place. I made ready to grovel and prepared my mind for a merciless beat down.
“Hancock has a point,” Keaton said, surprising me. She stood and caught my eyes. “You grill him, however it
Keaton walked in and nodded to me. After five minutes of sorting through papers, she shook her head. “Just like he said,” she said. “Looks like he kept his part of the bargain.”
Her cryptic comment was the first she had made today. We made ourselves comfortable and waited, presumably for the good former-Doctor’s arrival.
Zielinski came home three hours later, well past dark. He came into the kitchen from the garage and turned on the light, moving with a tired slowness, looking ten years older than he had in St. Louis. His shoulders slumped and bags sagged under his eyes. He dropped his briefcase on the kitchen table and went to the refrigerator, where he pulled out a bottle of milk.
When he turned back to the kitchen table he almost climbed out of his skin, as Keaton and I had crept into the kitchen and taken him by surprise. I caught the milk bottle he dropped by its little plastic handle before it hit the floor, and gave it back to him.
He moved back, away from us, and reached into his jacket where he kept his weapon. Keaton took his weapon from him and handed it to me, a Beretta M951 pistol, not quite what I expected. “Hi, hun,” Keaton said, in her mock sexy voice, as she followed him and pinned him up against a kitchen cabinet. Gave him a hug. Stepped back.
I covered my reaction, as I thought it unprofessional to hug your prey. Keaton caught my reaction, but didn’t react with more than a twitch.
“Arm Keaton, Arm Hancock. Ma’ams, what can I do for you today?” Zielinski asked, already over his initial surprise. Well, it was nice to know that despite his troubles he hadn’t lost all of his arrogance or his spine. In the time since I last saw him in St. Louis, I had come to realize how rare those traits were in men with an Arm in their face.
I did wonder, though, where he picked up his screwy ‘Arm Hancock’ honorific.
Keaton turned and led us to his library without saying a word, although I could swear some kind of communication passed between the two of them. Keaton absconded with the God position behind his desk. Zielinski sat on the low stool with casters, apparently without permission. He could barely hide his excitement.
“Tell me all you know about male Major Transforms,” Keaton said.
“Anecdotal or scientific?”
I didn’t like his attitude, though it didn’t bother Keaton. I let it show. The skeevy old bastard didn’t even notice.
“Scientific of course,” Keaton said. “If I wanted anecdotal, I would be talking to someone else, wouldn’t I?”
“Ma’am,” he said, the most perfunctory ‘ma’am’ I had heard in a long while. “Although I’ll gladly give you the scientific information, you shouldn’t discount the anec…”
“Fuck you, Zielinski,” Keaton said, and shook her head. “It’s gotten to the point where I don’t trust anecdotal information, even when the anecdote happens to me.”
Huh? Was she talking about the Monster Arms encounter?
“Well, we could always trade our tall tales after I pass along the scientific information,” Zielinski said.
Keaton laughed.
I’d had enough of his attitude. I leaned forward out of my chair and half snarled, giving Zielinski my nastiest predator pose, visualizing him peeing in his pants.
He didn’t move, but his heart rate spiked and he slowly licked his lips. “Ma’am. Let me…”
Keaton held up a finger after giving me a hot intolerant glare. I sat back down and Zielinski shut up. The tension felt cuttable while Keaton thought, hard, for two minutes. While she thought, I replayed my own reactions in my head and didn’t like what I saw. Despite Zielinski’s provocations, I had overstepped my place. I made ready to grovel and prepared my mind for a merciless beat down.
“Hancock has a point,” Keaton said, surprising me. She stood and caught my eyes. “You grill him, however it
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