first, Lucille. You ask me.”
“Driskell, why are your lips so red?” She’d been dying to know.
Of all the questions she might have asked, that one took him aback. “Are they too red?”
The pain in his voice momentarily confused her. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “Maybe it’s just that your teeth are so white.” Lucille found herself staring at his mouth.
“Yes, my teeth are very white.” He put the tangle of wires down on the counter, then eased his hands below to find the newspaper he’d tucked there. “My lips are a result of my lonely childhood and a kind grandmother. Nothing more.”
Lucille heard the sorrow in his voice and chose to back away. “Your eyes, Driskell, they’re almost black.” “The better to see you with, my dear.” Lucille laughed. “I’m no little Red Riding Hood.” “And I’m no … wolf.”
“Oh, Driskell.” Lucille blushed and looked down at the floor. “I do believe you’re flirting with me.”
Driskell saw the blood rise up beneath her pale skin. “I do believe I am,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal, and he found that he was gripping the work table. This was not his assignment. Although Roger had urged him to do “whatever was necessary” to learn about the Har\es, Driskell had not expected to feel such stirrings for Lucille. He had to get hold of himself.
The moment was electric, and Lucille felt both compelled and unusually cautious. Driskell was an anti-hero. He was not a man of brawn, yet his effect on her was more pronounced than any flesh and blood man she’d ever met.
A limo swished past, catching her attention and breaking the tension between them. The glide of the big car blended with another movement, something outside the window.
Driskell opened the newspaper. “This was the man who brought the television into the shop last night.” He pushed the article toward her.
She glanced at the picture. The man did look familiar, though she hadn’t paid much attention to the man who’d come in the shop. Driskell had repaired his antique black and white television in a matter of moments and sent him on his way.
“He was apparently abducted after he left here.” Driskell waited for her reaction.
“They must have taken the television, too. Who would want a black and white television?”
“Lucille, he’s a famous scientist.”
She read a few paragraphs of the story that detailed Robert Beaudreaux’s top secret work with Keesler Air Force Base. “So he is,” she answered.
“You know nothing about him?”
She thought back, trying to establish a memory. She’d heard his name. He’d been on some magazine cover, because everyone at the bank talked about it for days. But she never read newspapers or magazines. “Why are you so interested?” she asked. Driskell’s intense scrutiny, his obsession with Robert Beaudreaux, unnerved her. “I have to be going.”
Driskell blocked her access to the door. “Are you sure you don’t know that man? Think, Lucille, this could be important.”
Marvin Lovelace tapped the steel tip of his cane lightly against the broken concrete. The hour was late, and it was dangerous for him to stand about on poorly lit streets. With the disappearance of Robert Beaudreaux, the cops were on the prowl. The heat was on to find the scientist. Not that they ever would. But the kidnapping of Beaudreaux, though necessary, had made Marvin’s job even more delicate.
At the whisper of an approaching car, Marvin slipped into the small alley beside Bo’s Electronics. He could not afford to be picked up by the local cops. Their inept questioning would not reveal anything about him. His past had vanished, a fact accomplished through the wonders of modern technology and an old Colt.45. It wasn’t the most efficient weapon he’d ever used, but it was one of the most beautiful. The only rival was the twenty-four-inch machete he’d had in Panama. The handle had been made from a human tibia, and it was indeed
“Driskell, why are your lips so red?” She’d been dying to know.
Of all the questions she might have asked, that one took him aback. “Are they too red?”
The pain in his voice momentarily confused her. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. “Maybe it’s just that your teeth are so white.” Lucille found herself staring at his mouth.
“Yes, my teeth are very white.” He put the tangle of wires down on the counter, then eased his hands below to find the newspaper he’d tucked there. “My lips are a result of my lonely childhood and a kind grandmother. Nothing more.”
Lucille heard the sorrow in his voice and chose to back away. “Your eyes, Driskell, they’re almost black.” “The better to see you with, my dear.” Lucille laughed. “I’m no little Red Riding Hood.” “And I’m no … wolf.”
“Oh, Driskell.” Lucille blushed and looked down at the floor. “I do believe you’re flirting with me.”
Driskell saw the blood rise up beneath her pale skin. “I do believe I am,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal, and he found that he was gripping the work table. This was not his assignment. Although Roger had urged him to do “whatever was necessary” to learn about the Har\es, Driskell had not expected to feel such stirrings for Lucille. He had to get hold of himself.
The moment was electric, and Lucille felt both compelled and unusually cautious. Driskell was an anti-hero. He was not a man of brawn, yet his effect on her was more pronounced than any flesh and blood man she’d ever met.
A limo swished past, catching her attention and breaking the tension between them. The glide of the big car blended with another movement, something outside the window.
Driskell opened the newspaper. “This was the man who brought the television into the shop last night.” He pushed the article toward her.
She glanced at the picture. The man did look familiar, though she hadn’t paid much attention to the man who’d come in the shop. Driskell had repaired his antique black and white television in a matter of moments and sent him on his way.
“He was apparently abducted after he left here.” Driskell waited for her reaction.
“They must have taken the television, too. Who would want a black and white television?”
“Lucille, he’s a famous scientist.”
She read a few paragraphs of the story that detailed Robert Beaudreaux’s top secret work with Keesler Air Force Base. “So he is,” she answered.
“You know nothing about him?”
She thought back, trying to establish a memory. She’d heard his name. He’d been on some magazine cover, because everyone at the bank talked about it for days. But she never read newspapers or magazines. “Why are you so interested?” she asked. Driskell’s intense scrutiny, his obsession with Robert Beaudreaux, unnerved her. “I have to be going.”
Driskell blocked her access to the door. “Are you sure you don’t know that man? Think, Lucille, this could be important.”
Marvin Lovelace tapped the steel tip of his cane lightly against the broken concrete. The hour was late, and it was dangerous for him to stand about on poorly lit streets. With the disappearance of Robert Beaudreaux, the cops were on the prowl. The heat was on to find the scientist. Not that they ever would. But the kidnapping of Beaudreaux, though necessary, had made Marvin’s job even more delicate.
At the whisper of an approaching car, Marvin slipped into the small alley beside Bo’s Electronics. He could not afford to be picked up by the local cops. Their inept questioning would not reveal anything about him. His past had vanished, a fact accomplished through the wonders of modern technology and an old Colt.45. It wasn’t the most efficient weapon he’d ever used, but it was one of the most beautiful. The only rival was the twenty-four-inch machete he’d had in Panama. The handle had been made from a human tibia, and it was indeed
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