The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [100]
At five o'clock, Deirdre couldn't take it any longer. Her desk looked like the aftermath of a battle between two libraries; papers and open books were heaped in chaotic piles. She took one last slug of coffee and grimaced; it was ice cold. Her headache had returned—the result of too much caffeine this time. The only thing that would get rid of it was a pint of beer.
And so one vice leads smoothly into another. Maybe hitting the pub isn't such a good idea.
Then again, knowing you had a problem was the first step in ignoring it. She shut her computer, stuffed it into her satchel, and stood.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Anders. Thanks for the coffee.”
Anders looked up from his computer and grinned. “No problem, mate. See you.”
Deirdre noticed that all of the papers on his desk were arranged in neat stacks. She turned before he could see her grimace and headed out the door. Belatedly, she realized she should have invited Anders to the pub. With Farr, it had been an unspoken agreement that they would go out for a pint after a day at the office. However, before she could go back, Sasha appeared from around a corner and hooked her elbow around Deirdre's, guiding her down the corridor.
“So, who's the Neanderthal with the bottle blond hair?” Sasha said, dark eyes gleaming. Today she was dressed like a ski resort vixen, from her too-tight sweater to the pink leg warmers.
“What?” Deirdre feigned mock surprise. “You don't already know? He's my new partner, Anders.”
Sasha scowled. “Is that his last or first name?”
“I honestly don't know.”
“You'll have to try to peek at his ID card. I bet his first name is Leslie or Carol. You know, something that doesn't go with the rough and rugged image.”
“Like designer suits, flowers, and gourmet coffee?” Deirdre mused with a sharp smile.
Sasha didn't seem to hear her. “He's a bit scary-looking, to say the least. The baby blues work, though. And the muscles, of course, but that goes without saying.”
“He's my new partner, Sasha, not my motorcycle daddy.”
“Oh, yes, I bet he's got a black leather getup in his closet,” Sasha went on eagerly, on a roll now. “You know, chaps, studs, whips—the whole scene. If you like that sort of thing. Oh, Deirdre, you don't like that, do you?”
Deirdre gaped at the other woman. “No!”
“Too bad,” Sasha purred. “Farr was way too vanilla in my opinion. I think you could do with a little danger. It's good for the complexion.” She patted Deirdre's cheek. “See you, darling.”
26.
Travis, Jay, and Marty reached the homeless shelter just in time to get the last few scoops of half-burnt oatmeal and reconstituted eggs. They ate it ravenously, even Travis. He had to eat to stay warm, and to have the energy to do what he intended to do.
Except that thought brought a wave of nausea with it, and he wished he hadn't drunk so much of the bitter, black coffee they served at the shelter. Something Professor Sparkman had said in the park that morning was important, Travis was sure of it, but his head throbbed, making it impossible to think. It had to do with matter and energy, and the missing mass in an atom. . . .
“That tasted like crap,” Jay said, pushing back his paper plate, which he had wiped clean of every speck of food.
“What are we going to do today?” Marty said.
Jay let out a belch. “We need money. I think it's time for a little can collecting. What do you say, Travis?”
He stood up. “I can't. I've got to . . . there's something I need to do.”
Jay gave him a suspicious look. “It's not something voices are telling you to do, is it?”
Despite the buzzing in his head, Travis grinned. “No, I came up with this all on my own. How about if I meet you guys later back at the park?”
“Just so long as we don't have to talk to