< previous page page_44 next page >

Page 44
In deference to the woman's question, he shrugged. "Yep," he admitted. "Charlie Frazier gave it to me. He's rotating back to the States. He said I needed it."
"What is it?"
Harry gave the woman another shrug and returned to his oatmeal.
Flora managed a delicate wrinkle of the nose, a notable achievement in light of the fact that her prominent probiscus more closely resembled the snout of a small pig than that of a woman. "Whatever it is," she assessed, "it's a vile-lookin' thing."
Driver studied it momentarily from his position across the room and through the light of the dismal gray morning, then went back to sorting through his morning mail. He didn't bother to tell the woman that he had very nearly neglected to bring it home.
Flora continued her intense study of the glass container, turning it first to the right, then to the left. Finally she set it down and pointed at the particularly dark object floating in the center of the nearly opaque fluid. Her pudgy finger traced along the curvature of the glass. "See this thing here? What's this supposed to be?"
Harry ignored the question.
"Know what I think? I think it looks lonely, real lonely." All her life Flora had had a way of droning on about something. This was one of

 
< previous page page_44 next page >