| Author: | Randall Allen Farmer | ISBN: | 9781466101272 |
| Publisher: | Randall Allen Farmer | Publication: | November 4, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Randall Allen Farmer |
| ISBN: | 9781466101272 |
| Publisher: | Randall Allen Farmer |
| Publication: | November 4, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
“Do you know who I am?” the hugely muscled taxi driver said, squatting over Hank and twisting him around to face her. He met the eyes of the predator and forced down panic. The driver wore a loose fitting long sleeve checked shirt, dirty brown pants, and stood but five feet tall.
“Stacy Keaton,” Hank said. Despite appearances she was a woman, an extremely dangerous woman he would have given nearly anything in his life to meet…under much more controlled circumstances.
She backhanded him again, this time breaking his nose. His head hit the wall behind him with another bang and blood leaked down his suit coat. “Show some respect, you quack. The proper responses are ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am’.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hank said, automatically. “So you are really a failed Focus, ma’am? I didn’t believe the FBI reports. With the problems I’ve had trying to keep failed Focuses alive, I was sure they were mistaken and you were a Sport, one of the one-of-a-kind Major Tra…”
She slapped him again. “Shut up, dammit! I don’t want to have to kill you, you sodden piece of scum. I want your help, but I don’t want you yammering away at me.”
The banter was fun, in its own fatalistic way.
“Do you know who I am?” the hugely muscled taxi driver said, squatting over Hank and twisting him around to face her. He met the eyes of the predator and forced down panic. The driver wore a loose fitting long sleeve checked shirt, dirty brown pants, and stood but five feet tall.
“Stacy Keaton,” Hank said. Despite appearances she was a woman, an extremely dangerous woman he would have given nearly anything in his life to meet…under much more controlled circumstances.
She backhanded him again, this time breaking his nose. His head hit the wall behind him with another bang and blood leaked down his suit coat. “Show some respect, you quack. The proper responses are ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, ma’am’.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hank said, automatically. “So you are really a failed Focus, ma’am? I didn’t believe the FBI reports. With the problems I’ve had trying to keep failed Focuses alive, I was sure they were mistaken and you were a Sport, one of the one-of-a-kind Major Tra…”
She slapped him again. “Shut up, dammit! I don’t want to have to kill you, you sodden piece of scum. I want your help, but I don’t want you yammering away at me.”
The banter was fun, in its own fatalistic way.
