Page 7 of Snow Blind

"You know of the Technician they callThe Yield?"

"I've worked with him," she said.

He leaned forward, "What kind of Technician are you?"

"The worst kind," she replied, sipping her coffee, emptying the mug. "I am no seducer of men, nor women for that matter. I look harmless, which makes people trust me, but like the Fer de Lance, I strike without warning, and I am deadly."

He leaned forward. "I don't want to like you, but I do."

Helen asked, "Then, may we part as friendly, with no harm on my part to the Bushmaster’s heart or ambitions? Also, can you tell me where you got those pants?"

"Perhaps, but my concerns are for your ambitions," he said. "I tracked you to your home, missing you by minutes. Your man is a large guy, but there are others watching you as well, asking what I asked. What kind of Technician are you?"

"Have you led them to me?"

"No, seeing me will make them beg off for now," he said. "However, they will come, especially considering the work you did in Wisconsin."

"I did more work in Ohio and shut down a small one in Indiana," she said.

"Move with caution," he warned. "They don't know who you are but are trying to not only find out but also find you."

"Let them fuckers come. I will be ready," Helen said.

"Never invite danger into your life," he cautioned.

The sound of the truck arriving was his cue to leave. He stood up, his eyes on the door. From the other room, he retrieved his coat and hat and returned to the table to take a seat. The back door opened, bringing in Candy, who spotted him and growled.

The Fer de Lance clicked his tongue twice and lowered his tone, praising the pretty girl. He called her over, "Ven aca mi bonita."

To both the surprise of Passion Fruit, who stood frozen in the doorway, and to Helen, the dog obeyed. He rubbed Candy between the ears, provided her with a handful of cheesy eggs and stood. His coat he put on in a flourish, capped off with the Bolero on his head.

"I must depart. Thank you for the meal, the conversation, and the clarification," he said, nodding his head to Passion Fruit.

"Anytime," Helen replied.

And with that, he was gone along with the coffee mug that was the only thing, outside of the two strips of bacon he had touched with ungloved hands.

Passion Fruit looked at Helen. "I could swear that man looked like Eduardo Delgado, the Fer de Lance."

"Yeah, looks can be deceiving," Helen said, trying to wrap her mind around the direction her life was taking. He’d shown up, looking for her, not as a Drug Czar, but as a concerned father. She respected that, considering it was Micah. Then a thought hit her. She hadn't spoken to her own father in the past month. A mental note was added to her list to call him later. "I made breakfast."

"Helen, I do hope you don't plan to have guests in my home," Passion Fruit said.

"I didn't plan it; that man simply goes wherever the fuck he wants," she said, smiling. "You want some coffee?"

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