Page 33 of Sloth
“Pinkerton,” she finished.
“Well, that makes one of us.”
The barman dropped two glasses in front of them and poured the Scotch. Sloan dragged one to Barry, and lifted her own, tipping it toward him in a salute.
“Tell me, love. What exactly about my work do you like?”
She paused. Should she talk about his current work? There wasn’t much about that to like. Which meant… Flint saved her by adding,“Tell him, although you were never a fan of the smell, you’re a huge fan of the way he preserved his Hairy Frog.”
She almost spat out the Scotch. Hairy Frog? Gross. She wouldn’t be saying that. What kind of nonsense did Flint and Barry get up to when they were younger?
Barry watched her expectantly.
“Say it, Sloan.”
“Um.” She felt the blood drain from her face. “I can’t say I’m a fan of how it smells, but I’m a huge fan of your work with Hairy Frog preservation.”
“Hairy Frog!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t touched one of those in decades.”
“Remind him about how the frog’s bones extend from its digits when under attack. Tell him. Also, it’s highly carnivorous and terrestrial. Tell him.”
Good Lord, Flint was getting excited. Sloan repeated his words. When she was done, Barry had forgotten his old drink, and swiveled on his stool to peer at her with clever eyes. “What else?”
With Flint’s guidance, she mentioned some sort of underwater slug that could withstand boiling and freezing temperatures, and an amphibian that could grow its brain back. While Barry gawped at her, Flint muttering about how his little round ball that could disrupt three floors of tech was much better than any slimy invention of Barry’s.
Sloan handed the man his fresh drink and casually nudged his empty glass back toward Max.
“Impressive,” Barry said, accepting her drink. “I never thought anyone was interested in that line of research anymore.”
“Well,” she snorted. “It’s nowhere near as good as a little silver ball that can disrupt three levels of tech.”
Silence.
Both in her earpiece and in front of her. Barry’s eyes narrowed, his voice lowered. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone who knows you don’t belong with your current employer.”
“You better start talking before I call security.”
“I’m hoping you won’t, Barry. I’m hoping that the sin I sense churning in your gut tells me otherwise.”
His eyes widened, he paled, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his shaved upper lip. “Which one are you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is whether you want to make things right.”
“I-I can’t. It’s not possible.” Barry’s wide eyes darted about the room. “They’re everywhere. They could be listening or watching now.”
Sloan opened her clutch and pulled out a business card with a single number on it. No name, nothing else, just her number. “In case you change your mind.”
He took it, fingers trembling.
“Before I go,” she asked. “An old friend would like it very much if I get a picture with you. Do you mind?”
She pulled out her cell and activated the camera. Standing next to him, she aimed so they were both in the shot and smiled. Stunned, the man stared into the lens as she took the snap. She took the shot from two more angles, feigning a complaint about the lighting. Packing her cell away, she went to leave but he stopped her.
“Did he find his nun?”
Sloan almost laughed. Back when they worked in the lab, Mary had disguised herself as a nun to work with the children. They’d had no idea she was one of the world’s most dangerous assassins. Possibly still didn’t. Flint had fallen in love with Mary—even when he believed she was a nun. He still joked about how Mary had taunted him.
