Page 174 of The Bone Code
“Folks are having a whale of a time out there. My humble opinion? We tear-gas the whole lot.”
I forced my best imitation of a smile.
“Can’t tell if these assholes are in a lather for themselves or their dogs.”
“Capno made the national news last night.”
Vislosky glowered at me.
“According to CNN, the outbreak isn’t confined to Charleston. There are clusters in Greenville, Columbia, Beaufort—”
“I’d say that misery loves company, but I don’t wish this crap on anyone.”
A waitress came and poised pen over pad. Shyla. Shyla had worked at the Biscuit since Sherman set off for Savannah.
I ordered a grilled crab cake sandwich. Vislosky chose tomato pie. She spoke again when Shyla had gone.
“We’re briefed daily on capno, but I still don’t get it. The CDC says the disease isn’t contagious. It’s not like COVID. People can’t pass it to each other.”
“It’s my understanding that human infections almost always come from dogs or cats.”
“Right. So one schmuck gets bitten and he’s fine, another gets scratched and he’s totally screwed.”
“I’m not an expert, but I believe I read that a person’s level of immunity is genetically determined.”
“Then how come all of a sudden everyone’s catching this shit?”
I had no answer to that.
Shaking her head, Vislosky pulled a thumb drive from a hip pocket and set it between us. Added a folded sheet of paper.
I reached for the drive. She blocked my move with one NBA hand.
“I’m letting you view this for one reason and one reason alone.”
I cocked a brow.
“She’s speaking fucking French.”
“Melanie?”
“No. Brigitte Bardot.”
I let it slide. I had more important things to deal with than Vislosky’s attitude.
“I’m happy to translate,” I said.
“The quality’s shit. The e-geeks patched together the portions they could salvage. So it’s not exactly Steven Spielberg.”
Vislosky withdrew her hand and hooked a thumb at the paper. “That’s a photocopy of a page we found wadded up inside the videocassette case. Maybe you can translate that, too.”
I took the thumb drive and paper and placed both in my bag.
While eating, I updated Vislosky on Ryan’s two haps: the Semtex and Huger’s recent cross-border sortie. She responded with a series of guttural noises.
When I’d finished, Vislosky said, “So the bastard went to Montreal.”
I nodded.
