Part 17 (1/2)
”I know,” she said. She pulled a few grocery store cards from his wallet, glanced at each of them, and tossed them on the table. ”Your parents were Beatles fans?”
She stared at him for a moment and George realized she was waiting on an answer. He swallowed and tried to stay calm. ”Star Wars,” he said. ”Dad said I was almost George Han Bailey, but Mom won out.”
The man in the corner to George's left, the one with the bruise, bit back a snort.
The blonde's gaze didn't waver. ”Are you a sci-fi geek?”
”When I was a kid.”
”Not anymore?”
”No more than anyone else, I guess.”
Another long pause stretched out. Her eyes were bright green. The longer he looked, the more he was sure she wasn't a nice person.
He looked away from her eyes. ”Ummmm ... What's this all about?”
The blonde tossed his wallet on the table. ”You do any sports?”
”What?”
”Football? Weightlifting? Maybe a little soccer on your lunch break?”
”I ... no.”
”Nothing?”
”I ride my bike to work sometimes in the summer. That's it.”
”Ever take anything for that?”
”What?”
The blonde nodded at the man with the splints. ”You put up a real fight when we grabbed you.”
”I was scared.”
”A lot more of a fight than a guy your size and build should be able to. Especially against guys like these.” She paused again. ”My friend here thinks you're on steroids.”
He shook his head. ”No. Absolutely not.”
”That's what I told him.”
”Good,” said George. ”You're right.”
”You're way too skinny to be on steroids. My bet was meth.”
He blinked. ”I'm not on anything.”
”You sure about that?”
”I have to do a drug test every six months. I don't even smoke.”
She held out her hand. One of the men placed a cell phone in it. George realized it was his. She made a few quick swipes at the phone's screen and then held up the call log for him to see. ”Yesterday morning,” she said, ”you placed a call to Sandia Labs in New Mexico. The Pulsed Power Project. The call lasted just under nine minutes.”
This pause was twice as long. George wasn't sure if she wanted an answer and he didn't want to risk interrupting her if she started talking again. Once he was sure she was waiting on him, he gave a quick nod. ”Yeah,” he said. ”I did.”
”Why?”
”Why what?”
”Why did you call the lab?”
”I was looking for someone.”
”Barry Burke?”
”Yes.”
”And you found him.” Another statement, not a question.
”Yeah.”
”How do you know Mr. Burke?”
”I ...”
The blonde set his phone on the table and crossed her arms. ”It's not really a tough question,” she said. ”How do you know him?”
”I'm not sure I do,” admitted George.
”So why were you calling him?”
George started to talk, then closed his mouth.
”Well?”
”I think ... I think I'd like to talk to a lawyer,” George said. ”Counsel. Whatever you call it.”
The blonde's mouth twitched into a new shape. If it was a smile, it was a cruel one. ”A lawyer?” she echoed. ”What year do you think this is, George? I don't have to give you a bathroom if I don't want to. Answer the question. Why were you calling Barry Burke?”
Something burned at the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. ”To see if I recognized him. Recognized his voice.”
”But you don't know him?”
”I don't think so.”
”You don't think so? Have you ever met?”
George shook his head. ”No.”