Page 40 of Consumed
“What thefuckwas the old man going on about?” Isaac demanded. Quietly, though, because Townsend was rumored to have preternaturally good hearing.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“It sounded dire. Apocalyptish even.”
“Nothing we can do about it except try our best, I guess. Come on down to the Antarctic. How familiar are you with Windows XP?”
“Ugh. I’d rather be bitten by ghouls.”
But Isaac was smiling.
CHAPTER14
Eight weekslater
Late August 2004
San Fernando, California
Con’s kitchen table was vintage Formica in an absurdly bright yellow that didn’t really match anything else but made him happy. Currently he sat staring at an envelope sitting there, addressed to Salvation C. Becker and postmarked Ohio.
Instead of opening the missive, Con lifted his phone and poked at the buttons.
Isaac picked up on the second ring. “Is something trying to eat you?”
“I’m sitting in my own kitchen. I think I’m fairly safe from attack.” Physically, anyway.
“You never know. A few years ago I got a case up in Bakersfield. A baby apep was slithering up into houses via the plumbing and—”
“There are no snake monsters in my plumbing.”
“Can I make the obligatory joke now?”
Con sighed fondly. “You’re twelve.”
“Perpetually. So what’s up?”
“Um.”Spit it out, Becker. “Are you free today?” It was a Saturday, which they usually had off when not on assignment.
“Sure. I just got back from the gym. I was thinking of heading to a beach ’cause it’s hella hot today. Wanna join me?”
“Actually… I was wondering whether you might want to come over.”
The long silence made Con squirm. When Isaac finally spoke, he sounded hesitant. “To your house?”
“Yes. I…. Shit. Remember how I sent that letter to my family a couple of weeks ago?” A letter that had taken him several days and umpteen revisions to draft. He’d probably still be revising it if Isaac hadn’t kissed him and told him to get on with it.
“Of course.”
“Today I got one back.”
“Damn. What’s it say?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Dude.” Isaac was almost certainly rolling his eyes. “Gimme your address. I’ll be right there.”
It should have taken Isaac at least half an hour to drive from his apartment in Santa Monica. Instead he came screeching into Con’s driveway twenty-five minutes later, driving one of the Bureau’s flashy sports cars instead of his own somewhat battered pickup. Since he wasn’t on assignment, he shouldn’t have been driving a company car, but Con pretended not to notice.
