Page 167 of Nearly Roadkill

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Winc:::purring:: Of course.

Private Message to Winc

Winc:Every time Hippie touches the thing she gets stuck. ::cracking up::

Scratch:Xlnt!

Private Message to Scratch

Winc:Hippie’s down for the count!

Scratch:Her words are comin’ out all garbled!

Winc:Don’t you just love Gwyn?

Scratch:Glad she’s on our side.

Private Message to Gwynyth

Scratch:Hey, we think you’re great! Thanks for the StickyBomb. She won!

Gwynyth:::chuckling:: Not bad for an old broad, huh?

Scratch:::leaning back, grinning:: Not bad. Period.

Private Message to Gwynyth

Winc:We love you, Gwyn! The hippie chick is *covered* in stickiness!

Gwynyth:Love you right back, dear. Wait until she brings that sludge back “home!” Ha!

Scratch:So, I’ll see you in Manhattan? ::dancing to imaginary swing band::

Scratch:Get it now? City that never sleeps?

Winc:::looking into your eyes:: Manhattan.

Scratch has left the room.

WINC HAS LEFT THE ROOM.

END TOOBE ENTRY

NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT

A woebegone and bedraggled Typhoid Mary is struggling beneath a mess of clinging… something. Thick, sticky. Quicksand? Wally Budge doesn’t know the Internet, but he knows trouble when he sees it.

He picks up his phone and dials.

“Shel, it’s me. Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m still researching the Bureau code to find out how Henderson snagged this case out from under you.”

“Check my screen. Are you seein’ what I’m seein’?”

“Oh gee, Wally, yes.”

“It’s bad, right?”

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