S Hunter - Longevity

“We suspect that that is something repulsive that he has been planning for over 50 years – about which we are so far clueless – and we want to try to dwar… to thwart him. Sound about right?’

Chris shrugged, but his eyes were glinting. “You’ve nailed the basics. I guess I might have saved a lot of time if I’d summarized like that to begin with, and skipped the details that might count as, well, actual evidence.”

“That’s okay. I have a few knacks, too,” Livvy said, reaching for her beer again and taking another long swallow. “Where is the Chief in all this? You know, the man who answers to “sir” and occasionally tries to tell you which way to get froggy?”

“I haven’t told him or anyone else at work that I suspect a connection between Josephson and Bedford. We’ll fill the Chief in as soon as we have something more than a series of coincidences to put Bedford solidly in the picture. The only thing concrete is my copies of the appointment records, and a missing doctor.”

“It’s pretty thin,” Livvy said.

“I want you to seriously consider going back to San Francisco until this is all over. Before now, Bedford has just been targeting us casually, to slow us down on Josephson. After tomorrow, he’ll know we’ve found the connection to him, and it will get… dicey. With a good family excuse, you could leave tomorrow.”

This seemed to sober Livvy again, although she had finished her fourth beer, keeping up with Chris respectably. She looked at the bottle in her hand like she was starting to regret it, maybe because it precluded something stronger.

“Were you even listening to me before? I’ve already made a commitment to myself to go back to San Francisco for Thanksgiving to pay for getting in here,” she said. She looked up at Chris quizzically. “But surely you know me a little better than that already. I’d be insulted except that I’m aware that acquiring a partner wasn’t your idea.”

“I had to offer, or it was going to nag at my conscience. You haven’t even had time to adjust to being a regular target for the fanatical amateurs, and soon we’re going to have pros after us,” Chris said.

“Okay. Understood. Apology accepted. Can we move on to where you think we should go from here? It’s all still just gut work, after all. Even the fifty-year-old connection to Josephson, if it came out, would prove nothing.”

“That’s why it’s going to get more serious tomorrow. I want to talk to Paula Bedford in the morning. She’s been estranged from her father for years, and I want to see if she will tell us why, or offer some insight. I think she will talk to you more readily than to me. But understand this: once we do this, it may really be a little like going to war.”

“That settles it,” Livvy said. “I need fuel. I am eating this semi-warm pepperoni pizza. Despite having one too many already, I am scrounging through your beer supply for another cold one. My apologies, but I am requisitioning your couch, where I expect to have a supremely restful night. And I demand a toothbrush, even if it’s yours.”

Chris stood up again when she mentioned the semi-warm pizza and picked up her plate. She looked up at him in challenge.

“I have, unfortunately, no better alternatives to any of that,” Chris said, carrying the pizza back to the flashwarmer. “Although I might be able to find you your own toothbrush.”

Chris dried his hands in a ‘fresher after finishing cleaning up in the kitchenette, then walked back into the table, gripped the back of his chair and looked down at his guest. He had to give her credit – a lot of credit. She’d hung in there, absorbing not only the bare facts of the case but the processes that had allowed their accumulation. A pro all right.

“You should have had more pizza,” he said quietly.

“Mmmm. I’m good. It was good, though, thanks,” Livvy murmured, and turned her head from one side where she had laid it down on her crossed arms on the table to the other so that she could look up at him.

“Just very tired. Put the toothbrush where I can find it, please. I’ll wait for you to…”

Chris cocked his head to one side and grinned. His guest – his first guest in probably a decade – appeared to have fallen asleep between one word and the next. He scanned the apartment, letting his gaze linger for a moment on Louie, who was lying on his blanket near the door. His eyes were open. He gazed back at Chris and thumped his tail on the floor twice.

“I guess I made an impression,” Chris said.

Louie lifted his head for a few seconds, then laid it back down on his forepaws and closed his eyes.

“Everyone’s a critic. Maybe I can consider this a practice run,” Chris said softly, still looking at Louie. “At being a better host.”

Livvy woke up the next morning in Chris’ bed. She was draped thoughtfully in a sheet, but was wearing nothing but her extremely expensive French underwear. She had a vague memory from late last night of having fallen asleep somewhere and then being aware of Chris helping her to her feet.

“Come along Hutchins, time for bed.”

“What’s this? After only four beers?” she remembered asking.

“Five, and I do remember warning you to eat your pizza,” Chris had said.

“No, you told me to eat my pizza. You see, I listened. To everything ,” she’d said a little blurrily, pausing in her struggle to get out of her clothes to tap her head. “Well, help me out here. I detest sleeping in my clothes, and I need to wear them again tomorrow. Did you find a toothbrush?”

She had no memory of Chris’ response to that, but here she was. She had known that they made beds that pulled down from walls, but had never experienced sleeping in one before, nor had she ever awakened to a view of a kitchen with an attractive man in it, using it. The whole situation was proving more disconcerting than she would have thought possible given her many years of experience, but she was willing to blame that on the beer.

She lay very still for a few moments, then raised her head to see Louie staring at her hopefully from the foot of the bed and to get a better view of Chris in the kitchen making breakfast with quiet efficiency. His couch was covered with a set of sheets as well. She felt a little guilty.

She decided she didn’t feel brave enough to face anyone, even Louie, until she brushed her teeth and hair so she wrapped herself in the sheet and toddled into the bathroom like an inept geisha. There she found the toothbrush she remembered, even more vaguely, from the night before, a clean towel, a brush, and her clothes, neatly hung up. Hanging over the clothes on the same hook was an armored vest of the type that was meant to fit under street clothing.

Fifteen minutes later, lavered, brushed, and combed she felt ready for breakfast. Louie met her just outside the bathroom door and escorted her to the table, then went back to the front door and stretched out on his side.

“Coffee?” Chris asked.

“Oh God yes, black. Please.”

She also saw scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.

“Still supplying some good fuel.” She cleared her throat.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Much better than you, I’ll bet. Thanks for… you know.”

“If you mean, Hutchins, ‘thank you for making me as comfortable as possible,’ I always hope I can say that even though I don’t get guests much, I haven’t forgotten how to treat them.” Chris arched his eyebrows and gave a small but wickedly attractive grin that totally dispelled any remaining constraint. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather, you know.”

Livvy choked and spit coffee all over the table. “Sorry. Laying it on way too thick,” she said, gasping and blotting it up with a napkin. “Chrono, McGregor, chrono only .”