The Broken Window (Lincoln Rhyme 8)

Earring Man: "Fuck. Scientist? Whatchu do, like, make rockets?"

They both laughed.

"No, medical equipment."

"Like that shit, you know, they say 'clear,' and electrocute you? Like, ER?"

"No, it's complicated."

Earring Man frowned.

"I didn't mean that," Arthur said quickly. "It's not that you couldn't understand it. It's just hard to explain. Quality-control systems for dialysis. And--"

High Voice: "Make good money, huh? Hear you had a nice suit when you got prossed."

"I got . . . ?" Oh, processed. "I don't know. I got it at Nordstrom."

"Nordstrom. The fuck is Nordstrom?"

"A store."

As Arthur looked back down at Earring Man's feet the con continued, "I saying, good money? How much you make?"

"I--"

"You going to say you don't know?"

"I--" Yes, he was.

"How much you make?"

"I don't . . . I'd guess about six figures."

"Fuck."

Arthur didn't know if this meant the amount was a lot or a little to them.

Then High Voice laughed. "You got a family?"

"I'm not telling you anything about them." This was defiant.

"You got a family?"

Arthur Rhyme was looking away, at the wall nearby, where a nail protruded from mortar between cinder blocks, meant to hold a sign, he assumed, that had been taken down or stolen years ago. "Leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you." He tried to make his voice forceful. But he sounded like a girl approached by a nerd at a dance.

"We trying to make civil conversation, man."

He actually said that? Civil conversation?

Then he thought, Hell, maybe they are just trying to be pleasant. Maybe they could've been friends, watched his back for him. Christ knew he needed all the friends he could get. Could he salvage this? "I'm sorry. It's just, this's a really weird thing for me. I've never been in any trouble before. I'm just--"

"What you wife do? She a scientist too? She a smart girl?"

"I . . ." The intended words evaporated.

"She got big titties?"

"You fuck her in the ass?"