The man smiled. "Depends on your definition of work. But it is exhausting, in its own way."
Valentine nodded. "You look kind of sick or something."
"This is nothing. You should have seen me when I first got out of the tank. I'd been connected for six days. Couldn't even stand up until they got some orange juice in me."
Valentine nodded. "Sounds like tough duty. I'm sure it's more interesting than driving around in an old car, though, making sure nobody's hiding milk cows in the hills."
"Funny, I've never been to Wisconsin, but damn if you don't look familiar," the man mused.
" You been up in the north woods?"
"No."
Valentine fought the urge to lower his face, but he looked the man square in the eye. "Then I don't know where else you might've seen me. I've never been south of Indianapolis."
The man shrugged. "I dunno. I never forget a face, and-"
A heavy tread echoed from the hallway, and the cop returned, escorting a shuffling man with the bulky build of a power lifter. He had a battered face that looked like he drove railroad spikes with it. "Burt, this guy wants to do some business with you," the patroller said.
"Sure, sure. Be with you in a minute, kid. Hey, Jimmy King, you look tuckered. You need the usual?"
"A nice juicy one, Burt."
There was a look of raw lust in the man's eyes like nothing Valentine had ever seen. It sickened him, but he was glad of it; the mystery of Valentine's face was plainly the last thing on Jimmy King's mind at the moment.
Burt grinned. "Then follow. Pickings are a little slim this time of year, but I know you ain't particular. Some of your friends have been through, and I have a lot of empty cells."
As Burt and Jimmy King left the room, Valentine toked the cop yet again. "Thanks again," he said.
"Have fun, kid. Pleasure doing business with you."
As soon as the cop had passed out the metal door to the yard, Valentine hardened his ears. Burt and the Twisted Cross man seemed to be going down some stairs.
"Got the old thirst, huh?" Burt asked.
"You know it," King said, his rubber-soled feet squeaking a little against the stone stairs.
"Your bro recovered from that shotgun blast yet?"
"Yeah, sure. He won't win any dance contests, but he gets around well enough. For a while there, I was limping even when I wasn't in the tank."
"How long were you hooked up this time?"
"Almost a week. Fucker fed three times. Made me want it so bad I almost bit the guy pulling me out. But the general was happy with what we did; gave the whole team two weeks off. We wiped out a whole nest of rebs in the Smokies."
Valentine heard keys rattling and the sound of a door being opened somewhere below.
"General shouldn't make you pull such long shifts. I heard some of your guys went nuts after..."
The clang of the door shutting echoed loudly enough for Valentine to hear with soft ears. The voices were gone.
He waited fifteen minutes before the basement door opened again, and Burt's ponderous step ascended the stairs, key ring jangling. Burt returned to the linoleum-floored room, and Valentine rose to meet him.
"My name's Pillow, sir. First visit to the Zoo."
"Burt Walker. Chief of One-Way Exhibits."
"One-Way?"