“It’s harder than is sounds,” says Larry mournfully. They’re cruising Main. “I mean anybody thinks–I hang out with a lot of girls, right? But the nice guy who hangs out with all the hot girls… you know?” His phone buzzes. “Hey you! No, what you up to? Oh… might be here on Fourth for a while… Yeah? Mmm. I could be down for that. Yeah, Misty, call you a little later then? Yeah. Okay. Bye, sweetie.” He hangs up. “I don’t know, man, maybe I’m just too sorry for myself.”
In the passenger seat, Lowell picks his chin and sighs.
The Great Zaganza furrows his brow, stretches out one hand and says “Nothing’s jumping out at me,” and then something does. It gives an impression of mostly teeth.
Rita tackles him hard as Sandra pivots in, hammering the thing down with one arm. It bounds up, snarling, high-pitched. Rita throws Zaganza aside and scrambles for her holster, too slow–
Zip. Zip. Mary’s silencer jerks twice; it hits the floor with a wet thud.
“Corticophore,” she says. “Smells psychoactivity. Guess you’re the real deal, Z.”
Zaganza’s cheek twitches. He’s very pale. Rita has difficulty getting an exact count of the creature’s mouths.