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FROM THE JOURNALS OF RICHARD B. BERNSTEIN, THE ACADEMIC DETECTIVE:
It was frightening, really, to hear Wulfgar's voice, unfiltered by his "Connery-on-crack" dialect. There was only a hint of a burr in his voice, now.
"What the HELL are you saying?!?" I shouted. He regarded me levelly, then replied; "Richard, if you cannot understand me when I speak plainly, then you never shall. They are coming for us. We are leaving. NOW. You can come with us conscious, or you can come with us UNCONSCIOUS. Your choice."
"You BASTARD."
"That's almost appropriate-I dinnae have a father, after all."
I couldn't argue with him there. I became aware that the rest of the "team" had been busy packing up as we faced each other, anger congealing between us.
Lady Eboshi helped me on with my shirt and jacket, then Wulfgar handed me a shoulder holster and a wrist-sheathe for a knife. They held archy and mehitabel, my Applegate-Fairbairn commando knife and Glock.
"I thought that ye said that ye'd gotten rid o' them, Richard."
"They were confiscated by Security at NYLS-I'd thought that they'd been destroyed. Hairhead got his hands on them, somehow."
"Good, you'll need 'em."
"Goddammit-"
"You HATE guns..." he finished for me.
Zero announced that the vital and incriminating gear was stowed away.
"Let's ride", Wulfgar said.
(TBC)
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