“I aim to please,” I replied, forcing my eyebrows back down in an attempt to look as though I’d meant to do all that.
When you aim, that is.
“Picky, picky,” I muttered as I began rifling through the ogre’s pockets. He was wearing the thick, multi-pocketed cargo pants issued to the Nebula’s heavy maintenance staff. A mangy-looking lynix—not affiliated with the well-groomed group to whom I owed a drink—tried to sneak up on me as I searched the ogre’s, possibly dead, body. I didn’t know if he was an associate, or just a concerned citizen who didn’t like the idea of looting the dead after a bar fight gone too far. I was leaning toward the former given his unsavory look.
Either way, keeping my eyes on my task, I pointed a finger straight at him—a finger that buzzed a high-pitched warning that ramped up like a turbine gaining speed. “Don’t try me, pussy. I’ll make your mange an appealing alternative.” The ear-piercing droning was actually harmless beyond the pain it caused his sensitive lynix ears, but he didn’t need to know that. The lynix, named after an old Earth wildcat, were fierce and prideful changelings, but this one seemed to know the better part of valor and, with a swish of his dingy gray tail, went back to his seat.
A little more rummaging finally produced what I was looking for: a small, folded-up notepad. I didn’t power it on right there in the bar—breaking its encryption would be a more delicate task suited for a quieter moment with Paige—but I was sure it held the lists of names, dates, and locations I was looking for. I slipped the device into the inner pocket of my jacket and made for the door.