CHAPTER 48

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'I didn't think there would still be so many police,' said Ardia.

'I understand it's not acceptable to just fight them?' said Homer.

The two were perched on the roof of a very tall warehouse building that supplied a view of the scene of their battle with the Russians. From their vantage, they could see that the building they hoped to gain entry to was still very well patrolled and guarded by uniformed police officers.

'I don't understand why they do this,' said Homer, gesturing towards the faraway policemen. 'Why do they protect this place now?'

'To preserve the evidence, I guess,' said Ardia.

'To preserve it from who?' said Homer. 'And to preserve what?'

Ardia said, 'Fingerprints, empty cartridge casings, tire threads. You name it and they can use it to track you down.'

'I can't name most of those things,' said Homer. Then he repeated himself, clearly frustrated to be without an answer, 'To preserve it from who?'

'From reporters, I suppose,' said Ardia, 'and lookie-loos. And maybe from people like us, returning to the scene of the crime to interfere with things.'

'Lookie-loo?' said Homer, chewing on the word with care. 'What kind of a creature is a Lookie-loo? And why must men with guns protect empty cartridge casings from them?'

Ardia smiled, honestly smiled with amusement, and said, 'Lookie-loos are just nosey people. People who are drawn to the drama. If the police weren't there then the place would probably be crawling with civilians ogling the site of the big battle. I don't know what made me think we had a chance of getting in.'

'What do we do now?' asked Homer.

'I'm not sure,' said Ardia.

'I think we should wait,' said Homer.

Ardia shrugged minutely and the two waited in silence. The silence was reasonably comfortable. The initial tension that had lain between them, when they first met, had begun to thaw. Standing side by side during their battle with the Golem seemed to have created something of a bond. Both of them were special individuals. Neither of them had ever met another that was nearly as unique as the other. And now they were allies. Now the Golem might hold a link that would join their purposes as well.

Reflecting on this, Ardia suddenly said, 'Why do you want to find your father Homer?'

'To kill him,' said Homer, not removing his stare from the patrolling policemen below.

'Yes,' said Ardia, rolling her eyes to Heaven in that "give me patience" look. 'You've said that. You've made that extremely clear. Maybe I should have been more specific. Why do you want to kill him?'

Homer nodded slowly, thoughtfully. He had a resigned look on his face. Momentarily, he turned his body to face hers. When he looked at her she was struck by the earnestness on his face. She was again struck, as she had been before, by how human he could be like at times. Right now, all she could see was a man, a man not accustomed to speaking about his emotions, preparing to share something.

'I think I will tell you,' he said.

Ardia didn't say anything. Homer continued, 'I think, as we might both be pursuing the same path, that it would be good for you to know. You have said that you seek a creature like me, for revenge, for your mother. If this creature turns out to be my father then you will need to get to him before I do, or else you'll need to go through me.'

'Why?' asked Ardia. She could see the emotion painted on his face. She couldn't identify it. She could only be sure that it wasn't anger or rage. The expression she was seeing was something like sadness, grief, or some kind of shame.

'I remember being born,' said Homer. His voice suddenly grew distant.

'You what?' said Ardia.

'I remember being born. I remember everything in my life. I understand this is strange to most people. I remember my mother.'

Ardia could see how sad he was now and she considered it. His mother had killed herself not long after he was born. That was sad. It seemed sadder now that he had a memory of her. That his only memory of her was the perception an infant has of its mother.

'That's why I must kill him. When he made me, with her... It was not with her permission.'

Ardia hadn't thought much about the making of Homer. She realized now that she had had some vaguely formed notion of a Tarzan and Jane romance in her head.

'He raped her?' she asked.

'Yes,' said Homer, nodding his head slowly. 'That's how he made me. Father, my human father, says that he did this to many women in the jungle that year. None of the others survived. Father says he doesn't know why my birth father did this. He only says that it means that my birth father is something twisted and sick. But I think I know the reason he does it.'

Ardia watched him with bated breath. He seemed to be trying to form the words, but his mouth worked silently. Her heart ached to watch his effort to express himself.

Eventually, he said, 'He did it to make me. I'm sure of it. It wasn't for his pleasure alone.'

'How can you know?'

'I just know.'

'Homer...'

He held up a massive hand to stop her from speaking. He shook his head, as though he was trying to shake away his feelings, and continued to say, 'I killed my mother by being what I am. But I am only what I am because he made me. And... I know women can do things like that, going in the water to die, when they have been forced. I need to kill him for that. But it's more than that too. I hate him more than that. I hate him for more than what he did to my mother.'

Ardia said, 'Why?'

'I don't know. I just know there's more hate than that.'

Ardia nodded her head and said, 'I know why Homer.'

He waited for her to speak and the moment hung between them, fragile and personal. Ardia considered whether or not she should say it. It might not be a good thing to say. But she said it anyway, 'You hate him for making you a product of rape.'

Homer turned his head away from her so that she couldn't see his face. All she heard was his voice croaking, tinged with revelation, 'Yes.'

She leaned a little closer to him and put a hand on his gigantic shoulder. She didn't speak. She didn't tell him how stupid it was to think or feel that way. He'd heard that all before from O'Connor, she was sure of it. He didn't need to hear it from her again.

They stayed that way for a time, in a silence that was at once even more companionable than before, and also terribly pregnant.

When Homer spoke, he said, 'Thank you. I did not mean to make a confession.'

'You haven't had many people to talk to Homer, have you?' she said.

Homer snorted and said, 'I have had one people to talk to, Ardia. Father. That's all.'

'We're going to have to do something about that,' said Ardia.

'About what?'

'What you call the father you like and the father you want to kill. I swear to God, it's confusing as hell.'

Homer smiled, 'What would you suggest?'

'I'll think of something,' Ardia said, returning the smile. Then she said, 'You know, there's something else I was thinking about.'

'Yes?'

'You should learn to fight.'

Homer looked at her with a look of disbelief, 'I know how to fight. There are many dead bodies, in the place where they take dead bodies in this city, that can testify to that.'

Ardia shook her head, 'I know you can do that. I watched you go all "Hulk smash, Hulk Bash" last night. But you just did it with your power, your strength. That mightn't matter when you're fighting normal people. But against The Golem...'

'I'm stronger than he is!' Homer spat.

'You might be, but he easily got the better of you. And your father, the bad one? You won't be able to completely overpower him like you did with those gangsters either. I'll bet he's older and wiser and knows what he's doing.'

'So what should I do?'

'Learn to use that power you've got. Homer, I swear, you're stronger than me, bigger than me, more explosive and a lot harder to knock down, but when we had our misunderstanding that first time in Brazil, I nearly got the better of you.'

'You're faster,' said Homer.

'Barely!' said Ardia. 'If I was only faster then you'd have killed me.'

Homer nodded, 'And then I wouldn't have to be sitting here listening to you tell me that I don't know how to fight.'

Ardia threw her hands up in the air and stomped away from him. She then turned around and faced him again. 'You know how to fight Homer, I just think you're raw. I think if you learned how to use your natural abilities better then you'd be a lot more dangerous. I know several martial arts. Abraham taught me krav maga. If you had the knowledge that I have, combined with your strength and speed, I think you would be able to destroy the Golem in seconds.'

'And my father...?'

'Yes, him too, as long as we're not talking about the nice old Irish guy.'

Homer smiled.

They waited in silence a while longer. As the night grew older it became clear that there would be no opportunity to penetrate the warehouse. Still, long after this was apparent, they waited on the rooftop. Homer and Ardia both sharing the freedom of the rooftop, the fresh air. They enjoyed the exclusivity of being up there.

Ardia was about to suggest that they depart when the voice sounded behind them. It was the unmistakable harsh rasp of the Golem.

'Returned to the scene of the crime?' he spoke in an unhurried, unexcited tone.

They both whirled to face him. He had changed his clothes since they had last seen him. He stood before them dressed in a new tailored suit, with what appeared to be new shoes and a freshly pressed, brazenly pink, tie.

Ardia looked at him and smiled. She drew two strobe lamps from her pockets and passed one to Homer.

Homer held the item as though it was a weapon of incomprehensible destruction. He looked at the Golem, waving the lamp towards him, and said, 'It will be different this time.'

CHAPTER 49

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The night was cool but not cold on this night, in Rome. The broad roadway was divided into a number of lanes and was as heavy with traffic as a main thoroughfare could be, at this late hour. The cars passed in flashes of headlamps. Most of the cars that passed were memories almost as quickly as they were realities. Some cars pulled over to be approached by the girls that patrolled the sidewalk. All of these girls were scantily dressed, some wore what was basically lingerie on full display.

O'Connor walked down the sidewalk without concern. He drew some glances, still wearing his priest's collar, as he strolled down Via Cristoforo Colombo. The women he passed were mainly dark-skinned beauties, ranging from the exotic complexions of Romanians to the deep cocoa skin of African women. One girl called to him as he passed, 'Ti vuoi divertire un po?' O'Connor smiled at her, sincerely declining her invitation.

He walked on and turned down a side street. He didn't need to check the address he was looking for. He had been here before, to find the same man as he was looking for on this night. As he walked, the scenery changed from the open spaces of the main roadways to the narrower roads of an old residential district. Houses sprang up around him as he walked, tall stately homes that had stood for many decades, even centuries.

He kept his eyes keen for the door he was looking for. It was not difficult. Not much had changed here in the years since his last visit. When he saw the door, an unassuming door to a very large but still unassuming house, he climbed the steps and rang the bell.

The door was answered almost instantly. A huge, heavyset, black man opened the door. He spoke with a grim face in a very thick African accent, 'Si?'

O'Connor smiled calmly and said, 'I'm here to see my friend, Father Stryker.'

The grim face softened slightly and the man smiled. He didn't say any more but simply stepped out of the doorway so O'Connor could pass through. The interior of the building hadn't changed in the past decades either. The decor of the interior practically spelled the word brothel. Everything was bright colors and fabrics. Women passed around him, pursued by chortling men, in a variety of dress that ranged from very little to nothing at all.

O'Connor turned back to the big black man and raised an eyebrow.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

'He is in the parlor,' said the man.

O'Connor nodded his appreciation and went down the hall. Everything was spacious and lavish. Through the ceiling, he could hear the muffled giggles and groans of the women conducting their business.

The parlor was a very big room, furnished with ornate couches and armchairs. In the middle of the room was a cluster of four girls surrounding what looked like an NFL linebacker in priest's clothing. The girls were wearing nothing but lingerie, if that. The priest's shirt was open, revealing a wall of lean, chiseled muscle. He had the handsome face of man less than thirty, with a wide strong jaw and a close-cut beard. He was laughing uproariously while clutching one of the girls in one arm and an open bottle of whiskey in the opposite hand.

O'Connor smiled to himself and shook his head. Some things never changed. He had visited this exact scene thirty some years ago and found the same young man on the same couch, surrounded by women.

When the man looked up and saw O'Connor his face broke into a powerful smile. The smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared and he said, 'Oh no. You're not takin' me outta here!'

'Come on Stryker,' said O'Connor. 'Bring the whiskey bottle over here and let's share a few.'

Stryker looked suspiciously at O'Connor but got to his feet. He asked one of the girls to bring two glasses, delivering a parting slap to her rump as she ran to fetch them.

O'Connor and Stryker settled in two armchairs in a corner, a beautiful coffee table between them, and held their glasses of amber liquid.

'Thought you were done with us, Con,' said Stryker, not taking his gaze from the parade of scantily clad bodies that flowed through the room.

'I am done,' said O'Connor, doing his best not to gaze at the same parade of women. 'What happened in Washington... I can't have any more to do with the Order.'

'Yeah... that was pretty bad' said Stryker, pursing his lips. 'What are you doin' back then?'

O'Connor sipped his whiskey and his eyes fluttered with surprise. He looked at the bottle and said, 'Christ Stryker, how can you afford this?'

Stryker smiled and waved away the comment, 'I'm the A-Team, Con. My operations accounts are well stocked.'

'Operations accounts, for mission expenses...' said O'Connor.

Stryker leaned over the coffee table and said, 'I am on a mission. Her name's Giselle and she'll be starting work soon. Now, answer my damned question and tell me what you're doin' here.'

O'Connor said, 'I need help.'

Stryker slapped O'Connor on the arm and said, 'Then you got it.' Then Stryker took a moment to inspect his friend's face and said, 'Shit, you got old in the jungle.'

O'Connor nodded, 'Remember when we looked more or less the same age?'

Stryker nodded, 'I do! You weren't a bad lookin' kid back in the seventies. Shame you took your damn vows so serious. You woulda made a hell of a wingman.'

O'Connor continued to stare at his companion. Stryker observed this and said, 'What?'

'It's just strange. To be back here. Nothing's changed a bit. The streets look the same, this place looks the same. You haven't changed. I mean, of course, you haven't changed. It just feels odd to be sitting here after thirty years and the only thing that's aged in the scene is me.'

'Not aging's not all it's cut out to be. Now you imagine being eighty years old and having to have sex with all these young beauties with the body of a twenty-five-year-old.'

The two men looked at each other and both burst out laughing. When the laughter had settled down Stryker said, 'So, you gonna tell me what you need?'

O'Connor shifted in his seat and said, 'You know, I'm not exactly certain.'

'Well, that's a huge fucking clue.'

'I've been involved in something. Me and some friends encountered something in Prague.'

Stryker raised and eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. He said, 'Been freelancin' have you?'

O'Connor nodded slowly, 'Let's call it that. We met a creature there. A thing called the Golem.'

Stryker's eyes widened slightly in recognition, 'Ah yeah. I know the one.'

'You've met him?' asked O'Connor.

'Yeah, back in '04 or '05. Thought I'd drowned the fucker actually. Sorry to hear he's still sucking wind. Bastard broke my arm in three places. Horrible bad breaks. Took me almost two weeks to heal and get back to full strength.'

O’Connor said, 'Do you know anything about him?'

It was Stryker's turn to shift in his seat, 'You're not gonna start askin' me for state secrets now are you O'Connor? Old man Werner would chew my ass off if he found out.'

'Since when do you care? And “old man” Werner is barely older than you are. Besides, I have Werner's blessing.'

'How the hell did you get that? When you quit on us he nearly sent some of us out to get you. And I don't mean to bring you back.'

'He said he'd help me if I got you to take a break from your current boozing and whoring binge.'

'Ah shit. That's not even playing fair. So I gotta go back to that boring fucking center for the crew-cut brigade if I want to sort by old buddy out...'

'Please, Stryker. It's important.'

'Well, what the fuck's it about then? If I'm gonna be forced to miss my appointment with Giselle then the least you can fucking do is to stop beating around the goddamned bush.'

'I'm trying to help some companions. They're special people.'

Stryker took his eyes from the lace clad buttocks of a young Hispanic woman long enough to look at O'Connor and said, 'Special like they've got to wear helmets going to bed or...'

'Special like you Stryker. Special like you, and like the things that you hunt.'

CHAPTER 50

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Homer stood frozen, just staring at the Golem. The Golem stared right on back, but a slyness began to creep into his face.

'My father?' Homer barely managed to croak out the words.

The Golem's smile widened, deepening the chasms that covered his face. He said, 'No. Not your father.'

'Someone like him, though?' Ardia said, stepping forward. In the moment, she had forgotten the tension that lay between them and The Golem. In this moment it only mattered that she might finally have found a concrete lead to her mother's killer.

The Golem's smile widened further. His face took on the appearance of an only child at Christmas, overwhelmed at all the gifts and not sure where to turn. After a moment of savoring the confusion he had created, he eventually shook his head again and said, 'No. Not Troy.'

'Then how is he my blood?' Homer said, stomping forward.

'He might not even be related to you,' said The Golem. 'That was always just a little theory of mine.'

Ardia rolled her eyes to heaven and said, 'God, come out with it.'

The Golem waggled a finger at them and said, 'Not so fast. We each may have things that the others might want. I, however, have not survived this long by showing all my cards at once. Troy is the man who made me, who I believe made all of us. There are certain things I know of him, yes. But there doesn't seem to be anything you can share with me in exchange.'

'Then why are you here?' Ardia said.

'As I said, I have the impression that he might be in your way. That he might even be the quarry of one or both of you. I won't cross him, it's not worth the risk to me. But nudging you on your way seems worth a try. It will be your graves after all. Or worse.'

'If you want us to find him then we need more information than what you've given us,' Ardia said. Behind her, Homer uttered a very deep, very menacing growling sound.

'Right you are,' said The Golem. 'What if we made a little deal then. I know of a place where he spent quite some time. In Germany. In the 1940s.'

'And...' Ardia wasn't even trying to disguise her impatience.

'And I want you to go there. I have never been, I doubt anyone has been there in a very long time. Again, for me, it's one of those risk versus reward things. Even if I had enough interest in the matter I would have too much fear of being exposed by going there. But you two... Well, you two seem to be completely oblivious to trouble.'

The Golem produced an ornate cigarette case. From this, he drew a cigarette and then closed the case with a disconcertingly prim movement. He lit the cigarette, drew deeply, and then continued to speak as he exhaled. The smoke drifted from his lips as he spoke, producing a diffuse haze.

'If you go to this place and gather information then I will meet with you again and share what I know in exchange for what you know. That seems to be a very equitable agreement to me.'

Ardia and Homer exchanged a glance. They both wanted a trail, any trail, that might lead them to their respective quarries.

Ardia returned her attention to The Golem and said, 'Okay. Deal.'

The Golem smiled again and licked his lips. The tongue was very pink and very soft looking as it darted in and out of the cavernous maw.

CHAPTER 51

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The pair walked briskly through the lamp lit streets of Rome. They made a mismatched pair. O'Connor with his lean wiry frame, and his deceptive grace. Stryker, with his massive body and long strides, practically shining with strength and power.

'It sounds like a fucking mess. I can't really figure how you got yourself into this one Connor. Are you sure I'm not the one cavorting with abominations and making enemies out of monsters? That would sound a whole lot more fucking correct to me, if you were here to help me out of my shit-storm instead of the other way round.'

Father O'Connor smiled, a tinge of red touching his cheeks.

'Oh, yer embarrassed now? Embarrassed is something we save for being caught in a brothel wearing diapers and calling a hooker mammy, not forsaking a sacred vow.'

'And you're one to talk,' said O'Connor.

'What? I never! Where'd you hear... Oh, you mean the vows... Well, that's just it, Connor. Nobody is shocked anymore by the ways I disgrace the cloth. For fuck's sake, if I was anyone else I'd have been excommunicated by now. Christ, I'd have been fucking crucified. But you... Well, you're a different story. It's not like you.'

They walked in silence for a while.

Then, as they rounded a corner, O'Connor said, 'Are you going to help me?'

Stryker emitted a single bark of laughter, 'Of course, I'm going to help you. Hell, Con, even if you hadn't gotten Werner to sanction it I'd probably have decided to help you. This just makes it easier. And taking a hop over to Prague will probably put an end to my current whoring and drinking binge. Well, in this city, at least.'

O'Connor suddenly looked alarmed, 'You're coming with me? I'm not sure Werner...'

'Don't give a fuck about Werner. If you're, ah, "friends" have gotten themselves mixed up with The Golem, then ye need me. And Werner wants to see me so going to Prague seems like a good way of avoiding that. I thought the bastard was dead anyway, The Golem, not Werner. Besides all that, you know I need to meet this special lady and your... ahem... son.'

'I thought they'd pique your interest,' said O'Connor.

'Too fucking right you are. Matter of fact, I don't see any fucking reason to go back to Werner. That'll just involve me getting my ass reddened and him plastering a shit ton of his rules all over this thing. I'll book us flights right now. Head that way, we'll catch a taxi.'

As they changed direction, Stryker produced a touchscreen smartphone from his pocket. With his attention half on the screen, he began the process of swiping and tapping that was involved in arranging flights through the internet. As he was finishing his operation he glanced at O'Connor and then back to his phone. Almost immediately he returned his eyes to O'Connor. He said, 'What the fuck is wrong with you?'

O'Connor was walking with his attention transfixed, his jaw hanging open. He said, 'What is that?'

'What's what?' asked Stryker.

'That,' said O'Connor reaching a finger towards the phone. His gesture was almost reverent.

Stryker looked confused for a minute and then realization dawned on his face. 'It's a smartphone. Holy fucking shit, you have been in the jungle a long time!'

CHAPTER 52

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'Your are okay?' Marek asked.

Abraham didn't respond to the question. He was seated on the edge of the sofa in the Kokourek's hideaway. His many wounds were still fully apparent. His face was blurred with some indeterminable expression. At first glance, it might have been a grim expression provoked by his physical pain, but on second glance it was something else.

'You are okay?' asked Marek again, leaning forward and peering at Abraham.

'Of course, he is not okay. He is hurt,' said David. 'Do something useful. Make coffee.'

'You make coffee,' said Marek. Nonetheless, he turned on his heel and disappeared.

Silence reigned in the room for a while, broken only by the occasional clinking kitchen noises of Marek in the other room. David fidgeted for a time and blew air loudly through his pursed lips. Abraham, in the meantime, moved not at all.

'You... are okay?' David asked.

Abraham turned his head slowly to show David the face of a man who was very much not okay, and very much disinterested in inane questions about his well being.

The exit door suddenly flew open. David started to rise from his seat, his hand darting under his jacket. Then he stopped and returned to his previous position as Ardia entered, followed closely by Homer.

Abraham's face immediately softened and he tried to rise. Ardia moved to him and pushed him back with a hand on his shoulder, 'I don't think you should be up yet.'

'I couldn't stay there any longer. I needed to be up and about.'

'Yes,' said David. 'He has been very, ah, active.'

Abraham only shot him the briefest of venom filled glances before saying, 'You're back, though. That's good. How did it go? Did you pick up his trail?'

Ardia and Homer shared a look and a smile flickered on Ardia's face, 'You could say that.'

Abraham looked from Ardia to Homer and then back again. A scowl plucked at his brow. He said, 'Well?'

Ardia opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as Marek backed into the room, carrying a tray and opening the door with his shoulder. 'You are back! Good, I have coffee!'

Marek set the tray down on a table. Ardia and Abraham both eyed the delicate looking silver coffee pot and fine bone china, trying to match them to the grizzled thug who had just been carrying the set.

Ardia collapsed in an armchair and gladly accepted a steaming cup from Marek as the man fussed about pouring cups and placing them in his guest's hands. Homer stood behind Ardia's chair, sniffing the air. In a voice that came from a place where fear met curiosity, Homer said, 'What is coffee?'

Ardia looked up over the back of her chair at him and said, 'Really?'

'Yes, what is coffee?' Homer asked again, impassively.

Marek stood a few steps away from him holding a cup. Looking very much like a child lost in the woods, he held the cup towards Homer.

Ardia's smile was radiant as she followed the interaction with high humor. Homer looked at her uncertainly and she nodded, 'But be careful, it's very hot.'

Homer reached out to take the cup. The delicate vessel looked ridiculous in his massive hands. He dipped his mouth to the cup and sipped very gingerly. He made a face and blinked furiously.

'Don't you like it?' asked Ardia, laughter bubbling in her throat.

'I'm not sure....' Homer said, dipping his mouth for another noisy little slurp.

Abraham forcefully clear his throat, 'I think you had news?'

Ardia blushed, still smiling, took a drink from her own cup. She said, 'Sorry Abe, it's been a long night. Yes, we met The Golem.'

'You met him?' he said, eyes wide.

'But that's it. He spoke with us. He didn't attack us, and we didn't attack him.'

Abraham said, 'So we're buddies now? Just like that.'

'No, of course not, not after everything. But he... Well, he has something we need. He knows things.'

'About what?' said Abraham. His expression was palpably skeptical.

'About my mother, where she came from. At least I think that's what he knows.'

'And my father too,' Homer spoke over the lip of the cup, slurping more loudly now.

'And you trust him?' Abraham seemed shocked.

'He knew things, Abe. He knew my mother. And he said things that kind of line up with what I've read in her diary.'

'And what do you have to do for this information?' Abraham asked, watching as Homer reached his massive arm towards Marek and his coffee pot.

Feeling eyes on him, Homer looked around and smiled sheepishly. It was another one of those oddly boyish expressions that Ardia was growing more accustomed to seeing on his face. He said, 'I think I like it. It feels... funny.'

Marek poured, his visage baffled.

'Anyway...' said Abraham.

Ardia kept watching Homer, fully amused but answered Abraham without moving her eyes. She said, 'He wants us to go somewhere. An old facility in Berlin.'

Abraham stared at her until she eventually took her gaze from the increasingly jittery Homer and returned it to him, 'Should we do something about this? Can it be good for him?'

'He's fine, I'm sure. Tell me about this facility. How old are we talking? And why exactly do you need to go there for him?'

Ardia bobbed her head from side to side, 'He was very guarded about the details. He's maybe a little paranoid.'

'Because he's crazy.'

'Maybe. But we're going.'

'To Berlin? This is turning into a bit of world tour,' said Abraham. 'When were you planning on leaving?'

'Let's leave now', said Homer, too loudly, too enthusiastically.

'It's getting bright Homer, people would see you,' Ardia said.

'I'll go very fast. The won't see me. I'll be much too quick,' Homer said, his words pouring out in a rapid stream. He impatiently shook his empty cup at Marek.

Marek looked at Ardia, wide-eyed.

'Homer...'Ardia tried to say.

He held up a hand to stop her and said, 'Just a moment. Marek was about to pour some coffee. He needs to concentrate to stop his shaking.'

Ardia peered at the vibrating cup in Homer's hand and said, 'I think you're the one who's shaking Homer.'

He shook his head and tapped one big finger against his forehead, 'I can't be. I'm too alert. Too alert.'

'Homer?' said Ardia, a little worried, a little bemused.

'Yes? What? Yes?' Homer blurted. 'I think you're distracting Marek from pouring coffee.

'Oh my god,' Ardia laughed through her hands, 'Homer, I think you're high.'