“You know you’ll have to return, Jeffrie Phillips.”
“I know. Blackstars.”
“Garson on the impossible stairs. Leading you nowhere like you were outside.”
“Police take turns.”
“Art and crime together,” states a third.
There he is, Tiny Tina thinks. The miserable sod. Time to get him out of here before it’s too late.
Tina approaches. “Mr. Oden,” she pronounces clearly upwards. “Mr. Gregg Oden.”
Gregg looks down, spots her. “I’m Gregg Oden. I drink…”
“Yes, yes,” Tina interrupts, hands still on hips. “Is that all you have to wear out of here?”
“I have some watercolors. Would you like to see?”
“Can you *wear* watercolors out of here?” Tiny Tina chirps acidly, making Gregg pause. She blows out a minuscule puff of air. “This will have to do, then. Get up. No time to lose.”
“I’m Gregg Oden?” he says while rising off the jail bed.
“That remains to be determined. But we have to get you out of here. If they found out what you *really* were there would be tests after tests. And we don’t want that.”
She sprints across the floor and back to the open door of the cell. Gregg takes steps to follow. “You’ll have to move faster than that, Mr. Oden,” she shouts upwards and forwards while waiting. “Burt’s on a coffee break. He always takes a coffee break at 3:45am sharp. He always returns at 4:00am sharp. So *move*.”
“Too late,” Tina whispers as loud as she could, peering down from over the top of the stairs. “We’ll have to kill him.”