Page 78 of The Fourth Option
“You Jacques Cousteau?”
“What?”
“What’s all that SCUBA stuff in the back for?”
“Breathing underwater.”
“I know that. I’m just trying to keep your mind off the pain.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.”
“Ah, there’s one,” she said, picking at it with the tweezers.
Walker winced.
“Stay still,” she warned. “Almost got it.”
“Damn it!”
“There, see? I got it.”
She dropped the glass shard in the bowl with the others, poured a little more peroxide into the wound, covered it with gauze, and then taped it in place.
“Just like bandaging a large tat. Like that one,” she said, touching the bone frog tattoo that covered Walker’s right rib cage.
“I remember,” Walker said, turning to face her.
“The artist did a good job. What is that thing anyway?”
“It’s a Bone Frog.”
“What’s a Bone Frog?”
“Like a frog, but just it’s bones.”
“Why?”
“It was a military thing.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s a tribute to those we’ve lost.”
“Like Connor’s dad.”
“Yeah, like Connor’s dad.”
“Well, that’s depressing.”
“Says the woman dressed in head-to-toe black.”
“Fuck you. I thought you were going to take a shower, but it doesn’t look like you have one. You smell worse than you did at the diner.”
Walker smelled his armpit.
“I guess I do.”
“And hey, you owe me for a couple tats I would have done tonight. The Quarter was full of drunks looking to make some bad decisions.”
