Zach’s eyes trailed her. “Gamma, she’s smarter than any teenager I know. Aced every quiz and test I gave her. But when it comes to slang, she’s strictly Special Ed. She takes everything people say literally. I don’t get why it’s so hard for her.”
Faye followed the direction of his gaze. “It’s really quite simple. Slang comes from spontaneity and a playful use of language. It isn’t something that can be studied. The poor child has experienced precious little spontaneity or playfulness in her young life.”
“I didn’t think about that.” Zach appeared embarrassed by the observation. “Being raised by religious Nazis would stifle any kid’s sense of fun.”
“She’ll be alright,” Faye consoled. “Once she’s been around more young people her own age, she’ll absorb it as a matter of course.”
“I hope you’re right,” the boy commented worriedly. “They’ll think she’s a real weirdo if she keeps talking the way she does now.”
“Do keep in mind that her principal thinks she’s been home-schooled by her aged grandmother. Once that story trickles down to her peers, any oddities in her social behavior will be attributed to my influence.”
“Smart move, Gamma.” Zach nodded appreciatively. “She might not get a seat at the cheerleader table, but at least they won’t think she’s mental.”
By this time, Hannah was threading her way back through the tables in the Food Court.
A youth blocked her path. He wore a letterman jacket sporting a fierce feline and the words “Emerson Tigers.” Smiling at her appreciatively, he asked, “How you doin’?”
“How am I doing what?” The girl looked lost.
Zach sprang out of his chair. “Hey, buddy. Don’t you have an elsewhere to be?”
The letterman towered over his competition and gave him a contemptuous glance. Turning once more to address Hannah, he added, “See you around,” before sauntering off.
The girl blushed in confusion. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. What did he mean? See me around what?” She sat down, flummoxed by the encounter.
Zach resumed his seat, all the while staring at the retreating jock. Incensed, he turned to Faye, “Did you see that? He’s wearing an Emerson varsity jacket. It’s like I told you. Those Emerson guys are all hormonal time bombs.”
“Time bombs,” Hannah repeated, growing even more disturbed.
“And I suppose you’re not?” Faye cocked an amused eyebrow.
“Me! I’m a perfect gentleman. No funny business,” Zach countered.
“He is, you know,” Hannah hastened to his defense. “When we go to the movies together, he always treats me nicely.”
“And I’m sure the Emerson boys would do the same,” the old woman retorted.
“I can’t believe you, Gamma!” Zach sounded appalled. “Do you want her going out with every guy at school? You’re a bad influence.”
Faye chuckled. “It sounds to me as if you’re worried about a little rivalry, dear. After all, you’ve had Hannah to yourself lo these many months. It’s time for her to get a taste of the wider world.”
“A taste, sure. But she doesn’t have to chow down at the boyfriend buffet. You need to keep an eye on her.”
“Zachary, what are you getting so upset about?” Hannah remonstrated.
He stood up again. “I can’t do this right now!”
“Do what?” the girl countered.
“Have this conversation with you two. I’ll catch up with you later. I have to do some shopping of my own.”
“Oh?” Faye inquired mildly. “What do you intend to buy?”
“Pepper spray!” Zach shot back over his shoulder. “It’s not for me. It’s for Hannah. She’s gonna need it!”
Hannah leaned over and whispered in Faye’s ear. “I don’t understand. Why does he want to buy me seasonings?”
The old woman patted her young charge on the arm reassuringly. “Never mind, my dear. Before you start school, let’s put in a little more time honing your understanding of slang, shall we?”
Chapter 3—Shop Talk
Doctor Rafi Aboud paused on the threshold of the bar at the Peninsula Hotel. After so many months sequestered in an underground lab in the countryside, he took a moment to savor the luxury of his surroundings. Dark wood, leather upholstery, an Art Deco-inspired design. Everything he saw exuded grace and elegance. He loved grace and elegance as much as he loved the wealth which could buy both. Soon, if all went as he hoped, he would have enough money to surround himself with an endless supply of the finer things of life.
He walked through the open doorway. It was mid-afternoon, and there were few patrons at the bar. That suited his purposes well. He scanned the faces of the clientele to be sure his contact hadn’t arrived yet. Satisfied that he was the first on the scene, he motioned to the bartender. Placing his order, Aboud then strolled to the upholstered sofas flanking the fireplace at the far end of the room and took a seat where he could keep his eyes on the door. Aside from his desire to immerse himself in opulence, however fleetingly, he’d chosen this particular venue for another reason. He could easily tell if he’d been followed. There was an off-chance that Abraham Metcalf might have sent one of his minions to spy on the good doctor.
Metcalf’s stubborn insistence on sartorial conformity among the Blessed Nephilim held an unexpected advantage for Aboud. The brotherhood’s regulation garb of white shirt, black suit and tie looked as anachronistic as a CIA operative circa 1960. Aboud had seen no such oddity dogging his footsteps among the beau monde strolling down Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. He settled back and took a slow sip of the twenty-five-year-old Scotch the waitress has just set down on the table before him.
The warmth spread through his limbs. He gave a relaxed sigh and drowsily watched the fire leaping in the hearth. Although the weather was hardly chilly for early September, he enjoyed the play of the flames. A few minutes later, his attention was drawn to the sight of an exceptionally tall, muscular man entering the bar. The newcomer spotted Aboud immediately.
He took a seat on the opposite couch. When the waitress approached he said, “Stoli
