nympheline:consultingdepressive:johnjwwatson:Anything for James Moriarty… On or off the menu. ;) “I’

nympheline:consultingdepressive:johnjwwatson:Anything for James Moriarty… On or off the menu. ;) “I’ll need the blueprints.” Seb pointedly pulls his cup, filled with something so sludgy, so bitter, and so caffeinated that it’s gone far beyond the term “coffee,” toward him. “Which means prints, Jim. None of this spilling shit on the table and drawing in it.”Jim spreads his hands out and shrugs his innocence. Seb reaches over and slides the sugar, catsup, salt, and pepper out of Jim’s reach.Jim smiles around a dragful of smoke. “I’ll give you an extra two if you do it without prints.”“I’ll give you an extra fuck off if you waste any more of my time.”“Well, someone got up on the wrong side of the Sig Sauer this morning.” Jim yawns and stretches as the waitress walks by, catching her apricot polyester skirt. “Come here, love.” She leans in close to Jim, blocking the cook’s view of their booth with her back, and Seb watches in exasperation as Jim slides one hand still greasy with burger juice up her white stockings, past her white thighs, and into the folds of her white panties, his eyes never leaving Seb’s.“That’ll be all, love,” Jim says, rolling a small silver bullet vibe between his wet fingers. He tosses it at Seb, who catches it without expression. It’s still warm.It’s also too light. Seb hefts it slightly and hears a small plastic click inside it. No batteries, then. A tiny thumb drive, most likely, which explains the need for a waterproof casing.The cook stumbles out for a smoke break. The waitress drops an illegible bill on the table without looking at either of them, and Jim leaves a five thou bundle on top of it with equal carelessness. Seb purses his lips. “For a courier job?”Jim burns a circle into the tabletop. “Don’t be daft. She’s your spotter.” He stands and straightens his jacket, leaving the cigarette shrinking on the scratched plastic. “Be nice, would you? I think you’d really like her if you gave her a chance. Go on, give her a little wave.”Seb stares at her standing behind the pie display. She looks back with equal dislike.“I said wave.”Seb waves like a child, his palm steady and his fingers up-down, up-down.Jim calls back to the waitress, his eyes still on Seb. “Wave back, love.”She cracks her gum.“Siobhán Iona Moran. Wave hello to your fucking brother.”She walks slowly around the bar and stops in front of Seb. They’re still of a height. Have been all their lives: same height, same hair, same hate.She slaps him hard across his right cheek, then kisses it softly. “Hello.”He holds out his hand. She shakes it warily, waiting for him to squeeze hard enough to dislocate a finger. He doesn’t.Jim beams. “I knew you two would get along.”NYMPHELINE. THE TWIST AT THE END.–MM -- source link

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