“So what do we do when Grace City is clean?”
“It’s never clean, John. They multiply like rats, move in where they want, and establish a new Conductor every time.” Sabine’s feet dangled off the edge of the building. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
John turned to take a long look at Sabine, then turned his face back towards the city below. “Yeah? Something recent, or something brewing?”
“Brewing. Been wanting to ask you for a year now.”
He laughed. “Never known you to be shy, Sarge. Must be personal.”
“It is. Sabine Boudreaux’s never been one for personal, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, it’s fine. Go ahead.”
Sabine leaned back to light her cigarette, out of the wind. “Good. When you were in the Army, they ever try to tap you? For a program, anything like that?”
“Yeah. You? I mean, when you were a Jarhead?”
“Yeah they did. Thought for awhile they’d figured out I wasn’t enlisted at eighteen. One-hudred eighteen. Eighteen. Same difference.” Sabine chuckled. “And I’ll always be a Jarhead, Dog Face.”
“Woof.” John shrugged. “Anything come of it? Didn’t pan out for me. Always wished I could reenlist, but doing this is worth not being back in.”
Sabine nodded. “No, nothing came of it. I just wanted to know if they had tabs on you. Makes it kind of rough when you’re around ninety and still look like you’re in your thirties.”
“Guess we’ll find out on my big nine-oh.” John put his arm around her, then sat back.
“What time it is?” Sabine swung her feet around and put them down on the roof.
“Feeding time.” John tapped his watch and slung his ax over his shoulder.
Sabine grinned. “Let’s go, then. Laissez les bons temps roulez.”
END (?)
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