“Looks like a match made in heaven then,” Mike said, taking another sip of coffee, the muscles in his shoulders beginning to relax. Rolling his neck, he heard some cracking noises.
Now he looked—really looked—at Ron for the first time. When did the man get so old? Hair turned grey. Eyes still sharp—piercing, really. A few wrinkles around the eyes. Certainly no laugh lines. White shirt likely as starched as the uniform one he wore back then.
As for himself? Well, if he looked the way he felt, Ron might as well be sitting across from a bag of hammers. Mike took another sip of coffee. Not really so bad, he had to admit.
“So now that we’ve got that out of the way,” his partner said before taking another sip of his latte, “what do you make of our one-legged man?”
“Head whacked to rat s**t.
