Mid-Flinx Read Free Page B

interest showed in Peeler’s eyes.
    Flinx offered up his most ingratiating yet apologetic smile. “I told you: she’s not for sale. See, she’s been with me since I was a child. I couldn’t part with her. Besides, no one knows how long Alaspinian minidrags live. She could up and die on you next year, or next month. A poor investment.”
    “Let me be the judge of that.” Coerlis was unrelenting.
    Flinx tried another tack. “You’re aware that Alaspinian minidrags spit a highly lethal poison?” This time both heavies reacted. Flinx sensed a jolt of real unease in the one standing behind his chair. To his credit, the man held his ground.
    Coerlis didn’t flinch. “So I’ve heard. She doesn’t look very threatening. If she’s sufficiently domesticated to allow you to pet her like that, I think I could handle her. She’ll be in a safe cage, anyway.” He reached toward the table.
    The flying snake instantly coiled and flared her wings, parting her jaws and hissing sharply. Coerlis froze, still smiling, while his companions reached for their jacket pockets.
    “I wouldn’t do that.” Flinx spoke softly but firmly. “Alaspinian minidrags are telepathic on the empathic level. She’s sensitive to my feelings. If I’m happy, she’s happy. If I’m angry, she’s angry. If I feel threatened—If I feel threatened, she reacts accordingly.”
    Impressed, Coerlis slowly withdrew his hand. Pip shuttered her wings but remained alert, watching the stranger. “Not only beautiful, but useful. Whereas I have to rely for that degree of protection on these two clumsy, ugly lumps of mindless protein.” Neither of the heavies reacted. “She can ride your arm beneath a jacket, or sleep inside a travel bag. I’m sure she’s capable of delivering a really nasty surprise.”
    Flinx said nothing, willing to let Coerlis draw his own conclusions. He was growing tired of the game, and the confrontation was attracting entirely too much attention. By now it was reasonable to assume that someone in the kitchen, the old man if not the pretty chef, had taken the step of notifying the authorities. Flinx didn’t want to be around when they arrived. He glanced toward the service doorway.
    Though he wasn’t telepathic on any level, Jack-Jax Coerlis had a feral understanding of human nature. “If you’re waiting for someone to call the police to come and mediate, I wouldn’t. You see, in Tuleon Province I pretty much go where I want and do as I please.” Keeping a thoughtful eye on Pip, he leaned forward slightly.
    “Any decisions reached between you and I will be achieved without the intervention of any outside parties.” With a finger, he nudged the purple glass. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
    “Yes. Who have you lost recently?”
    The question took Coerlis completely by surprise. He straightened, gaze narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
    “You’ve lost someone close to you, someone very important. You’re still mourning them. The result is anxiety, fear, sorrow, and a mindless desire to strike out at those less powerful than yourself. It’s a way of reasserting control: not over others, but over yourself.”
    Coerlis’s uncharacteristically unsettled tone reflected his sudden inner turmoil. “Who are you?
What
are you?”
    “A perceptive visitor.”
    “You some kind of traveling therapist?”
    “No.” Flinx had very slowly edged his chair away from the table.
    Attempting to reassert himself, Coerlis’s tight grin twisted into an unpleasant smirk. “You’ve been poking around, asking questions. I’ll bet my cousins hired you. Not that it matters. They can dig all they want. They’re still getting nothing.” He plunged on without waiting for his assumptions to be confirmed or denied. “So you know about my father. What of it? He’s been dead two years last month.”
    “You still mourn him. His memory plagues you. He dominated you all your life and you suffer from consequent feelings of