e your type. Tall, armed to the eyeballs, a hunk of burnin love. He even has better saddlebags than me. I dont have any illusions about you and me, you know. "
"Now whos jealous?"
"This isnt jealousy. This is the voice of pure reason. I just know that slumming for a few nights with a drunk ink monkey doesnt mean anything. Hell, hes even royalty. You can compare scepters. "
"Im not picking out bridesmaids dresses yet. "
"Red is in this year. It goes with everything. "
"I asked you silly questions when you brought Lulu, remember? Were still working on this trust thing. "
"That remains the sad truth. "
"Tell me a story," said Shrike.
"What kind of story?"
"Something about your life before. Something illuminating and revealing. Not tattooing or sexual conquests. An adventure. "
"You dont think sex is an adventure? Tough room," Spyder said.
He played idly with the Hornet. The weapon had a long cylindrical grip wrapped in a light, tough leather. At the top hung several whip-like strands of a stiff, saw-tooth metal. From the weight and feel of the weapon, the metal strands seemed to slide around the edge of the cylindrical grip on some kind of internal runner. With a little practice, Spyder discovered that he could spin the metal strands until they hummed like a swarm of locusts. When he had the rhythm right, the whirling strands formed a kind of shield that pulverized anything they made contact with. It was like holding off an enemy with a woodchipper. Spyder remembered Lulu and Primo taking turns chucking rocks and burning wood from the fire at him. The only times anyone hit him was when he lost the rhythm that kept
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