Mac actually thought the dude might shit a kidney—a rather bruised kidney by the way Bill had had his gun shoved in the dude’s back—and wouldn’t that add the final touch to the stench of cold pizza, stale beer, and inch-thick dust hovering about the place? Taking at quick glance around, Mac saw shelf after shelf packed with action figures, comic books, the occasional used tissue, and a shitload of empty Bud Light cans. Obviously, it was the maid’s week off…Year off? Maybe decade off? “So, Dale,” Bill growled, looking like nothing less than death on two feet. BKI’s explosives expert loomed over the poor schmuck who was now reclined in his leather chair, trying to put as much distance between himself and the terrifying black eye of Bill’s Glock as he possibly could. “You want to tell us what you were doing following that poor woman?” “Wh-who are you?” Pennyworth stammered, swallowing loudly.
