Maybe if I prayed to Miss Marple, she’d hook me up with a clue

Is that a lion with horns and a pitchfork?" "Yep." "Is he carrying the moon on his pitchfork?" "Nope it's a pie.

You need a name.” I covered the receiver for a moment. “We need a team name.” “Hunters,” Raphael said. “Valiant Knights of the Fur,” Dali said. “Justice Group,” Jim said. “Since Justice League is taken.” “Fools.” Doolittle shook his head. “Fools,” I said into the receiver.

I just had to stay cool. Zen. No punching in the face. Punching would not be Zen.

He lunged for the maps. I grabbed the chair and hit him with it. He went down. I hit him again to make sure he stayed that way, stepped over him, and picked up the maps. "I win.

Curran scrutinized Mart’s face. “I can’t figure out if he wants to kill you or screw you.” “I’ll be glad to make the choice for him.” Curran looked back at me. “Why is it you always attract creeps?” “You tell me.” Ha! Walked right into that one, yes, he did.

Tall, with skin the color of rich coffee, and dressed all in black, Jim looked like he was carved from a block of solid muscle. Logic said that at some point he must've been a baby and then a child, but looking at him one was almost convinced that some deity touched the ground with its scepter and proclaimed, "There shall be a badass," and Jim sprung into existence, fully formed, complete with clothes, and ready for action.