Stacking the Deck

"I'm bored."

It had become a litany over the last few days. Bored. It was the between time - the last endless days of August were slowly fading into the beginning of the school year at the Durmstrang Institute. The simple summer joys of sleeping late, evenings free and few rules had paled. Rose Jones was bored. Bored to the point that even the smallest tasks were looked at as diversions.

All of the supplies for her courses had arrived. She'd divided the mounds of herbs and hunks of leathery, rubbery or slimy things into pre-measured amounts, ready for her students to use or more likely lose. The tedious job had taken days, but the satisfaction of turning the smelly contents over to the inventory clerk had made up for it. If she'd guessed correctly, she wouldn't have to see the sullen, snaggle-toothed clerk until the following year. Various offprints and books, all bundled in anonymous brown cardboard boxes, had been left in the main library for the Special Projects course to read in addition to their text. This year was finally the one where she had hit her stride and had everything prepared. The only problem was that she was too early. Of all the things she did not do well, doing nothing was high on the list.

Clearly uninterested in what she had to say, Paul Wronski slouched in the next chair, reading through a popular science magazine. He managed a grunt in response.

"Let's go do something." Jones yawned, struggling against ennui the warm weather imposed. The staff room in the Dark Arts building was empty save for the two of them. It looked bored, too. During the school year, every flat surface was piled with assignments waiting to be graded, reference books and the detritus of the staff. Now, vast expanses of counters and tabletops were covered by nothing save dust and, around Jones and Wronski, cigarette ashes. "It's Saturday. We could go down to the village and play some darts."

"Thought you had enough of that place." Peering over the top of his magazine, Wronski glared with one watery blue eye. "Weren't you complaining just the other day that nothing was going on down there, either."

"There's nothing to do here."

"You go. I'd rather read."

The scowl she gave was wasted. Wronski had already retreated behind the defenses of his magazine. The village was a possible source of distraction, but she wasn't desperate enough to go alone. Things were weird down there.

Over the summer, she'd been both victim and hero in the strange by-play between the local Aurors and the American Department of Magical Affairs agents. Agents Smith and Peterson, men Jones had hoped to never see again, had arrived armed with a nasty, clicking piece of computer equipment designed to fingerprint magical energies. The box would revolutionize the way Europe dealt with Dark magic. It would help identify and convict those responsible for crimes where magic had been used. She'd seen the thing before; it knew all about her. Smith and Peterson knew all about her, too. They wanted to take her back to the States with them almost as much as they wanted their annoying machine to become the European norm. Their bragging and posturing hadn't set well with the Aurors of the Northern District. The new technology was guaranteed to cost jobs and take away large parts of the work, perhaps making the title of "Auror" just a bit less of the guardian and more of the clerk.

The machine was only as good as its programmer and the assumptions made during the design. One wizard, one wand - about as basic as it got and usually true. A wizard might go through several wands during his lifetime, but the wand was always the same. Certain wood and core combinations focused the power of the individual; everyone knew that. Jones knew it, too. She just happened to have a different wand that day and that skewed the curve enough to make Smith look like a fool. The machine wasn't foolproof enough; the Americans went back home without a market for their technology and without Rose Jones, fugitive. Chief Auror Johannes Werner, in perhaps a wrier mood than usual, had quipped that he would put the black uniform on her and call her an Auror just as Auror Mueller had engulfed her in his black jacket. The crumb of acceptance was like a drug. Until it wasn't.

Stupid, really. People like her were never trusted by the authorities. It was just that it had felt so real.

She'd made the trip from Durmstrang to the village as often as she could convince herself that she wasn't being too pushy. It was fun. Sort of. "The boys" always made her feel welcome. They let her play pool and darts with them, even seemed to enjoy her company. There was just something missing that made her feel like an outsider. Of course, there were also confused messages on a personal level, too. Mueller. What was it with him? She'd spent the entire summer flirting with him to no avail. And, worst of all, she'd seen the smirks and knowing looks passed between the rest of "the boys" - Werner, Massys and Baldung - whenever she thought she was being clever. That was the main reason she didn't want to go alone any more. She could stand being an outsider, but not an object of pity. The reflection in her mirror wasn't enchanted to show anything that wasn't there. It showed her a short woman in her mid forties who was neither thin nor pretty.

The staff room sink dripped, counting away the boring afternoon. Wronski turned a page. The silence of the place was unnerving. It allowed far too much time for introspection.

"Pauley," she wheedled. "Come down with me. I need to get some more pens and stuff. I'll buy you dinner."

He dropped the corner of the magazine just enough so that one eye appeared. "I told you. I don't want to go. I never liked that place."

"For me?" Vamping outrageously, she leaned across her chair, put her elbows on the little table that sat between them and cradled her head in her hands. With fluttering eyelashes, dancing eyebrows and a huge grin as her weapons, she wore him down. The magazine shield dropped, revealing Wronski struggling not to laugh. "I'll buy you a beer, too," she added, hoping to settle the deal.

"Do I look like a chaperone?" Not fooled for an instant, he sneered before putting his magazine onto the messy pile of books, journals, newspapers and other magazines next to his chair. "Just for you. Since I know where we're going for dinner, it'll cost you the combination plate. But I don't want to be out all night, ok?"

"You never eat the whole thing," she said before she caught herself. Wronski shot her a baleful glare. "Sure, whatever you want."

* * *

The August sun was blinding when they left the gloom of the tavern where the Portkey that tied the village to Durmstrang was kept. The first few minutes were always disorienting. Durmstrang was a land of almost silent exile, sparsely populated during the summer and loud only with birdsong. In comparison, the small village was a bustling metropolis. Everything was faster, louder, brighter and more crowded. Jones edged along the tavern's wall, trying to stay out of the way until she adjusted and could lead Wronski burdened with his martyr's air towards the shops and restaurants.

They dawdled their way through the narrow streets until they reached the commercial district, neither talking. The warm afternoon slowed their pace to a stroll. It gave them plenty of time to admire the barrage of flowers that punctuated the long streets. At the edge of the square, they stopped while Jones debated which store to make her purchases in.

"There's Baldung," Wronski said, pointing across the plaza.

Jones had to jump up a little to see. Almost everyone was taller than she was. She hopped twice before catching a glimpse of someone with Baldung's slicked-back dark hair. She couldn't be sure since she'd never seen him out of uniform. "Is that him over by the fountain?"

"Yeah. Think so. He got married last year, right?" Wronski squinted. "That can't be her. She looks like she's in her twenties. Was he married before? Maybe that's his daughter."

"Really?" After spending so much time with "the boys" the last few months, Jones was intrigued by any glimpse into their personal lives. It was too good to pass up. She lit a cigarette and winked at her friend. "Let's take a look."

They wove their way through the late afternoon shoppers and stopped in the shade of a tree held captive in its cement planter. "That's Baldung all right. He really looks different out of that black uniform. Even skinnier." She clucked to herself when Baldung turned sideways to them. "She needs to feed him better."

"Yes, mother." Wronski dug a finger into her upper arm before continuing his own study of the two. "Pretty woman. Kinda looks like him through the eyes. Maybe they're related?" he added, sounding hopeful.

"Related," a familiar voice laughed. "You might say that."

Jones sputtered as she turned, face burning at being caught spying. Wronski's usual slouch worsened as he stepped behind her. "Massys! You, you startled me!" she exclaimed and coughed to cover her discomfort.

"Have you been introduced yet?" Auror Massys, easily identifiable in his black uniform, nodded towards Baldung and the object of scrutiny. "Her name is Helga. You were correct, Professor Wronski. She is his second cousin." Massys waited a beat. "And his wife. They married almost a year ago."

"That's his wife?" Jones whirled around to take a better look. "She married him?"

Massys looked away. It was difficult to say whether he was uncomfortable or amused. "It was an arranged marriage."

"Really?" Both Americans turned towards Massys, expecting further explanation. When Massys failed to launch into more detail, Jones asked, "Arranged? I didn't think that sort of thing happened any more. How come? I mean why?"

"She's beautiful," was Wronski's additional comment.

Massys shifted the bundle of folders he carried under one arm and pushed his almost black hair out of his eyes. He hesitated and then said, "It is different. For them."

Eyes dancing back and forth between the Baldungs and Massys, looking for something to explain the comment, Jones finally asked, "'For them?' I don't get it."

"They are both purebloods."

"I still don't understand. You're talking about them like they're pedigreed or something." She lit another cigarette and resumed examining Baldung and his new wife. The new wife was in the process of selecting flowers. Baldung stood stoically waiting for her, his arms weighted with parcels.

"I should not be speaking about this, but I am also not as they are and this has been explained to me." Massys looked around, scanning the clusters of tables set in front of the few restaurants facing the square. "Let us find a place to sit. I must report soon. Chief Auror Werner will not be pleased should I be late."

Jones mentally filled in "again". "We're going to go to the kebab house. You want to join us?"

The kebab house had the air of a full restaurant, but Jones knew better. On a lovely Saturday, most people preferred to take their order and find a bench to enjoy it at. "Ersen!" she called to the young man behind the counter.

Ersen, whose swarthy features looked distinctly out of place in the Aryan crowd, swiveled towards her voice and brightened when he saw her. He waved and then turned to talk to someone in the kitchen. A boy of about eight raced from behind the counter, all dark hair and smiles, clutching a pad of paper and a chewed pencil.

"Hello, Nedim!" Jones mussed the boy's hair as he tried to squirm away. "This is Nedim, our personal waiter."

Nedim had heard it before. He rolled his eyes and then readied his pencil to take their order.

"Three of the special combination plates. Two Cokes. Can we get them with ice?' Jones paused, worried. Getting ice cubes wasn't guaranteed. Nedim shrugged. "What do you want to drink?" she asked Massys

Massys scanned the menu that Nedim stuck under his nose. "No beer?" Nedim eagerly shook his head no. "Water."

With that, their personal waiter darted back towards the counter where his older brother carefully wrote an order for a group of teenagers.

Jones gave a sly look at Massys, taking in the bloodshot eyes and trembling hands. "How late were you this morning?"

Slumping in his chair, Massys closed his eyes. "I slept through my alarm as well as the alarm spell. I arrived at the office at almost ten o'clock."

"Bet Jo didn't like that."

"Chief Auror Johannes Werner was quite displeased. I will undoubtedly not advance any time soon." Massys sighed and opened his eyes. "Not that I expected to be promoted within the next decade."

"What's up with that? I keep hearing Baldung complain." Jones tapped out a cigarette and watched the debate on Massys' face. "Oh, come on! What's up? You all keep talking around it, but no one will spell it out. Do you want me to take a guess?"

"Don't encourage her," Wronski warned.

A respite arrived in the form of Nedim bearing a tray of drinks, all without ice cubes. Wronski passed Jones hers and then put the other two glasses down. A platter of hummus and steaming flatbread filled the table.

There was a brief scuffle for the bread. Jones tore off a large chunk and scooped up a glob of hummus. It tasted good enough to make up for almost everything. The bread was chewy and a touch salty; the hummus glistened with olive oil and enough garlic to overwhelm any hint of cigarettes on her breath. The Coke, however, lacked a little in its lukewarm state.

"You were going to say," she prompted, chasing down the last of the hummus with a finger.

Massys watched, fascinated by her thoroughness. "We have not seen you recently."

"Uh, uh. No changing the subject. You were going to explain the pureblood and arranged marriage thing. You know I'll keeping asking so you might as well just give up and tell us."

Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. Jones and Wronski crowded in, intrigued by the illusion of secrecy. "The purebloods are the aristocracy. Their world is not necessarily the same as our own." Massys' eyes dulled. "Especially our own. None of us would truly understand. I have had that point explained to me several times."

"Why? What's so special about being a pureblood? What difference does that make? I thought you were the big gun in the department. Aren't you supposed to be one of the most powerful guys around?" Jones took a sip from her soda and set it down with a glare as if accusing it of being deliberately tepid.

"Strength alone is only so important." Massys paused when Nedim arrived burdened with an enormous tray full of plates. Jones fussily distributed the plates while the men cleared the small table of anything not absolutely required for the meal. Once Nedim left, all eyes turned back to Massys. "You are a halfblood, Professor Jones, no?"

Looking up from her laden plate, she shrugged. "I guess so. There's always been at least one witch in the family. Only witches though. None of my brothers or father or uncles ever showed any inclination towards it. No idea why. It skipped my dad's generation. My grandma was worried it had died out." She stabbed at a slice of lamb. "Does that make me a half-blood?"

Massys took his time arranging his food for a bite. "The aristocracy of this world is the pureblooded wizards. Their lineage must be comprised of at least nine generations of magic. I do not believe that Squibs are included, but I may be incorrect. My family has never recorded anyone with any power other than political."

"Nine," Wronski laughed. His plate remained mostly untouched. "What is it about three, seven, nine and thirteen? Seems like everything I do involves those numbers. Nine generations." He shook his head and smiled over at Jones who had already finished her meal.

"Many families have genealogies that point to much longer lineages of magic. Josef has shown me one for his father's line. Quite impressive. The first ancestor listed on it has a death date of 1234."

"1234!" She and Wronski stared at Massys. "You mean they've managed to keep track that long."

"So, wait a second." Wronski began smoothing the rice on his plate with the back of his fork. "You say that the purebloods are like aristocracy. Does that mean that they all marry one another?"

Massys' dark eyes danced. "Very good, Professor Wronski. You do understand how this begins to limit one's prospects after a time. There are only so many documented pure lines within Europe. Even the great, pureblooded families did not escape bombing of two wars. The last one decimated entire families. Other lines vanished during purges and coups. If one must marry another pureblood, then..."

"No wonder she looks a little bit like him." Grinning, Wronski looked down at his almost untouched plate and hooked an olive with a tine of his fork. "How medieval. Are there more medical problems? How far afield do you go to make sure little Merlin finds a Nimue? Are there any rules as to how closely they can be related?"

"It is very important to these families that their line continues pure. They must find others of similar bloodlines. Marriages are arranged, if necessary, to ensure that the pedigrees are unblemished. Josef was contracted to marry a woman from East Germany years ago. Unfortunately, her family fell afoul of the government and disappeared. There was no other woman who was not closely related to him available at the time. The families try to keep the matches close in age. As the years passed, poor Josef and his family worried that there would not be an appropriate wife for one of his," Massys' eyes went hard and his mouth quirked in an unpleasant way, "rank and status. Then Helga was born. Her family is quite wealthy and she is the fourth daughter. She, of course, had a match arranged, but the boy died while quite young. She became free five years ago. Josef's family pushed very hard for the match. He claims to be happy."

Frowning, Jones puzzled through the information. "You have got to be kidding me. They have to marry other purebloods even though there are half-bloods all over the place and Squibs, too. What? They can't lower themselves to marry one of them? A Squib from a pureblood family isn't good enough? Just because a person is a Squib doesn't mean their kids will be."

"It is not done. Why? I have no true idea. I am not of their world." Massys looked sadly at the pile of folders waiting. "Do not feel as if you are the only one excluded, Professor Jones. I, too, often feel apart from them. For a time, I thought that perhaps my keeper, Johannes, was not, but he is. Hans is as well. I alone am Muggle-born and not of their status."

"Do the others have wives waiting for them?" She'd tried not to ask, but she had to know. Maybe that explained why her flirtation with Mueller had gone unanswered.

Massys shrugged and glanced at his watch. "I do not know what their families have arranged. They are both past the age when they should have married if what Josef has told me is true. I believe that Chief Auror Werner's wife is his career. Hans...." Massys grinned as he picked up the folders. "Hans, I have no idea. He is a good Auror, a good friend to Johannes and far too quiet for many."

"What's with all the folders?" She'd noticed them earlier. The Aurors always seemed to have some sort of paperwork or notebook in their hands, but this was the first time she'd seen a stack that tall.

Massys held the stack in both hands and pretended to lift a huge weight. "Impressive, no? This represents a minor embarrassment to our District."

"Minor? That must be four inches deep!" She tried reaching for one, but Massys tucked the folders under his arm. "If it's 'minor' then you shouldn't get into trouble giving us a clue." She tried her best smile, which only gathered a mirrored one from Massys. "I could make up a story."

The possibility of Jones putting her personal spin on the Northern District's business did the trick. "It is nothing really. A few thefts."

"Thefts?" Jones arched an eyebrow at Wronski whose blank expression said he failed to grasp the depth of the word. "Someone's using a bit of magic to rip off the locals?"

After a quick glance over his shoulder to assure that there were no other Aurors or police of any kind in the restaurant, Massys leaned over. His voice had a pinched sound, as if the words were distasteful. "It is not the sort of thing that should happen here. We have long promised the local police that there would be no crimes of this nature here. It looks bad."

"I'll bet Jo hates it!" Barking a laugh, she stuffed another cigarette into her mouth and lit it. Taking a long draw she lounged in her chair, craning her neck to get the best view of Massys' disapproving face. "Anything major?"

"No. The thieves have chosen foolish things to take. Surely, it is the work of children or someone who is learning how to use magic. Or, perhaps neither. Both our office and the local police have the reports."

"Bet you're hoping it's the local teenagers," she snorted, tapping the ash off her cigarette.

Massys' grimace answered her question. "I must return. I am not in my keeper's good graces. Will we see you later? You both would be welcome. I am quite certain of that." He gave a slight bow and then turned and left.

The flat plain of rice became a face as Wronski rearranged olives and tabouli into eyes and a mouth. He condescended to picking at the meat while admiring his creation. "Arranged marriages. Who'da thought that would exist in this day and age?"

With a soft scrape, the lighter blazed to life. Jones lit another cigarette and settled back, arm draped behind the chair. "I guess it makes sense if they think they're nobility or something. Sheds some light on things, though." She'd attributed the smug attitudes of "the boys" to their exalted status as Aurors. That was something she understood. As far as she knew, only the best of the magical law enforcement could become Aurors. If some of their attitude came from their bloodlines... "As if bloodlines really mean anything." The very idea annoyed her sensibilities on too many levels.

Wronski grimaced and began to destroy the face by teasing the flat plain of rice with his fork. "Look, I don't think you can read too much into what Massys says. He doesn't know any more about their universe than we do. I've been at Durmstrang for seven years. This is my last one unless I renew next summer. I never have understood why some of those guys think they're so high and mighty. If they think that being a pureblood makes them better, then there's nothing we can do about that except cope."

"You're wrong." She flicked a long gray column of ash onto her plate. "We can prove we're better. I can't believe anyone would buy into that kind of thing. Purebloods! Who cares? I mean really? What does someone's bloodline really mean?" Sneering, she took a drag on her cigarette. "Doesn't mean they can do anything any better than anyone else."

Slouching down in his chair, Wronski almost drew level with the tabletop. Jones found herself smiling although there was little in her personal world she found amusing.

"You look just like my kid brother when you do that."

Grinning up at her, he said, "I know. That's why I do it sometimes. You were getting entirely too grim." He picked up his glass and sipped. "I hate it when it's warm. Tastes like medicine."

"What are you going to do?"

"Do?" he repeated as he crossed one leg over the other. The entire table thumped as he began to tap the free foot against the table. "What do you mean?"

"Next summer. When your contract ends. Are you going to renew?" She lit another cigarette and took an aggressive suck at it. "You can't leave me alone there."

"Dunno. I don't know what I want to do yet. My mom wants me to finish my Ph.D. Super mom has called my bluff. She contacted the guy I said I was studying under at Köln. I can just imagine how that went." Wronski looked away, off into some muddy future and frowned when he didn't like what he saw. "I'm supposed to meet with him over Christmas break. We'll figure out how to make it work. I can't believe she was able to do that. That woman is determined that I get the damn degree and work at her damn university."

"She loves you, Paul. She's your mom. She wants you to succeed." Comfortable in her role as wise older counselor, Jones lost a bit of her brittleness. "Besides, having the degree won't hurt if you decide to quit Durmstrang. You could work at a university here. Maybe some place in Germany or France since you speak both languages."

"Yeah."

"What's the matter? You sure don't sound very positive."

"She expects me to come home, you know. I guess that would put a damper on mom's ambitions. Hello, Dr. Wronski? Sorry but we have to arrest your son on suspicion of murder. Nice of you to make sure he finished his degree and all. I'm sure it will get him special privileges in prison." He slunk lower in his chair, barely sitting in it at all.

"Will you quit! You didn't want to teach there anyway. Why not teach in England? You already drink tea and could hang out in that Diagon Alley place."

He ran a hand through his sandy hair, turning it into a soft halo backlit by the fluorescent lighting. "No England. I don't want to run into her again."

"I'm going to whack you," she threatened. "What's so awful about falling into bed with someone nice? She liked you."

"She was married."

"Yeah, well..." She fished around for something to cheer him up. "Well, at least you have something to dream about." That wasn't it.

It did prompt Wronski out of his funk. "What happened with Mueller anyway? Do you think he's got a fiancée somewhere?" He watched her shrug. "I don't." The topic was a sore spot she didn't want to examine. Sneering, she reached for another cigarette. "God, Rose, two in less than ten minutes is enough. Let the air clear just a bit, ok? Now, Mueller..." He paused while she tapped the cigarette back into the pack. "I think ol' Hans is either really shy or isn't sure what to make of you. Did he ever try to, well, you know, touch you or anything?"

"No." It was her turn to slide down in the chair; she fixed her eyes on the ceiling as she sank. "I think I'm older than him. How old do you think he is?"

"Older than me, but not sure how much older. About forty, maybe a little less. Hard to say. I haven't spent as much time as you have with them. I guess Baldung's about fifty, maybe a little less. Massys is some kind of wunderkind, right? He's like twenty-eight. I heard Werner brag he was the youngest Auror to be promoted to whatever rank he's at."

"I put Mueller at around forty, forty-one or so. I think Jo's younger. He's a hard one to guess at. Hair's going gray." Still staring at the ceiling, Jones crossed her arms and tipped the chair back. "In the sunlight, you can tell. Doesn't show otherwise. Mueller doesn't have much gray. Maybe he's a lot younger than me." Self-pity tinged her musings.

"I can't believe you don't know for sure. You're so damn nosy. I thought you'd have the stats on all of them. You have them for everyone else. If you hadn't told me, I would never know that Rabe turned thirty-two this year. How'd you find that one out? And I didn't know that Kessler has a daughter."

"Two," Jones corrected. "I had to buy Christmas presents for him last year. He forgot and, for some reason or another, didn't want to go to the village to get cards or send presents. Made me do it. Was kinda fun, actually."

"You know everything about everyone, but you don't have anything on 'the boys'. Why's that?"

With a thunk, she set the chair back on all four legs and leaned forward to rest an elbow onto the table. "I don't know. Most times when I talk to them, they don't give away much. Baldung likes to talk about art, which I know nothing about, and music. He likes classical and jazz, neither of which do anything for me. When Werner is around, they talk about work and procedure, nothing really useful. He doesn't seem interested in anything except work and sports. He follows both Quidditch and soccer. Sorry, 'football'. I'm still having trouble remembering to call it that. I could probably find out from Massys, assuming they leave me alone with him. After the third pitcher or so, he'd tell me anything. Either Werner or Mueller baby-sit him all the time. Kinda too bad. He's funny when he gets looped."

"And Mueller? How come you don't know how old he is? I thought you'd know his birthday at the very least. That way, you could bake a cake or take him to dinner."

Good question. Jones nibbled at a ragged fingernail while she turned it over. She'd spent quite a bit of time talking to Mueller over the spring and summer, but they'd never gotten beyond the small talk phase. He knew a lot more about her background than she did about his. The thought nagged.

"You want to stick around tonight? "

She glanced over to see only the top of Wronski's head and his enormous blue eyes staring back. The sight was silly enough that it was impossible to keep her funk. A laugh chunked out, picking up momentum until it grew full-sized. It felt so good that she let herself dissolve into a fit of hiccuping giggles.

Gradually, Wronski telescoped out of his chair until there was enough man to lean over and pat her on the back. "Geez, you want a sip of water or something? You're bright red." He pulled away when she sat back, hand to mouth, still giggling. "Are you done yet?" While Jones subsided into the occasional cough, he pushed what was left of Massys' water towards her. She waved him off.

"Why don't you stick around, too? That would make it easier for me to, you know, leave if it gets weird. Or boring. It's been getting dull long before weird the last week or so."

Not looking very enthusiastic, he rocked his chair back onto the back legs. "Rather not. Werner gives me the creeps. I keep expecting him to call in his favor every time I see him. Besides, don't you think I'd cramp your style?" He waggled his eyebrows, sending her back into a coughing fit.

When she could breathe again, she gasped, "Not hardly. No style to cramp, remember? Oh, come on, Paul! It's a Saturday. School doesn't start for another week and then we won't have time to do much of anything except grade the damn homework and bitch about the short days." She watched a sneer start to cross his face. "Pauley," she crooned. "You know you want to. Come play darts with old Rose. Maybe I'll let you win."

"Let me win?" Wronski sighed and stared at the ceiling as he rocked his chair. "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. If I stick around and play darts, you owe me a favor."

All of her humor fled. "What do you mean 'owe you a favor'? What do you want?"

With a shrug, he replied, "I have no idea what I mean. I'm not keen on hanging out, but I will if you really want me to. Just don't leave me alone with Werner, ok?"

"I could try and fix you up with him," she teased, knowing he wouldn't find it in the least bit amusing.

"Yeah. Right. Don't push your luck. If you try anything, I'll sidle up to ol' Hansie and put the moves on him or tell him you're mad for his body."

They glared at each other until Jones tapped out a cigarette. "Done."