“A Mexican guy named Sam pushes Gary Frankel next to Isabel. "This guy can break your arm with one snap, asshole. Get out of my sight before I sic him on you," Sam says. Gary, who's wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn't work.”

“Gary, who's wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn't work.”

“Look, if some guy dressed in his mother's clothes breaks in, fight him off until I get my pants back on.”

“You haven't seen my resume," Gary objected. "I'm not looking to charity."The silver eyes glinted, a brief, hard humor. "I had your formula inside my body, Gary. That was all the proof of your genius I needed. The society had access to that blood for some time before you did, but none of them were able to come up with anything that worked on us.""Great,I get that dubious pleasure. Someday you're going to introduce me to one of your friends and you can say, 'By the way,this is the one who invented the poision that is killing our people.'"Gregori did laugh then,a low, husky sound so pure, it was beautiful to hear. It brought a lightness into gary's heart, dispelling the gloom that had been gathering. "I never thought of that. We might get a few interesting reactions."Gary found himself grinning sheepishly. "Yeah,like a lynching party with me as the guest of honor.”

“Gary, if you want to play on this football team, you answer me when I ask you who's your Daddy. Who's your Daddy, Gary? Who's your Daddy?”

“Some guys-- a lot of guys---don't believe what they are seeing, especially if it gets in the way of what they eat or drink or think or believe. Me, I don't believe in God. But if I saw him, I would. I wouldn't just go around saying 'Jesus, that was a great special effect.' The definition of an asshole is a guy who doesn't believe what he's seeing. And you can quote me.”