“I listened to the men's voices outside, muted by my car walls."...went at it with a flamethrower in the online video. Didn't even pucker the paint.""Of course not. You could roll a tank over this baby. Not much of a market for one over here. Designed for Middle East Diplomats, arm dealers, and drug lords mostly.""Think she's something?" the short one asked in a softer voice. I ducked my head, cheeks flaming."Huh," the tall one said. "Maybe. Can't imagine what you'd need missile-proof glass and four thousand pounds of body armor for around here. Must be headed somewhere more hazardous."Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missle-proof glass? Nice. What had happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?”

“Body armor. Four thousand pounds of body armor. And missile-proof glass? Nice. What had happened to good old-fashioned bulletproof?”

“Jodi in tactical gear was something to behold. Pert, a lot shorter than I am, blond hair tucked under a helmet, cinched into body armor never intended to mold to the body of a curvy woman. Ugly but efficient attire. Someone needs to talk to armor designers about female body shapes and style.”

“What is man’s shared IQ? And more important, how thick should my body armor be to protect myself against it?”

“I looked from the gadget-readied spear and body armor to my slender staff of plain old wood and leather duster."My dick is better than your dick," I said.”

“One single supporter remained faithful to him: an old paralytic, Lord Albermarle. The noble lord, confined to his armchair, would have given his whole fortune to be able to travel around the world, in ten years even; and he bet four thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg.”