One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 13, page 5

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Emperor Bhanar of the House of Narakamíníkı sat awkwardly in the back of the cruiser, his wrists still cuffed behind his back. A metal grating separated him from the pretty policewoman as she drove them down the two-lane highway.

She had not said anything to him and hadn’t even looked his direction, but Bhanar could catch glimpses of her face in the rearview mirror. Even though the cruiser and the surrounding desert were dark, he still thought he could see that she was crying. If she was crying, it had to be because of Pí‘oro.

“Do you know Pí‘oro good?” he asked.

The brunette didn’t respond, not even the slightest movement of her head.

Bhanar asked again, “Do you know--”

“Yes,” she interrupted, her voice strained.

“Ah.” Bhanar leaned back on the bench seat, one knee folded up on the vinyl.

If the girl wasn’t a local, she had at least been there long enough to form friendships--friendships with strange old men. Bhanar frowned.

Whatever the policewoman’s relationship with Pí‘oro, Bhanar felt he had to comfort her, somehow, to give her hope.

“He will get better. They will heal him.” Whether the “they” were the paramedics or Zhíanoso and Vata, he didn’t know. But they would heal him, right? “He cannot die, don’t you know?”

She emitted a moan of a grunt, but nothing more.

Bhanar scowled. This girl was obviously mourning for Pí‘oro, even though she didn’t know if he was dead or not. Maybe something in the police radio reports had told her that the old guy was definitely dead, but it sure had seemed like the paramedics hadn’t given up yet.

He had to get her to open up, to let her feelings out. It was the only way for her to start healing emotionally, if Pí‘oro was really dead.

And if it so happened that she and Bhanar formed a close relationship during her healing process, surely that would be all right, right?

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