Hellboy: Unnatural Selection(27)

"Amelia," he said when he reached her.

She stared at him, as wide-eyed as when they had first met a few hours before. "I thought you were dead for sure," she said.

Hellboy shrugged and winced. "I'll be sore in the morning, but I've been through worse."

"I spoke to Tom Manning. He said to get you to call him. He said something's going on."

"Perceptive as ever," Hellboy said. He looked around the harbor, sniffed the air, and shivered. "Mind if we get away from here? The stink of fish is starting to piss me off. It'll take forever to get it out of my coat."

Amelia looked him up and down. "You're soaked. And burned."

"I'll dry, and heal. Don't worry, it's my ego that's most wounded."

"Well, it was a dragon," she said, and Hellboy could have kissed her.

"So," he said, "is there somewhere close where we can get a decent meal and a beer?"

Amelia stared at him, and he noticed for the first time just how pretty she was. It was an unassuming attractiveness, something that came to her naturally and didn't have to be worked at. "Aren't you going to call Tom?" she said.

"No," Hellboy said. "He can wait. I'm in a bad mood. What I am going to do is take you for a drink."

"Why?" Amelia's suddenly flushed cheeks suited her.

Hellboy shook his head and looked down at his feet. Oh crap, he thought. "Because I'm in a bad mood, and I need one. And because you're an expert in mythology, and I've just had my ass kicked by a damn dragon."

"Oh," Amelia said, glancing away.

"And because blushing suits you."

Amelia looked back at Hellboy, and this time she held his gaze. "Your color gives you an advantage."

"I promise, you'll know when I'm flustered. My tail twitches."

She smiled, but it soon slipped from her face. "A dragon!" she said. "There were paramedics going up the mountain when I saw it take you away, and ambulances lining up. I don't know how many dead there are ... "

"Well, it's gone for now," Hellboy said. "And after we've had that drink and talked it through, I'll get some more of my guys down here to make sure it doesn't get away again."

"You think it'll come back?"

Hellboy shrugged, took a slow draw on his cigarette, and looked up at the sky. He blew a smoke ring and watched it disperse, adding itself to the pollution. He frowned, stomped out the cigarette. Looked down at Amelia and made her avert her eyes once again.

"Let's go," he said. "You lead the way. We need to drink and talk."

"Just don't make me blush," she said, turning away.

"Me? Look at me. Do I look mischievous?"



* * *



The bar was called Zero's. None of its furniture matched, the main window out onto the street was hazed with decades of smoke and beer breath, the timber floor was pitted and scarred, the bar had been built from old railway sleepers, the barmaid was three hundred pounds and almost as wide as Hellboy was tall, the clientele ranged from teenage gang members to a grizzled old man who could well have been pickling himself to save the embalmers time, and there was a signed photograph of Burt Reynolds on the wall from when he had visited in 1979.

Hellboy loved it.

Amelia directed him to a private table in the corner, looking as though she knew the way. A few heads turned, a couple of conversations paused for a second, but by the time they sat down, everything felt normal again. She had a small, smug smile on her face, and she tapped her fingers on the heavily marked table. Evidently she was not going to be the first to break the silence.

"So long as they have soft toilet paper," Hellboy said. Amelia laughed out loud, and he found that he liked the sound she made — a girlish giggle, unconscious and unaffected.

"Hellboy, they serve the best chili you'll find anywhere in Rio. As for the beer, you can take your choice: there's Budweiser in cans or a selection of stuff brewed locally. It has a bit of a kick to it, I have to say."

"I always like to support the local economy." He caught the eye of the barmaid — not hard to do, as she was staring right at him — and raised an eyebrow. She sauntered over, a moving mountain of flesh and attitude. A cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth. By the time she reached them, the ash was almost two inches long, yet still it hung on tenaciously to its former shape.