THIRTY-FOUR

Everett Tippler had genuine curiosity on his face—not disgust or revulsion—as he held up a clear plastic bag with a human hand in it.

“We might be able to work together.” He threw the bag to the side. Stared at Mason. “But first explain this.”

“Tried using the sensor chips in the fingers at a money machine.”

Finally, Everett showed comprehension. “You used it on a bank machine?”

“Doesn’t work,” Mason said.

“It needs to be attached to an arm. In turn, the arm needs to be attached to a human.” Everett smiled. “A living human.”

Mason saw no humor in Everett’s efforts. “I had his password. Still didn’t work. He promised he had money in his account. But nothing.”

“And the guy who owned the hand…?”

“Dead. Can’t believe he lied to me about the password. The way I had him, he was begging to tell the truth. I’ve got experience with these things.”

“Appalachia, right? It’s your accent. Haven’t been here long, have you?”

“What does that matter?” Mason said.

“The fingerprint sensor also needs to detect a pulse within a normal range. Anything too fast, machine judges that someone is forcing the person to put his hand there. Heart rate too slow, well”—Everett pointed at the plastic bag—“guards against that too.”

Mason glowered at Everett. Mason didn’t like any kind of criticism. “I’ll survive a lot longer in your world than you would in mine.”

“That’d be why you’re the person who’s going to find her for me.”

“I hunt alone,” Mason said.

“As long as you bring her in when you find her.”

“Not sure I want to.”

“In this world, you’ll need weapons and cash. I supply that. Name your bounty price.”

For the first time since entering the room, Mason smiled.