"Oh, come on, a guy like you could have made your own lair, couldn't you?" I got the impression he had the means. Hell, I could make my own lair if I wanted to. Since I had no idea what I'd do with a lair, I wouldn't.
"Now you mention it, maybe I should." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if he was seriously considering the idea.
"There you go then," I said. "You could call yourself Judgeman."
He choked back a laugh. "That wouldn't be very subtle, but I like it. Would you be my sidekick?"
I stared at him in mock horror. "Excuse me, you'd bemysidekick."
That earned me a smile. "I stand corrected. Seriously though, I do the best I can to do good in the world. It's not always easy, but someone has to do it. It might as well be me. Tell me more about yourself. What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"Apart from a superhero?" I said. "I wanted to be a singer."
"You sing?" He paused with his last chunk of bread halfway to his mouth.
I dropped my hand from my hair down to the table, tapping my fingers lightly on the surface.
"I used to," I said. "It's been a while. I play the piano, too. I went to music school for a couple of years before…" I glanceddown at my hand, my dark red nails glossy against the wood of the table.
"Before Wolfgang?" Forrest asked gently.
"Yeah," I said on an exhale. "I wanted to stay in school. Make a life for myself."
"Have you thought about going back?"
I glanced up at him. "Back to school? I suppose I could. I never really gave it much thought before. It seems…"
"It seems what?" he pressed gently.
"I don't know, frivolous," I said reluctantly. "You're trying to save the world, one criminal at a time. What am I doing?"
"Do you know what I do when I'm in a bad mood?" he asked.
"Throw someone in the slammer for a really long time?" I asked.
He snorted. "Apart from that, I listen to music. Music unites people. It makes us feel good. Some might say that's even more important than what I do. Why would you not want to share that with the world?"
"Because a lot of people are better at it than I am?" I suggested, answering his question with one of my own.
"If everyone stopped doing things because other people were better at it than them, who would ever doanything?" he asked.
"No one, I guess," I said. "What if I try it and fall on my face?"
"What if you try it and do so well you, I don't know, win a Grammy? What if one person listens and smiles because of what you did?"
"What if one person listens and throws up in their mouth a bit because of what I did?" I countered.
"Then they have bad taste," he said firmly.
"You haven't even heard me sing," I pointed out.
"After dinner, would you sing for me?" His expression suggested he didn't just mean musically.
My face heated. "Maybe. Let's see if we can get through dinner without trying to stab each other in the eyeball with a fork."
He considered for a moment. "That's fair. For what it's worth, I promise not to try to stab you in the eyeball with a fork. Or a spoon. Or a knife."
"Not even a spork?" I wasn't sure this restaurant had any, but it didn't hurt to be clear, just in case.
