There was none of the glee, the sense of pride that she had acquainted with killers before. He was just reciting facts and figures like an accountant would. In fact, he sounded bored with the whole process.And she had sat there, just sat there, listening to his accounts with her own implacable expression rigid upon her features, taking notes and asking questions. Just another case to file, another bad guy put away, another deal made. That thought, those words were swimming in her head like a plague.She felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of the deal she had negotiated with Elliott at the PA's urging, wishing, instead, that she could pull her weapon and put an end to his miserable excuse of a life. It would be like ridding the world of a stray rabid dog. He would never be rehabilitated, he would never feel shame or sorrow for what he had done. And after wading ankle deep in the blood of his murders, she couldn't help but think he'd be better off dead.But, that wasn't for her. Not enough to hurt Jordan, but enough to get her attention, and cause the tip of the tubing to fly out, as Jordan made an assortment of coughing and choking noises. Clyda deftly grabbed the loose end of tubing, and flicked the button to stop it from releasing any more jism. "My, my," said Clyda. "Aren't we the greedy little thing today?" Jordan's face flushed with embarrassment again. "I'm really sorry, Clyda," said Jordan. "I've just never been in a situation like that where I could gorge myself, and I just lost control." "You can say that again," retorted Clyda. "You've drained almost half of this thing! If that little slap hadn't got your attention, I was seriously thinking about tipping the container over, and letting it bonk you on the noggin." "What this situation calls for," continued Clyda, "is a little sharing between us. And I've got just the thing for it." Clyda reached up to her bag on the bed, and rummaged through it for a moment. Clyda produced a similar piece.
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