– Why don't you come have some ice cream with us? – Foxy invited them with a friendly, relaxed smile. – That way, we can chat for a while. It's been a long time since we last properly caught up.
– Oh! Free ice cream and good company? I'm in! – Raniel eagerly stepped forward, his eyes sparkling with excitement, completely unashamed of himself.
– We're busy – Michael cut in immediately, his cold, calm voice extinguishing his companion's enthusiasm in the same second.
Raniel frowned and let out a low grumble, rolling his eyes. Foxy, already accustomed to Michael's pragmatic attitude, simply chuckled and changed the subject:
– So, when are you planning to return to the FBI, Michael? The team is still trying to put things back together after everything that happened.
– I don't know yet – he replied, keeping his answer short and direct.
The next second, the atmosphere around them seemed to slow down. Michael shifted his gaze away from Foxy and fixed it directly on Bartholomew. At the same moment, Bartholomew met Michael's gaze.
The two remained in absolute silence, staring at each other for long, tense seconds. There was no explicit hostility, but the atmosphere between them suddenly grew heavy. It was as if two invisible forces, two incredibly distinct and razor-sharp auras, were silently clashing in the air.
Raniel looked at Michael, then at Bartholomew, and crossed his arms with an expression of pure mockery:
– Wow... You could cut this tension with a bread knife. If you two keep staring at each other like that, I'm going to think you're about to exchange business cards or kick each other to death.
The joke broke the momentary trance. Bartholomew stepped forward with natural elegance and extended his hand toward Michael.
– It was a pleasure meeting you, Michael – he said in a courteous tone.
– Likewise – Michael replied, shaking Bartholomew's hand.
As their hands met, the clash between their auras became even more apparent to both of them. There was something visceral, something profoundly different and dangerous hidden beneath each man's impeccable facade. The sensation lasted only a fraction of a second. Both ignored the internal warning and maintained their perfect composure. Bartholomew merely offered a slight, crooked smile, keeping his eyes half-closed as he released Michael's hand.
– We need to go – Michael declared, turning around without further ado.
– See you later, everyone! If you ever need an ice cream consultant, you know who to call – Raniel said goodbye with a playful wave, hurrying to catch up with Michael's long strides.
Foxy remained standing beside her boyfriend, watching the two figures disappear into the crowd in the square. She furrowed her brow, sensing something strange about the encounter.
– What was that all about, Bartholomew? – she asked curiously.
– Nothing much – he replied, his voice gentle. – But that Michael... he's quite an incredible guy.
Foxy looked at him in surprise.
– How can you know that? It's the first time you've ever met him.
– It's just a feeling – he murmured.
Bartholomew gently turned Foxy's face toward him and sealed her lips with a calm, affectionate kiss on the mouth. However, even during the kiss, his eyes remained open for a moment, following Michael's silhouette as it disappeared around the bend in the pathway.
A few blocks away, Michael and Raniel had already lost sight of the couple and were fully focused on their initial objective: Luiz Voolper.
After a few minutes of searching the surrounding area based on the patterns mapped out in Michael's Mental Library, they finally located him. Voolper was leaving the counter of a small neighborhood bakery, carrying a paper bag of fresh bread under one arm and a plastic bag clinking with cans of beer.
Without arousing any suspicion, Michael and Raniel followed him from a distance, tracking the man's unsteady steps along side streets until they reached a poorer residential neighborhood. Voolper stopped in front of a single-story house with peeling paint, took his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and went inside.
Michael and Raniel approached silently. Upon reaching the property, they made their way around the side passage without producing a single sound.
Through the crack in the living room window, they could see Voolper dropping the bread onto the table, throwing himself heavily onto the worn-out sofa, and turning on the television to a sports channel. He opened the first can of beer and downed almost all of it in one go. Time passed quickly. One, two, three, four... By the time he had finished his fifth can, Voolper's motor coordination was completely shot.
He staggered as he tried to get up from the sofa, drooling slightly and muttering incoherent curses at the TV screen.
That was when the front door opened quietly. Michael crossed the threshold as calmly as a shadow, while Raniel remained outside, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, simply watching the scene with an amused smile.
Voolper blinked his heavy, bloodshot eyes, trying to focus on the upright figure of Michael standing in the middle of his living room.
– Wh... who the hell are you? – Voolper slurred, his voice thick and sluggish from the alcohol. – What the fuck are you doing in my house? Get the hell out of here, you asshole!
Michael did not answer. He did not take a step forward, change his posture, or show any reaction.
Irritated by the silence and emboldened by his drunken bravado, Voolper let out a confused roar and charged at him. He threw his heavy body forward and raised his right arm, attempting to deliver a wild, uncoordinated punch to Michael's face.
However, his extreme intoxication took its toll. Before his fist could even come within four inches of Michael, Voolper's legs tangled beneath him. He completely lost his balance, misstepped, and crashed face-first onto the floor.
The dull sound of his skull striking the ceramic tiles echoed through the living room. Voolper did not even have time to groan; his body immediately crumpled and lay motionless on the floor, unconscious.
From the doorway, Raniel burst into loud, incredulous laughter:
– Holy fucking shit, Michael! You didn't even have to hit the guy! The alcohol did the job for you. Now that's what I call efficiency!