For a minute no one said anything. Actually for more than a minute.
Sanchez went over to the coffee pot, said “espresso” and poured a cup. He got something light brown and stone cold.
“Boy,” Wilson said at last, “I suddenly feel unlucky.”
Well, of course they found us. We weren’t hard to find. Not only were we close by, but by that time we were the only department in the whole plant that was on time, under budget, and wasn’t filing workman’s compensation claims by the handful. Naturally that made them suspicious as hell.
The FBI was in on it too, just in case what had happened was sabotage. That’s when I called you, Larry. When I found out the FBI was involved.
Yes, I did just as you told me. As soon as the FBI showed up to question us, I gave them the entire story.
…And they believed it, Larry. That’s the thing. By the end I think they actually bought the whole story, demons and all.
(Unintelligible sounds on tape.) OK, so I’m finishing up my statement. I explained to them how everything was back to normal and we’d never see those demons again. And then that damn fool Sanchez walks into the room, sees them interviewing me. So he kinda smirks in my direction, goes over to the coffee urn, sticks his cup under the spout and says:
“Tea, Earl Gray, hot.”