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"Carnation's best, my love, bon appetite!," he said, though he knew she could hear nothing. As he poured, he watched the figure stuck immobile upon the slab, her stomach moving visibly. "She's full now, I'll bet," he muttered. Setting the half empty pitcher in the corner, he removed the tube from its connection on the mask, and headed for the sprayer. The equipment that Mr. Dodds wheeled over to Mandy's motionless side appeared to be a common paint sprayer, and was, except for minor modifications to the spray-gun. It was a contractor type, with one hose to the air compressor, and one that dipped into the paint bucket. In this case, however, the label on the five gallon bucket read: ACME 1 Part Latex Molding Compound --> ask for it by name Rascal Rick looked the part. He had a big belly that hung out over his belt and made him look startlingly pregnant. His snow white handlebar moustache hung down clear past his chin and, with the white cowboy hat on his head, framed his rose tinted glasses. Rick used to chew tobacco, but it stained the tips of his facial hair, so he'd given that up and chewed gum now. He had a bulbous red nose that suggested, based on the tiny blue lines that seemed to criss cross it, that he knew good bourbon and rarely said no to an ounce or two ... or ten.Rick was a hearty, friendly fellow, one of those back slapping, loud talking, draw-attention-to-himself sorts of guys. He was that way naturally, which was good, because he didn't make diddly on cars these days. All that crap that the Great State of California made them put on the cars he sold made them three or four thousand more to buy than in neighboring Nevada. You could breathe the air in California, which was good if you didn't have major.
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