"What sex life?" Remo growled. "I've been on death row so long I forgot where to put it."
Naomi wrote "Crude" on her notepad. Reading that, Remo folded his arms angrily.
"Before you went to jail, then," Naomi went on. "How did you do it?"
"What kind of question is that? I just did it."
"I'm only interested in the courship and precopulation rituals you relied upon."
"The what? Look, dingbat, get this through your head: I'm an ordinary guy. I don't do it any differently than anyone else. Better, maybe. Not different."
Naomi inscribed something unreadable on her notepad and asked, "I don't suppose you happen to know how long your penis is?"
"I never thought to measure it," Remo said acidly. "Why?"
"As man developed from the primitive stage, his sex organs have enlarged and become more specialized. As the next stage in human development, it's important to know if there have been any further ... specializations."
"Important to whom?" Remo asked sourly.
"Science," Naomi stuttered. "This is the pursuit of knowledge. If I can codify the traits that make you unique, we would be able to identify others on the vanguard of evolution, and if they can be persuaded to mate, a new, improved race would emerge generations earlier than otherwise."
"So?"
"So then we can study you and your kind."
"Lady, it wouldn't work that way. It would be the Europeans and the Indians all over again. Someone would win and someone would lose. Why push it along any faster? Let it be."
"You don't understand science."
"I don't want to. I'm trying to understand my life."
"Does that mean you won't let me measure your penis?"
"Good guess. I'm an escaped felon, remember?"
Naomi smiled. "I find that extra-exciting."
Remo rolled his eyes. "You would."
She leaned closer. "You interest me," she breathed, her mouth smelling of coffee yogurt.
"I'm a killer," Remo reminded her.
Naomi inched closer on the sofa. She tossed back her hair and lowered her face so that she had to give Remo an up-from-under look. She pushed her glasses up onto her forehead.
"You probably haven't had sex in twenty years," she said.
"I definitely haven't had sex for twenty years," Remo said.
"Well," Naomi Vanderkloot said with what she hoped was a sexy smile, "now's your golden opportunity. "
Remo Williams' glance took in the foolish smile that came over Naomi Vanderkloot's thin face, went down to her flat chest, lingered on her whalebone hips, and decided beggars couldn't be choosers.
"You're on," he said, taking her by the hand. Remo led her to the bedroom, unaware that her other hand still clutched her notepad and pencil.
"What are you doing with that?" Remo asked moments later. Naomi Vanderkloot lay under him, her face flushed, one hand reaching down to his crotch. The hand clutched a pencil.
"Umm. Nothing," she said absently.
"You're holding a pencil against my tool," Remo pointed out in a reasonable voice. "I don't exactly call that nothing."
Naomi withdrew the pencil and used it to scribble a single-digit number onto the notepad by her pillow. "Are you through?" Remo demanded. "Can we get on with this?"
"Absolutely." Naomi closed her eyes. Remo noticed she folded her hands over her stomach as if steeling herself for an ordeal. He entered her slowly, watching the play of expressions on her narrow face. They began with concern, softened to delight, and tightened up again as Remo fell into a slow, building rhythm.
Just when Remo was getting into it, Naomi's right eye peeked open. Remo stopped in mid-stroke. "What are you looking at?" Remo wanted to know.
"I wanted to see if your body was flushed. It's a sexual response found only in the higher primates."
"And?"
"Looks normal."
"Hooray for higher primates," Remo muttered. "Can we resume now, or would you like to take my temperature?"
"I already know your temperature," Naomi said archly. "You're hot. Like me."
"Thank you." Remo started again. He was just getting his concentration back when suddenly Naomi's eyes flew open and her hands clutched his naked chest.
"Oh, my God. You've been in prison!"
Remo stopped. "Is that just dawning on you?"
"You could have AIDS. I forgot all about it."
"What's AIDS?" Remo asked seriously.
Naomi frowned. "Don't tell me you never heard of AIDS."
"Never."
"Get off."
"I was just getting started."
"Get off! We'll finish later," Naomi said in a brisk, businesslike voice. She gathered up her pad and pencil and assumed a seated position on the futon. With a disgusted look on his face, Remo did the same.