"He's just... sitting there."
"He's just trying to psyche us out. But we will not be psyched, my friend."
"We will not. He wants to get in our heads, but we will not play his little mind games, no sir!"
"So... what do we do?"
"We play it cool."
"Then cool it shall be played. I'm an iceman. A man of ice."
"We have nerves of steel!" Casey smacked his fist into his hand to illustrate said nerves.
"Exactly. And yet... he's freaking me out, Case. He just keeps staring at me. I can feel him poking around in there. He's definitely reading my thoughts." Dan nervously patted the gleaming desk top and straightened his tie.
"This is not good," Casey muttered. "He owns us, Dan."
After another long moment, Sam gave them a bright, false smile followed by a little wave. At last he turned on his heel and ambled away.
"Do you really think he saw us in the cab Sunday night?"
"If he didn't then he got an eyeful in the elevator Tuesday. 'There's no one here, Case, I've always wanted to try this'," Case mimicked acidly.
"Nothing even happened! He was too fast for us. He is full of wiles. And possibly guile. He's definitely a sadist."
"And you're definitely a--"
There was a crisp knock on the glass wall that separated their office from the bullpen. Dan and Casey both froze.
"Hey guys. I want you to open with Dave Reese, and we'll bump the Hawks game to the third segment."
The shaggy head receded a bit before Sam leaned back in through the door.
"Oh, and the elevator? Has security cameras. Didn't know if you guys knew that."
And then he walked away again.
Casey was shaking his head in slow denial and Dan had a hunted expression.
"God, Case. He owns us."