“K.J. Smith, Mr. Niccoldi,” she said. “We spoke on the phone?”
“Come in,” a commanding male voice replied.
They entered and Tony scoped out the surroundings. Niccoldi’s office was much like any professor’s he’d seen, much like his would be when he got settled (if he could get settled after all this mayhem). There was a desk, a computer, a globe, a few chairs and a large bookshelf. The biggest difference is that Tony would stock his shelf with paperbacks, while Niccoldi’s held thicker, dryer volumes.
“Thick and dry” wasn’t a bad description for Niccoldi himself. He was stout without being fat and had wavy hair like Tony’s, only a few shades darker. He also sported a moustache that was on loan from the mid-1980s and favored a dreadful jacket-and-jeans combination – the classic attempt at “cool” and “casual” made by those who understood neither.

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