~ ~ ~
The best way I can reveal the character of Izzy Walker, is by her interactions with other people. So here are some excerpts from Also Known as DNA, the first book in which she appears:
(Graphic provided by author)
He must have been hiding at the other side of the underpass, as cops are wont to do. She pulled off to the shoulder and waited. She had not been speeding.
He sat in his car, most likely running her plate. After a moment, he got out and sauntered up to her. "Afternoon," he said, frowning at her head-ensemble.
"Officer," she said respectfully.
"Got yer license on ya?"
She had already pulled it out, and so handed it to him. He looked it over and nodded. "Missouri, huh? Well, there's an ordinance about helmets around here."
She slumped onto the gas tank of the Rebel. "Officer, I got my helmet stolen at a convenience store in Topeka."
"Sorry to hear that. Where are you headed? "
"That's quite a trip."
He had a military haircut. From the branch colloquially called Jarhead.
"Tell me about it. I'm freezing." She wondered why he didn't make her remove all her head-gear. He couldn't possibly tell if she matched the picture on the license.
"If you promise to go buy a helmet, I'll just let you off with a warnin'."
She wasn't about to tell him she didn't have the money. If he gave her a ticket, she sure as hell wouldn't have the money. "I'm not sure where to get one. I'm just passing through." She noticed he needed to buy his shirts a size larger. His donut-gut was straining the buttons.
"Well, if you take the third exit up ahead and hang a right, there's a Harley store down about a mile. "
"Oh, thanks." She wondered why people with ears like his didn't get plastic surgery. They could be a lot closer to his head, where they wouldn't stick out and catch on things as he moved through his Podunk Police world.
He studied her for a moment. "All right then." He handed her back the license. "Go get that helmet. It's not safe without it. Heads crack open like melons when they hit the pavement."
Thanks for that image. She must have made a face.
"I'm just sayin'. I've seen it too many times."
"Well, point taken, officer. I appreciate that. I'll go get one. I mean, now that I know where to find one. It's not like this get-up is working," she pointed to her head.
"All righty, then." He pulled on one of his wind-surfing ears, and strolled back to his squad car.
Was this the best way he could spend his time? Weren't there any meth labs to bust? Izzy punched the start button and the engine cranked again. After three or four cars swept by, she picked up speed on the shoulder and merged back onto the Interstate. In her rearview mirror she watched the cop pull behind her. She hoped he got off at the next exit.
* * *
"You feel better today?"
(Izzy said) "Maybe not as delightful as you two, but yeah, I feel better."
I frowned at her. "Excuse me?"
She grabbed her chest and started panting dramatically, "Yes! Oh Baby!"
Now my face was red. I looked over and Phoebe was leaning onto the counter, her hands over her mouth, her body bouncing with suppressed laughter.
"I'm going to have to find a place to live," Izzy said. " I can't be hearing all that."
"You have a problem with gay people?"
"No. I have a problem with gay people who have sex when I'm not having any."
"Can't help you there," I muttered.
* * *
"So, what's on your resume? What are you good at?"
(Izzy): "I don't want to get paid for what I'm good at."
Ginger let that remark sink in, and chose to ignore it. "What sort of jobs have you had in the past?"
"Well, let's see…I was the Ambassador to the Federated States of Micronesia." Izzy pulled one hiking boot off and tossed it on the floor.
Ginger stifled a laugh. "You're not helping your case, here."
* * *
She (Izzy) got up and looked in the fridge, and then back over at me. "Anything besides furry pickles?" The cabinet contents didn't please her either. "Look at that…every possible flavor of Ramen noodles…" She closed the cabinet and sat back down. "You're on a liquid diet, right?"
"I knew I was going to look up to you."