His teeth

"Why the hell are you wearing teeth like that?" I asked.

The small yellowish necklace was draped around Linsell's neck and down across his bare chest. I counted 20 strung teeth on a first look and decided not to count again.

"Don't I look menacing?" he asked.

"You look like an idiot," I said. His jaunty smile became a pouty scowl.

"You're just jealous. Look mean with this."

"We needed supplies more," I said. "And where the hell did you find so many of them, anyway."

"Dentist's office. Couple of miles from here. Pretty well picked over, for the most part. Don't worry, Benji, I snagged a few tools and other odds and ends, too."

The necklace swung gently, back-and-forth across his chest as he spoke. Whenever his wavy hair moved to cover the necklace, he flicked it aside and with a whip of his head.

"How'd you string 'em up?" I asked.

"Needle and some thin wire. Bore a hole with one, run the other," he said with a grin. "Easy."