“Let’s just ask,” she suggested. Asking wouldn’t hurt anyone, and even if Uncle Alec said no, they might be able to work out some solution on their own.
She put in a call to her uncle and put the man on speaker. But it was as she had expected. The chief had no officers to spare, so no guard duty would be assigned to the estate lawyer. But then he seemed to get a bright idea. “You know, there is one possible solution that I can see.”
“And that is?” asked Chase.
“He could stay with you.” Chase’s jaw dropped, and he opened his mouth to protest. “If you don’t mind. It’s either that or we’ll have to send him home—and risk him being shot.”
“But, boss!” said Chase. “We have a family!”
“And so, I’m sure, does this guy. Right?”
“No, he’s single,” said Chase.
“Even better. Let him stay with you for the time being. Set up the spare room. Just until you catch the people that are behind this business with the drive-by shooting.”
“But…”
“The quicker you catch Mr. Hartshorn’s killers, the sooner he can go home.”
“But chief!”
“That’s an order, detective.”
Chase’s closed his mouth with a click of the teeth. He did not look happy.
“But uncle,” said Odelia, “how can we put ourselves in jeopardy for the sake of one man? And we don’t even know if he was the intended victim.”
“They shot straight at him, honey. Emptied an entire clip at the guy. And you think he wasn’t the intended target? Really?”
“Okay, so maybe he was the intended target. But putting him up at the house is like putting a bull’s-eye on ourselves.”
“Nobody will know that he’s staying at your place.”
“These criminals have ways of finding out, surely.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure they don’t find out.” And with these words, he hung up!
God, she thought. Sometimes it sucked to have a police chief for an uncle!
CHAPTER 12
Andy was lugging a suitcase to the elevator, his wife Brandy right behind him, when they came upon a strange scene: a couple were carrying a large mock-up of a fly.
More weirdoes, Andy thought. It certainly strengthened his resolve to kick the dust of this town off his feet. They’d been coming there for a long time—too long, he now realized, and probably should have picked a different place to spend their vacation. The place was going to hell in a handbasket. If it wasn’t people being shot, it was nutcases lugging giant-ass flies through the hotel. And as they traversed the hallway, they had to press themselves up against the wall to let the duo pass. As they did, all of a sudden something fell from the fly’s innards—if a fly does indeed have innards. As Andy looked a little closer, he saw that it was… a gun!
Christ!
He stared at the gun, and then slowly looked up at the guy carrying the fly. Their eyes met, and in that instant he knew that he was staring into the eyes of a killer.
Crazy, cold, and calculating. Soulless eyes, like black holes! A regular psycho maniac!
In a reflex action, he picked up the gun and pointed it at the guy. Later, when telling the story to his friends back home, and his kids and grandkids at the Thanksgiving dinner table, he would always refer to this moment as his John McClane moment. The one where John decides to take on an entire crew of hardened killers so he can save his wife Molly. He was thinking of Brandy, of course, since either he picked up that gun, or the killer did, and got rid of them both by drilling neat little holes into their bodies, the same way he’d done with the prince or king or whatever that Abdullah guy had called himself.
“Stick ‘em up, sport!” he yelled at the top of his voice.
“But sir!” said the killer.
“No backtalk from you, is that understood? Put ‘em up right now, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyeballs. Stick ‘em up right now!” he added and gestured with the gun.
The couple slowly put down the mock-up and did as they were told.
And now what? Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making him a little giddy.
“Brandy, honey, call reception. Tell them we’ve got the killers of the dead fella right here, and tell them to send up the cops.”
“Yes, Andy,” said Brandy, sounding a little nervous.
He grinned at the killer. “Thought you could smuggle the weapon out of the hotel in this fly, huh. Well, think again, buddy!”
“But sir,” said the killer as he started lowering his hands, no doubt eager to get a hold of his backup gun.
“Keep ‘em up!” he yelled.
“But that gun isn’t mine!” said the guy desperately.
“Someone must have stuck it inside the mock-up,” said the killer’s accomplice.
