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I Hear Voices – How To Evade Capture – Contest

Good morning. Today we’re visiting with Zelda and Derek. To win a copy of the book or a pendant just answer the questions correctly and leave an email address in the comment field.

#1-Who should be a stand-up comedian?
#2-Who’s the narc?
#3-Who does Dr. Giggles look like?

A freaking command center had been set up in the parking lot of the Lost Dutchman’s park. I sure hoped they hadn’t towed my car off. The sooner I got the tracker removed, the sooner I could ditch the Tomb Raider.

The minute the helicopter touched down Sam and I were whisked inside a tent set up like an emergency room. They wheeled me behind a gauzy curtain and plopped me on a bed. “Thanks guys.”

“Our pleasure, ma’am,” the paramedics responded and left.

My eyes widened when a Patrick Dempsey clone walked in with a clipboard. He grinned at my startled expression. “Yeah, I look a bit like that actor.”

“A bit?”

The doctor held up a pen light and flashed it in my eyes. “Got a headache?”

I was in a helicopter crash, what do you think?”

Flashing me a dimpled, Hollywood smile, he examined my head laceration. “A little dab of surgical glue should fix this. Derek wouldn’t want your pretty face scarred.”

Huh? Like he gave a shit. It was time for me to play the harmless, slightly ditzy patient. In other words, act like a bimbo. “Derek has been such a comfort. I don’t know what I’d done without him,” I gushed.

Doctor Hollywood cleaned the blood off my face. “There’s nothing Derek can’t handle.”

Wanna bet? “Oh, don’t I know it. He’s such a take charge kinda guy.” The bossy prick.

“The Commander does expect his orders to be followed.”

Well, fuckadoodledoo, the jackass could bark all the orders he wanted but it didn’t mean I had to follow them. “He’s a hero. He pulled all of us from that burning helicopter and went back in for that poor pilot. Do you know how she’s doing?”

The doctor swabbed my forehead. “They took her directly to St Joseph’s Trauma Center.”

I let my voice tremble. “She isn’t going to die, is she?”

“No. She’s stable. They’re just concerned about the compound fracture in her left femur.”

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I latched onto to his arm and sobbed, “Are you sure? There was so much blood.”

“Head injuries always bleed a lot.” The doctor pried my fingers off his arm and shot me a suspicious look.

Shit, my acting abilities were definitely on the fritz. I gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry to be such a baby but blood makes me want to hurl and there was so much of it. It drenched her hair and her face. The way that bone poked through her coverall.” I gagged and made nasty retching sounds.

He picked up a hypodermic needle. “Maybe I should sedate you.”

What!? “I thought you couldn’t sedate people with head injuries?”

“I’ll make an exception in your case.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes as he picked up a vial, inserted a hypodermic needle and slowly drew down the fluid.

“Had a bit of a talk with Derek, huh?”

“Yeah, I did.”

I held up my hands. “I’ll be good.”

“Sloan said you were a smart girl.” He exchanged the needle for a silver tube and leaned over me. “This might sting a bit.”
Liquid fire spread across my forehead. Holy Mother of God! Sting a bit? “You’re a sadist, aren’t you?”

“It comes with the territory.” He covered my burning forehead with a large bandage. “All done. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Just color me happy. Do I get a lollipop?”

The doctor laughed. “Sorry, all out.” He picked up a suture tray. “Let’s take a look at that arm.”

“My arm’s fine,” I protested, cringing back on the bed. “Hank already fixed it.”

The sadistic doctor glanced at my chart. “Nope. It says right here you need stitches and a head x-ray.”

Who knew Hank was such a narc? “You brought an x-ray machine with you?”

“We’re a mobile trauma team and we’re set up to handle all sorts of disaster scenes.”

Rats! There went my chance of sneaking out of a busy emergency room.

The beast picked up the hypodermic needle and tapped it.

“I thought you weren’t going to sedate me?”

“This will deaden your arm so I can sew you up without a lot of screaming.”

“You should do stand-up comedy.”

He inserted the needle. “I have a weekly show at the Laugh Factory.”

Was he pulling my leg?

With an amazing dexterity, the sadistic Doctor Giggles quickly put five stitches in my left arm.

A pretty nurse stuck her head around the curtain. “Doctor McKenzie wants you to take a look at some x-ray films, sir.”

“I’ll be right there.” Flashing me a dazzling smile, the scummy creep quickly handcuffed me to the gurney.
I held my right arm up. “What’s this for?” Like I didn’t know.

“Commander Sloan wants to make sure you don’t wander off.”

“How far does he think I’ll get with a concussion?”

“He said you were a slippery little thing and I shouldn’t take any chances.” The doctor patted my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

And I would be long gone. I pulled a lock pick out of the nifty belt buckle Uncle Aldo had given me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. Easing the IV needle out, I swung my legs over the bed and stood.
“Whoa!” I waited until everything stopped spinning and the funny black dots went away before peering around the curtain.
Doctor Giggles and another man in combat khaki were busily examining x-ray films of what had to be Sam’s arm. Yeow! That was a pretty nasty break. I snuck past them and peeked out of the tent.

Yippee! The coast was clear and thankfully my car hadn’t been towed. I staggered over to it and let out a growl of rage. That bastard had flattened all four of my tires. Like that would stop me. I eyed his Hummer and smiled. I’d never driven one before.

Retrieving my hide-a-key, I popped the trunk, got my emergency bag and tool kit. Uncle Aldo had made me a special electronic car key that would override any security system. With one push of a button, I was in Derek’s Hummer. I inserted the key and it started right up. Boy was he gonna be pissed. Especially when he found the note I left him.

A black Maricopa County Sheriff’s helicopter landed on the far side of the parking lot. With a grin, I cranked up the AC and drove off.

Gail Koger
http://www.gailkoger.com

Another Friggin’ Contest

Good Morning! Up for grabs is a copy of I Hear Voices or one of my other books.  Just answer the questions correctly and leave an email address in the comment field. Easy!

#1 – Who has funky Marlon Brando tattoos?

#2 – Who is a giant-pain-in-the-ass?

#3 – Who threw out spiked stop stick?

Those damned news helicopters just kept on following us like a bunch of vultures. The thought of millions and millions of people gawking at my so-not-ready-for-prime-time-body gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Granny Annabel floated effortlessly alongside the motorcycle. “Your man is a fearless hero and he will find a way to rescue you.”

I snorted. “Right. Derek’s faster than a speeding bullet and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Oh wait. He’s not Superman, he’s a giant pain-in-my ass.”

Dixon eyed me warily in the side mirror. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“Gee, let me think. Did I get my brains scrambled when the helicopter crashed and burned real pretty? Or did it happen when I crashed Derek’s Hummer and the airbags deployed too late? Or maybe it was when Peg Leg smacked me in the face? Or could it have been when I was kidnapped by a maniac on a motorcycle that dangled me over his lap like a sack of potatoes?”

“Watch your tone,” Dixon snarled.

“Or what? You’ll toss me off the motorcycle and shoot me?”

“No, I’ll give you to Buzzard. He likes women with curves.”

“Be still my heart. Wait a minute. Buzzard!? Isn’t he the dude with all those funky Marlon Brando tattoos?”

“Yes.”

Wasn’t I the luckiest girl in the world? The scary guy with the serial killer eyes liked me and my curves. “Does he really think he’s Marlon Brando reincarnated?”

Dixon nodded. “He’s a good man to have in a knife fight.”

Color me happy, a serial killer with a knife fetish. I hissed at Granny, “Where the hell is Derek?”

“Look behind you,” Granny responded.

I glanced over my shoulder. Holy Jesus! Lights flashing, sirens screaming a parade of police cars were hot on our heels. My brains really were scrambled not to have noticed that three ring circus.

“I don’t see Derek.”

Granny pointed.

I squinted trying to ignore those funny black spots that kept popping in and out of my vision.

Sure enough here came Derek, doing Mach one on Peg Leg’s Harley. He blew by the patrol cars like they were standing still.

One look at Sloan’s deadly expression and I groaned. When he caught up to us, I was going to catch holy hell for stealing and wrecking his car. Dixon would be lucky not to end up dead.

Wearily, I leaned my aching head against Dixon’s back and prayed for a miracle.

A police officer jumped out and threw a spiked stop strip.

Yelping, I grabbed a hold of Dixon’s belt as he abruptly swerved around the stick, barreled up on the sidewalk and missed the pissed off cop by inches.

For a long moment, I stared at the butt of a handgun protruding from the waistband of Dixon’s jeans. I’ll be damned. There was my miracle. Yanking the gun out, I pressed it to the back of his skull and yelled, “Pull over.”

The jerk just laughed. “The safety’s on sweetheart.”

I flipped it off. “Not any longer. Stop the fucking bike.”

“You won’t shoot me.”

“Wanna bet?”

He laughed harder. “No bullets.”

Shit! I checked and sure enough, the clip was missing.

“Derek’s gonna have his hands full with you.”

Huh?

Without warning, Dixon zoomed into a parking garage and skidded to a stop next to our doubles on a matching red Harley.

I gaped at my clone. Damn, she really looked like me. How sad was that?

“Give me your t-shirt,” Dixon ordered.

My clone peeled it off and dropped it on the pavement.

Yikes! Not only was she braless, but she had screaming skulls tattooed on what had to be double E breasts. Gotta be a biker thing. Cuz sexy, it wasn’t.

“Go,” Dixon said and they squealed out of the parking garage.

“You really think it’s gonna work?”

He backed us into the shadows. “Watch.”

Derek screamed past in hot pursuit with the cop cars right on his tail.

Cocking my head, I listened as the helicopters took the bait, too.

Animosity glittering in his eyes, Dixon held his hand out. “Give me my fucking gun.”

I quickly handed it to him and watched as he shoved the clip in.

“You point a gun at a man you’d better be prepared to use it.”

“I was.”

Dixon shot me a derisive look and shoved the gun in his waistband. “You’re not a killer, sweetheart.”

I bared my teeth in a snarl. “A few more days like this one and I will be.”

Gail Koger

www.gailkoger.com

I HEAR VOICES CONTEST

I borrowed my neighbor’s newspaper for the want ads and nearly choked on my coffee. The gold medallion that would lead me to Montezuma’s lost treasure was on display at the Phoenix Art Museum. I let out a triumphant whoop and did a little happy dance. My crappy luck was finally changing.
Friday, the museum was sponsoring a big gala event to show off the Aztec artifacts found at the lost city of El Dorado. The Mexican government had kindly arranged to display the pieces for a sizeable donation. For only twenty dollars, the general public could tour the exhibit today. Damn, there went my gas money.
The newspaper article heralding the event also had a one page story complete with a color photo on Derek Sloan, the know-it-all prick in my vision. This modern day tomb raider was the one who had discovered the fabled lost city. He was furious with the Mexican government for confiscating the gold he had recovered. Recovered? Looted was more like it.
The gullible reporter actually believed Sloan’s story that he had the proper documents and the local Commandant had exceeded his jurisdiction when he appropriated the artifacts.
I figured the Commandant had about thirty million reasons to snag the loot. The reporter speculated that Sloan was attending the gala to air his grievances with the Mexican government.
Me? I knew he was here to get his gold back, one way or another. Couldn’t really blame him but I needed that medallion. My little inner voice was screaming blue bloody murder that if I didn’t stop Sloan now, I would never find the gold.
The thought of spending another twelve weeks at the unemployment office, filling out form after form, made me shudder. The beige, cinder block building reeked of sweat and despair. The temperature always hovered at 95 degrees. All the wheezing air conditioner did was push warm air around the packed waiting room. Add in the horde of flies that dive bombed you incessantly, the ear-shattering wails of bored children and the place could double as hell.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. There was only one way to stop him. I had to steal the medallion before Sloan pulled his own heist and to keep him off my back, I needed to get him locked up. A little time at Sheriff Joe’s tent city would do him wonders. Just the thought of the Tomb Raider being forced to wear that awful pink underwear and zebra striped overalls made me smile.
The one person who could help me out of this mess was my Uncle Aldo. I was eight years old when my parents died in a car accident and he raised me the best way he knew how. I mean dealing with a kid who could see dead people had to be seriously freaky. But he took it all in stride and loved me unconditionally. I have to admit his idea of proper schooling was a bit unique but the Dragos Clan isn’t exactly law abiding.
To be blunt we’re thieves. My father had been recruited by Uncle Aldo and once he married my mom, he had changed his name to Dragos. It’s a clan requirement.
My uncle had been a gifted thief until arthritis crippled his hands. He taught me all he knew and two days before I was to become El Gato, the most wanted cat burglar in Europe, Aunt Sophie, my mother’s sister, showed up. Some snitch in the family had told her about my rather awesome psychic gifts. The evil bitch forced Uncle Aldo to retire and took me to Seattle to learn the other family business.
After I made my escape, Uncle Aldo moved to Sun City, Arizona where the old ladies are hot to trot. His pool has seen more action than Hugh Hefner’s.
Calling Uncle Aldo, I explained the situation, told him what I needed and asked for his help.
“Si, Zelda, of course I will help you,” he replied in his heavy Italian accent. “It will be good to sharpen my skills and make fools of la Polizia.”
“Grazie, uncle, I’ll see you at noon.”
When I quit the family business, I borrowed one of Uncle Dante’s special effect computers which made unbelievably real holographic images. You never knew when you might need a diversion. Like pulling a heist at a crowded, heavily guarded museum. A realistic Montezuma appearing out of thin air with smoke and sound effects should do the trick. But first, I had to do a little recon.
* * * *
Forking over my last twenty dollars to a bloated old woman with Yoda-like eyes at the box office; I trailed after the way too perky guide as she chirped on and on about the mysterious Aztecs and their blood thirsty ways. Her incessant giggling made me want to smack her upside the head. What the hell was funny about human sacrifices?
I quickly ditched the tour by ducking behind a large potted plant. How had that twit landed a job when I couldn’t even get hired as a dish washer? Fate was an evil, twisted bitch.
My attention was drawn to two hulking, armed security guards escorting a big guy wearing a Fedora around the exhibits. Aw c’mon a Fedora? Did the dude really think he was Indiana Jones? I strolled closer for a better look. Yep, it was the Tomb Raider. His silver eyes swept over my size 14 body, lingered for a minute on the cleavage exposed by my turquoise tank top and immediately dismissed me.
Guess I wasn’t his type. Men like him were more into the Barbie doll bimbos who wore a size zero and have breast implants bigger than their IQ.
Dating a guy like him would be like dating my Uncle Dante, who had slaughtered his first and second wives just for looking at another man. I wasn’t into merciless predators who’d sell their own mother if there was a profit to be made.
The Tomb Raider’s nervous escorts kept fingering their guns. I couldn’t really blame them, he had menacing down to an art form.
Sloan’s square chin was covered by several days’ growth of bristly black beard. His ebony hair brushed the collar of a horribly loud orange Hawaiian shirt. The man had to be color blind. I mean, my God, who buys something with big yellow parrots on it?
My eyes skimmed down Sloan’s khaki shorts to his long, very muscular legs. Hoo boy, the guy was ripped. Made you want to lick him all over.
I smacked myself in the forehead. What the hell was wrong with me? Okay, it’d been awhile since I had a date. A depressed sigh broke from me. So long in fact that I had probably forgotten how to kiss properly, but I certainly wouldn’t mind using him for some practice. Too bad I had to get Indiana Jones arrested.
Shaking off my sudden longing for a little romance, I hurried over to the display with my medallion in it. I held my hands an inch above the case, opened my psychic eye and reached out.
A flurry of images scrolled across my mind. A small metal sign with Hieroglyphic Canyon etched on it. The ominous Superstitious Mountains loomed over a large Saguaro cacti covered in white flowers. One large spine pointed down a rocky path.
A large, callused hand touched my arm. “Ma’am, you okay?”
Ma’am? I was barely thirty. I opened my eyes and blinked. A garish Hawaiian shirt filled my vision. Crap. It was Indy. Tilting my head up, I met his suspicious gaze and pasted an adoring smile on my face. “I appreciate your concern, sugar. Dinner would certainly make me feel better.” I stroked a hand down his massive chest. “Much, much better.”
A dark brow shot up incredulously and his mouth tightened. “Some other time, sweetheart.”
I grinned as Sloan beat a hasty retreat. This was going to be fun.
My dapper Uncle Aldo gave me a slight nod as he squired two beaming elderly women around the displays. His ivory cane was a work of art. It contained a super duper spy camera equipped with a scanner that would pick up the frequency range of the museum’s security system. It also had a cool electromagnetic pulse feature that fried all electronic devices. With one press of a button, the alarm systems, cameras, lights and cell phones would be put out of commission, permanently. I loved technology.
I watched the security guards hustle Sloan out of the building and dump him next to a battered old silver Hummer. Hmmph. The car matched his eyes. Was he that vain?
A feral smile twisting his mouth, Sloan got in his Hummer and drove off. Guess he had done his surveillance, too.
The psychic image of a black clad figure entering the darkened museum flashed across my mind. The sneaky bastard planned on hitting it tonight. The Indiana Jones wannabe was going to be in for a nasty surprise. Hope he had a good lawyer.
* * * *
A short time later, I adjusted my way too tight borrowed maid’s uniform. Who knew I could still squeeze into a size 10? I know I had put on a little weight. Okay, who was I kidding? Twenty or so pounds were a lot but working for Aunt Sophie had driven me to chocolate. I’ll freely admit I’m a chocoholic but it was the only thing that kept me sane.
The downside of my sanity was the ugly brown shirt squashed my breasts and I was afraid if I breathed too deeply the buttons would pop off. But hey, I could actually say I still wore a size 10. Kinda.
Pushing the maid’s cart down the hallway to room 1213, I inserted the pass key Uncle Aldo had made me and slipped inside Sloan’s hotel room.
Whoa! The room was fit for royalty. The elegant sitting room had a terrific view of the city and double doors opened onto an enormous balcony complete with comfy lounge chairs. The opulent bedroom was a playboy’s wet dream with a bed big enough for an orgy. He’d better enjoy it now. The Tomb Raider’s next accommodation would be a six by eight cell with a metal toilet.
Pulling on my latex gloves, I planted schematics of the hotel and museum’s security system in his luggage, stuffed burglary tools under the bed and hid a radio frequency jamming gun in the air duct. Once Uncle Aldo liberated the million dollar diamond necklace from the penthouse safe, I’d call the police with an anonymous tip about where they could find the stolen loot. Yep, room 1213.
I passed the wet bar and a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies drew me like a magnet. The Hilton did know how to treat its customers. I grabbed one and took a bite. Omigod! Could you have an orgasm from chocolate? I took another bite. Ooooh yeah.
No sense in leaving them. I mean, guys weren’t into chocolate, right? Stuffing the cookie in my mouth, I grabbed the plate, opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
The elevator doors dinged and Sloan strolled out. Holy shit! Talk about bad timing. I sucked in a deep calming breath. It’ll be okay. All he’ll see is an overweight Hispanic looking maid doing her job. Setting the plate of cookies on the cart, I pushed it calmly down the hallway.
His cocky stride had me gritting my teeth. Macho creep.
Sloan’s cold silver eyes zeroed in on the plate of cookies as he walked towards me. They were mine and there was no way he was getting his grimy paws on them.
The top button on my shirt suddenly shot off like it had been propelled by a rocket launcher. I watched in horror as it smacked him right between the eyes. Omigod!
Sloan stopped dead and stared at me. “Helping yourself to my cookies, sweetheart?”
His sweetheart sounded more like a cuss word than an endearment.
When I didn’t respond he added, “Do you know you have my chocolate on your mouth?”
His chocolate? I quickly swiped at my lips. “Muy bien, senor.” I winced, my Mexican accent really sucked.
Sloan’s gaze narrowed. “Do I know you?”
“No comprende, senor.”
“Those eyes, I’ve seen them before.”
My pale violet eyes were a bit unique. “No comprende,” I repeated, pushing the cart faster.
Another button rocketed off and whacked him in the nose. Sloan’s gaze settled on my ample cleavage. “What were you doing in my room, Angel?”
Oh shit, I should have never worn that tank top. The angel shaped birthmark on my upper right breast was unforgettable and marked me as a demon slayer. “No hablas Ingles.”
“The hell you don’t.” He grabbed for me.
I shoved the plate of cookies in his face. He wanted them. He got ‘em.
Sloan growled like a rabid pit bull and lunged at me.
I ducked under his outstretched arms, slammed the cart into him and ran for my life.
“You little bitch. You’re after the gold, too!”
“Ya think?” One glance at the chocolate smeared predator on my ass and I went to plan B. Yanking the fire alarm, I dropped a smoke bomb and hauled ass down the stairs.
I was wheezing like a stranded guppy when I finally made it to the parking lot. Twelve flights of stairs in less than five minutes had to be a record.
Sirens wailing, several fire trucks and cop cars squealed to a stop in the front drive. A large crowd of panicked people poured out of the front doors. I’d say my diversion was a success.
My calf muscles protesting loudly, I hobbled over to my gold Sonata and climbed in.
The door to the staircase flew open and the enraged Tomb Raider barreled out.
I waved all friendly like at him and started the engine.
He mouthed, I will find you.
Flipping him the bird, I mouthed back, not a chance.
His fists clenched, Sloan sprinted towards me. Wow! That sucker could really run.
I gunned it and roared out of the parking lot. Ha! I showed him. A smug look at the rear view mirror had me groaning. He was writing my license plate number down.
Grabbing my cell phone, I dialed 9-1-1. The line rang and rang and rang. To my horror an automated voice answered, “You have reached 9-1-1. All the lines are busy. If you have a life threatening emergency, please stay on the line.”
Good God, 9-1-1 had an answering machine. Were the budget cuts that bad?
My cell phone snapped, crackled and went dead. Crap. I glanced over at the passenger seat and sure enough, there sat Granny Annabel still decked out like a gypsy.
“You’re messin’ up our plan!”
“Aldo was arrested.”
My stomach clenched in horror. “That’s not possible.”
“Derek recognized Aldo at the museum. He called his detective friend and told him that your uncle was the famous El Gato. They put… What is the word?”
I rubbed my suddenly aching head. “A tail?”
“Si, la Polizia was waiting for him when he left the penthouse.”
“That skunk is so going down.”
“Derek is a clever man, bambina. He will make you a good husband.”
“Husband!? Are you nuts! I’m not his type.”
“I do not like your tone.”
“He’s a predator just like Uncle Dante.”
“Derek knows how to protect his woman.”
“I am not nor will I ever be his woman,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Granny Annabel gave me the evil eye. “You doubt me?”
“Yes.”
“Then do as you wish but fate will not be denied.” She vanished.
Fate will not be denied? What a bunch of hooey.
My cell phone sprang to life with a wonky ring. “Hello?”
A sexy, deep timbered voice asked, “Zelda Dragos?”
The hair on the back of my neck literally stood up. “Derek Sloan, how did you get my number?”
He laughed a not very nice kinda laugh. “I have resources.”
“Like your detective friend?”
“Very good. Maybe you do have some psychic abilities.”
The slimy, conniving Tomb Raider had investigated me? “What do you want?”
“A meeting.”
I laughed, genuinely amused. “Not happening.”
There was a steely edge to his voice when he promised, “I will find you.”
“Does your detective friend know you’re planning on robbing the museum tonight?”
His breath hissed out. “Don’t get in my way, sweetheart. You won’t like the consequences.”
“Neither will you.” I disconnected and hit speed dial. As soon as my favorite cousin, Sebastian, answered I quickly filled him in on the situation.
“Don’t worry I’ll have Aldo out in an hour, luv.”
Utter relief filled me. Sebastian could hack any computer and was an expert at making criminal records permanently vanish. His release documents were a work of art. “Thanks, I owe you one. What’s with the English accent?”
“I’m impersonating John Seymour, the Duke of Somerset.”
“Hasn’t he been dead for like two hundred years?”
“My mark doesn’t know that.”
Horns honked and brakes squealed. I shot a worried look at my rear view mirror. A half a block back a silver Hummer weaved in and out of traffic.
I could sense an almost palpable fury emanating from Sloan. His predatory instincts had taken over and he wouldn’t stop until he had caught his prey. Me. Guess he wasn’t used to women running from him.
I swerved around a Lexus and shot down a side street.
The Hummer followed, barely missing a city bus. Betcha he was still pissed about the cookies. I would be.
“I’ll call you back, Sebastian, gotta ditch a moron with a death wish.”
“You need help? I can be there in eight hours.”
Sebastian had a protective streak a mile wide and always treated me like his little sister. “Nah, I can handle him. Just get Uncle Aldo out of the country.”
“Be careful, luv.”
“I always am. Ciao.” I disconnected.
I took a hard right, sped down an alley and squealed into a parking lot of a large shopping mall. Hiding between two oversized trucks, I opened my psychic eye. Well hell. Sloan’s Blackberry had an application used by the CIA to track cell phones. Wonder if I could borrow it?
An image flashed across my mind and a wicked laugh broke from me. My favorite client, Deborah Kline, was at the mall and she owed me a big favor. I had tracked down her ex-husband and used my special effects computer to scare the living bejeesus out of him. Within two days the slimy bastard had sent her the three hundred thousand dollars he owed in back child support. Digging her business card out of my purse, I called her and asked for her help.
“I would be delighted,” Deborah replied.
“He’s in that silver Hummer heading towards you.”
“Don’t worry I’ll take care of your stalker ex-boyfriend.”
“You’re the best.” Okay, I might have stretched the truth a tiny bit but Sloan had gotten Uncle Aldo arrested.
Deborah’s brand spanking new white Cadillac suddenly shot out from a parking space. She missed the front bumper of the Hummer by a scant inch and crawled slowly down the aisle.
The Tomb Raider honked impatiently at her.
Deborah drove even slower.
Sloan laid on the horn and yelled, “Get the hell out of the way, you old bat.”
The Cadillac came to a complete stop. Deborah stepped out of her car and walked up to the Hummer.
Sloan leaned out the driver’s window. “What the fuck is your problem, Granny?”
Now he had gone and done it. Granny was in disguise and had a bit of temper.
Deborah yanked a can of mace out of her purse and let Sloan have it right in the kisser.
The Tomb Raider yowled and rubbed frantically at his face.
She smiled up at him. “You’ve got a nasty mouth on you, son.” She put the mace back in her purse and calmly walked back to her car.
“That’s tellin’ him,” I giggled. Deborah might look sweet and helpless but she’d been a top homicide detective until she retired and became a bounty hunter. She always got her man.
I pulled out of my parking space, gave Deborah a thumbs up, and headed for the exit.
A loudly cursing Sloan poured a bottle of water over his face. I honked as I drove away and yelled, “Way to go, numb nuts.”
The Tomb Raider yelled back, “Run little girl. Run as far and fast as you can. The gold is mine.”
“Finders, keepers,” I shouted. Okay, riling him up even more probably wasn’t a good idea.
I pulled up at a stop sign and eyed the landscaping truck next to me. Perfect. They were heading to Nogales. Sometimes being psychic rocked. I rolled the window down and tossed my cell phone in their trailer.
With his burning, watering eyes, it would be difficult for Sloan to even drive and I bet it would take him about an hour to realize he was following the wrong car. By the time he made it back to Phoenix, the medallion would be mine.
Granny’s disembodied voice hissed, “How can you treat your man that way?”
“Sloan’s not my man and it was easy.”
“The fates have chosen him for you. They will not be denied.”
“Omigod! You are so full of it. Sloan dates women who would make that model Twiggy look fat. I’m not his type.”
“Men like large-breasted women.”
“Okay, I’ll agree with that, but my little voice says Sloan prefers bimbos without an original thought in their heads.”
With a blast of arctic air, Granny Annabel appeared in the back seat. “He is built like a stallion and he knows how to fuck.”
My granny was using the F word!?
“You need an experienced man, one who knows how to pleasure a woman.”
The image of his cock popped into my mind. Damn, that sucker was big! No. No. No. She wouldn’t get to me that easily. “He’s got a big dick, so what? I want a man who will respect me, treat me as an equal and be my best friend.”
“Friends? Bah! You need passion and fire.”
“Like you had with Grandpa Frederic? He broke your heart and took every penny you had. So, I think I’ll pass.”
Granny grabbed her chest dramatically and cried, “You hateful child, I raised you better than that.”
“Uncle Aldo raised me,” I retorted.
The temperature in the car suddenly became sub-arctic and ice formed on the windshield.
“La famiglia is more important than gold,” Granny Annabel snapped.
A snow flurries erupted in my car.
Crap! I could barely see out the windshield. “I’m sorry, okay? Can we lose the blizzard?”
“I want your promise that you will allow Derek to court you.”
Like that was going to happen. In a desperate kamikaze move, I cut across two lanes of traffic. Ignoring the squealing tires, blaring horns and profane curses, I pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and skidded to a stop.
My teeth chattering, I cried, “You win! If he asks me out on a date, I’ll go.” The chances of that happening were zero.
Someone knocked on the driver’s window.
I rolled it down and peered up at the big, brawny motorcycle cop. “I’m having a bit of a problem with my air-conditioner, sir.”
The cop lowered his sunglasses and surveyed the snow coating my seats in utter amazement. “I’ll say. You should get that looked at.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
With a disbelieving shake of his head, the officer climbed back on his motorcycle and rode off.
“Derek will give you many fine babies.”
A slightly hysterical laugh broke from me. “Whoopdee-do, I’m all atwitter in anticipation.”
“You will be,” Granny Annabel answered and vanished.
The sooner I got the Tomb Raider out of my life, the happier I would be.

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#1 – What is Derek wearing?
#2 – What did Zelda take?
#3 – Who got maced?

Thanks for playing.

Gail Koger
http://www.gailkoger.com

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