“I was just thinking about what I said. About it might not be safe, and how I’m a klutz. There’s a half-dozen ways I could think of that I could die just because I’m drinking this drink.”
Peter took another long drink. The alcohol went down smoothly. He liked the way it made him feel. Warm inside. Cool on the outside. Sexy. His little widow was warming up to him nicely. He began to fantasize about how he would remove her sexy dress.
“How could you do that?” He sipped again.
“Well, suppose we were together and had just made love. Can you imagine that?” She put her drink down and leaned her chin onto the heel of her hand, staring into his eyes.
Peter nearly gulped down the rest of his drink, almost choking. “I’m with you,” he said, because he was. He so was. The little minx was missing sex. He could provide that for her.
“Right? And you decided to go into the kitchen and get us something to snack on, something like caviar and crackers. Meanwhile, I’m drinking my drink, not paying attention, and slip and fall and hit my head.”
His smiled faded. “Who are you?” he demanded. He looked around. Seated across from their table at the bar was a man watching them. He was the scariest man Peter had ever seen. He was dressed in an expensive suit, he was bald, very muscular, and Peter could see tattoos swimming up his neck.
“Another way would be my husband, who I believed loves me, takes my head and slams it against the side of the hot tub and then drowns me. That could happen just as easily.” She leaned even closer. “Or, someone who knows what you did might bring justice for that woman by slipping a very fast-acting poison into your drink. That would work just as well.” Alena picked up her clutch, smiled at him and stood.
Peter stood as well, nearly knocking over the table so that the drinks rattled, and heads turned.
Alena picked up her drink and threw it in his face. “Leave me alone. And stop following me everywhere. I’ve asked you repeatedly to leave me alone.” She marched toward the door, her head high.
Peter took a step after her. Then another. The door to the club swung closed after her. He did his best to hurry but his heart beat so hard and his vision blurred. How did she know? He made it to the door, pushed it open and fell at the bouncer’s feet.
What had she said? Poison in his drink? She’d put poison in his drink. He grabbed the bouncer as the man leaned over him, trying to tell him, but no sound emerged. He looked up to see the scary man from the bar looking down at him dispassionately.
“Looks like a heart attack to me. You’d better call an ambulance.” He watched the man walk away as everything around him began to fade.
* * *
Ben Thurston and Darrin Johnson had gone to school together, worked together and done just about everything else, especially hunting and fishing. They’d even shared women. Neither was interested in having their own woman, since there were far too many to tie themselves to one. On Fridays they often went to their go-to fishing place, Lake Merced. By car it wasn’t much of a distance, and they often stayed until very late, drinking beer and just enjoying the quiet.
Fishing hadn’t been the best, neither was lucky, but they didn’t care. They ate the dinner they’d brought with them and sat watching a storm brew out over the lake, threatening to come in on a building wind.
Two men came toward them, walking briskly. Neither carried a fishing pole and they walked with great authority, as if they knew exactly what they were doing and it was all business. They seemed to be headed straight for them.
Darrin exchanged a quick look with Ben. Something about the two men made him uneasy. He started to stand up as they drew near. They didn’t pause or slow down, they just kept up that same brisk walk. Both wore trench coats, both wore gloves. One had a gun in his hand. Gun. Darrin thought he shouted it, but no sound emerged. He felt the bullet hit, pain blossoming through his chest. He looked at Ben. Half of Ben’s head seemed to be a bloody mess. He looked down at his chest. It was the same. He went to his knees and then folded forward, his face hitting dirt and rocks.
The two men never missed a step. They kept walking.
* * *
“Hi, Winston,” Ice greeted as the man came into his apartment. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He gestured around the apartment. “Do you like the new look? I was very careful to make certain there was no mess. I hope you appreciate that.”
Winston had stopped at the door, shocked to see someone in his apartment. Behind him, someone crowded close, all but pushing him inside. The door closed behind him and he found himself in his own apartment with four strange men. The one in front of him, smiling that irritating smirk, had a tattoo of three teardrops dripping from his eye.
“What are you doing in here? What is all of this? Who are you?”
“You’re supposed to be so smart, Winston,” Ice said. “You can see I’m wearing my club colors. I’m the husband. Soleil’s husband. Soleil. The woman you were setting up to be killed. She’s my wife and you still came after her. I just want you to understand that you doing that pisses me off.”
He kept smiling, but his eyes were glacier cold. So cold Winston shivered and looked over his shoulder toward the door. A big man stood in front of it. There was no escape that way. His mind raced with possibilities. His best bet was to try to call the cops, get attention.
He noticed the cord running through Ice’s gloved hands. “What is all this?” He recognized the materials for explosives. They were neatly set up on his kitchen table, as if he’d been making bombs.
“Well, this is the evidence that is going to convince the cops that you had a very big grudge against a lot of people. The poker-playing bunch, you know, the judge, cops, lawyer, even the medical examiner. Didn’t you hear the news? They all died tonight. Most of them at Conner’s house, where poker took place. Someone blew them up. The judge was shot. So were Darrin and Ben, two very good friends of yours. Unfortunately, you were heard arguing with them. That’s always bad. The gun’s over there on the table as well.”
Ice casually walked over to it and picked it up, looked at it and then handed it to Winston. Winston took it without thinking and turned it to point it at Ice.
Ice raised his eyebrow. “Did you think I’d hand you a loaded gun?”
Reality hit. Winston sighed and shook his head. “What do you want?”
“Go ahead and fire it. I could have left one in the chamber,” Ice encouraged. “Of course if you hit me, my friend right behind you is going to put a bullet in your head.”
“It isn’t loaded,” Winston said and pulled the trigger.
To his shock, there was a bullet, and he’d fired it into the wall. Ice whistled and went to look at the wall. He dug out the bullet. “You could have shot your way out of here, Winston. That was careless of me. You’d better give that to me.”