The Big Dirt Nap

'Mrs. Page has the only other key,' the chef said. 'He'll stay in there until you tell me to let him out.'

I ran back through the empty corridors to the hotel lobby. The party was in full swing now. I scanned the crowd for Lucy and Sam and saw them being ushered out by the Michelin Man, one upper arm in each of his hammy hands.

Someone in the crowd squealed and the Michelin Man spun around to look. I grabbed the nearest guy and planted a wet one on him to hide my face until I was sure the coast was clear.

'Whoa, thanks, lady. Do I know you?' Lady? Great. Here I was convincing myself that I could pass for a college student, and even wearing Goth makeup I was lady.

'Dude, I'm being cougared!'

I fished around in my bag and got out Babe's Taser. I loaded the cartridge just the way she'd shown me.

'Don't get me wrong. Cougar's not an insult, it's just, like, you know, an older fox.' That was an ego boost. 'You can kiss me again.'

'Maybe later, sonny.' I checked the safety twice then put the Taser in my pocket and ran out to the parking lot. The three of them were getting into the Toyota.

'Stop,' I yelled, running toward them. I tried to keep the bicycle chain from flapping against my wounded thigh but was only intermittently successful. I considered tearing it off, but it was my backup weapon in case the Taser failed.

'Excellent,' the Michelin Man said, 'now we're all here.' He tightened his grip on Lucy. 'Just come quietly, we're all gonna have a nice little talk.'

I crept closer to him and tried to stay calm. I knew I had to be fifteen feet away or less for the Taser to work. Once I was within range I spoke. 'I'm not going anywhere with you, a-hole. And neither are my friends.'

With one hand still pinning Sam to his side he shoved Lucy in the car and reached for something in his right pocket. Lucy kicked at his crotch and missed but it distracted him just long enough so that I could draw quicker.

'Move your leg!' I yelled. Then I fired.

Lucy screamed as the large man fell backward and rolled over. She scrambled out of the car, still kicking, and tripped over his inert body.

'Quick,' I said, running toward her. 'I don't know how long this thing lasts.' I unwrapped the bicycle chain from my waist and used it to tie the Michelin Man's hands together. The three of us dragged him to the front of the car and locked the chain around the bumper.

Then we called the cops.

Forty-eight

Sam and Lucy huddled together; she was still shaking. I stood off to the side leaning on a parked car, staring at the Michelin Man, willing him back to life after the shock from the Taser. C'mon, get up. I reminded myself that I'd had to do it. Slowly, he came around. He reflexively jerked his hands up and yanked at the bumper, but he was at a bad angle and all he succeeded in doing was whacking himself in the chin. Just then two cruisers arrived, followed by Stacy Winters, who climbed out of an unmarked car.

'Relax, Vitaly.' Winters gave the bottom of his foot a sharp kick. 'You're only embarrassing yourself.' He gave up and seemed to deflate visibly like a balloon with a slow leak.

She walked past him, shook a few Tic Tacs into her hand, then offered some to me.

'No thanks. Bad for the teeth.'

'Are you sure the only things you dig up on a regular basis are plants? Because I do believe you caught yourself one of the perpetrators,' she said, popping the mints into her mouth.

There was a tinge of grudging admiration in the remark and I couldn't resist bragging. 'There's another one locked in the laundry room in the hotel.'

'And the head cheese?' she asked.

'Still at large.'

'Not for long. My men just went around the back of the hotel to seal off that exit. Bernie won't get away.' She chewed on the Tic Tacs and shook out some more.

'Bernie Mishkin?'

Winters ticked off her reasons. 'He had the means, the opportunity, and fifteen million motives.'

Bernie's Chinese investor knew all about the hotel's precarious financial situation, but his people hadn't been able to navigate the byzantine workings of Congress and the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Bernie had convinced them the Quepochas' federal recognition was imminent. And with that would come casino gambling and busloads of tourists from New York and Boston eager to leave their money in the Nutmeg State.

'How could he promise them that? He's not a Native American,' I said. 'Is he?' I remembered what Betty had said about membership in the tribe.

'He's not, but Daniel Smallwood is.' Winters thought the two of them had cooked up a scheme to defraud the investors. Fifteen million dollars would go a long way toward paying off the Mishkins' bills and keeping the tribe's case in court for years to come. It wouldn't matter if the Quepochas were never recognized.

'Why wouldn't Daniel Smallwood just do this on his own? Why did he need Bernie?' I asked.

'They gave each other credibility. And they convinced this Wai Hi that they could earn the cost of a new hotel's construction with one year's worth of gaming revenues from Bernie's old hotel.'

'You think Nick was going to blow the whistle and one of them killed him?'

'I think they hired someone to do it.' She pointed to the Michelin Man, who was still shaking off the effects of the Taser and scratching the spot where the barbs had hit him.

'I didn't kill nobody,' he said. 'That's not what I signed on for. I want my lawyer.'

'Maybe him, maybe Billy Crawford, we're not there yet. But we will be soon.'

I asked her about the evidence they'd found that implicated the Crawfords. She hesitated for just a second. I could almost see her thinking, Why the hell not?

'Hair,' she said.

Sam looked up. That was all she said before walking away toward the hotel.

The cops asked me for the key to the bicycle lock. They unchained the Michelin Man, cuffed him, and read him his rights, squashing him into the cruiser, where he took up most of the backseat.

'This is police brutality. I should be in a van. I want my lawyer.'

'Shut up, Vitaly,' one of the cops said, bored. He returned the chain and lock to me and I draped it around my neck, putting the key in the lock for safekeeping.

For thirty minutes the cops interrogated us.

'We struggled. I kicked him,' Lucy said, skirting around the issue of the Taser; a good thing since none of us knew what Connecticut laws were regarding Tasers.

Remarkably, they believed the three of us managed to subdue a three-hundred-pound thug. They'd know the truth soon enough but I didn't feel the need to volunteer that information, not just yet. If the Michelin Man was smart enough to ask for his lawyer, maybe I'd wait for mine.

While we were outside answering questions, we could hear Amanda's goth party still going strong. The corpse flower was a huge success; somewhere Fran Mishkin must have been smiling. I doubted whether any of the students even noticed a scrawny, twitchy guy being freed from the hotel's laundry room and brought out in cuffs to join his fleshy friend on the way to jail in the back of a second police cruiser. Minutes later, Bernie and Rachel were led out of their hotel, Bernie, in cuffs covered by a jacket, blubbering on about the newspapers, and Rachel, two steps behind, as usual.

Hector Ruiz stood in the doorway and assured them he had the situation under control and all publicity was good publicity. I wasn't sure that adage extended as far as an accusation of murder, but what did I know—Hector was a pretty sharp cookie.

Sam, Lucy, and I watched them all drive off until we were alone in the parking lot.

'I don't know about anyone else, but I could use a drink,' Lucy said. She marched ahead of us into the