“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Then you understand why we have to do this. It’s essential that our work isn’t jeopardized. And it’s essential that you understand our commitment. We’d prefer not to kill you. We’re fair and reasonable people. We have ethics. So, pay attention. This is the last warning. This time we kill the hamster. Next time we kill you.”
I felt tears starting behind my eyes. “How can you justify killing an innocent animal?”
“It’s a lesson. You ever see anyone die from an overdose? It’s not a nice way to go. And it’s what’s going to happen to you if you don’t take a vacation.”
Rex’s eyes were black and shiny, his whiskers a blur of motion, his little feet treading air, his body squirmy. Not enjoying his confinement.
“Say good-bye,” the man with the syringe said. “I’m going to shoot this directly into his heart.”
There’s a limit to how far a woman can be pushed. I’d been gassed, attacked, stalked by masked men, lied to by Morelli and I’d been swindled by my mechanic. And I’d stayed pretty damn calm through it all. Threatening my hamster brought out a whole new set of rules. Threatening my hamster made me Godzilla. I had no intention of saying good-bye to my hamster.
I blinked back the threat of tears, swiped at my nose and narrowed my eyes. “Listen to me, you two bags of monkey shit,” I yelled. “I am not in a good mood. My car keeps stalling. The day before yesterday I threw up on Joe Morelli. I was called a fat cow by my ex-husband. And if that isn’t enough…my hair is
I was shouting and waving my arms, totally out of control. And while I was out of control I was watching Rex, because I knew what would happen if he was held long enough. And when it happened I was going to act.
“So if you want to scare someone, you picked the wrong person,” I shrieked. “And don’t think I’m going to allow you to harm one hair on that hamster’s head!”
And then Rex did what any sensible pissed-off hamster would do. He sank his fangs into his captor’s thumb.
The man gave a yelp and opened his fist. Rex dropped onto the floor with a thunk and scurried under the couch. And the guy with the gun swung his weapon in Rex’s direction and fired off several rounds reflexively.
I grabbed the table lamp to my right and, keeping the momentum going, smashed the lamp against the gunman’s head. The man went down like a bag of sand, and I took off for the door.
I had one foot in the hall when I was grabbed from behind and yanked back into the apartment by the man wielding the syringe. I kicked and clawed at him, the two of us wrestling for our lives in front of the door. My foot connected with his crotch and there was a heart-stopping moment of immobility where I saw his eyes widen in pain, and I thought he might shoot me, or stick me or smack me senseless. But then he doubled over and tried to suck air, inadvertently backing out the door, into the hall.
The elevator door opened, and Mrs. Bestler jumped out with her walker. Clomp, clomp, clomp with lightning speed, she stomped down the hall and rammed the man, knocking him to his knees.
Mrs. Karwatt’s door crashed open, and Mrs. Karwatt trained her .45 on the man on the floor. “What’s going on? What did I miss?”
Mr. Kleinschmidt came shuffling down the hall carrying an M-16. “I heard a gunshot.”
Mrs. Delgado was right behind Mr. Kleinschmidt. Mrs. Delgado had a cleaver and a blue steel Glock with “sidekick” rubber grips.
Mrs. Karwatt looked at Mrs. Delgado’s gun. “Loretta,” she said, “you got a new gun.”
“Birthday present,” Mrs. Delgado said proudly. “My daughter Jean Ann gave it to me. Forty caliber, just like the cops use. More stopping power.”
“I’ve been thinking of getting a new gun,” Mrs. Karwatt said. “What kind of kick do you get with that Glock?”
I brought Rex into the bedroom with me for the night. He seemed okay after the evening’s trauma. I wasn’t sure if the same could be said for me. The police had arrived and unmasked the two men. The man with the needle was a stranger to me. The man who’d held the gun had been a schoolmate. He was married now and had two kids. I’d run into him at the food store a couple weeks ago and had said hello.
I slept through most of the morning and felt pretty decent when I got up. I might not be the most patient woman in the world, or the most glamorous, or the most athletic, but I’m right up there at the top of the line when it comes to resiliency.
I was pouring a second cup of coffee when the phone rang.
It was Sue Ann Grebek. “Stephanie!” she shouted into the phone. “I’ve got something good!”
“On Mo?”
“Yeah. High-quality vicious rumor. Only one person removed. It might even be true.”
“Give it to me!”
“I was just at Fiorello’s, and I ran into Myra Balog. You remember Myra? Went steady with that dork Larry Skolnik all through high school. I never knew what she saw in him. He made weird noises with his nose, and he used to write secret messages on his hands. Like ‘S.D.O.B.G.’ And then he wouldn’t tell anyone what it meant.
“Anyway, I got to talking to Myra, and one thing led to another and we got to talking about Mo. And Myra said that one day Larry told her this really off-the-wall story about Mo. Said Larry swore it was true. Course we don’t know what that means, because Larry probably thought he got beamed up a couple times, too.”
“So what was the story?”
I sat and stared at the phone for a few minutes after talking to Sue Ann. I didn’t like what I had heard, but it made some sense. I thought about what I’d seen in Mo’s apartment and pieces of the puzzle started to fit together.
