knocked on it, the entire front of the trailer shook. Soon a young lady came to the door and peered at me through the glass.
“Elaine?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Donovan Creed, with Homeland Security. May I come in?” I showed her my badge. She had no reason to know that Homeland agents don’t carry badges.
A look of concern crossed her face as she slowly opened the door.
“What is this about, Mr. Creed?”
Elaine Peterson was an attractive, thirty-two year old brunette in the first stage of weight gain. She wore black sweat pants and an oversized Pittsburgh Steelers t-shirt that probably belonged to her estranged husband, Grady.
“It would save time if I could talk to both of you,” I said. “Is Amber here?”
Not that Amber and Elaine were the most innocent people in town. They had used the bulk of their loan proceeds to buy drugs to resell to local high school kids.
Elaine started to turn her head toward the hallway but caught herself. “What’s this about?” she repeated firmly.
“Please,” I said. “Have a seat.” As she started to sit I bolted past her and raced down the hall. She managed to get off a loud scream, but by then I’d opened the master bedroom door and caught the very large Amber cocking a pistol. I lunged at her and managed to knock her off balance. As she struggled to keep from falling, I snatched the gun from her hand and spun around just in time to avoid Elaine’s flying fists. Elaine was too small to hurt me, but I smacked her in the nose anyway, in order to concentrate on Amber. I heard Elaine fall to the floor and figured that was a good place for her to stay while I dealt with her sister.
“What the fuck do you want?” Amber shouted, trying to make her voice bigger than it was.
She was handy, an accomplished bar brawler. At five-ten, two hundred forty pounds, she had some power. But her money punch was thrown in haste, before she’d got her feet under her. I jumped out of the way, set my feet and launched a hard back fist that caught her squarely on the temple. Amber shuddered a moment, then crashed to the floor. Moments later I had both girls face down on the master bedroom floor with their hands taped behind their backs. I rolled them over with my foot and taped their mouths shut.
Then I had a heart attack.
Chapter 3
“There are two types of chest pain to worry about,” Dr. Webber said.
“Hang on a second, Doc,” I said. “I’m putting you on speaker.”
I pressed the button on my cell phone and forced myself to a standing position.
“Okay, go ahead,” I said.
“You sound terrible.”
I felt terrible. Moments earlier I’d crashed to the floor clutching my chest. Amber took that opportunity to flip and flop her enormous body, attempting to cross the floor and crush me like a beached whale flattens a sand castle. Luckily, the crushing pain had already begun to subside, but I was still weak and hurting, and it was a question of multi-task or face lethal consequences. I rolled out of her path while removing the syringe from my pocket. I flicked off the protective plastic and hurled myself toward the fat girl. I had to stretch to reach her, but I made the effort and managed to jab her neck. I don’t know if I had the strength to push in the plunger at that moment, but I didn’t have the angle. Either way, it’s a moot point, because Amber shook her head violently, and the hypodermic dislodged and skittered across the floor.
She tried to make the adjustment to flip-flop back to me, but I climbed on her back and rode her like the wild hog she was. Elaine flailed away, attempting to help her sister, but only succeeded in kicking the syringe back to me. I picked it up and pushed it into Amber’s neck and drove the liquid home.
Then I speed-dialed Darwin, my government facilitator, and asked him to get me a Homeland Security doctor. When Dr. Webber answered, I placed him on speaker phone.
Which brings us back into the moment.
“What are you doing right now?” Dr. Webber said, as Elaine shrieked in the background.
