Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon (17 page)

The waitress looked at me. So did the manager.

„Four,“ I said.

„Table for four,“ the waitress said. „You got it, hon.“

„But – ,“ Roger began.

„So,“ Jack said, flinging his arm around Roger's shoulders and herding him along after the waitress. „How's it going, Rog?“

Luis put his hand over his mouth to hide a snicker, and he and I fell in behind Jack and Roger.

„Glad you guys showed up,“ I told Luis.

„Roger's such a jerk,“ Luis said.

„No kidding. So since there wasn't really a pizza party, how did you two happen to show up?“

„Something you said to Jack clued him in,“ Luis said. „After all, he's seen the jerk pull stuff like this before.“

Was it reassuring that I wasn't the sole object of Roger's awkward attentions, or should I be embarrassed I hadn't figured him out earlier? I decided not to worry about it.

As we sat down – with Luis and Jack flanking me – the waitress plunked a wax-encrusted Chianti bottle onto the table
and used an orange Bic to light the candle stuck in its mouth. As she did, I happened to be glancing at Luis's face and realized something.

Luis was the Hacker. The Robin Hood Hacker. No wonder the blurred black-and-white newspaper photo from Ted's secret cache looked so familiar; the lighter flame was enough like the glare of the reporters' flashbulbs to let me recognize his face.

But Luis wasn't the name in the article – in the caption under his picture, the first name had been Michael or Mike – a name that tends to stick in my mind. So either Luis had been using a false name when he was the Robin Hood Hacker, or he was using one now. Suspicious, in either case.

When I got home, I was definitely going to have to spend some time with the printout I'd found in Ted's cache. Maybe the chief wasn't so far off after all. The note he'd found in Rob's in-basket had made him suspect that blackmail could have been the motive.

Maybe Rob wasn't the only one who got a blackmail note. Maybe he was just the only one stupid enough – or innocent enough – to leave it lying around where the police could find it. I definitely needed to study the printout some more.

I would also definitely have to make a copy of the printout and get the original to the police. Preferably without telling them how I found it. Maybe if I turned in his keys, told them how I'd picked them up after one of his trips through the reception room, and then claimed the paper had been with them. Yeah, that would probably work. And confront Luis to find out what was really going on. Sometime when we didn't have onlookers, though – particularly not Jack, who seemed to be Luis's mentor. And then – „Meg?“

„Sorry,“ I said. „My mind was wandering.“

„You like vegetables, right?“ Jack said. „We can get a vegetarian pizza if you prefer.“

Roger and Luis looked glum.

„No, I like meat,“ I said. „I'm through trying to reform everyone's diet. From now on, you can keel over from scurvy for all I care.“

That shut down conversation. Until the beer arrived – their beer and my red wine, actually.

„So what's the latest from Rob?“ Jack asked.

„Out on bail,“ I said.

„What have they got on Rob, anyway?“ he asked.

„They seem to think the murderer had to be a martial arts expert,“ I said.

„And they arrested Rob?“ Luis exclaimed.

I nodded. Roger snorted with laughter, spraying most of a mouthful of beer on the table, and Luis and Jack both looked as if they were trying hard not to explode.

„Oh, go ahead and laugh, all of you,“ I said, tossing a wad of napkins over at Roger.

„Martial arts expert,“ Roger said, using the napkins to wipe his T-shirt. „That's such a crock.“

„Don't worry,“ Jack said, appropriating some of the napkins and using them to clean the table. „Rob will be fine as soon as they realize… urn…“

„That he can't fight his way out of the proverbial paper bag?“ I suggested. „What's to keep them from deciding by that time that the killer was a martial arts beginner with dreams of glory.“

„Unless there really is some good reason for them to think it was a martial arts expert,“ Luis said. „In which case they might pick on Jack.“

„I wondered if you did martial arts,“ I said. „What kind?“

„A little karate, a little jujitsu,“ he said.

„A little!“ Luis exclaimed. „He's a black belt in both. An expert!“

„Advanced enough to know what I don't know,“ Jack said. Which was more convincing evidence of his skill than anything Luis could say – most of the really outstanding martial artists I'd ever met came across more mild-mannered than your typical ninety-eight-pound weakling.

We kicked the days' events around over a sausage-and-mushroom pizza. I tried to get them talking about Ted's character, with limited success. Apparently people were past the initial shock and excitement of Ted's death and had reached the stage where survivors want to feel sentimental about their fallen comrade and tell stories of his virtues and accomplishments and the good times they'd had together. Since Ted didn't appear to have any virtues and accomplishments, or at least none of which present company were aware, this pretty much limited them to practical jokes Ted had played that were at least remotely funny and didn't involve bodily functions best left unmentioned while eating pizza.

Not the most scintillating dinnertime conversation I'd ever heard. And I was mildly distracted throughout dinner, trying to figure out how I was going to make my exit unaccompanied by the persistent Roger. As the pizza slices disappeared and the conversation slowed, I found him watching me with the single-minded focus of a cat outside a mousehole. Not that I was worried about my safety – even if Jack and Luis hadn't been there, I had no doubt of my ability to fend him off. I just wasn't in the mood for a scene.

But fate smiled on me. Even Roger's libido couldn't prevent several mugs of beer from having their usual effect.

„Don't eat the last piece,“ Roger said as he got up.

Now this was a lucky break, I thought as I saw him head for the rest rooms. I dug in my purse and fished out some bills.

„Here,“ I said handing them to Jack. „Just in case Roger doesn't know how to take drop dead for an answer, I think I'll take off now.“

„And here I was going to offer to escort you home if Roger proved persistent,“ Jack said. The tone was joking, but I had a feeling he was serious.

„I'd feel better if you just stayed here to baby-sit Casanova,“ I said. „If I head out now, I can catch Michael before he goes out to dinner.“

„Curses, foiled again,“ Jack said, pocketing the cash with a smile. „I'll give you your change tomorrow at the office.“

I made it to the door before Roger returned, and thus escaped without having to do anything reprehensible.

I did tell one small lie. I wasn't heading home to call Michael. I was taking Ted's portable black light over to the office to check the mail cart path.

I felt bad, in a way, about Jack. Not that I had given him any encouragement. But he was a nice guy – hell, he was attractive. If I didn't have Michael, I could see myself accepting some of the lunch and dinner invitations he'd made. In a heartbeat.

An attractive, gainfully employed bachelor – if my mother and my aunts were around, they'd already be trying to set him up with someone.

Not that I shared my family's addiction to matchmaking… but the thought did hit me: What if I arranged to have lunch with him and Liz? I wouldn't do any of the sort of obvious things Mother and the aunts would try, like arranging to meet them both somewhere and then forgetting to show up. But if I could get them together outside the office, when Jack wasn't
running as fast as he could to keep the release on time and Liz didn't feel she had to be Ms. Corporate Attorney.

Then again, if Rob really was getting interested in Liz…

Snap out of it^ I told myself. They're all grown-ups; they can run their own lives.

I arrived at the Mutant Wizards office to find the parking lot nearly empty. The only vehicle there was Frankie's fifteen-year-old van, which would probably sit there until he'd saved enough for a new transmission. Of course, Caerphilly was small enough that a lot of people walked to work, but the empty lot was a good sign. As were the darkened office windows.

I let myself into the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the Mutant Wizards offices were. I stuck my key in the suite door lock, but before I could turn it, the door slipped open.

Damn, I thought. Probably the therapists again. They were used to leaving the front door unlocked so they wouldn't have to interrupt a session with one patient to buzz in another. I'd been trying to explain to them that they couldn't keep doing this – not considering Mutant Wizards' extensive investment in hardware, to say nothing of the possibility of corporate espionage. I would read them the riot act tomorrow. Point out that their actions could have enabled the murderer to enter the building, or reenter to destroy evidence.

I was fuming and already beginning to compose my stern lecture as I stepped into the office and groped to the left of the door for the light switch.

„Lorelei!“ someone whispered.

As I turned, startled, toward the sound, two hands gripped my shoulders and a mouth closed over mine.

Admin

At least the mouth tried to close over mine. One of the things
martial arts is supposed to do, if you're paying attention, is train your reflexes, so you react quickly and effectively when you think someone's attacking you. As Michael found out rather painfully one day when he decided to drive up and surprise me upon my return from a craft show. Unfortunately, he decided to surprise me by sneaking up behind me and grabbing me.

„I won't ever do that again,“ he'd said, nursing his bruises.

„Don't,“ I'd replied. „Because if you do it again, I'll react the same way. If someone grabs me, I can't stop to worry about whether it might be someone I know.“

It was nice to see my reflexes were still okay. In fact, better than okay, I thought as I flipped on the light switch and looked down at my would-be assailant. Or, perhaps, would-be admirer. I made a mental note to call my karate instructor and thank him. Then again, maybe not; he was sure to want a blow-by-blow description, and I was already having a hard time remembering exactly which technique I'd used to shake off the clutching arms, and exactly how I'd knocked the attacker to the floor. I could report that the side kick to the groin worked splendidly, though. The intruder kad curled into a fetal position, his face almost touching his knees, and he was making faint whimpering noises. I didn't recognize him immediately, but then, what little I could see of his face was starting to bruise. And, wonder of wonders, I didn't seem to have reinjured my left hand in the fray.

George, awakened by the light, blinked sleepily at the sight of me.

„Okay,“ I said to the groveling intruder. „Who the hell are you, and what do you mean by attacking me like that?“

I had to repeat myself several times before he stopped whimpering and looked up.

„Why did you do that?“ he asked.

„You attacked me in the dark,“ I said. „I defended myself.“

„I thought you were someone else,“ he said, heaving himself up on his knees.

„I figured out that much. Don't get up just yet,“ I said, turning my body slightly so I was ready to deliver another good, solid kick.

George added to the effect by choosing that moment to shriek rather loudly. I knew he had just recognized me and assumed, in his single-minded way, that I had arrived to feed him, but it must have sounded rather ominous to the intruder. He dropped back to the floor and curled up again, watching me warily.

I recognized him now – a therapy patient. One of Dr. Lorelei's flock, a small, plump, graying man who could have been any age between thirty and fifty. This was the first time I'd seen him unaccompanied by his wife, also small, plump, graying, and of indeterminate age.

„You thought I was Dr. Lorelei?“ I asked.

He reduced his chances of getting kicked again by blushing.

„So you were coming to see Dr. Lorelei.“

He nodded.

„Why?“

„I'm a patient of hers,“ he said.