"Just because I'm a one-man operation doesn't
mean I don’t call in help when I need to," Vic said. "Well, unless doing so means breaking
my confidentiality agreement with a client. Of course, if I find out my client
is doing something illegal and is using me to further their ends then all bets
are off."
Evan chuckled. "Now I'm picturing you in a dingy
office in one of the older downtown buildings—a battered desk, a coat-tree in
one corner where you hang your fedora."
Laughing, Vic shook his head as they went back
inside. "I'm really very up-to-date. I've got a nice office, computers,
modern furniture, and a receptionist. I've even been known to wear a suit and
tie when meeting with prospective clients."
"So did Sam Spade, at least in the movies."
"That was in the forties. Everyone did, back
then."
"True," Evan agreed. Changing the subject,
he set the gun down on the kitchen table, asking, "What do we do with
this? Do you know how to lift fingerprints? And even if you do, what good will
it do us?"
"I can, but obviously not here. I don't have
what I need. At the moment though, that's beside the point. Whoever tried to
break in must have been looking for me, which means I definitely need to get
out of here before they try again."
"You're jumping to conclusions. How would they
know you were here? I mean, here specifically. Yeah they lost you somewhere in
the neighborhood but…"
"You think they were going to break into every
house on the block to check? No. Somehow they narrowed it down to this house.
Maybe they came back earlier today and found something. I wasn't exactly in the
best shape when I got away from them. By the time I got to your yard, I'd
already fallen a couple of times and I crawled across it to where you found
me."
"Then why the hell did they leave? They did
start to open the window."
"Instinct, maybe. Or they heard us coming. Maybe
they had someone watching the back of the house and he saw you come out. There
could be a hundred reasons." Vic sighed as he sat down. "Whatever it
was, you can bet they'll be back again and next time, they might come in guns
blazing."
"Why didn't they this time?"
"Damn it, Evan, I'm not a mind reader. How the
hell would I know?"
"Sorry," Evan muttered.
"No, I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have bitten your head off. I'm tense. I hurt. I'm worried that I've
put you in jeopardy by being here. So, as I said, I should go."
"That won't stop them. If they see you leave,
they'll follow you." Evan frowned. "You know, that could be exactly
what they had in mind. Make it look like they were breaking in to force your
hand and get you out where they can grab you again."
"Possible… I guess." Vic leaned back,
staring off into space. "If that is why, and I do leave…"
"They beat the shit out of you again."
"No, maybe this time they take me to their boss
and then I find out who's behind the blackmail."
"And end up dead in the process, which is sort
of counterproductive."
"I can take care of myself," Vic grumbled.
"Yeah, I saw how well you did that."
"I'll be prepared."
"Vic, right now you couldn't take down a baby in
a fair fight and you know it. It's been less than twenty-four hours since they
beat you up. If it weren't for the pills, you'd be in a hell of a lot more pain
than you are. So do not think you could handle—anything."
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