by MF Bishop
Chapter Seventy
Howard called Gunnar into his office. When Gunnar entered, Howard was watching the computer bio on Bobby. Howard and Gunnar watched a new bio on Alexa together.
"Gunnar, my friend," Howard said, "the good Mr. Halloran suggests that these two are our only active opponents. They may have some influential help; Chuck suspects White House contacts. But if they have important allies, they are very much in the background."
"Your point?" Gunnar asked briefly. He rarely spoke three words when two would do.
"My point, my dear fellow, is this: " Howard waved his hand at the screen. "If these two are the heart of our problem, then perhaps we should, ah, become proactive. A good businessman anticipates, and a good businessman knows when to wait and when to act. I believe it is time to act."
Gunnar smiled. "You hope to keep this game going for a few more months?"
Howard leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands across his small paunch. "As many months as possible, my friend. I think it's time we called the West Coast."
"We can deal with this," Gunnar protested, "these are amateurs, players at the espionage game."
"Please forgive me for bringing up an unpleasant topic, my friend," Howard said gently, "but our opportunity came and went. At some expense, I might add, since the Lincoln was a total loss, and we had to pay a considerable amount to that musician and his friends."
"A fluke," Gunnar muttered, "they were lucky."
"And you could have been injured, or arrested, if the police had happened by." Howard looked concerned. "Gunnar, I know you can handle these amateurs, but the secret of our success is a low profile, no attention, no publicity. As you know, I initiated contact with the West Coast some days ago. I believe the time has come to act."
Howard activated his phone. Gunnar sulked.
Chapter Seventy One
They should have been more careful, even though it was nearly noon when Bobby and Alexa walked together to her truck. It was parked in a small lot a few blocks from the Records building.
"All I need is a little lunch," Bobby said, "and I'll be just fine."
"All you need is fewer shots of tequila last night, sweetie. I'm not one to say 'I told you so', but...." Alexa grinned and patted Bobby's head.
"Don't do that." He pushed her hand away as they turned to pass the guard station at the entrance to the lot. "I have a headache that's so bad...."
A four door Lincoln Town Car pulled up beside them. Two men got out, each with a gun. The driver was black, and the passenger was white, with hair nearly as red as Alexa's. Both men were stocky and muscular under their expensive suits.
"You and you," the driver said. "Get in here." He opened the rear door. Alexa kicked him in the knee. He started to go down, but caught himself on the door with one hand. Alexa turned and ran into the other man as he came around the back of the Lincoln. She hit him twice in the face and he howled with pain.
"Run, Bobby," Alexa screamed. The black man was still hanging on the door. He swung the gun in his free hand and caught Alexa on the side of her head. Bobby heard the thunk of the blow as he threw himself on the red headed man.
Bobby was hit in the shoulder. The pain was so great he thought he had been shot. He cried out, then realized he had just been struck with the barrel of a revolver. Grabbing the man's gun arm, he forced the gun up and away from him. From the corner of his eye he saw Alexa sag against the Lincoln. He took a blow to the stomach and black dots swam across his vision. The red head seized him by the throat and dragged him toward the car.
A tremendous noise shattered the hot air as the parking lot guard fired a shotgun over their heads. He stepped out of his shack and lowered the barrel as he pumped another shell into the chamber. The man holding Bobby fired at the guard. Bobby pulled away, sprawling on his face. He heard the shotgun boom and glass break. The revolver cracked again as the car pulled away. It careened through the rows of parked cars and into the street. Alexa was gone.