Dying Embers Read Free

me with his mouth open while he rubbed his right hand with his left.
    â€œThink ’obstruction,’” I said. I put the telephone back to my ear.
    â€œWhat on earth are you pounding on?” said Wendy.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “There must be some way to reschedule.”
    Ken dove onto the desk and grabbed my tie. I bopped him on the nose with the telephone. Lorna stood with her right hand inside her purse. Ken let go of my tie and grabbed his face with both hands. I switched the telephone to my left hand and put it back up to my ear.
    Harold started for the door. “I’m calling the police!”
    I held up my hand. “Wait!”
    Harold stopped, his face drained of color. “Have you lost your mind?”
    â€œHow soon do you want your money back?”
    Ken’s right hand went back to his hip pocket. By the time he got his butterfly knife up to my throat Lorna’s purse crashed to the floor, she had a double handful of Walther, and I had the front sight of my Detonics .45 inside Ken’s left nostril.
    â€œWhat is going on, and what’s all that pounding?” asked Wendy.
    â€œA man is holding a knife to my throat.”
    â€œDon’t shoot him,” said Wendy. “If you shoot him you’ll miss the meeting with Scott.”
    â€œHere, you talk to him,” I said. I held out the telephone for Ken to take. His face was less than a foot from mine, and he looked like he had just discovered a cabbage in his bowling bag.
    I waggled the telephone a little. “It’s my wife,” I said and nodded affirmatively.
    He took the telephone with his left hand and raised it to take a swipe at me. I thumbed the hammer on my lead launcher, and he lowered the telephone to his ear in short jerks.
    He listened for a few beats. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, a brown check suit.”
    â€œOh, shit,” I said. “Now I’m in trouble.”
    â€œMaybe you can bury him in it,” he said.
    I couldn’t hear what Wendy said, but Ken was done talking. His eyeswent from narrow slits to saucer circles, and his face flushed. The knife rolled out of his hand and clunked onto the desk. He handed the telephone back and showed me his empty hands.
    I took the telephone. “Thanks, doll,” I said. “Looks like we have that cleared up. Just a sec.” I took the handset off my ear and pressed it to my chest.
    â€œYou’re crowding the desk, pard,” I said. “You want to get back over on your side?” I arched my eyebrows, twitched his nose with the muzzle, and added, “Pretty please?”
    Ken’s moustache started to pulse, and his eyes crossed. I kicked my chair back. Ken snatched the bandanna off his head, clamped it over his face and sneezed.
    â€œBless you,” I said.
    â€œThanks,” he said through the bandanna. He rolled over on his back, sat up facing away from me, and wiped his nose. I snapped up the safety on the pistol. He stashed the hanky in his hip pocket and scooted off the desk.
    I used the muzzle to slap shot the butterfly knife across the desk top. “Put that in your pocket.” I returned the telephone to my ear. Wendy was already talking.
    â€œâ€”your fault. You wore that damn suit. I put it out for the clothing drive.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “but I like this suit.”
    â€œIt’s ugly.”
    Ken cast Lorna a sidelong glance while she studied him over the sights of the Walther. “Just nothing sudden,” she said.
    â€œIt was ugly when you bought it and the pants are too tight,” said Wendy.
    â€œNot anymore,” I said. Wendy didn’t answer.
    With his index fingers Ken folded the halves of the handle around the blade of the knife as it lay on the desk. “I’m going to pick it up now,” he said. He put it in his hip pocket with his right hand.
    â€œOkay Hon,” I said into the telephone. “Where do I meet