Second Grave on the Left

“You hit me!” I shouted through the pounding rain. I had no choice but to summon Reyes. I hated to bug, since he was being tortured and all, but …

An evil grin spread across my opponent’s face, making me realize why he was known ’round these parts as Evil Murtaugh.

“Rey’aziel—”

Without another thought, Evil Murtaugh squeezed.

Wait. I wasn’t finished.

But the world slowed and the bullet came to a rest in front of me.

“Didn’t we discuss your timing issues earlier?”

I glanced to my right as Reyes looked on, his robe undulating around him in glorious waves as if he were an ocean unto himself. Then I turned back to the expression of rage lining Evil Murtaugh’s face, to the raindrops hanging in midair, to the bullet as it trailed through the atmosphere toward me, splashing playfully through a drop. I could almost see the concussion of air as it propelled forward. It hovered mere inches from my heart. If time slipped, if it skipped a microsecond into the future, the bullet would hit home.

“How is this possible?” I asked Reyes.

I saw him shrug in my periphery. “That’s what happens when someone shoots at point-blank range,” he explained, his deep voice soothing despite my predicament.

“No, this. Everything just stops. Or, well, slows down a lot.”

“It’s the world we live in, Dutch.” He looked down at me, his robed head tilted as if in curiosity. “Well? Do you want me to take care of him for you?”

I did. I really did. But that one nagging issue still hung between us like a loose string on a sweater. I wanted to pull at it, but I knew if I did, I’d risk unraveling everything. For some reason that ranked right up there with Chihuahuas and weapons of mass destruction, I just couldn’t let it go. “Are you going to tell me where you are?”

“You’re going to bring that up now?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

“Then I can take care of this myself.”

The moment I said it, the moment the words slipped from my mouth, I realized there might be more to the rumors of my lack of mental stability than I’d allowed myself to believe. Wasn’t the fact that I needed his help the reason I summoned him in the first place?

“Sure about that?”

“Abso-freaking-lutely.”

It was official. I was psychotic.

With that growl thing he did that sent shivers down my spine, he turned from me in anger. “You are the most stubborn—”

“Me?” I asked, incredulous. “I’m stubborn?”

Oh, yeah. Just lock me up and throw away the key.

He was in front of me at once. “As a mule.”

“Because I don’t want you to commit suicide? That makes me stubborn?”

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, even though I couldn’t actually see it. “Abso-freaking-lutely.”

He totally stole that. I set my jaw. “I don’t need your help.”

“Fine. But you might want to just…” He put a finger on my shoulder and eased me to the left out of the bullet’s path. “Next time, duck.”

The feeling each time the world rushed back was comparable to a speeding freight train crashing into me. The force sucked the air out of my lungs, and the sound reverberated against my chest, echoing in my bones as the bullet picked up where it left off and flew harmlessly past. I stumbled to the side and had just enough time to look back at Evil Murtaugh as he blinked in surprise and aimed again.

If I had been paying attention, if the roar of the thunder and rain had not been so deafening, I might have heard the car speeding up the alley. And so might’ve Evil Murtaugh. As it stood, we were both a tad surprised when a black SUV came barreling toward us. The driver slammed on the brakes and skidded into a spin that swept Evil Murtaugh up like a tornado and threw him against the candy-making factory while leaving me untouched.

I stood a long moment, blinking against the rain pelting my face as the SUV screeched to a halt and Ulrich of the Three Stooges jumped out of the backseat. He strode to Evil Murtaugh as the passenger’s-side glass rolled down. Mr. Smith sat grinning at me.

“I swear, Juicy, you get into more trouble than my great-aunt May, and she’s senile,” he said.

I looked over at Ulrich. He checked Evil Murtaugh’s pulse, then belted him one, I was guessing for good measure. Angel fell to his knees in relief and then collapsed onto the ground in a dramatic rendition of Death of a Salesman.

“How did you find us?” I asked Smith.

“We’ve been looking for this guy for quite a while. You were the most logical person to follow.”

“Are you cops?” I asked.

“Not hardly.”

Then what the heck? I heard sirens in the distance and knew they would leave soon. I looked over at Mr. Chao, aka Stuntman Dave. “Are you sure you should be driving with your injuries?”

Ulrich belted Evil again. “Now he’s just being obtuse,” Smith said.

“I’m out of here.” Angel sat up and saluted me before he disappeared. I liked the saluting thing. That might have to become standard operating procedure at the office.

“Charley, are you okay?” Cookie asked from the shadows. I doubted she saluted me.

“Super-duper, stay there.” I still had no idea who these men were. They could want Mimi just as dead as Evil Murtaugh did.

Mr. Chao climbed out of the driver’s side and came around. I headed him off, blocked the opening between the Dumpster and cinder block fence. If he wanted Mimi Jacobs, he was going to have to get through me. Which should take him about five-sevenths of a second. Give or take.