7. Dying Hope-Holly

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"I can't believe Elliot's dead," I sighed as Luther covered Elliot's horribly mangled body with a blanket.

"He was a good guy," Luther agreed.

"He deserved a lot better than this."

Diego turned eerily to peer downstairs at the shop floor. "Elliot must've been getting too close to the truth. It smells like the feds."

"Are you out of your mind?" Luther snapped. "Diego, if this was the federal government, they would take him somewhere and question him. They wouldn't...do this. This is the work of a psychopath."

"Oga Foroga."

"What?" I looked over to Luther, who was equally confused.

"Oga Foroga," Diego repeated. "Is that a name?"

Luther and I joined him at the railing and peered down at the shop floor below. Sure enough, ÖGA FÖRÖGA was written in Elliot's blood. Luther shrugged.

Now, I didn't think the words on the floor spelled someone's name. However, I was curious as to how it would play out.

"I'll look her up." Luther ran to the phone book and flipped through. "Holy shit, I found her. 'Olga Foroga.' That must be her."

"Call the bitch." Diego ordered, dead serious.

"On it."

I did my best to conceal my laughter as Luther frantically dialed the telephone, his massive fingers too big for the small holes of the rotary phone.

"Okay," He sighed. "It's ringing."

I sputtered with laughter, sounding more like a strangled pig from holding it in as Luther addressed Olga Foroga.

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