Damaged Goods

Chapter Thirty-Eight

My relief at seeing Terry alive gave way to annoyance. "I'm not your minder. But you might've at least let me know you had to go underground." I gave him a push, and he stumbled back.

"I would've if I'd had time," he countered.

I took a deep breath and nodded. The smell of fresh coffee infused the room. Dell tottered in with two steaming mugs in hand.

"Thank you," I said, accepting an offered mug. Surprise, surprise—the coffee did not disappoint.

A million questions raced around in my head. Were the people who followed me the same ones who were after Terry? Would they be the sort who would take a rifle shot at me?

"You just going to stand there or what?" Terry sounded amused.

"Just trying to figure a few things out," I said.

I returned to my perch on the couch and sipped my coffee. Definitely fresh. I could've skipped the milk.

Terry joined me on the sofa and waited for more of my story. Dell stretched out on the recliner.

"Would these geeks coming after you have reason to sic a sniper on me?"

"What?" Terry looked appalled.

"Yes, really," I said. "I guess it's open season on ex-Marine drug addicts."

"Not funny," he said.

"Couldn't agree more. So uh . . . why would your business associates want to kill me?"

His brow furrowed with concern, and he shook his head. "Can't imagine why."

"Are you sure it's the geeks who are after you?" I asked.

"Who else?" He waved a hand.

"What about the letter you translated for me? Anyone else know about that?"

"No way." Terry looked indignant.

No one but the University of Maryland professor, and I'd been followed to Maryland by Weis. Or at least someone connected to him.

I looked straight into Terry's eyes. "Do your clients have mob connections?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I don't ask those kinds of questions." He didn't look away from me.

Assuming the answer was yes, who were those guys in the car with the stolen license plate?

I sipped more coffee. It was damn good.

"I doubt the sniper was trying to kill me," I muttered.

"Just warn you off?" Terry asked. "From what? What do I have to do with it?"

"Maybe nothing."

Dell raised his mug. "More coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," I said. "Just black this time."

ϕϕϕ

It was late by the time I got back. Staying overnight in Ocean City had been an option, but I felt the need to get home and get to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on.

I studied my flowchart of names again. Then I tore a blank sheet off a writing pad and started scribbling fast as I could. The resulting brain dump was a disorganized mess of semi-decipherable words. But it jolted my brain into thinking outside the constraints of my flowchart.