Money To Burn by Katy Munger

Author:Katy Munger [Munger, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
Publisher: Thalia Books
Published: 2011-02-19T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The limousine sagged to the left when Bobby D. clambered on board, sending Lydia's little brother Haydon sliding across the slick seat to crash into the side window. The kid stared at Bobby, open-mouthed. I guess he didn't realize they'd not only freed Willy, they'd given him a tuxedo, too.

I had to give Bobby credit. He looked great. His tux fit perfectly. He was sans toupee and what remained of his hair was gelled back off his forehead, giving his scalp a healthy pink shine beneath the dome light.

"Dodd," he told Lydia formally, offering his hand. "Bob Dodd."

Oh, God. He really did think he was James Bond.

"I'm not calling you 'Bob,' " I warned him. "People named 'Bob' are normal. No way you're a 'Bob.' "

"You can call me anything you like," he said cheerfully. "Just so long as you call me for supper."

Lydia's little brother thought this hilarious. I, who had heard it eight thousand times, did not.

Bobby squeezed his way onto the seat and, by some anatomical fluke, managed to wiggle his right hip violently until I was squished against the window and had given up my share of the seat. Yet not a muscle on his left hip had so much as twitched. Lydia sat on the other side of Bobby as cool and undisturbed as a nymph reflected in a pool of water.

"What's that sticking out of your pocket?" Lydia's little brother demanded, staring at a tiny wire that snaked out of Bobby's right-hand pocket and led under the jacket into his pants.

"Yeah, what is that?" I chimed in. "Don't tell me your tux has air conditioning?"

"It's a recording device," Bobby explained with dignity. "In case I overhear anything interesting."

This immediately left me wondering if Bobby was dabbling in blackmail, but Haydon Talbot was clearly impressed. He and Bobby embarked on a long discussion of spying devices while Lydia and I sat, wedged beside them, each of us glum and lost in her own thoughts. I slipped a hand inside my borrowed evening bag and checked on my Colt .25. It was one of the smallest automatics ever made and very hard to find, especially on the black market I'd paid out the nose for it. But it fit into almost any tight space, including my waistband, and was perfect for undercover work—even if you did have to be standing on top of someone to gain any stopping power. I checked to make sure the safety was on. I did not want it to go off inadvertently and plug some old deb in the butt during her moment of relived glory. On the other hand, I did want it at the ready in case trouble reared its ugly head. I checked the clip. Still loaded. Look out bad guys, here I come.

We arrived at Memorial Auditorium in one piece and what a motley crew we made. The uniformed valet who opened the door for us must have thought he was welcoming a busload of clowns from the circus.

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