Mystic Warrior. Alex Archer
not sticking up for her.”
“Sounds like it to me. You’re a girl. She’s a girl.”
For a moment, Annja thought about drop-kicking Krauzer in a way that would remind him he was not a girl. She blew out a calming breath and reminded herself that there was a lot of research she was looking forward to this evening.
And she would definitely get to look at the scrying crystal and satisfy her curiosity about the piece if Melanie had it and was still home.
Krauzer stopped in front of the door to apartment 4F, took the pistol from his waistband and gripped it in his fist. He stood there for a moment, ran his free hand through his hair, let out a quick breath and shook himself. Then he knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
For a moment, Krauzer stood there. Then he looked at Annja. “Why isn’t she opening the door?”
“I don’t read minds.”
He shrugged. “So what would you guess?”
“Maybe she’s not home. Maybe she’s on her way back to the studio with the scrying crystal and feeling really guilty.”
Krauzer thought about that for just a second. “Or maybe she’s taking a clever forgery back there to pass off as the real thing.”
Annja regretted mentioning anything about insurance companies and counterfeit items.
His attention back on the door, Krauzer banged on the door with his fist. “Melanie! It’s Steven Krauzer. I know you’re in there! You can’t hide from me. Open up. I want my scrying crystal back!”
They could hear movement sounding inside. There were at least two pairs of footfalls.
“See?” Krauzer said, frowning at the door. “Told you she wasn’t alone. The mastermind of this whole thing is in there with her.”
Krauzer stepped forward and banged on the door again, harder and faster this time. “Melanie! Get out here in the next minute and I’ll keep you off the entertainment shows. I’ll have the PR people whip up a story that the reason you’re no longer in the movie is that you had something else come up. You know how this town works. You start putting a story out there, even if it’s a lie, pretty soon everybody has heard about it. Then somebody, if you play your cards right, will actually offer you something.”
“I have been offered something, you self-absorbed little Hitler,” Melanie called back through the door.
Krauzer gazed at Annja in disbelief. “Did she just call me ‘little’?”
Annja ignored the question. “Melanie, it’s Annja Creed.”
“What are you doing here?”
“We need the scrying crystal.”
There was a short pause. “It’s not here.”
Krauzer kicked the door. “What do you mean it’s not here?”
They heard a quick flurry of whispering.
“I mean it’s not here unless you pay me for it,” Melanie replied.
“I’m not going to pay you for something you stole from me!” Krauzer howled.
“If you want it back, you are.”
Krauzer stepped back and kicked the door. The frame splintered as the lock tore free. In the room, Melanie Harp stood next to a beefy bald guy wearing a biker jacket and dirty jeans.
The actress’s arms were crossed in front of her defiantly. Her blond hair was piled on her head in a twist that was coming undone and looked as though a surge of electricity had shocked it free. She was underweight, something the makeup people had struggled to deal with, and bags bulged beneath her red eyes, one of which was brown and the other an exotic lavender. Evidently, she’d lost one of her contacts.
“You can’t just break into my home,” Melanie protested.
Krauzer looked around in disdain. “This dump?”
“Hey,” the big bruiser rumbled. He sounded like a cement mixer coming to life. He was in his forties and had scars on his head and cheeks that Annja could see through the graying beard that hung to his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under the biker jacket. His jeans were tucked into motorcycle boots. “Don’t disrespect the lady.”
Krauzer turned to the biker. “Did you help steal my scrying crystal?”
The biker stepped forward. “Hey, man, you stole Melanie’s job. I’m just helping her even the score.”
“I gave her that job, you idiot! I took it back because she can’t handle it. She’s the one who prefers squalor and nose candy over working. And her taste in boyfriends isn’t so great either, evidently.”
The biker closed his fists and took another step forward. “Now you’re gonna get beat.”
Krauzer pointed the pistol at the biker’s face. “Keep coming, you big ape.”
Melanie closed her brown eye and squinted the lavender one at Krauzer. “Oh my God, Barney! He’s got a gun!”
Barney the biker? If Krauzer hadn’t been waving the big pistol around, Annja wouldn’t have been able to keep from laughing.
Eyes popping, Barney stepped back. “Hey, man. No fair.”
Annja knew Krauzer was already in danger of getting arrested for threatening Melanie and her guy, and maybe she was, too, at this point. Getting arrested for felonious assault with a deadly weapon would not sit well with Doug. She also knew that if Krauzer accidentally shot someone, things would get even worse in a hurry.
She moved automatically, trapping Krauzer’s gun hand, pinching a nerve in the back of his hand that caused him to release the pistol and catching the weapon before it hit the carpeted floor. She popped the cylinder open, dumped the bullets into her cupped palm and walked over to the window at the back of the living room.
Below the room, a half-filled garbage bin sat open. Annja opened the window, wiped the gun and the bullets clean on the curtain, and dropped them all into the trash. The gun and the rounds disappeared into the discarded debris.
She turned to face the three other people in the room, who stared at her in disbelief.
Krauzer peered out the window and looked apoplectic. “Did you just throw my gun away?”
“Yes,” Annja replied. “Way too many things could have happened with you waving it around.”
“Well, did you happen to think of the things that could happen since I don’t have it to wave around?” Krauzer looked back at Barney the biker, who had pulled a ten-inch hunting knife from behind his back.
“I’m gonna cut you, loudmouth.” Barney waved the knife as if it was a weaving cobra waiting to strike. “Then you’re gonna get that money you owe Melanie.”
Krauzer cowered back and nearly fell through the open window. Annja caught the director and moved him over in front of the wall and put herself between him and the biker.
“Move,” Barney ordered, waving his arm in a serpentine motion.
“I just saved your life when I took the gun away,” Annja pointed out.
He scowled at her and maybe there was a little hurt pride in his slit eyes. “If I have to, I’ll cut through you to get to him.” He continued moving the knife in the air.
Annja grabbed the big man’s wrist with one hand and popped him in the throat with the open Y of her other hand. When he stepped back, gagging, she nerve-pinched his hand and let the knife fall to the floor, where it stood embedded upside down.
Barney