I went to the peephole and looked out. I’d expected to see Hal but it was Brody Logan. “Go away,” I said.
“I want Tiki. I got a bad feeling. Tiki’s sending out weird vibes. I want to see him to make sure he’s okay.”
Orin had me by the arm, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
“Go home,” I said to Logan.
“I don’t have a home.”
“Then go to your tent.”
“No way. I want to see Tiki.”
“Help!” I yelled at the door. “Get HELP! Call the police! Get the Rangeman guy!”
Orin grabbed me by my bound wrists and threw me across the room. He opened the door, yanked Logan inside, closed and relocked the door, and drew his gun.
“Dude!” Logan said, eyes wide.
I struggled to my feet, got a running start, and head-butted Orin, knocking him to his knees.
“Do something,” I shrieked at Logan. “Do something!”
Logan went spastic, arms flailing, feet not knowing which way to move. He spotted Tiki in the kitchen and lunged for him, lifting him off the counter, wrapping him in his arms.
Orin stood and pointed his gun at Logan. I knocked into Orin again, jostling the gun, and Orin drilled two rounds into Tiki.
Logan let out a roar and charged Orin, bashing him in the face, using Tiki like a battering ram. Blood gushed from Orin’s nose, and Logan immediately rammed Orin again, catching him square in the chest. I heard something go plink onto my tile floor. I looked down and saw that it was a pin to one of the grenades. Time stood still for a moment while we all stared at the pin.
Orin grabbed at the live grenade still taped to his gun belt, and I kicked him hard in his prosthetic. The prosthetic flew off and Orin lost his balance, wheeling around on one leg. Logan and I dove into the kitchen, and Orin fell facedown and blew up in the foyer.
I was stunned, sitting on the kitchen floor with my ears ringing. Logan was next to me hugging Tiki.
“He shouldn’t have shot Tiki,” Logan said. “Hawaiian gods get even. Did you see what Tiki did to his foot? It flew right off his leg when you kicked it!”
“It was a prosthetic,” I said to Logan.
“I guess that would make it easier,” Logan said.
I have a metal fire door with four deadbolts, but Orin had only thrown one of the locks when he closed the door. I heard someone put his foot to the door from the other side, and on the second attempt the door crashed open against the wall. It was Hal. He took a couple steps in, gun drawn, avoiding what was left of Orin, and looked in the kitchen at me.
“I’m okay,” I said.
I thought there were sounds of elephants running in the hall, dimly heard over the ringing in my ears. It was Ranger and two more Rangeman guys. Not as big as elephants, but the two men with Ranger could easily have made the NFL playing defense.
Ranger moved around Orin, stepped into the kitchen, and lifted me to my feet. He took a knife off his gun belt and cut my tape away.
“I was on Hamilton when the alarm went off,” Ranger said. “I listened to you all the way, and got here just as the explosion occurred. Hal was already at your door by then.”
I looked down at the plus sign on the watch face. Hard to read because I was shaking.
“I wasn’t fast enough to hit the button when he first appeared,” I said. “And then my wrists were taped. He must have accidentally pushed the button when he grabbed me.”
People were accumulating in the hall. Ranger told one of the men to close the door and stand guard outside. Some of Orin was facedown on the tile. Some of him was on my foyer wall. What was on the floor was charred and smoking. Only the prosthetic foot was still intact, halfway across the room.
“What happened here?” Ranger asked me.
“He had what I thought might be explosives and a couple grenades taped to the ammo belts across his chest. There was a scuffle and one of the grenades lost a pin. Logan and I dove for the kitchen and Orin exploded.”