The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp 3) - Page 12
“Delivery Dude.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill you?”
Should I tell them? And if I did tell them, what was going to happen to me? I couldn’t prove anything and they probably wouldn’t even believe me. But they were cops, even this nasty Kennard dude, and Meredith Black had a kind face and she gave off the attitude like she liked me and wanted to help me. And I had a feeling the only way to get out of this mess was to rely on the one thing you’re supposed to rely on when things get really messed up: the truth.
So I said, “OIPEP.”
“Oypep?”
“What’s an OIPEP?” Kennard wondered aloud.
“The Office of Interdimensional Paradoxes and Extraordinary Phenomenon,” I said. “OIPEP.”
“Oh, sure,” Kennard said. “I should have figured that.” He turned to Meredith. “Give me five minutes alone with him. Five minutes, all I need.”
“I had a meeting this morning with the director,” I said. “And she asked for the—for something I have and I refused to give it back and I think she ordered ...” I swallowed hard. I always liked Abigail Smith. I always thought she was one of the good guys. “I think the Company might have done all this to get it back.”
“The Company?”
“OIPEP.”
“Oy ... pep?” Kennard asked.
“What do you have, Alfred?” she asked.
I looked away. I wanted to talk to Samuel. I needed to talk to Samuel. He was OIPEP’s former Operative Nine, its top agent. He would be able to tell me if it had been a Company operation.
But I didn’t have Samuel. And I didn’t have Mr. Needlemier. I didn’t have anybody.
“I’ll tell you,” I said to Meredith Black. “But he’s got to leave first.”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said.
“Then you better just take me to my cell,” I said.
That produced a fierce whispering argument between them, an argument Detective Kennard lost, I guessed, because he pushed out of his chair so fast it fell over with a loud clang. He pointed a fat finger at my bandaged nose.
“This ain’t done between us,” he promised.
“You smell bad,” I said.
He left. I looked at Meredith. I looked down at the tape recorder. The little spools were still turning. She pressed her finger on the off button. Her fingernails were painted a bright red, and I thought of Abigail Smith and her scarlet lipstick.
“All right, Alfred,” she said softly.
13:17:35:51
We leaned across the table toward each other and we spoke barely above a whisper. I figured Detective Kennard had not gone far. I figured he was standing right behind the long mirror on the wall beside us.
“All right, Alfred,” Meredith said.
“First I want to know if Sam’s okay.”
“Sam?”
“The John Doe shot in the penthouse suite. He’s my guardian. Is he okay?”
“He’s in intensive care at St. Mary’s.”
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