Page 86 of In the Line of Ire

"A Lexisandwich?" I replied.

"Safe,"he said as the wail of a fire truck deafened my ears.

"I'll gotalk to the chief," said Delgado. When he let me go, one half of meinstantly got cold again.

"Keepthe explanation to a minimum," Solomon called after him, his voicelow enough that only we could hear.

"Got it,boss."

"I can'tbelieve this happened," I said against Solomon's chest. His heartthumped a rhythm with my throbbing head. "I was so close. I sawthem exchanging the purses. Wait! I got it all on tape! That is, Irecorded the whole exchange on my cellphone and I snapped a photoof the accomplice's license plate. We can prove Charlaine isinvolved, and track down the other person too. After they confesswho hit me, we might be able to connect them with someone workingat Page's."

"Greatwork," said Solomon.

Ireached into my pocket for my cellphone but it wasn't there. Ipatted my other pockets, searching more frantically as I found allof them empty. "I must have dropped it when I fell," I concluded.Disentangling myself from Solomon's safe, warm arms, and kneelingon the ground, I began searching the immediate area but my phonewasn't anywhere near there. It didn't fall behind the rain gutternor had it skidded across the blacktop into a manhole. Dejectedly,I sat on the ground, stretching my legs out as I pondered the mostobvious deduction. "They must have taken it," I said despondently.With a quick glance at my car when it went “Whoomph!" and exploded,Solomon covered me and we both ducked for shelter. Lying horizontalon the ground, a scrap of something caught my eye that I hadn'tnoticed before. I reached for it and saw it was a glove made ofsoft leather with delicate stitching. Very expensive and elegant.I'd seen it somewhere before… but where?

"I thinksomeone is sending us a message," said Solomon.

"You mean, someone sentmea message," I corrected him. "But I'm not givingup. This means war!"

"War?"

"Fine.Maybe not war, but I'm not surrendering either. They messed withthe wrong woman!"

"Yourcover at Page’s is probably blown now too. Charlaine probably knowsthat you were here and that other person does too," said Solomon ashelped me upright until I could sit.

"Oh,no," I groaned, my spirits dropping.

"Let'sget you checked out at the hospital first. That head wound lookspretty nasty," said Solomon. He stood first and held both hands outto me. I grabbed them and he pulled me onto my feet.

"I feelokay." I didn't sway and the thumping in my head recededslightly.

"It'scertainly not the first time you've been hit over thehead."

"Sure,but who's counting?"

"I mighthave to get you a helmet."

I pausedas I looked up at him. I couldn't help it. I laughed. I roareduntil my sides hurt and my mouth felt like it would split in two.When I finally managed to breathe deeply again, my spirits weresubstantially lifted.

"I'mserious," deadpanned Solomon.

Somehow,that made it even funnier.

"Youdefinitely need an examination," he decided, slinging his arm undermine and guiding me forwards, skirting my car. My former car. Thefire was mostly out but it still smoldered in a steaming wreck. Thewindows were gone, the metal frame so black and twisted, there wasnothing left but a steel skeleton and the seats were no more thansources of steam. On the sidewalk, Delgado stood beside the firechief. We walked over and shook hands.

"You'rethe owner?" asked the chief. Tucking his helmet under his arm, headjusted his collar.

"I am,"I said.

"Did yousee who started this?"

I shookmy head and winced. "No. I was knocked out."

"Was ita carjacking gone wrong?"

"I don'tthink so. I wasn’t inside the car."

"Whatwere you doing over there?" he asked, nodding toward the stripmall.

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