Page 51 of Wham Line

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But, on the other hand, Indira was basically his foster-mom, so it most definitelycouldbe a gun.It could be one of those big-game rifles that could take down an elephant.

Clouds had moved in overnight.The gray sky crouched overhead, clouds skimming the tops of the trees, and the light was so diffuse that the day was shadowless and pale.

Was it pepper spray?

I shook my head and focused on the road.

The Discovery of the Rosetta Stone: Unraveling the Secrets of Ancient Scripts

The Spanish Inquisition: Faith, Power, and the Reign of Fear

The Roaring Twenties: Jazz, Flappers, and a Decade of Change

The French and Indian War: How It Sparked the American Revolution

Brass knuckles?

I passed one of the freshwater fountains on the side of the road, where two cars were waiting as an old man in a custard-colored poncho filled approximately fifteen jugs.

Keme didn’t have access to lasers, did he?

I was getting close to Hastings Rock when a message from Millie came through on the car’s display:He’s at Fishermen’s Market.

Okay.That wasn’t too bad.

And then the next message came through:We got him!

I swear to God, I dropped my foot on the gas.

(I figured if I hurried, maybe it would only beonefelony.)

Fishermen’s Market had, at one point in Hastings Rock’s history, been anactualmarket, and presumably it had, uh, serviced fishermen.Fisherpeople?(Actual details to be googled later, I decided, especially sinceservicedsounded a little too adult for my tastes.) As Hastings Rock had converted itself from a fishing village into a tourist destination, however, the market had been transformed into one of the most popular restaurants on the boardwalk.The restaurant itself was a small frame building that could only generously be described as a shack, but that wasn’t the point.The point was that during the summer months, if you could fight your way through the crowds, it was the perfect spot to sit at one of the tables on the pier and enjoy some of the best seafood in the world (fried, of course).

During the winter, though, Fishermen’s Market wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with customers.For one reason, February wasn’t tourist season in Hastings Rock.And for another, as I mentioned, the restaurant itself was shack-ish in its dimensions (and, frankly, its aesthetic—there were alotof hawsers being used as décor).And strangely enough, people didn’tlovesitting outside in the cold, especially with the wind cutting in off the ocean.

In other words, for once in my life, it was easy to find parking.

When I stepped inside, a wall of sound met me.Voices echoed in the small space: Cyd Wofford, our resident Marxist, was laughing at something Dr.Xu had said; JaDonna Powers and her husband (whom I thought of asMr.JaDonna Powers) were talking loudly with Mrs.Archer about some sort of local road improvement; Princess McAdams (disappointingly, not a real princess) was tapping on one of the refrigerated display cases where salmon and crab and tuna and other fish (I’m not a fisherman) lay in neat rows, bellowing, “Excuse me!Excuse me!”while the harried staff tried to get past her to deliver plastic baskets lined with red-checked paper, each one holding a king’s ransom of fish and chips.(I’m not even joking: it’s the best in the world.) The smell of malt vinegar and raw seafood and hot frying oil mingled in the air.A neon crab flashed on one wall in a pattern that was supposed to make you think it was dancing.

It took me about zero-point-five seconds to find Millie, Keme, and Larry.On the other side of the shack, a wooden cutout that had been painted to look like a shark stood near the wall.It was the kind that you could stand behind and it would look like your head was in the shark’s mouth.The summer before, I’d taken full advantage of it (I had pictures of me by myself, then with Bobby, and one time so it looked like Bobby was rescuing me—obviously that was my favorite).Right then, Millie was coaching Larry with unfeigned enthusiasm.

No guns.

No knives.

Not a single laser.