Page 70 of In the Nick of Time
“Who? Me?” Melvin replied, his tone dismissive. “You’re the one who killed Aeric, and your own partner in the process. You deserve to be disempowered. You deserve to die.”
“Believe me, Melvin, I’ve paid my dues. Not one day, hour, or minute goes by that I don’t miss Todd and regret the tragic death of the innocent child caught in the crossfire. But it was Aeric who instigated the event. His name doesn’t deserve to be uttered in the same breath as Todd’s. You know, I’m having a hard time believing you’d throw your life away for that POS. I can assure you he would not have done the same. Why, Melvin? You weren’t even a part of Aeric’s organization. He cared so little about you that he didn’t even try and protect you when the shit hit the fan. I bet he thought your power was too weak to make a difference.”
When Melvin’s eyes narrowed, Doug knew he’d made a direct hit. Aeric had never cared for Melvin; he’d just used him like he had so many others.
That email he’d received from Rich but deleted without reading popped into his head.
“How are things going with good old Rich anyway?” Doug asked. “You thought you were wrecking my life by luring him away, didn’t you? Frankly, you did me a huge fucking favor. I bet he’s tossed you aside already—just like Aeric did. How does that feel?”
Melvin tried to hold the sneer but Doug noted that his cheeks reddened. Rich had gotten bored of him too. His ex didn’t have a lot of staying power.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. You were the one who destroyed my life.”
“I fail to see how I destroyed your life. But hey, you do you. We’re here for Agent Carroll.”
“I want to call my lawyer.”
Doug smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Go ahead, call your lawyer. But Nick and I don’t represent that kind of justice. You can make this easy or hard. But either way, you will tell us where Agent Carroll and the others are. And neither Lady Luck nor Pork Pie can help you now.”
There was a too-long pause, but eventually Velvet Elvis said, “Who the hell is Pork Pie?” in a high, squeaky, very un-Elvis-like voice.
“My bad, Pork Pie Man is The Undertaker. Much better name for him.” Doug shrugged. “We know you never planned to do the dirty work yourself. What happened? Did The Undertaker get too caught up in his job, use too much of his fancy undetectable drug on Mel before you could get to them? Never mind, now it’s just you left standing. So, what’s it going to be? Easy or hard?”
Doug drew a breath in through his nose, inhaling all the patience in the world in order to deal with this asshole who had hurt his friends. He stared at the perpetrator. He didn’t blink, just leveled a long, fear-inducing gaze Melvin’s direction. For fuck’s sake, the man had forced him to come to Vegas of all places.
Melvin’s heavily lined eyes darted between Doug to Nick. From the edge of his vision, Doug saw Nick shrug and mouth a sarcastic, “Sorry, dude.”
Making an ill-considered choice, Melvin shot from his chair and bolted for the door. On his way past, he managed to land a punch on Nick’s jaw. Surprised by the attack, Nick stumbled backward and raised his hand to cup his chin. The hit had to have been accidental.
Melvin had no chance of getting past Doug though. Grabbing the man’s sequined costume by the extra-wide lapels, Doug lifted him off the floor like he was nothing. It was like dealing with a small child having a temper tantrum in the middle of a grocery store. Struggling, Elvis kicked his feet out; one banged sharply against Doug’s bad leg. Doug swore.
“Why do you guys always have to do things the hard way?” he asked the not-so-super villain.
If Melvin was trying to piss him off, it was working.
“Are you finished yet?” Doug asked as Melvin flailed wildly.
“I have rights!” he sputtered, futilely struggling to remove Doug’s fists from his clothing. Melvin was lucky they weren’t wrapped around his neck.
“You do have rights. You have the right to go before the SPAM Tribunal. But you will suffer an uncomfortable accident if you don’t tell us where Agent Carroll is.”
It took a few more implied threats and several more inches off the ground before Melvin broke down.
“She’s stashed at my apartment,” he gasped out. “I had to make her take some sedatives because she kept trying to escape.”
“Go figure,” Doug said, dropping Melvin to the cement floor of the dressing room. “Hopefully not the same thing The Undertaker was using. Don’t bother running, cleanup is on the way.”
Doug didn’t bother knockingon the rickety plywood door; it looked like a stiff breeze would blow it open. He would’ve thought that Velvet Elvis lived in a nicer place.
Leading with his shoulder, Doug smashed the door open. Would he regret it later? Yes. His damn leg already hurt, but he wasn’t waiting around for the “proper authorities” to arrive with a key. Esther was inside. He’d just take an extra-long bath later. Maybe Nick would join him.
The door swung inward, banging against the wall behind it and knocking down a framed picture of the real Elvis in the process.
“Whoa,” said Nick. “That was really cool and hero-like. But maybe tone it down a bit. We don’t need Vegas’s finest showing up, do we?”
Nick was right, of course.
