Amuse Bouche (34 page)

Randy Wurz pushed himself off the door and took a first step towards me. His gun was pointed at my forehead. I now knew the true meaning of menacing. "Haven't I told you to shut up? I need to think."

I hate bullies. They fill me with more bravado than I should have. "Never mind," I said, as if I 390

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truly didn't need him to fill me in. "I know why."

He looked at me, his well-tended face creased into a frown. Randy Wurz had not had a good day. And I wasn't about to make it better.

"You double-crossed him, didn't you?

Because you needed money."

This got his attention. "What money? I don't need money." His voice was scratchy and he was obviously lying.

"It's no secret, Randy. You live an extravagant lifestyle. The clothes, the cars, the house, the trips. And that's just for your wife. You were running out of cash faster than QW could make it." I didn't really know whether that was true, but it was an educated guess. I remembered Tom's tax returns. It was simple deduction that since Tom and Randy were equal partners in QW Technologies, if Tom's income was down, Randy's probably was too. "Your income over the last couple of years hasn't been what you're used to. You were getting desperate, weren't you? The bankers were getting desperate too, right?"

The lines in Randy's brow became so deep I wondered if he'd need Botox to plump up the furrows. "Where the hell do you get your information?"

Aha. I'd struck a chord, stamped my feet on his manly pride. "What happened, Randy?" I Amuse Bouche

asked. My technique was working. Sort of. As he concentrated on frowning and denying what he wanted no one to know, he was paying less attention to his firearm. On occasion he now had it pointing at the ceiling or sometimes at the desk behind me or at Dave Biddle. This was greatly preferable to my chest (except the Dave Biddle part, I suppose). "Tom was working on something important in the TechWorld lab, wasn't he? Something you wanted to sell and make lots of money from...and he didn't?"

"That's not how it happened!"

I continued to push buttons. "And then Dave got in the way," I said with a backhand wave at the incapacitated hostage next to me. "Were you afraid Tom was going to team up with Quasar and leave you behind?"

"That's ridiculous!" Randy shouted. "Dave and Tom were only friends, like I told you...oh hell, what am I doing explaining anything to you?"

"Makes you feel better?" I said with a smile.

He actually growled.

"Randy, you can't believe you'll get away with this! If you kill Dave Biddle, don't you think you'll be the first one the police will suspect?"

He looked at me with interest, as if I was a fellow executive who'd come up with a business scenario he hadn't yet considered. "Why?

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Other than Tom and Dave's Inconsequential friendship that not many people even know about there are no ties between Quasar and QW or me. If I do this right, no one will even look at me sideways."

I calculated the amount of time that had passed since Jacquie felt her boss had gone AWOL. It had been several hours. "So that's why you're still here? It's taken you this long to come up with something?" I chided him.

He wasn't having any of it. "It took me weeks to plan Tom's disappearance. That's how a smart man doesn't get caught," he told me as if he was a professor of murder and mayhem. "I wasn't expecting any of this today. I had to have time to think. Besides, I knew I'd have to wait until late at night before I did anything." He looked away then, somewhere into the middle distance, but then suddenly turned his blood-shot eyes back on me in full
attack
mode. "Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think it means nothing to me to have killed Tom and now have to deal with both of you?"

I stood still in my spot and gazed at him, trying not to show any reaction to his outburst. For a full thirty seconds he glared at me, some spit-tle at one corner of his mouth. We were two skaters on a thin sheet of emotional ice. Would it crack?

Amuse Bouche

"Tom had it so fucking easy! I had to scrimp and scramble and try to make more and more sales to keep up while he fiddled around in that fucking lab of his without a care in the world! 1

have responsibilities! I have a wife and kids and mortgage and car payments and loans for more money than you'll ever have! What did Tom have? He had Chavell and their fucking frivolous lifestyle of the rich and famous, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of being the underdog!

I'm sick of being second-rate! I'm sick of being behind all the time, trying to catch up! Yes, Tom was on to something big in that lab and yes, we had a huge deal come our way! Tom could afford to turn it down—I couldn't!"

All this time Randy was waving his gun hand around and small beads of sweat were beginning to form at his temples. The time for action, I sensed, was coming soon.

"But you stupid shit, asshole detective won't believe Chavell is the murderer—even though everyone else does—and then this jerk-off ruins it all by seeing what was in the lab!" With this, Randy swung the gun wildly towards Dave Biddle's head. "You couldn't leave it all alone!

So yeah, I got a problem. I needed some time to think it through!"

"Well then maybe I should just leave and let you get to it." I grinned.

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Randy grinned too. The devil had returned.

His gun was back on me. "Actually, Quant, your unexpected arrival makes all of this easier."

"Oh?" I said. "Glad I could help."

"You see, I was considering a suicide for Mr.

Biddle. Perhaps remorse over having killed his friend, Tom? Alas, no one would ever know— there'd be no note."

"And now?" I asked, knowing I wasn't going to like the answer.

"Well there's no doubt that I have to get rid of both of you. So I'm thinking murder-suicide.

Mr. Biddle realizes you've found out he murdered Tom, so he kills you, but then in a fit of guilt and despair, he turns the gun on himself.

You like?"

"Notbad," I said smarmily, "but why would either of us be in Tom's office when this happens?"

Randy scowled at me and said darkly, "Things can be moved."

Oh, oh! My eyes flew to where I'd pushed my gun. Too far away for a quick lunge. I glanced at Dave Biddle immediately to my left.

I looked back at Randy, a dozen feet away.

Something foreboding about the expression on his face told me I didn't have much time left to save our lives.

"Turn around," Randy ordered.

Amuse Bouche

"What?" Oh shit! This was how he killed Tom. In the head, from behind.

"You heard me, Quant. I want you to put your hands on your head and turn around very slowly."

I did what he said, the entire time my mind ablaze with possibilities—the least of which wasn't "goodbye world." The last look I saw on Randy Wurz's face was not one of malevolent joy or satisfaction but rather blank determina-tion. Killing me was no different than making an unpleasant but necessary business decision, I was to be sacrificed for unlimited credit, As I rotated I saw Dave Biddle's terrified face. Would he have to watch me die or would I have to watch him die? Behind him, on the desk, was Tom's computer. On the blank screen I could see Randy's sketchy reflection step closer. It wasn't much but it was all I had. I wasn't going to let this sonofabitch get a point-blank shot at me.

In one move I jumped and twisted around, lowering my arms like wings, and kicked out my left foot, hoping for contact with the hand that held the gun. I heard a noise escape Randy's lips, but by the time both my feet were back on the ground I knew that I'd only winged him. But it had thrown him off balance. I dove to the ground and slid toward my gun like a 396

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baseball player to home base. I felt rug scrape up my arm, drawing blood, as 1 reached for the only thing that would protect me from being Randy's next victim.

I missed.

For a millisecond the room was completely silent as the three of us held our breaths. [ was laid full out on the floor, my arm extended to its maximum distance, my hand about six inches away from my pistol. Randy had been pushed back by my surprise attack and was managing an odd crouching position while still holding his gun—in the general direction of Dave Biddle's head. Our eyes moved like crazy marbles as we each surveyed the situation and the others in the room. Unfortunately, as far as who had the upper hand, nothing much had changed.

Randy Wurz's face was puffed up and red as if he'd just come off a night of heavy drinking.

His left eye had developed a twitch that hadn't been there before. And he was angry. "No more talking," he spit out as he cocked his gun.

"Randy," I pleaded. "Give it up. It's gone too far."

"You're right," he said to my surprise, then added, "It's gone too far to give it all up now."

At that instant the door behind Randy swung open and thumped him soundly on the 397

Amuse Bouche

back. It was all the time I needed. As Randy staggered forward my hand closed on my gun and, without hesitation, I shot.

IT WAS A SPLENDID LATE OCTOBER DAY. We w e r e on Harold Chavell's expansive deck that over-looked a craggy gorge through which flowed the sparkling, blue South Saskatchewan River.

Although the temperature was unseasonably mild, we both wore jackets to protect us from the chill that lurked in the light breeze. Sitting in well-upholstered deck chairs, cupping our mugs of coffee to keep our hands warm, we rarely looked at each other as we talked. After all we'd been through, particularly Harold, we were more than detective and client, but not quite friends.

"I'm going to miss this place," he said, staring at the hills on the opposing side of the river valley.

"Are you sure about the move? Is it really necessary?"

"Well, certainly I could wait out the gossip and innuendo, but I'm. not really moving because of 'them' Russell, I'm moving because of me. I need a fresh start."

"Saskatoon's loss is Calgary's gain. I'm still sorry that things played themselves out the way they did. it couldn't have been easy on you."

"None of that really matters much when I Amuse Bouche

think about the price Tom paid."

I nodded in sombre agreement and sipped my drink.

"I still can't believe it was Randy Wurz. He and Tom had been together as friends and partners for so long. How could he have gotten so desperate?"

"Apparently he was close to being forced into bankruptcy and had a number of banks, credit institutions, not to mention some nasty loan shark-type people, breathing down his neck.

"Although it certainly wasn't your fault, I think he saw how you and Tom lived and he wanted it too. He was jealous and QW was his only source of cash. When he realized Tom was getting close to perfecting a new generation of video games that was gonna blow the socks off of every teenage boy from here to Bangladesh, dollar signs began to appear in his eyes.

Financial salvation. What I don't understand is why, when Randy found a deal, Tom didn't want to go along with it? Wasn't that the whole purpose behind QW—to make video games and then sell them?"

"Yes," Chavell agreed, "but not at any cost.

Randy Wurz found a company, VidStik, that was interested in Tom's new work. Tom even flew down to California to talk with their people about some developmental problems he 400

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was having with the games. But he quickly realized they were interested in a profit-motivated partnership only, not a technologically collabo-rative one. That's just not what Tom was about.

You have to understand, Russell, even without my resources, Tom would never have allowed someone else to take control of the video games he created just for money. And he certainly wouldn't have agreed to the sale of QW. He wasn't motivated by profit. Never was. The luxuries I'm so fond of didn't mean much to Tom. He was a simple guy. He loved his work, he loved me, he loved things the way they were."

"Unfortunately, Randy didn't." I shook my head as I guessed what happened next, following my thoughts to their sad conclusion. "Tom's decision not to play ball with VidStik sealed his fate. Randy had to get him out of the picture— so he could make the deal without him."

Chavell tensed his jaw and gave me a tight nod. "I hear Mr. Wurz will survive his injuries?"

"Yes," I said. "Although I hate what Randy Wurz did to Tom, to you—I never wanted to kill the man. But he's lucky 1 just got his shoulder.

Painful, yes, but rarely fatal. It was good fortune that the security guard unwittingly opened the door into Randy's back. He'll be sharing bunks in the Prince Albert pen for quite some time."

Harold Chavell nodded grimly. "I guess I'm 401

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thankful for that. It still hurts—man, it hurts— but at least there's been justice."

"What happens to QW now?" I asked.

"At first I didn't much care, but QW was Tom's baby. He and Randy created that company from nothing. Although it isn't much without either of them left to run it, there is the matter of the programs Tom was working on. My lawyers have been talking with VidStik.

Apparently they had no idea what Randy was up to. They're still interested in making money from the games. And...I'm the last one to think there's anything wrong with that, so I think I'll let them. With the profit from the sale, I'm considering setting up a bursary at the University of Saskatchewan to be awarded annually in Tom's honour."

I smiled. A legacy of love arising from the ruins of tragedy.

Chavell smiled too. It looked odd on his face and I soon realized why. Other than the Pike Lake pictures, it was the first smile I'd seen there.

"I hear your final confrontation with Randy Wurz is all thanks to poison ivy?" he asked with a doubting smirk. "I knew there were some plants in the bushes near the cabin, and I know the cinder blocks were found in a nest of the stuff, but how did you ever connect that with Randy?"

"Calamine lotion. When I was searching 402

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