The Assassin's Case Read Online Free Page B

didn’t really want to take. When his eyes narrowed Grant realized what that course of action would be.
    The man charged from the wall, arms spread for a tackle.
    If Grant had a red cape he would have been tempted to yell, Toro! Grant stood his ground until the last instant. He stepped out of the way, sweeping the grasping arms away with his left hand. He snaked out a foot, tripping the big man at the ankle. As he stumbled by Grant bashed the back of his head with the Maglite. On impact the flashlight’s lens housing snapped off the handle and the batteries spilled onto the floor.
    The trip combined with the blow sent the man flying headlong toward a wall of lockers on the opposite side of the room. He raised his arms and banged into the lockers with a booming clang. The clamor loud enough to wake everyone in the zip code.
    The man pushed from the wall, shook his head, and charged.
    Grant knew if his opponent ever got a grip on him he was finished. The man was too large and no amount of grappling skill would tip the scales in Grant’s favor. Heaven help him if the man forced him to the floor. Grant dropped the flashlight’s remains to the ground.
    Just as the man reached him, Grant dove away from his grasp. He landed in a roll, coming to his feet, facing his opponent.
    The man bowled into the lockers again, and turned. Talk about your bull in the china shop.
    His eyes studied Grant as if taking his measure. The man approached, this time slow. “Look, you don’t understand. I don’t want to do this. But I need that case. It’s important.” While he spoke he moved within arm’s length.
    Grant saw the blow coming. A right aimed at his chin. Catching the inside of the arm, Grant pulled the man onto his hip, rolled his body with the momentum, and slammed his opponent to the floor. He landed in a heap, the impact accompanied by a loud thud. Somewhere a seismologist was scratching his head at the sudden blip on the Richter scale.
    Before he could land a follow up kick to the head, the man spun onto his stomach, and pushed himself off the floor. He stole a fleeting glimpse at Grant while he ran from the room clutching his side.
    Grant held the phone, but something made him hesitate to call 911. He pushed through the door and scanned the hallway. Betty stood with a hand over her mouth, the other clutched her cell phone, as the man ran by her before pushing through the back exit.
    To satisfy himself the man was gone, Grant moved to the rear door, watching while a Chevy Impala peeled out of the parking lot. Grant held the door open, staring after the car, while in the distance sirens approached.
     
     

THREE
     
     
     
     
    Grant finished a set of pushups and used a towel to mop the sweat from his forehead. He sat on the edge of the small bed in his tiny bedroom. His shift at the nursing home had ended at midnight, though he had stayed later answering, well more like evading, the police’s questions. Exercise helped him sleep. If he was bone weary, the nightmares weren’t usually as severe.
                  He tossed the towel toward the bathroom, frustrated at his self pity. Some days were better than others, but the holidays, well … they were almost unbearable. Thanksgiving started it. He had allowed himself to be persuaded into dinner at the nursing home. Some of the sweet elderly ladies, including Mrs. Wellington, couldn’t bear the thought of Grant being alone. It simply served as yet another grim reminder of all he had lost.
                  Shake it off.
                  After a shower, he moved to the small table in the dining-slash-kitchen-slash-living room in his small apartment. He stared at the case, wondering for the thousandth time what it could possibly contain. And why hadn’t he turned it over to the police? Something about the whole thing had his curiosity pricked. The look of horror on the old man’s face. The attempted theft of the case. Something in Grant’s gut