Page 141 of Fly's Path

Fly taught me to listen to my gut, and it’s screaming now. “I just moved in this semester.” That’s part of the cover story we set up. Casually, I stand up and walk over to the bar. There’s a secret drawer there where I keep a gun stashed. “Have you been working for the rental company long?”

“Nope. I’m a subcontractor. Been working on stereos almost since they were invented.”

That guy is old, but not that old…or maybe I’m slightly drunk. My head feels super clear at the moment. I just need to get to the gun without alerting him to that fact. “I don’t know anything about how they work. It’s a good thing the management company keeps track of these things.”

Except I know they don’t. I had it installed after I moved in.

Play dumb.

Nice and slow. Move normally. You aren’t in a rush to die. I thought Fly was crazy when he said that over and over again. But now it all makes sense. “Want something? They keep this well-stocked, too.”

The man raises an eyebrow before setting his bag on a nearby table.

What exactly is in that bag?

A gun?

A garrote?

Duct tape, zip ties, and a gag?

Fly taught us how to get out of those.

Think.

Don’t die.

“Sure. Thanks. I’ll take a finger from that red bottle on the top.”

The red…that’s a five-thousand-dollar bottle…at least he’s going to drink well before he kills me. That should be comforting.

Don’t go for the gun.

Play it nice and cool, like nothing is happening. When you pop the bottle, the gun will be right there. I grab his fancy bottle and reach for a cheap bottle of vodka. It’ll work as a weapon if need be.

Half of the bar could become a weapon…none of which would stand up to a bullet.

Maybe he’s a bad shot.

Yeah, because evil drug dealers send half-blind assassins. This guy has probably killed people for decades before I was even born.

It would be almost insulting if he were to miss. Though at his age, he could have cataracts or glaucoma.

Now you're grasping at straws when you should be reaching for your gun.

The old man pulls up a small device and taps a button on it near the stereo system. “You want to move a little faster than that. If I was an assassin, you’d be dead by now.”

“Fly? Fly is that you? How?” My eyes don’t believe what my ears hear.

“You’ve been sitting here moping all weekend, and I needed to see you so I got creative. Are you going to pour me that drink?The wand only blocks sound. It isn’t blocking any video, so if you're bugged, we don’t want to give you away.”

“On it.” I reach for two glasses. Might as well drink the good stuff, too.

“You did well Friday night.”

“It was you that called the cops?” They were listening.

“Nope, I bugged the pimp’s vehicle. But a friend called. Thanks for buying us time.”