Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“No, you certainly don’t look like Rambo,” said Chase with a slight grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chase didn’t speak, but merely gave the Chief’s impressive belly a prod with his finger.

“I’ll have you know I bought a Fitbit last week,” said the Chief, and showed the little gizmo, which he had attached to his wrist.

“It’s not enough to buy a Fitbit, Alec. You have to actually use it if you want to enjoy the full benefits of the Fitbit experience.”

The Chief stared at the thing. “You mean…”

“You have to turn it on and start counting steps, or else it won’t do a thing.”

“Huh. Is that right?”

“Kingsley! Lip! Is there something you want to share with the rest of the group?!” suddenly the keynote speaker yelled. He was a buff guy, with a buzz cut and a take-no-prisoners attitude.

“No, sir, no!” the Chief said, blushing slightly when suddenly the attention of a hundred and fifty attendees turned on him. “We’re good, sir!”

“You know what?” whispered Chase. “Let’s blow the next session and go to the gym instead. They’ve got a great gym at the hotel. I checked it out this morning.”

“The… gym?” said the Chief, his blush deepening.

“It’s a place where you can do all kinds of exercises: machines, free weights…”

“I know what a gym is,” the Chief grunted. “It’s just that… I mean I don’t know if I…” He patted his belly. “I’m not exactly in the best shape, as you’ve already established.”

“So? Why not make today the first day of the rest of your life—a life filled with health and fitness?”

“Lip! Kingsley! This is your final warning!”

“I’m sorry, sir!” said Chase, holding up his hand. “Please carry on.”

On the screen a tank was firing a rocket into a building, reducing it to rubble.

“Huh,” said the Chief. “That’s one way of dealing with civil unrest, I guess.” He then heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, fine. Let’s blow the next session and go to the gym.”

For some reason he sounded like a man on death row, ordering his last meal.

“Okay, team, this is it,” Opal said. They were all engaged in a huddle, just like on a football field, and Odelia found the experience quite enjoyable. She was cheek to jowl with the pale guy with the spiky hair called Kurtz, whom Gran had identified as a serial killer, and her other cheek was practically touching Opal herself.

“This is our time,” Opal was saying. “This is our moment—our chance to shine. We’re all heroes of our fate, makers of our own destiny, and the creative powers of a greater source are coursing through our veins, inspiring us—uplifting us—making us reach beyond our limitations and plugging into a higher power. Can you feel it?”

Murmurs of assent echoed through their little circle.

“I said, can you feel it?!” said Opal, louder now.

“Yes!” cried the serial killer.

“I do!” said Suzy.

“I can feel it!” said the bobbing ponytail.

“Let’s pray,” said Opal, and closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord, give us the grace to rise above our limitations and embrace an all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving universe.”

“Amen,” murmured Opal’s team, and with a loud yell they broke out of the huddle, and then it was time for the talk show queen to walk out onto the big stage.

Even from where she stood, Odelia could hear the roar of applause and cheers from the crowd as they greeted their famous hostess.

“I just hope no one tries to kill her while she’s on stage,” said Gran, whose cheeks were flushed. In spite of her misgivings, she’d clearly enjoyed this experience of being admitted into Opal’s inner circle and going through her private pre-show ritual.

“Well, I just talked to the guy in charge of security and he confirmed that Jacqueline Jackson left the building and won’t be admitted if she returns.”

“Jacqueline isn’t the only suspect, though, is she? I’m keeping an eye on that Kurtz fellow.”

“I’m keeping an eye on all of them,” said Odelia, who was starting to subscribe to Gran’s theory that there were probably more people holding a grudge against Opal than there were people who didn’t.

“If there’s a shooter in the audience…” Gran began.

“Impossible. They would never get a gun past security.”

“Unless it’s one of them plastic guns, the ones that can be printed with a 3D printer. They don’t show up on security scanners.”

Odelia heaved a deep sigh. “Let’s just hope nothing happens. I don’t want Opal to die on my watch. Well, I don’t want her to die, period, but especially not on our watch.”

“If that happened, I’m sure she’d kill us,” said Gran acerbically.

Chapter 13

Opal was clearly in her element. As she launched into her opening monologue, the crowd was laughing at her jokes, and it was obvious the woman was born to do this job.

“She’s good, Max,” said Dooley as we watched on. We’d found ourselves a prime spot to watch the show, where we were out of sight for both the audience and the cameras.

“Yeah, she certainly is,” I agreed.

Odelia, meanwhile, stood chewing her bottom lip and looking particularly ill at ease. As a detective hired to protect Opal this was a tricky moment: the star was seated on stage in front of an audience of about a hundred people. Anyone could simply walk up to her and do her harm. Several security people were present, but Odelia was still nervous.

“The killer is probably up there,” said Dooley, whose train of thought was clearly following my own. He was pointing to the series of booths behind the audience, near the studio’s ceiling. “I once saw a movie where the killer sat in one of those booths with a sniper rifle,” he added cheerfully. “Luckily he missed that time and Clint caught him.”

“Not helping, Dooley,” I said as Odelia’s gaze now traveled up to the booths indicated and the chewing intensified. If this went on her lip wouldn’t survive the onslaught.

“I’m sure the security people wouldn’t let a sniper with a sniper rifle into the building,” I said, and Odelia nodded, clearly on the same page.

“Oh, but this particular sniper paid off a member of the security team,” said Dooley. “Very easy to do, and you’ll never find out who it was they paid off to turn a blind eye.”

“God,” Odelia groaned, and suddenly took off, presumably to check out those booths.

“Now look what you’ve done. Odelia has gone off to find your sniper.”

“He’s not my sniper, Max. I didn’t pay him to shoot Opal. Someone else did.”

“We better go and help her,” I said, and turned to follow Odelia.

I almost bumped into Harriet and Brutus, who’d suddenly materialized.

“Where are you going, Max?” asked Brutus.

“Dooley thinks there might be a gunman hiding in the rafters,” I said.

“Oh, crap,” said Brutus and both him and Harriet joined us in our hot pursuit.

We mounted a staircase and soon found ourselves in an area of the studio that obviously didn’t attract the attention of the cleaning crew, as there were dust bunnies everywhere, and a sizable layer of grime and soot. It was also very hot up there. Not the best seats in the house, I imagined. Soon we were crawling higher and higher, and temperatures were rising. Finally we arrived in a narrow darkened corridor and I could see Odelia already opening the door to one of the booths located one next to the other.

As I joined her and took a peek inside, I saw lots of technical equipment, and a lone technician seated behind a panel with plenty of buttons and knobs and switches. He looked up when Odelia walked in, lifted his headphones and said, “Everything all right?”