In the last episode, Marco X. Pollo chased the redhead through the state capitol because she yelled there was a “bomb.” But he lost her.
Chapter 4
I LOST HER
By the time I hit the bottom of the wide marble stairs, I realized I had lost her. Out of view. But not out of mind. The click of her one heel echoed somewhere in the distance.
The basement cafeteria was vacant except for a forlorn man sitting at a table eating a sad ham sandwich that looked a little green, as though it might have resided for a couple of years in the nearby vending machine acting as its own biology experiment.
Mr. Forlorn shot me a Bogart stare. “Hey! I know you,” he said. “Ain’t you that private eye that solved the missing backpack case on the Mall?” Before I could answer, he jumped from his seat and pumped my hand like he hoped to strike oil. “Augie Dupine. Write for the Denver Pest.”
“You mean the Post, right?”
He shrugged. “All the senators and our competition round here call it that. Guess I’ve been here too long.”
I looked around for Jasmine. Nothing. Only silence except for the thrum of the vending machine. Fanning out from the circle around the staircase were a series of hallways. There were more entrances and exits in the Capitol basement than in “Lend me a Tenor,” the madcap door-slamming comedy from Broadway. Where do I look first?
“You lookin’ for the redhead?” Augie said as he wiped mayo from his chin.
“Yeah. You know, a man with a compass could get lost down here.”
He pointed to a closed door by the vending machine. “Went to the sub-basement. I thought she needed the restroom, the way she ran. Leaning forward, knock-kneed, and all. I pointed the other way, but she just blew on by.”
Wait. Call me paranoid, but I thought I heard ticking. Or maybe I heard the click of Jasmine limping along on one heel. “Augie, you hear ticking?”
“Prolly my pacemaker.” He tapped his chest. “Damn thing keeps me up at night.”
A blur and a wisp of air passed under the far side of the stairs. Thought I saw a black fedora and a black cape. What’s the Phantom of the Opera doing at the Capitol, I wondered.
Chapter 5
THE HUMMER
Hummer, the security guard, thundered down the stairs. His gun drawn. “Where’s she? The redhead?”
Augie and I simultaneously pointed to the door leading to the sub-basement.
Hummer stopped to catch his breath. “She’s not F.B.I.”
“What?” Augie and I yelled simultaneously, but for different reasons.
The Hummer spoke in staccato while he gasped for air. “I…looked at…the security…camera tapes again…after you guys…barged by me, all hot-Fed-like-with your fake creds.”
“Yeah?”
“Her creds ain’t F.B.I. Actually, they said, ‘F.I.B.’”
“You mean…as in ‘fib?’” This turned my world around…round so much I thought I might never find my way out of the Capitol basement. “But she said there was a bomb down here.”
“A b-b-b-bomb?” The Hummer and Augie stuttered simultaneously, but probably for the same reason. Augie made a production of looking at his Timex wristwatch and grabbed up his papers and half-eaten sandwich. “Say, uh, fellas. Gotta go. Deadline, you know.” And he tore up the stairs like his pants were on fire.
I sidled up to the security guard and played nice. “Listen, officer Hum…um, I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Hummer. Mike Hummer. But you can call me ‘Hum.’ Everybody does.”
“You know what F.I.B. stands for?” He shook his head. “It’s the Fraternal Institute of Bombmakers,” I said. “They’re a terrorist organization, based in Brussels.” Then it hit me like a grand piano dropping out of a fourth-story window. “Hells, bells, and cockleshells…I think she’s here to set the bomb!”
wait.....what?????
FIB? Is that a real organization?