Chapter 31

The car screeched around the corner. Bright lights stabbed into Annja's eyes. Then she had the pistol up, squeezing the trigger at point-blank range.

The bullets chopped into the windshield, turning it into Swiss cheese. She was vaguely aware of shadows inside the car shifting. Bullets cut the air and tugged at her hair on the left side.

She ran toward the vehicle. The pistol was empty, deadweight in her fist, but she knew she couldn't throw it away. Chances were it would be identified by the police.

They could say they were outrunning a kidnapping attempt. Since she and Stanley Younts were both public figures, she thought that at least would be a credible defense.

At the top of the first car, she jumped just enough to land on the hood of the second. Reversing the sword effortlessly, she thrust it through the windshield and pierced the driver through the chest.

Knowing she was dealing with hired killers stripped her of mercy. Later she would feel badly about taking another person's life, but she was determined not to let it mean her own death.

The car's momentum tore the sword from her grip. She let it go, leaping from the second car as it crashed into the first. They locked up in the alley, leaving long scars down the stone walls.

Landing hard on the ground, Annja looked back at the cars and raised her hand. She reached into the otherwhere and felt the sword. She turned and ran through the alley.

By the time she reached the street, Roux was just bringing the car around the corner. One of the car's headlights was extinguished.

She crossed the street, dodging traffic, and got to the other side before Roux could get to the curb. He reached across and opened the passenger door so she could drop inside.

"Well?" Roux asked.

"Done." Annja handed him the mini-machine pistol.

"Now let's get rid of this car."

****

"I take it we're not going to the police," Stanley said.

"No," Roux and Annja said in unison.

"Oh."

"There's no reason to spend the evening entertaining them," Roux added as he pulled over into an alley a few blocks from where he had picked up Annja. "Surely you can understand that. The heroes in your novels don't like to be slowed down by law enforcement."

"But this is real life. There are laws. We can't just run away."

"Do you know who tried to kill us back there?" Roux asked as he got out of the car.

"No." Stanley remained seated in the back, seat belt still firmly in place.

"Neither do I." Roux walked to the back of the car.

Annja looked at the old man and said, "I want to know who told you I was looking for Thor's hammer."

"Does it matter?" Roux tried to open the car's trunk but it was jammed. "Help me."

Annja didn't budge.

Roux sighed, exasperated. "Don't be obstinate. The police will come along soon enough and I'd rather be long gone from here."

"Who told you?" Annja hated it when Roux tried to pull the privileged-information card.

Sirens screamed, sounding close.

Roux sighed. "Garin."

"Garin called you?"

"Yes. Is something wrong with your hearing?"

"Well, there was all that gunfire," Stanley said helpfully from the backseat.

"Why did Garin call you?" Annja asked.

"Because he wanted you clear of the situation."

"What situation?"

"Actually, that's my question," Roux said. "I got a phone call from Garin telling me to keep you from looking for Mjolnir, and I didn't even know you were looking for it." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you looking for Mjolnir?"

"Garin didn't ask you to warn me off because he was worried about me," Annja replied. "He was worried I might get to it before he did."

"Perhaps." Roux tugged on the trunk again. "Could you lend a hand? It appears to be jammed."

"Why is Garin looking for Mjolnir?" Annja asked.

"Really, Annja, can you not see this is hardly the time for this?"

Annja stood quietly, waiting.

"I should have stayed in Monaco," Roux groused. "I gave up the charms of a very beautiful woman – a woman who's quite rich, mind you – to get disrespected first on the phone, then while trying to dispose of a getaway car riddled with bullet holes. Does that make any sense to you?"

"I'm still struggling with why Garin is looking for Mjolnir. And why you're not."

"Because the Mjolnir he's looking for is a sham."

"Then Mjolnir does exist?" That caught Annja off balance even though she'd been expecting the reply.

"Joan's sword exists. Why shouldn't Thor's hammer?"

"Because it belonged to a god."

"Everybody forgets that the Norse gods weren't gods when it came to immortality," Roux said. "They had to eat the apples Idun kept in order to maintain their youth. If you'll recall the Prose Edda, Loki stole the apples at one point and all the gods aged. The Greek gods had the golden apples they had to eat."

"I suppose some people – and that could be using the term loosely – could lead extended lives. Through some means," Annja said, glancing at Stanley.

Roux grinned at her. "An apple a day keeps the birthdays away."

"Apples?" Annja asked.

"No," Roux answered. "Not apples. The sword. For however long it lasts. I think. Now, could you help me with this trunk? I truly don't know any more about Garin's involvement in your current project than you do. I only came here because the two of you seemed to be on a path that promised collision."

Annja hooked her fingers under the trunk lid and lifted. "Garin could have sent those men."

The trunk lid came up.

"He could have," Roux agreed, "but I don't think he did."

"Why?"

"Because Garin respects you enough that he'd try to do it himself. Oh, he may not come at you from the front and may try to stab you in the back, but he'll do it himself."

"Because he was trained that way?"

Roux gave her a sour look, then reached into the trunk and brought out a quart bottle of bourbon. He grinned as he hefted the bottle. "Pity. Such a fine distillation, too." He uncapped the bottle and took a drink, then offered it to Annja.

Annja politely refused.

"You're taking time out for a drink?" Stanley asked.

"Just a stiffener," Roux said. Then he frowned. "You need to get out of the car, Mr. Younts."

"I could call my attorney," Stanley offered. "He could get this whole thing straightened out. We didn't do anything wrong." He paused. "Well, we didn't do too much wrong."

"Aside from the time factor not exactly being on our side in this thing," Roux replied, "you also need to realize that doing our civic duty and going to the authorities will place us in harm's way, Mr. Younts."

Roux's polite deference to Stanley bothered Annja. She'd written a few books, tons of magazine articles and been in a television series that was at least partially built around her. He didn't treat her like that.

"How in harm's way?" Stanley asked.

"Because we would be sitting ducks inside a police station."

"Oh." Stanley looked perplexed. "I didn't think about that."

"You did once," Roux insisted. "In Assault on Ice Station Episilon 2: Revenge of the Quaquod."

"I'd forgotten about that." Stanley beamed. "You really do read my books, don't you?"

"All thirty-four of them so far. If I can, I'd like very much to have them autographed."

"Sure."

Irritated, Annja said, "Look, the mutual-admiration society is hereby officially dissolved. We need to be moving."

"Sadly, she's right," Roux agreed. "I've got hotel rooms reserved. We can talk there. But I really need you to get out of the car."

Stanley got out.

"Shouldn't we wipe down the car?" Annja asked. "We've left prints all over it."

"No. This will take care of the need for that." Roux offered the bottle to Stanley. "Stiffener?"

"Sure." Stanley drank from the bottle, swallowing the alcohol with difficulty. "Wow!"

"Wow indeed." Roux smiled affectionately. Then he moved to the car, grabbed Annja's backpack and handed it to her. He emptied nearly all of the remainder of the bottle over the car's interior, saving enough for the exterior and a final swallow.

Holding a lighter a few inches from his face, Roux breathed out the alcohol. His breath turned to flames like a circus fire-eater and ignited the alcohol in the car.

"Wow!" Stanley said.

"Show-off," Annja said.

"Let's walk a few blocks and flag down a taxi. We'll take a water taxi to Venice. Our hotel reservations are there."

****

At the hotel, Annja discovered that Roux had rented a suite of rooms. She'd never stayed at the Hotel Concordia Venezia before. Overlooking St. Mark's Square, the hotel was located at the heart of the floating city. Getting to St. Mark's Books in the morning would mean only a matter of minutes on foot.

She left Stanley and Roux waxing eloquently about the author's books, which seemed to make them both happy. But it irritated Annja. They were acting as if they were on a camping trip and happened to end up with great bunk mates instead of being involved in a potential life-or-death situation.

Still, watching them, Annja knew that if Mario had been alive tonight and along for the trip, he'd have been right in there with them. Mario had loved popular fiction, as well.

She walked into the bathroom and saw the marble and mirror walls. The tub was a yawning pit that would hold an ocean of water. She turned on the taps, found what sounded like a soothing bath oil and poured it in. The fragrance, spread by the hot water, filled the room and promised divine deliverance.

Before she could get undressed, a knock sounded at the adjoining door. Reluctantly, she went to answer it.

Roux stood there.

"I swear to you," Annja said, "if you try to pull me into your deliberation on who is the best writer in the world, I'm reaching for the sword."

"My, my," Roux said. "Surly tonight, aren't we?"

"Tired. Cranky. Under-pampered." And feeling guilty because I'm alive and a friend of mine isn't, Annja added silently.

"You lost your luggage at the airport," Roux said. "I know from personal experience that young women appreciate the ability to present themselves well and generally hate dishabille."

"Could we save the flowery speech? I've got a bath and I intend to soak until I look like a raisin."

Roux grimaced. "I could have done without knowing that." He stepped back and pointed at the uniformed bellhop holding on to one end of a transfer cart. "I took it upon myself to provide you suitable raiment."

Annja looked at all the boxes from a clothing store. "But everything's closed."

"I still have a few old acquaintances here who will give me preferential treatment. I simply called in a favor."

Annja stepped back and allowed the bellhop into her room. He wheeled the cart in and looked around. Annja directed him to put everything on the bed. He did, then left.

Mesmerized by the unexpected bounty, Annja opened boxes, finding jeans, tops, underwear, tennis shoes, boots and even three dresses, one of them a simple black cocktail dress. There was even a full makeup case, toiletries containing an assortment of perfumes, and a too-big T-shirt that would be perfect to sleep in.

Everything was in her size. Annja looked at him. "How did you know about the sizes?"

"I've bought clothing for hundreds of years," Roux said. "I know sizes. Do you need anything else?" He eyed the clothes dubiously. "I think I got most everything, but if I missed something, I can still – "

"No," Annja replied, grinning like a loon and unable to stop herself. "This is perfect. Really."

"I'm glad you like it." Roux turned to walk away. "I'll leave you to your bath and bed. We're going to have an early morning."

"Roux."

He turned to face her.

"Thank you. This means a lot."

Roux grinned. "Enjoy, dear girl. It does my heart glad to see you happy." He left.

Annja took new underwear, the toiletry kit and the oversize T-shirt to the bathroom.