there if you’re under twenty-one.”
“What bullshit! Come on, Kotter, don’t be a prude.”
“No way.”
“You could go as my date.”
I looked in the rear view mirror and gave her the smirk. “You never give up, do you?”
“I’ll take that for a ‘yes.’”
“It wasn’t.”
Alie smiled dreamily. She seemed very sure of herself.
Sam Van Doren met us at the College Inn. I didn’t like how serious he seemed. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Trouble. Randie will tell you.”
Sam was nothing if not loyal. I wouldn’t get another word out of him if Randie hadn’t authorized him to speak. It was one of the reasons she trusted him. She knew she could always count on him to do what he was supposed to do.
I felt my heart start pumping with the fear and exhilaration that danger always brings. If you couldn’t get scared and enjoy it, you were in the wrong business.
“Okay, Sam. Alie’s all yours, and believe me, you’re welcome to her. I’m on my way.”
Chapter Eight
The Beer Belly Polka leered at me as I walked past the desk. “Hey, Kotter, I hear that blonde bombshell is making you jump through all sorts of hoops. We should have sent a man out for that job.”
“Yeah, Sarge, she’s making me jump, dive, do backflips, whatever.” I poked him in the famous belly. “But at least I can fit through those hoops, you know what I mean?”
“Kotter, I swear, one of these days I’m going to write you up!”
I left him, still quivering, and walked into Randie’s office. “Did I hear you and Cranshaw mixing it up again?” she asked.
“Affirmative. I stuck a finger in his gut. I feel like I just molested the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
Randie laughed before she could stop herself. “Cut it out, Kotter.”
“Sorry. What’s going on? Sam said there’s trouble.”
“There is.” Randie picked up a sheet of paper. “When Potter went to Papa de Ville’s condo this morning to ask him some more questions, there was a note taped to the door. Here’s a photocopy. The original’s already gone to the FBI.”
“The FBI?” I repeated. This was serious. I took the paper from Randie. Letters from newspapers and magazines had been cut out childishly and pasted to form the words:
m ONi C a SEL es got O F f eAsY.
There was no mistaking what the message meant. Monica Seles was the tennis player who was stabbed in the back by a deranged fan during a match in Germany. Whoever had a grudge against Papa de Ville was threatening to carry it out on his daughter.
“What do you think?” Randie asked.
I glanced at the cutouts again. “I think someone’s been reading too many Dick Tracy comics.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. It looks like this note was put together right in town. Most of the letters are in the type the Courier uses.”
“I noticed that, too.”
“So now what?”
“Now it gets complicated. Papa de Ville wants more security for Alie, but he doesn’t want her to know about the note. He says it would affect her tennis.”
“And we’re going along with that?”
“We have to. That’s what the mayor told the chief. The mayor will do anything to save this tournament.”
I winced. It was hard enough to protect someone without worrying about politics; with it, security was as risky as Russian roulette.
“What about telling Penn?”
“Not this time. There aren’t enough people who know about it. A leak would be too easy to trace.”
“Damn.”
“It’s going to put a lot of pressure on you. Stay with her, Kotter. I’ll make sure you have backup, but you’re the first line of defense.”
“I take it the detectives haven’t turned up anything.”
“No. Papa de Ville is still stonewalling, insisting he didn’t recognize his attackers. We’re asking questions around town, but Papa’s been gone a long time. It’s hard finding people who knew him, let alone people who are out to get him.”
“You want me to ask Alie about it?”
“Better not. Papa doesn’t
“What bullshit! Come on, Kotter, don’t be a prude.”
“No way.”
“You could go as my date.”
I looked in the rear view mirror and gave her the smirk. “You never give up, do you?”
“I’ll take that for a ‘yes.’”
“It wasn’t.”
Alie smiled dreamily. She seemed very sure of herself.
Sam Van Doren met us at the College Inn. I didn’t like how serious he seemed. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Trouble. Randie will tell you.”
Sam was nothing if not loyal. I wouldn’t get another word out of him if Randie hadn’t authorized him to speak. It was one of the reasons she trusted him. She knew she could always count on him to do what he was supposed to do.
I felt my heart start pumping with the fear and exhilaration that danger always brings. If you couldn’t get scared and enjoy it, you were in the wrong business.
“Okay, Sam. Alie’s all yours, and believe me, you’re welcome to her. I’m on my way.”
Chapter Eight
The Beer Belly Polka leered at me as I walked past the desk. “Hey, Kotter, I hear that blonde bombshell is making you jump through all sorts of hoops. We should have sent a man out for that job.”
“Yeah, Sarge, she’s making me jump, dive, do backflips, whatever.” I poked him in the famous belly. “But at least I can fit through those hoops, you know what I mean?”
“Kotter, I swear, one of these days I’m going to write you up!”
I left him, still quivering, and walked into Randie’s office. “Did I hear you and Cranshaw mixing it up again?” she asked.
“Affirmative. I stuck a finger in his gut. I feel like I just molested the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
Randie laughed before she could stop herself. “Cut it out, Kotter.”
“Sorry. What’s going on? Sam said there’s trouble.”
“There is.” Randie picked up a sheet of paper. “When Potter went to Papa de Ville’s condo this morning to ask him some more questions, there was a note taped to the door. Here’s a photocopy. The original’s already gone to the FBI.”
“The FBI?” I repeated. This was serious. I took the paper from Randie. Letters from newspapers and magazines had been cut out childishly and pasted to form the words:
m ONi C a SEL es got O F f eAsY.
There was no mistaking what the message meant. Monica Seles was the tennis player who was stabbed in the back by a deranged fan during a match in Germany. Whoever had a grudge against Papa de Ville was threatening to carry it out on his daughter.
“What do you think?” Randie asked.
I glanced at the cutouts again. “I think someone’s been reading too many Dick Tracy comics.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. It looks like this note was put together right in town. Most of the letters are in the type the Courier uses.”
“I noticed that, too.”
“So now what?”
“Now it gets complicated. Papa de Ville wants more security for Alie, but he doesn’t want her to know about the note. He says it would affect her tennis.”
“And we’re going along with that?”
“We have to. That’s what the mayor told the chief. The mayor will do anything to save this tournament.”
I winced. It was hard enough to protect someone without worrying about politics; with it, security was as risky as Russian roulette.
“What about telling Penn?”
“Not this time. There aren’t enough people who know about it. A leak would be too easy to trace.”
“Damn.”
“It’s going to put a lot of pressure on you. Stay with her, Kotter. I’ll make sure you have backup, but you’re the first line of defense.”
“I take it the detectives haven’t turned up anything.”
“No. Papa de Ville is still stonewalling, insisting he didn’t recognize his attackers. We’re asking questions around town, but Papa’s been gone a long time. It’s hard finding people who knew him, let alone people who are out to get him.”
“You want me to ask Alie about it?”
“Better not. Papa doesn’t
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