Hybrid by Brian O'Grady

been useful. The screen stopped flashing and displayed the details about the three cars. The first was owned by a fifty-two-year-old Asian woman, and the other two were Hertz and Alamo rental cars with Florida registrations. A hunch told Patton that the person they were looking for probably wasn’t the fifty-two-yearold Asian woman.
    “Yaeger, stay with the car and position yourself so that you can watch both of those vehicles. Try to be as unobtrusive as possible. I’m starting to feel uneasy about this whole situation, so stay alert.” Patton had turned his bulk to stare directly at Yaeger, and the inexperienced officer nodded his understanding as earnestly as possible. Patton stifled a biting remark and turned to the other policeman. “What’s your name?”
    “Johnson, sir.” His voice was very nearly a squeak, and his eyes widened in fear.
    “It’s okay, Johnson, I’m not going to eat you. I had a detective for breakfast, so you’re good for another hour or so.” Patton wondered if Johnson was his first or last name and decided that he didn’t care. “You come with me. We’re going into that Sheraton to see if we can sweet talk someone into giving us the names of the drivers of those two cars.” He turned back to Yaeger. “Don’t be a hero. If you see someone approach those cars call me, or call for backup. Am I clear?”
    “Crystal, sir.”
    Johnson got out of the car. He was five-seven and a hundred and thirty pounds dripping wet. He had more than just a passing resemblance to Barney Fife; it was a likeness that had dogged him ever since he had enrolled in the police academy. Only he had never really felt it until he found himself trailing his new boss into the hotel lobby.
    Within ten minutes, Patton had the names and room numbers of both drivers. He couldn’t decide whether he appreciated the trust the desk clerk had shown him and his gold detective’s badge, or whether it was just another sign of how far away from home he really was. What a cynic you’ve be- come , he admonished himself, confusing good faith with na- ïveté . Still, he had always enjoyed the give-and-take with the more worldly and skeptical big city dwellers.
    Johnson appeared by Patton’s side and craned his neck to read the two names scribbled on the notepad. “Two middleaged males; a Texan and a Bulgarian. What do you suppose a Bulgarian is doing in Colorado Springs in the dead of winter?” Patton asked himself.
    “The academy,” Johnson offered meekly. “We get a lot of foreign visitors. Most of them are affiliated with the Air Force. Either theirs or ours,” he added for clarification.
    Patton looked up from his notepad at the slight policeman. “Well done, Johnson. Maybe I should have you follow me around and introduce me to all the local customs and peculiarities.” He tried to sound sincere, but it only seemed to confuse the officer. “The Texan makes more sense. I doubt someone would fly half way around the world just to kill Mr. Van Der.” Patton paused. He was investigating a murder now; something along his three-mile trek had changed his mind. He dwelled on that thought, but his subconscious hadn’t finished sorting through the situation. “Room 341,” he said simply and took off for the elevators.
    It took Patton about half a second to rule out Edwin Reese as Rucker’s witness/assailant/murderer. Reese was not the middle-aged male that the desk clerk had promised. He was older than God, and with the arthritic bend in his back, wasn’t even five feet tall.
    “Yes, that’s the car we rented,” the octogenarian said in a very loud voice. “My daughter is meeting us in Denver.” He was in no mood to be disturbed, or apparently, to put in his teeth, or put something on other than undershorts. A frail, white-haired woman appeared at Edwin’s side.
    “Please excuse Edwin. He is mostly deaf and completely deaf when he doesn’t wear his hearing aids. I’m his wife, Clara Reese.” Her voice was