Sudden Death by David Rosenfelt Page B

little, but it’s nothing that will stop him from kicking the shit out of me, if that is his mission.
    I’m so intent on his motions that for a moment I don’t realize that he is still talking. “… has something that my boss wants. So you get it from him, and maybe we can let you live.”
    “What?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
    “I’m talking about your client. You get it from him, give it to me, and we’ll be fine.”
    This is a little bewildering. “Get what?”
    “Ask your client. He’ll know. And tell him if he doesn’t come up with it, we can get to him in prison.”
    “Why don’t you tell me what it is?” I ask, and I can immediately tell that I’m starting to piss him off. He’s won the strategic maneuvering game, and I can’t make it to the door. He starts to move toward me, more threatening now, and I back up toward the window, finally leaning against the wall next to it.
    One moment I see him coming toward me, and the next moment my view is blocked by Marcus Clark, standing between us and facing Ugly. I assume he came in through the door and walked across the room, but he managed to do it without either of us noticing him. I know this because I see a flash of surprise on Ugly’s face, but no real concern. He’s not afraid of Marcus, which makes him an idiot. But he does seem to realize that Marcus will be somewhat more difficult to contend with than I am.
    “Step aside, friend,” Ugly says.
    Marcus, ever the gregarious conversationalist, just stands there and doesn’t say a word.
    “I’m not going to tell you again,” Ugly says, and then without waiting for a response, pulls his fist back to take a swing at Marcus. It is safe to say that Ugly is not a Rhodes scholar.
    Marcus’s movement is so quick as to be imperceptible, but the thud of his fist hitting Ugly’s stomach echoes through the office. It is followed by a gasp and then gagging, as Ugly doubles over in stunned agony. As he leans over, Marcus picks him up over his shoulder, so that the very large Ugly is completely off the ground.
    “Put him down, Marcus.” The voice is Laurie’s, and I look up to see that she has just joined the party. “Come on, Marcus, put him down.”
    Marcus looks over at her, nods, then walks a few feet and drops Ugly out the open double windows. I hear a thud as he lands and some screams from people one floor below on the street.
    “I think she meant to put him down in the office,” I say, but Marcus seems unconcerned with his mistake.
    Laurie and I go to the window and look down. Ugly had crashed through one of the awnings above the fruit stand, crushing it. He then landed in a display of cantaloupes, which I hope were ripe enough to have cushioned his fall.
    As startled bystanders come over, Ugly staggers to his feet, still apparently more hurt from the effects of Marcus’s punch than his fall. He makes it to a nearby parked car, opens the door, and falls into the passenger seat. The driver, who was waiting for him, pulls out.
    “I’ll be right back,” I say. “I’ve got to go buy some cantaloupes.”
    I go downstairs to pay Sofia Hernandez, the owner of the fruit stand, enough money to take care of the damage and aggravation. She’s amazingly calm about it, as if thugs falling from the sky are an unfortunate but expected part of doing business.
    I’m ready to go back upstairs when Pete Stanton pulls up, along with two other cars with patrolmen. Pete comes over to me, a grin on his face. “When I heard on the radio that the guy came flying out of your office window, I had to take the call.”
    “Thanks for caring,” I say, and suggest that he come upstairs. “Marcus is up there.”
    Pete nods in understanding. “Ah, the human launching pad.”
    Pete comes up, and Laurie and I watch with barely concealed amusement as he tries to question Marcus. If a transcript could be done of this interview, and there were a thousand words spoken, Pete would be shown to have spoken nine