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I had my bikini on under my shorts and my T-shirt. I had a floppy hat, sunscreen, sunglasses, beach towel, plus all the usual other stuff in my tote bag. My doorbell bonged while I was searching for my flip-flops. I gave up the search and answered the door.
“You’re early,” I said to Morelli. And then I realized it wasn’t Morelli. It was Brody Logan with a large knife.
He jumped into my apartment, and I stumbled back.
“I want Tiki,” he said.
“I don’t have Tiki,” I told him. “I left him at a friend’s house.”
“I don’t believe you. What’s your friend’s name?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Tell me or I’ll cut you up into tiny bits.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I could do it,” he said. “I have this knife. It’s not just any old knife either. It’s a ceremonial knife.”
“It looks like a butcher’s knife.”
“It used to be a butcher’s knife, but now it’s a ceremonial knife on account of it’s being used for a righteous purpose. It’s like a holy tool now.”
I had my stun gun sitting on my kitchen counter. If I could get Logan to relax his guard and I could get to the stun gun, it would be my holy tool against his holy tool.
Logan craned his neck, looking around. “Where’s Tiki? I don’t see him.”
“I told you. He’s not here. How did you get here, anyway? And how did you find out where I live?”
“I googled you. You’re like famous. There were all these articles about how you burned down a funeral home, and how your apartment got firebombed.”
“The funeral home was an accident. And technically I didn’t start the fire.”
“Hey, I can totally relate. Like, I burned down a forest once, and it wasn’t my fault. We were just smokin’ some weed and next thing VROOOM forest fire.”
I took a step back, getting closer to my kitchen. “I thought you were homeless, living under the bridge. Did you take a cab here? Do you have a car?”
“No, man. I didn’t take a cab. Cabs cost mucho dinero. I’m saving my money to get Tiki and me back to Hawaii. I stole a car.”
“Clever,” I said. “Good thinking.”
He tapped the side of his head. “This ain’t my first rodeo.” I could see the flash of strobe lights projecting from the lot below us. Logan saw it too.
“Whoa, there must be an emergency,” Logan said. “Like a fire, or some old dude had a heart attack.”
He moved out of the small foyer into my living room and went to the window, and I grabbed my stun gun.
“It’s a police car,” Logan said. “And here comes a second. And they’re checking out a car. I bet there’s drugs in it. Or maybe it’s stolen. Man, this is so cool.” There was a moment of silence. “Uh-oh,” he said. “That’s my car they’re looking at. You’re gonna have to give me a ride back to the bridge.”
He turned and faced me, and I lunged at him with the stun gun. He shrieked and slashed at me with the knife. The tip caught me on the arm, and a bright red line instantly appeared from my elbow to my wrist.
Logan’s eyes went wide. “Oh jeez, I’m mega sorry. You need like a Band-Aid or something.”
What I needed was an entire box of Band-Aids. I didn’t think the cut was especially deep, but it was long and dripping blood on the carpet. I took my arm into the kitchen and wrapped a bunch of paper towels around it.
“Are you going to be okay?” Logan asked. “Like should I call 911?”
“Not necessary,” I told him. “It’s not that deep.”
