Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(83)

“No. He was my lifesaving coach last summer. I snuck into this country club when I was trying to learn how to swim the fly and got roped in to his course.” He looks at me. “Remember?”

“Yeah. I also remember you telling us he was a sadistic bastard.”

Matt scratches his hairy arm. “He wasn’t so bad. We ended up getting along okay, but he won’t think twice about beating the piss out of us if he finds out what we’re up to.”

“I could probably take him,” Nick says, looking down at his hairy self. “Although the costume might make things interesting.”

“Why is he here now?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Matt shrugs. “I guess he has to do something during the off-season.”

“Perhaps you have chewed off more than your head,” Ulf says.

The waiter trembles. “I’m s-sorry. I just thought —”

“This is your first mistake. Stop thinking. And start listening.” With that, Ulf shoves the waiter back into the kitchen through the saloon doors and follows right on his heels.

“Here’s our chance,” I say, pushing away from the door.

I quickly skulk past the kitchen and turn down the hall. Matt and Nick shadow me as we creep toward Rico’s birthday party. The doors to the reception room are only fifty yards away.

And just as I’m thinking we’re going to make it, someone clears his throat behind me.

“May I help you?”

Matt, Nick, and me freeze.

I turn around slowly to see Ulf looming there, his hands tucked behind his back.

“We’re, um . . .” I try to clear the thick clump in my throat. “We’re here for the . . . Rico Petrelli party? We’re the . . . entertainment? The . . . Singing . . . Zombie . . . Monkey Brothers.”

“No one mentioned any”— Ulf looks us up and down, his eyes narrowed —“singing monkeys to me.” His suit is so tight on him that it’d take just one hard flex for him to rip through the fabric like the Incredible Hulk.

“That’s because,” Matt says, lowering his voice a couple of octaves, “it’s a surprise. We’re Rico’s grandkids. He thinks we aren’t going to be able to come. But we’re here now.”

“Monkeys are Great-grandpa’s favorite animals,” Nick adds.

If I wasn’t so terrified that he’d kill me, I’d smack Nick. Great-grandpa? The dude’s only sixty years old!

But just like that Ulf’s shoulders relax. “Well, thank you, my lucky charms,” he says. “Why did you not mention this in the very first place? Finally, we will have some family members at this celebration. Perhaps you can increase the mood. It is like someone died and went to heaven in there.” He snaps to attention again. “Follow me. I will show you the way.”





“WOULD YOU LIKE FOR ME that I introduce your entrance?” Ulf asks when we arrive at the door to the Amethyst Room.

“No,” I say, my breath shaky. “We don’t want to ruin the element of surprise.” My temples start to throb, and my left eye begins to twitch. If I had a communicator, I would so call Scotty on the Enterprise to have him beam me up right now.

“Okay. If that is how you wish.” Ulf cracks open the door and peeks inside. “Someone is giving a speech right now. You will go in after the man is finished.”

Through the opening, I can see that the room is packed with hundreds of miserable-looking people. Old and young alike. Everyone dressed in party clothes, their eyes glazed over as they watch a cauliflower-nosed man standing on a riser with a glass of red wine in his hand give a speech.

I scan the crowd and see Evelyn, sitting at a table near the front of the room. Chatting to an elderly couple. Stuffing her face with food. Her Nashira-jacket chains jangling. Hardly inconspicuous.

And there’s Val and Coop standing in the corner, videotaping the whole affair.

And — oh, God — there’s Hunter and Leyna, loitering near the back. Jesus Christ.

“Well, Rico,” the speaker drones, “as everyone in this room can attest, you and I have not always seen eye to eye over the years. In fact — if we’re being perfectly honest — it’s safe to say that I am not your biggest fan. But, as your employees — I mean, guests — would likely agree, if you had to choose between making friends and making money, you’d take money every time.”

“Damn straight!” a grumpy, Mr. Clean look-alike in a tuxedo calls out, raising a tall glass of whiskey. “Friends might kiss your ass, but cash will clothe it!”

“Ah, yes.” The speaker forces a smile. “Another witty Rico-ism. Because we haven’t heard enough of those over the decades. Anyway.” He sighs. “There really isn’t much more I have to say, and I see our food is being served, so I’ll just sign off.” He raises his glass of wine and nods. “Happy birthday, Rico.”

“Fuck you very much, Larry!” Rico hollers. “I should have fired you when I fired your whore wife.”

There’s a scattering of uncomfortable laughter. A few people clap awkwardly.

And then everyone starts to eat.

Ulf turns to us. “If you are all ready.” He thrusts his hand toward the room. “The show must go on the road.”