Runner-up 2

Charlie poured two more fingers of Dewar’s into his glass, took a sip and then carefully set it down on the polished dining room table.

“OK, let’s see. I have a gun, as does Ernesto. Falco has his political career, and Genie still has her good looks and a few of my credit cards.” He winked at Genie, who returned her classic pout.

“Now let’s figure a way for all of us to walk out of here a winner. Who wants to start the bidding?”

Ernesto patted the flash drive in his pocket and smiled. Sí, the smoking gun. I am starting with a full house, he thought to himself.

Falco twisted uncomfortably in his chair. He could feel the sweat running down his armpits and the center of his chest. His heart was pounding like a coked-out drummer in a rock band. He was also worried that it would affect the transmission of the small silver microphone taped under his flabby pectoral. He could only hope that the FBI tech agents were recording everything.

It had been the worst month of his life. When they walked into his office, the damn FBI read him his rights and told him he was facing 20 years to life, which he considered was basically the rest of it. So he rolled over like a dead cockroach and agreed to wear a wire. He hadn’t had a normal bowel movement since. And that call to Charlie. “C’mon over, we’ve got to talk,” with the agents standing over him. He had no choice. But Charlie had bought it, and now here he was, laying out the whole crazy scheme in front of them all, including the FBI.

“What a fool you are, Mr. Bonner,” Genie said, shaking her head. “Did you really think I didn’t know? Why, I’ve been entertained by that flash drive every night since you brought it home. All those silly men, parading around in their underwear with those little birds who could be their daughters. You should be as ashamed of yourself as them, taking me for a fool.”

Charlie’s face reddened and then blistered with anger.

“Why, you little worthless loser. If it hadn’t been for me you’d still be jumping into bed with every producer in Hollywood begging for 15 seconds on camera.”

With a newfound bravado, Falco suddenly stood up, ignoring the fact that he had two guns pointed at him.

“All right, everyone, let’s get back to discussing this civilly. I suggest that we listen to Charlie’s proposition first.”

Outside, the two gunmen had slowly made their way alongside Falco’s house moving toward the rear patio and entrance. They paused when one tapped the other, pointing to his radio earpiece. He listened for a moment and then whispered to the other.

“They just intercepted a call to Hauser. Pole Dancer convinced Palmieri to meet her here. At Falco’s.”

Jim Botting is a retired FBI agent who is “learning that it’s much more difficult to write fiction” than to report the facts.