Runner-up 2

“Well?” Genie demanded, angrily. She was staring at Falco, but talking mostly to her husband.

Bonner ignored her. For a B-actress she was putting on quite a performance. He had a new appreciation for his unpredictable wife, and he pitied poor Ernesto, who didn’t.

“Well what?” Falco shrugged, careful not to nudge Bonner’s gun.

“Your wife,” Genie said, in a tone that matched her infamous pout. “Aren’t you going after her?”

“Your husband,” Falco motioned sideways with the slightest nod of his head, “might not think that’s such a great idea.”

Bonner couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The congressman was blaming him for that husbandly cowardice? Not a chance.

“Go ahead, Tony.” Bonner stepped back and leveled the gun at Ernesto. “Go after her. I’m sure she’ll forgive all those pathetic excuses for a marriage you’ve been giving her. It’s not like she left you here at gunpoint to chase after some guy named Harry.”

“Hermann,” Genie corrected.

Bonner rolled his eyes.

Ernesto moved imperceptibly, an inch closer to Genie, and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He motioned toward the monitor. “Mr. Falco can watch it live on the big screen.” Ernesto glanced up at the monitor, then back at Bonner, whose eyes flitted back and forth between the gun on Genie and the monitor on Evelyn Falco.

Evelyn was kneeling beside Hauser, inspecting his bleeding shoulder. Hauser reached up and touched her face, talking fast. She leaned down and kissed him, then helped him to his feet.

Falco pushed back his chair and stood. “But he’s just some lousy writer! I’m a congressman, for Christ sake!”

The buzzer from the gate froze Falco. He glanced over at the driveway monitor and frowned. “What the hell is that?”

Hans was leaning against the wrought iron, jabbing a finger at the intercom. Blood soaked through his neck bandage, and he leaned awkwardly on his good leg. It was his first time to Falco’s mansion. He hoped to God it would be his last. Rich people made him uncomfortable. Especially rich politicians. And this kind of politician was the worst. A weak, pathetic shill, and one of Palmieri’s favorite pawns.

But Hans knew the congressman frequented Jumbo’s Clown Room -- Carmen’s Clown Room. He also knew the congressman had a soft spot for the tough little pole dancer.

Which is why he kept pressing the damn intercom. Carmen had to be looking for help. She’d gone out the window barely clothed. Not to mention, he’d caught her with a solid right cross. She’d need more than new clothes. She’d need a full make-over. She’d also need somewhere safe to hide. The congressman would know how to find her. That’s what the man paid all that money for.

Accessibility.

Hans’ broken leg sent a cavalry of pain up his back. He punched the intercom with a fist. If someone didn’t open the gate soon he was going to start shooting.

“After years of criticism and rejection letters,” Shaun Morey is “deeply humbled by this experience.”