Free Murder on Olympus by Robert B Warren

guilty smile. “To throw you off.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
    “I didn’t want you to be suspicious.”
    “Suspicious?” I said. “What in the world are you talking about?”
    Herc hesitated. “Jonesy, I have a favor to ask.”
    “What is it?”
    “Did you hear about Eileithyia’s murder?”
    I already didn’t like where this was going. I nodded slowly. “Yeah, what about it?”
    “I want you to investigate it.”
    Son of a . . . I knew he was up to no good. That explained the generosity. And the willingness to get on stage and make a fool of himself. It all made sense now.
    “That’s a big favor,” I said.
    Herc raked his fingers through his hair. “Hebe is pretty broken up about losing her sister. She wants justice.”
    “I’m sensing there’s more to this.”
    Herc nodded again. “Someone out there has the power to kill Gods. Until they’re captured, no immortal is safe.”
    “You’re worried about the killer coming after Hebe?”
    “Yeah.”
    I felt obligated to tell him about Hephaestus’s death, but decided against it. It would only exacerbate the situation. Besides, I already had that creep, Hermes, breathing down my neck. I didn’t need my best friend laying on the pressure as well.
    “I just want to keep her safe,” Herc said, just above a whisper. “You’ve got to help.”
    I shook my head. “Hermes already approached me about this, and I refused. I don’t involve myself with Godly matters. You know that. I’m sorry but I can’t do it.”
    Hercules spun toward me, his eyes wide and intense. Though I knew he’d never hurt me, I couldn’t help flinching. I fought the urge to look away.
    “If you won’t do it for the Gods, then do it for me,” he pleaded. “I’ll even . . . pay you. Whatever you want.”
    I stared down at my feet. “I don’t know, Herc . . .”
    “Please! Hebe is everything to me. If someone was out to kill Alexis, wouldn’t you want to stop them?”
    I chose not to answer that. “Alright, I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises.”
    Herc beamed. He pulled me into the grandfather of all bear hugs. I thought he was going to crush my spine.
    “Thanks, Jonesy!”
    I frantically tapped him on the back, hoping he’d let me go so I could breathe normally again.
    “Oh!” He released me.
    I fell to the ground, wheezing. Herc hauled me to my feet.
    “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” I squeezed out.
    “Sorry about that.” He flashed me a sheepish grin. “Guess I got a little excited.”
    “Only a little? Y’know, you could make a killing as a chiropractor.”
    Herc laughed. “Thanks again, Jonesy.”
    “Don’t thank me yet. I said I’d think about it.”
    Herc seemed not to hear. His grin widened. “Come on. Let’s get back to the bar. I’ll buy you a drink. Anything you want under five credits. How’s that sound?”
    I shook my head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m done for the night.”
    “You heading out?”
    “Yep.”
    Herc’s smiled faltered. “Oh, okay. See you later then.”
    I left without another a word.

15
    I woke up before dawn with a hangover. I had a massive headache, and nausea churned in my stomach. My mouth and throat were bone dry. It was as if I had swallowed a cup of sand. But as crappy as I felt, I knew things could’ve been a lot worse. Investigating the crime scene had burned off some of the alcohol.
    I shambled out of my bedroom, exhausted and feeling like I had to throw up. I hadn’t been able to get much rest. Two or three hours, if that much. The rest of the time I spent rolling around in the sheets, trying to get comfortable. For some reason, I can never sleep after a night of heavy drinking. Some people are snoring after two or three drinks. But not me.
    I fixed myself an Alka-Seltzer and sat down in front of the TV. I tried to watch Sanford and Son , but laughing made my headache worse, so I turned to Iron Chef . What would today’s secret