Free Murder on Olympus by Robert B Warren Page B

asked.
    “Some individuals only seem to respond to violence.”
    “I thought you didn’t like fighting.”
    Hermes smiled darkly. “This won’t be a fight, Mr. Jones.”
    We stared at each other for an interval. Motes of dust floated through the sunlight, the only movement in the room. Then I blinked and he was gone.
    Terror flooded me. I grabbed my gun and glanced around the office for something to aim at.
    Gloved hands appeared out of nowhere and caught my arm in a crushing grip. I thrashed wildly as I was lifted into the air and thrown across the office. I slammed into the wall and crashed hard onto my side. Air burst from my lungs.
    I struggled to my feet, coughing and wheezing. The next thing I knew, Hermes was pressing me against the wall. His fingers closed around my throat.
    “So, Mr. Jones,” he said, still smiling. “Have you started to rethink your position?”
    I pressed my gun under his chin. “Go to Hades.”
    Hermes laughed.
    Emilie came into the office wielding a large revolver. “I think you should leave now.”
    Hermes ignored her.
    My voice cracked with fear; it was embarrassing. “Let me go, before I put a bullet in you.”
    Hermes smirked. “Exactly what would that do, besides make me angry?”
    “It’d ruin that snazzy suit of yours,” I said.
    Hermes tightened his grip on my throat. I grunted.
    Emilie cocked her gun.
    No one made a move. Everything was silent except the hum of the air conditioner. Should I shoot him? Could I pull the trigger before he crushed my throat? I knew he was fast. But how fast?
    “I should kill you right now,” Hermes whispered.
    “But you won’t,” I said. “You need me.” The words seemed to grind against the inside of my throat.
    Hermes’s smile widened. He let me go and backed off slowly.
    Emilie moved away from the door, her gun still trained on him. “Are you all right, sir?”
    I nodded, clutching my throat. “Yeah.”
    Emilie covered me as I returned to my desk and sat down. My hand shook. The Desert Eagle felt glued to my palm.
    “I’ll ask you again,” Hermes said. “Have you reconsidered? Or shall I resume trying to convince you?”
    “Beat me up all you’d like. Answer’s still the same.”
    Hermes removed the gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “Are you sure this is the route you wish to take?”
    “Sure as I’ll be,” I said.
    Hermes reached into his pocket and produced a white business card. He placed it on my desk. “If you change your mind.”
    “Not gonna happen.”
    He chuckled and turned to leave. He stopped near the door and glanced over his shoulder. “A word of warning, Mr. Jones. There are consequences for disrespecting the Gods. Grave ones.”
    I pointed at the door.
    “Have a nice day.” Hermes tipped an invisible hat and walked out.
    Emilie lowered her gun and straightened. She cleared her throat. “Are you sure you’re all right, sir?”
    “Yeah. Thanks for the assist.”
    Emilie nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what was that all about?”
    I shook my head, putting my gun back into the drawer. “Nothing. Just Gods being Gods.”
    “Is there anything I can get you?”
    “An icepack would be nice. And some of those little chocolate cookies. The ones with peanut butter in the middle.”
    “Yes, sir.” Emilie left my office.
    I let out a long sigh and rubbed the nape of my neck. The adrenaline coursing through my body began to die away, and I suddenly felt tired. My back and throat felt like they were on fire. They’d feel worse tomorrow morning. But none of that bothered me. Physical pain was something I could deal with. What did bother me was the fact that I had gotten roughed up by a guy with plucked eyebrows and manicured hands.

17
    After I finished editing the footage of Collin, I swung by the Stone residence to review it with Bellanca. She and I sat in the living room across from the big-screen TV. Sunlight poured through the skylight.
    Bellanca watched the recording as if in a