Free Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1) by Ted Minkinow Page A

for a family of twelve.  Those in Germany can hold a single meal for a fasting Buddhist monk.  I gave up trying to keep unimportant stuff—like any member of the healthy food pyramid—in the tiny box.  Besides, I only knew how to cook one kind of meal anyway.  The liquid kind.  Solid food was found at the bratwurst stand in the town walking area.
    I grabbed one of the dozen cold bottles and shut the door quickly.  Didn’t want to risk altering the temperature of fine German pilsner once it’s reached perfection.  When I popped the cap I got that serenity-inducing hiss of escaping air.  I got something else, too.  And it sounded just like my doorbell. Maybe there was something wrong with the bottle. 

 
    Chapter 9
     
    Not a doorbell in the sense of an electronic chime due to a button outside my front door, but rather the phone thing that someone outside can ring.  There’s a green button on the device.  Push it and you give access to whoever rang you.  No clue at all who wanted in on a Friday evening. 
    You might think it was a babe returning for another try.  First of all, thanks your confidence in me…but not a chance.  The only person to ring the thing in three years was a Deutsche Telekom dude who’d arrived to hook up my phone.  And three years seemed reasonable expiration for the statute of limitations governing expectations for the return of a forgotten tool.  So, probably not Deutsche Telekom.
    I considered not answering.  Pretending like I wasn’t home.  Kind of ridiculous when you think about it.  Of course I didn’t need to pretend not to be home to ignore the noise. I mean, no law exists that says you must answer the buzzer.  Though, give the EU time and they’ll probably cook one up.
    It crossed my mind the person mind be a blood feud Centurion.  Unlikely, because that sort of person wouldn’t employ so courteous an announcement. A Centurion would more likely rip the door off the hinges or break through the third story window like a supernatural Delta Force.  Still, I could feel my heart quicken and the battle lust inching up my spine as I picked up the handset.
    “Yes?”
    “Hey, y’all up there?”
    It took me a moment to place the voice.  Should have known immediately, though I tend to associate voices—even familiar ones—with places.  Like, you might not recognize your mother’s voice in a strip bar.  OK, maybe a bad example.  Anyway, I’d never heard that distinct southern twang at my apartment.  I responded.
    “Ah, yes.” 
    The use of y’all worried me a little.  Did the person mean y’all as in Sparky, Helmet, Karl, and me or y’all as in just me? 
    “Well, let us in.”
    Bingo.  J-Rod.  The same J-Rod who was supposed to be crawling pubs in Wiesbaden with the rest of the bagger gang.  Given the time it takes to for public transportation to cover the distance between the commissary and my flat, he must have left about the time I arrived home.  It didn’t make sense.
    “Us?” I said as if the two letters could combine to form another meaning. 
    A sudden spray of icy tingles covered my arm.  I glanced back and saw Helmet standing at my shoulder and Karl still in his arms.  The ringing must have awakened Karl and somehow the little idiot understood he might get some more visitors.  Jackpot night for Karl. He relieved the pressure of his boiling excitement with happy sneezes.  Icy tingles on my arm?  Dog snot. 
    Helmet put the little freak down.  Not knowing what else to do other than kick myself for not pretending I wasn’t home, I pushed the green button.  Karl and I heard the loud click below as J-Rod and “us” came through the exterior door.
    I banged on the bathroom door. 
    “Guests, Sparky.  Get dressed.”
    The shower ceased and my mind saw him reach for the only towel available.  My towel.  The selfish jerk.  Him, not me, BTW.  I walked back to the door to let J-Rod and us in and stepped in something cold and