Free Fontanas Trouble by T C Archer Page B

followed by the sound of crumpling paper.
    “All you mugs are witnesses.”
    Fontana chuckled. Brent had
watched too many old movies.
    “One hundred bucks.” Brent
stepped into view as he crossed to the cue rack on the wall. He selected a cue,
sighted along its length, and inspected the tip like a pro. “I’ll break.”
    “No,” said Mr. Gravelly Voice.
“We lag for break.”
    Brent turned. “What’s that?”
    Raucous laughter broke out, and
someone said, “You have a pigeon, Mac.”
    “Go ahead, you break, then,”
Brent said.
    Fontana needed to get a look at
the hallway to the right. Jimmy’s office had to be in that direction, but she
would have to open the door wider and expose herself to anyone who moved into
the line of sight from the poolroom or any guards lounging at the end of the
hall.
    A crack of colliding balls
indicated the game had started. She eased open the door and peeked around the
doorjamb. No guards stood in the hall at any of the three doors right outside
the men’s room: one to her right, one on her left, and one straight ahead. She
frowned. Those three rooms weren’t on the plans. But then, the men’s restroom
hadn’t been either. She guessed the room beside the men’s room had to be the
ladies’ room, and the one on the left was probably a storage closet. She hoped
she was right. If she got them caught, Brent would never let her live it down.
    Fontana glanced toward the
poolroom to find no one in her line of sight, then hurried to the door at the
end of the hall. She turned the handle and stepped inside.
    Jimmy the Bull looked up from
behind a wide desk that was neat enough to belong to a corporate executive. A
banker’s lamp with a green shade sat in the right-hand corner, and a
twenties-style telephone lay beside it, along with a cigar box and ashtray—all
of which she recognized from watching old movies. Sitting on the left side of
the desk was a pair of dice and something with a dozen buttons and a lever with
a handle sticking out the side.
    “Who the hell are you?” Jimmy
demanded.
    Fontana grinned. Seemed the Bull
didn’t like visitors.
    He looked exactly like his online
photo. He had his jet-black hair slicked back and had flabby jowls like a
Greduvian bulldog. He wore a black-striped vest, a fat, puffy necktie, and a
blood red dress shirt.
    “What do you want?” he growled.
    She closed the door and pulled
the pool cue from her waistband. “I’m here for the codes. Hand them over, or I
get rough.” When in Rome…
    He stared for a long moment, then
laughed. A rush of adrenaline jumpstarted her heart. He wanted to be pummeled
by a lead-filled stick? This was what she’d hoped for.
    Fontana surveyed the room. Three
wooden cabinets sat against the left wall, alongside a floor lamp. A coatrack
was located beside the door, and a guest chair faced Jimmy’s desk. The chair.
Fontana tightened her grip on the pool cue and took two steps forward as she
swung the heavy end at the chair. The impact stung her hands but made a
satisfying crack. The chair slid across the floor and hit the wall.
    The Bull stopped laughing. “Get
out before I mess up your pretty face.”
    She brought the cue down on his
banker’s lamp. The green lampshade dented. The lamp flipped end over end onto
the floor.
    He jerked the desk drawer open.
His hand came up aiming a revolver at her. “Dames like you need to be taught a
lesson. I’ll give you to my boys—after I finish with you.”
    Fontana lifted a brow. Beam and
explosives were today’s lethal weapons of choice. She’d never seen a revolver.
The old weapons were ass backward. Instead of an explosion at the target, the
explosion was inside the weapon—which didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. But this
was all a game. Still, it might be entertaining to hear that prop gun go
poof .
    She pointed the pool cue at him.
“How about I break your legs?” Fontana couldn’t resist another grin. She was
really getting the hang of things.
    He fired.