Free Peak Oil by Arno Joubert

her palm from the heat scorch where she had gripped the gun.
    “Stay there, don’t move.” Neil strode to his kit bag. He tore off the medical bag Velcroed to the side and ripped it open. He removed a needle and pulled some disinfectant into the syringe. He gently took Alexa’s hand and injected the blister with the liquid. “Benzoin, it will make it dry up quicker and help the skin heal.”
    Alexa grimaced. “Ouch, shit.” She shook her hand and fetched her own medical bag. She removed a cotton swab and a small plastic bag from the bag, strode to the blood-spattered wall, and examined it closely. She wiped some of the blood off the wall with the swab and put it in the bag. “I’ll send this off for DNA testing; maybe they have someone in the database.”
    Neil shook his head and smiled. “That was amazing, Alexa. Where did you learn to move like that?”
    Alexa shrugged and went back to her chair. “The Legion.” She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and then opened them again. “He wasn’t trying to kill us.”
    Neil frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “Check the bullet holes.”  
    Neil examined the holes on the bed and then traded a knowing look with Alexa. The bullets would have missed them: both shots had been aimed at the bottom, to the side of the bed.  
    Definitely not kill shots.  

     

Alexa and Neil left Voelkner behind to clean up the mess. They had decided to take a drive to the police station to report the attack. Missy would probably need a case number to file for an insurance claim. They reasoned that they might be able to extract some more information from Harvey at the same time.  
    The roads were busy. People were hanging banners between lamp posts and banging signs into the grass next to the road: “Congratulations Andy Fitch —Texan Businessman of the Year” and “Tiger Fitch, Welcome Back.”  
    Alexa pulled into a parking lot in front of the police station and killed the engine. They entered the building, and it seemed even colder than yesterday, the temperature having been adjusted to the blast chill levels.  
    Tony looked up from his desk and immediately picked up the phone, as Neil guessed he was instructed to do whenever he saw the pair of Interpol agents. The man placed the phone back on the cradle and smiled at them. He wore a yellow Hawaiian floral shirt and a woolen scarf and seemed to be in a good mood. “Please take a seat. The deputy will be over in a minute,” he said, nodding toward the chairs in the waiting area.
    They needn’t have bothered. Deputy Dwight Harvey appeared from behind a divider at the back of the counter, and he waved them to his office. Harvey motioned to the chairs. “Please, sit.”
    “We had quite an evening,” Alexa said, sliding into the chair as she watched for any reaction.
    The deputy raised an eyebrow but kept quiet, waiting for her to continue. He blinked a couple of times and twitched nervously.
    Alexa pursed her lips. “Someone broke into our room at the Ocelot Inn and tried to shoot us.”
    He looked at them both. “He missed, I guess,” he said with a chuckle; then he cleared his throat and frowned, serious again.  
    Alexa folded her arms and sat back. “Obviously.” She cast a sidelong glance at Neil, who snorted.
    Harvey picked up his phone and started punching in a number. “I’ll send a trooper around, see if he can find any clues.”  
    Neil leaned forward and rapped the table with his knuckles. “Don’t bother. We already checked.”
    Alexa imagined Neil rapping Harvey’s head and smiled.
    Harvey held up the phone in front of him and then shrugged. “Okay, you guys are the professionals.” He cradled the phone on the receiver and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his gut. “So what can I do you for?”
    Alexa nodded her chin toward the window. “What are all the banners for?”
    Harvey smiled and sat up straight. “Haven’t you heard? Mr. Fitch is paying us a visit.” Harvey made a