Free Time Clock Hero by Spikes Donovan

point.”
    Phoenix reached out and shook Dr. Cain’s hand.  “You’ll call me?”
    “When I know more, I will.  Give me a day or two.  Don’t forget your phone.”  He pulled the gray metal case out and opened it, handing Phoenix back his phone with a smile and a nod.  “Good to see you again, Phoenix.”
    Phoenix walked away.  Before he slid the picture into his shirt pocket, he looked at it.  Five happy college students, all of them smiling, all of them with their arms locked together, each one ready to take on the world.  Mariela on the left, then Patrick, Eric, Dr. Cain, and Phillip Mercer on the right.  He carefully put the picture in his pocket and jogged back over to the library.
    He found Alaia sitting at the same table she’d used earlier, pouring over the pictures and news articles, scribbling notes in the margins where she could.  He came up behind her and laid the picture down in front or her.  “File this with the rest of that, will you?”
    Alaia turned and looked up.  “What, like I’m your personal assistant now?  Don’t you think that for a minute, do you hear me?”  She picked up the picture and looked at it.  “I got bios on everyone – pretty impressive.” She picked up a light-assisted magnifying glass and flipped it on.  Then she looked at the picture Phoenix had just laid down.  “Good looking kids, for white people, that is.”
    “You ready to go?”  Phoenix asked impatiently, as he started gathering up the documents into appropriate piles.
    Alaia looked at him and rolled her eyes.  “Now, If I’m going to be your personal assistant---”
    “You just said you weren’t.”
    “If I’m going to be your PA, you aren’t going to be filing my stuff, now are you?”  She looked down at the picture again.  “I don’t suppose you’re hungry for a bag full of Krystal’s are you?”
    Phoenix froze.  “Krystal’s?  Why … why would you ask that?  Did you say ‘Krystal’s’?”
    “Yeah, because I’m hungry.  I saw the coupon in Phillip Mercer’s top pocket and thought, yeah, I got one just like it in my car.”

Chapter 8
     
    Phoenix didn’t bother reaching for his thirty-eight.  He just looked into the Sam Cotton’s eyes and remained seated at the dinner table, with his paperwork spread out like somebody laying tile.  He stared at the man, thought he looked like he was in his sixties, and he raised a single eyebrow.  This guy would never pull the trigger.  “Do what you’re here to do or get out and stop bothering me.”
    Sam Cotton held the pistol nervously, the gun shaking in his hand, and his face, red and tired, looked like the face of someone who’d spent all day deciding whether or not to shoot Phoenix Malone.  His gray hair, slick and combed back, fell apart when she shook his head.  A few strands fell across his face and into his tired brown eyes.  “Where is she, Mr. Malone?  You’ve exactly one minute to tell me, or I shoot.  Or maybe I won’t.  But you don’t know, do you?”  He slowly pulled a chair away from the small dinner table, keeping his gun aimed at Phoenix’s chest.
    Sam Cotton, another Nashville used-to-be jet setter.  He had more money than he knew what to do with.  His wife, Roxy, fifteen-years too young for him, but just the kind of girl a wealthy relic needed to enhance his image, and bring him two within a few seconds of a heart attack, had spent a night or two in Phoenix’s apartment.  Though his marriage to Roxy was one of convenience, he’d never go behind her back; and he assumed, because she had promised, she wouldn’t either.
    “I guess it’ll do me no good to tell you we never slept together,” Phoenix said calmly and coldly.  “You reported her missing a couple days ago.  Said she never returned after her appointment with her doctor.  Why didn’t you shoot me then?”
    Sam Cotton kept his eyes focused on Phoenix’s face.  He reached into his sports coat, his hands shaking, and