Eleventh Hour

weren’t so old, I just might be interested.”
    “Yeah, you’re right, sir,” Dane said. “I’d guess she’s all of seventy-five.”
    “More like seventy-seven,” Captain DeLoach said. He slipped the small Beretta into the pocket of his jacket. He was wearing the sports jacket over his blue pajama tops. “I’ll bet she was hot when she was younger.”
    “Maybe so,” Dane said, and thought of his own grandmother, who’d died some years before.
    Suddenly, Captain DeLoach said in a soft, singsong voice, “I can feel him. He’s near now. Yes, very close and coming closer. I always could tell when he was near. Isn’t that interesting?”
    “Your son Weldon, Captain DeLoach, when exactly was he born? What year?”
    “The year of the rat, yes, that was it. I really got a good laugh out of that. A rat.” The old man threw back his head and laughed out loud. The pool match stopped. Slowly, all the old folks began turning to look at Captain DeLoach laughing his head off. “Or maybe,” he said finally, wheezing deep in his chest, “it was the horse, yes, that was it. The year of the horse.”
    Daisy called out, “Hey, tell us the joke.”
    Captain DeLoach’s head fell forward and he gave a soft snore.
    Dane started to shake the old man, then drew back his hand. “I should take that gun,” he said to Nick. “I really should.”
    “I’ll bet you that Velvet would just buy him another one.”
    Dane nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go wait with Sherlock and Savich.”
    An hour later there was still no sign of Weldon DeLoach. Everyone stayed at their stations until it was dark. Then Detective Flynn and Gil Rainy called everyone in.
    Sherlock said, “All a hoax. A distraction, to get us all focused on Captain DeLoach and away from him.”
    Gil Rainy said, “You feeling okay, Dane? You look better today than you did yesterday.”
    Dane just nodded. “Arm feels better. All I am is depressed. Captain DeLoach seemed fine, then he was laughing so hard I thought he’d choke on his own breath, then he was just gone, asleep, making light little snores like women make.”
    “I don’t snore,” Nick said. “You’ve slept close enough to me to know I don’t snore.”
    Everyone turned to stare at her.
    “Bite me,” Nick said to everyone in general, and stalked off to the Taurus.

    The phone rang in Dane’s Holiday Inn room at ten o’clock that night.
    “Yeah?”
    “Dane, Savich here. Captain DeLoach—no, don’t worry, he isn’t dead, but he fired a gun at someone. Maybe it was Weldon, but nobody knows. When the staff got into Captain DeLoach’s room, he was on the floor, unconscious, the gun beside him, and there was a big hole in the wall just behind that small sofa. The glass sliding doors weren’t locked but they usually aren’t, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
    “Is Captain DeLoach going to make it?” Dane asked.
    “I think so,” Savich said. “I couldn’t get exact information about his condition, only just what I told you. The people there are on top of it. We’ll go out there tomorrow.”
    “What about the two cops Detective Flynn had out there covering Captain DeLoach’s room?”
    “They didn’t see a thing. Didn’t hear a thing until the shot.”
    Dane cursed again, real low so Savich wouldn’t hear him. “He’s our only lead, Savich.”
    “Maybe not. Now, get a good night’s sleep. Sherlock says to tell you that tomorrow you’ll be ready to rock and roll again.”
    Dane grunted into his cell phone, laid it on the bedside table, looked over at Nick, and told her what had happened.
    “I’ve decided,” Nick said slowly as she handed Dane two pills and a glass of water, “that Weldon DeLoach doesn’t exist. Maybe he’s just a name Hollywood made up, someone they’ve all created for us like some huge Hollywood production, an epic that pits reality against art, and reality loses. You know, lots of money, all big stars, lots of hoopla, a cast of thousands, murder and mayhem.”
    “You know,” he said once he’d swallowed the pills, “that’s something to think about.”
    “No,” she said, “it isn’t. I’m just talking, all blah, blah. I guess I’m just really tired, Dane.”
    She turned off the overhead light in his room and went through the adjoining door into her own.

TWENTY-EIGHT
    BEAR LAKE
    “The doctor told me it wasn’t an accident,” Mr. Latterley said, looking distressed. His bald pointed head, Nick saw, was shiny with sweat.