Hotline to Murder

Vegas for a while. I just might take a run up there. My car needs the exercise anyway. What’s your e-mail address?” He added, “Keeping in mind that you’re not going to be the one to meet him.”
    “Are you sure you want to do this? That’s a long drive for probably nothing.”
    “You’re the one who wants to follow up every lead.”
    “Yeah, but…”
    Tony was surprised at Shahla’s reluctance. It took him several minutes of talking before she agreed that this might be a good idea. But all at once her face lost its frown, and she smiled, like clouds parting to let the sun shine.
    She said, “Okay, you’re right. We need to check this out.”
    The first part of her e-mail address was “writeon,” which was gender-neutral. Having the word “write” in it didn’t hurt, either. Both of Tony’s addresses, business and personal, had “tony” in them, so they agreed to use Shahla’s. Shahla was able to log into her e-mail from Patty’s computer.
    Tony said, “You’re the writer. Compose a note to him that he can’t resist. Tell him you’d like to meet with him on Saturday afternoon. Let him name the place.”
    He watched as Shahla worked. She wrote fast and confidently and then made a few changes until she was satisfied: “Hi, Paul. I have read and enjoyed the poems on your website. They have spirituality that I find lacking in today’s poets. As I read them, I am drawn into an ethereal world of promise. I would love to meet you. I heard from another one of your admirers that you live in Las Vegas. Is this true? It so happens that I will be in Las Vegas on Saturday. Can we get together in the afternoon? That would be fantastic. Name the time and place. Yours, Sally.”
    “‘Spirituality’ and ‘ethereal world of promise’? What does all that mean?”
    “Not a thing,” Shahla said with a smile. “But poets love big words.”
    “You’re too smart for your own good. Just remember, if he should happen to reply to this, I’m the one who’s going to meet him, not you.”
    “Of course,” Shahla said, her eyes wide with innocence. “I never thought anything else.”

    CHAPTER 13
    As Tony opened the back gate to the small patio of his townhouse, he saw that all the downstairs lights appeared to be on. Then he heard explosions through the open sliding door and figured that Josh must be watching a war movie on his big-screen TV. He heard raucous laughter and knew that Josh had some of his friends over. On a Monday night.
    This had happened before, and Tony thought he had put a stop to it. The rule was that Josh could have friends over on Friday or Saturday nights, but not the other nights. Tony had hinted that he would make an exception for a well-behaved woman, as long as Josh and the woman did whatever consenting adults do behind the closed door of Josh’s bedroom, but Josh never seemed to have women over anymore. Was this the same Josh who had tried to date every coed at the University of Michigan?
    Time for action. Tony slid open the screen door and entered the townhouse. He marched through the family room, down the short hallway, and into the living room. The scene was much as he had anticipated. Josh reclined on the reclining chair with a can of beer in his hand. Two men sat on the couch, each with his own can of beer. They were all casually dressed, in jeans and T-shirts touting athletic teams or running events that they undoubtedly hadn’t participated in. If they were like Josh, their main exercise was elbow bending.
    Spilled potato chips littered the carpet and were in danger of becoming a permanent part of the weave. The ubiquitous cooler sat on the floor at Josh’s side. Tony glanced at the screen of the television set and recognized a scene from the movie, Saving Private Ryan . Nobody saw him for a few seconds. All eyes were intent on the screen. He cleared his throat, between explosions.
    Josh turned his head toward Tony and said, “Noodles. You’re home from the Hotstuff Line. The hero returns to collect his reward for valor.”
    Tony knew what was coming and stepped aside as Josh tossed a can of beer to him, so that most of the ice water flying in formation with it missed him as he reached out and deftly caught it with one hand. He had always had good hands. If he had only been taller and about twice as fast, he could have been a wide receiver. He popped open the beer and took a swig.
    Josh aimed his remote at the TV and put the movie on Pause. “Noodles, I want you