Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

towels. The elevator doors opened and someone stepped off with too much luggage and a tired child.
    Praying silently that the civilians got the hell out of the way fast, Sam turned slightly, keeping his weapon hidden.
    “There’s not much privacy out here, is there?” Doug said to Peyton, glancing from the man’s bare chest to his bare feet and back. “Your choice, of course, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable talking to us inside?”
    “Uh. Yeah.” Peyton stepped back.
    Sam moved between Peyton and any potential weapon in the room. Though Sam didn’t reveal his gun, it was there, ready.
    “I don’t have much time,” Peyton said to Doug. “Got a plane at one o’clock and I’m not finished packing yet.”
    “This won’t take long at all, Mr. Hall,” Doug said, grabbing Peyton’s right wrist and pulling it behind his back in a swift movement. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Lee Mandel.”
    Peyton was too shocked to struggle when his left hand joined his right behind his back. Doug pulled out plastic restraints, wrapped them around Peyton’s wrists, and cinched down hard enough to bite into flesh.
    “What the hell?” Peyton said, staring over his shoulder at Doug. “There’s been some kind of mistake! I don’t even know this Medlon or Meddle or whatever the—”
    “Mandel,” Sam said curtly, holstering his Glock. “Lee Mandel.”
    With brisk efficiency, Sam went over Peyton for weapons while Doug did the Miranda chant—with variations required by recent court decisions—for the benefit of all the lawyers that were sure to come.
    “Mandel. Fine, whatever,” Peyton said. “But this is crap. I’m no saint, but I pay my taxes on time. You can’t just come in here and arrest me.”
    “Actually, we can,” Sam said, stepping back from Peyton. Then, to Doug, “He’s clean.”
    Peyton tried not to think about his hidden accounts in Aruba and the gems that were reworked after Kirby and Eduardo’s cousins got them from wherever they did. Thinking about it made his nerves skitter.
    “This is ridiculous,” Peyton said. “I want a lawyer right now .”
    Doug took Peyton to the phone, punched in the number he recited, and held the phone to his ear so that he could talk.
    While Peyton was whining to his lawyer, Sam dropped a search warrant on the coffee table and went to work.
    “Wait!” Peyton said when Sam opened the computer case. “You can’t do that!”
    “Tell him,” Sam said to Doug.
    “We also have a warrant to search this room and everything in it,” Doug said politely. “Would you like me to explain it to your lawyer?”
    “Fu—” Peyton stopped abruptly as it occurred to him that telling a federal agent to fuck off wasn’t the best way to present the case for his innocence. “At least tell me who the hell it is who died and whyyou’re framing me for his murder.” Then, into the phone, “Bob, you gotta help me. These clowns just aren’t listening!”
    The look on Peyton’s face said that he didn’t like the advice his lawyer gave him: Shut up.
    Belatedly, Peyton realized it might be a good idea. Nobody had talked about any overseas accounts, so this was all just a mistake. A scary one. Really, really scary.
    A mistake, that’s all. He’d never killed anyone. Robbed them, sure. Tipped off some bad dudes about where and when the pickings were good, yeah.
    But he hadn’t ever pulled the trigger, so he wasn’t guilty.
    Plastic ties cut into his wrists. His stomach heaved. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to go to Aruba, not some federal lockup where the only women he saw were in his dreams.
    “My lawyer wants to talk to you,” Peyton said through pale lips. Then, almost desperately, he leaned closer to Doug. “I’ve never killed anyone. You have to believe me!”
    Doug didn’t bother to answer. He put the phone against his own ear and started going through everything from the numbers on the warrants being simultaneously exercised in L.A. and Scottsdale, to the specific federal laws that had been violated in the death of Lee Mandel.
    Sam didn’t listen. He’d heard it all before, so he just kept on exercising the rights granted by the search warrant. He unzipped Peyton’s fat black computer case and pulled out the laptop. Though tempted, he set the machine aside for later investigation and began going through the multitude of zippered pockets that covered the inside and outside of the case. It took a lot of fiddling to be