The cracked peephole was my first clue that something was terribly wrong.
The door was forced open, so I took the .22 out of my holster and then did my best NYPD impersonation. Turns out I was too late.
The room was a mess–and so was the body.
Of course “they” didn’t find what they wanted, I had the Pasha Stone in my pocket the whole time.
Now, not only did I have to get the stone back to my client–I had to avenge a death.
