Chapter Eleven

Win met Myron in the lobby. They hopped in the SUV and started toward the airport. Myron filled Win in on his conversation with Spark Konners. Win listened in silence. When Myron mentioned feeling bad about their franchise-coach deception, Win frowned, mimed sticking something under his chin, closed his eyes, gently sawed on his air violin.

"Funny," Myron said.

"Do you think Spark is lying to you?"

"I think he's being less than forthcoming."

"Me too."

"Not much we can do about it."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," Win said.

The car drove down the Strip and through the gate that protected the tarmac for the private jets. Myron saw Win's parked out to the right. The lights were on inside.

"Where is Spark?" Myron asked.

"Right there."

Another SUV pulled through the gate.

"How did we beat him here?"

"He hit traffic."

"It's the same route we took," Myron said.

"Come. Let's say goodbye to our guest, shall we? We can even apologize if you'd like."

Myron looked at Win. "You have another idea, don't you?"

"I'm taking a page from your playbook," Win said.

"Meaning?"

Win didn't reply. He got out of the car. Myron didn't like where this was going, but he also knew that sometimes when the "WinMobile" was swerving all over the road out of control, it was best to stay out of the way.

Win started toward the SUV carrying Spark. Spark got out. Again Myron was surprised by the sheer size of him. It wasn't just the height. His chest was broad enough to handle a paddleball match. Myron watched Win head toward the big man with his hand extended for a handshake.

"I'm sorry this didn't work out," Win said.

Spark looked as though he was on the verge of losing it. "I just want to get home."

"I understand."

Win, too, was a good athlete. He wasn't a pro-level one like Myron, but he made up for it with constant training and a detachment that made him border on the genius. He had learned self-defense, speed, strength, planning, coordination, takedowns, maneuvers, strikes, weaponry from literally the world's best teachers. He planned fast. He saw the angles. He coldly and mercilessly took advantage of every opening.

He also had remarkably fast hands.

Spark was carrying his phone. One second the phone was in his hand, the next moment, Win had snatched it away.

"Hey! What the—"

Win looked at the phone. "As I feared, the phone is locked. Facial recognition and all that."

"Are you kidding me?" Spark had had enough. "Give me that goddamn phone or I'll bust you wide open."

Win grinned at the much, much larger man. Myron spotted the look on Win's face. He didn't like it.

Myron said, "Win."

Spark stepped closer. It was always a mistake to crowd your opponent. Even if you're the bigger man. You think it's going to intimidate. It may. But it won't intimidate those who know how to fight.

Just the opposite in fact.

"I don't give a shit how rich you are," Spark said. "Give me back my phone, asshole. Now."

Win didn't move back a step. He craned his neck, looked up, and said, "I don't think so."

Myron again said, "Win."

Spark Konners was turning red with anger. His hands formed two sledgehammer fists. Win wanted that, Myron knew. Anger made you stupid. Spark was fed up. He had been insulted and humiliated by the little rich guy standing in front of him. The little rich guy had crossed a line. Heck, more than one line.

"Spark," Myron said. "Don't."

But Spark was too far gone. He loaded up for a big roundhouse swing that, if it connected, would have probably toppled a skyscraper. It didn't connect, of course. Win saw it coming a mile away. He sidestepped, waited for the precise moment Spark was fully off balance, then Win swept Spark's leg.

Spark dropped hard to the tarmac.

Win moved fast. He grabbed Spark's hair, pulled his face to the phone, let go of the hair, stepped back.

The phone was unlocked now.

In a blind fury, Spark got to his hands and knees and bull-rushed Win. Win waited until the very last moment, slid to the left, tripped Spark.

Again the big man fell hard.

Myron moved toward Konners, tried to put himself between the two men to prevent more physical confrontations. Win had so far been only defensive. If Spark tried again, that might change.

Win scrolled through Spark's phone. "Looks like you made a phone call after you left the hotel suite, my dear lad. Four-oh-six area code. Who were you calling?"

"None of your goddamn business."

"Hold on." He pressed a few more buttons. "Four-oh-six… that's in Montana."

Spark got to his hands and knees. He was planning another attack. Still staring at his phone, Win took out a large handgun and pointed it in Spark's direction.

"I'm a pretty good shot," Win said. "But you can test that if you so wish."

Myron tried once again. "Win."

Win sighed. "Your warnings are like your appendix—they're either superfluous or they hurt you."

Myron frowned. "Seriously?"

"Not my best analogy, I admit." Still reading off his phone, Win said, "Tracking the number now. Hmm. Got it. According to the location towers, the phone is currently emanating from a Budget Inn in someplace called Havre, Montana." Win glanced toward Myron. "Get on the plane. The flight to Havre is a little over two hours. I'll pin-drop you the phone's location."