Suckers - J.A. Konrath

and a pair of eyes stared out at me, and whoever belonged to those eyes asked for a password.
“Tom sent me,” I said.
“That’s not the password.”
“Tom didn’t say there was a password.”
“Tom who?”
“Tom,” I improvised, “from Accounting.”
“How is Tom?”
“Good. Just got over a cold, still kind of congested.”
“It’s great you know Tom, but I’m not supposed to let you in without a password.”
I was tempted to give him a Three Stooges eye poke through the slot.
“Look,” I reasoned, “why else would I be down here?”
“I have no idea. Maybe you got lost.”
“I’m wearing the robe.” I did a little sashay to emphasize the fact.
“Maybe you’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I don’t have a badge. You want to frisk me to check?”
“No. You smell like pee-pee.”
I set my jaw. “Doesn’t anyone ever forget the password?”
The eyes shrugged. “Sure. Happens all the time.”
“So what happens then?”
“I ask them for the back-up password.”
I drew my Magnum, jammed it in the slot.
“Is the back-up password open the fucking door or I’ll blow your head off?”
“Yep that’s the password.”
He opened the door. I considered smacking password boy in the head, and it seemed like a
good idea, so I gave him a little love tap with the butt of my pistol. When he fell over, I gave him
another little love tap in the stomach, with my foot. This made my ass hurt even more, so I
kicked him again, which hurt even more, so I kicked him again for causing me pain, and again,
and again until the pain got so bad I had to stop, but I didn’t, I kicked him once more.
Then I wandered through a short hallway and into a large open area, roughly the size of
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