144. That was close

Before the book event, we went to a pub near the venue for some proper Irish stew. Burbank had the communicator in his carrier bag because he didn’t trust it alone at the hotel, especially since maids and managers have the key to the door. The redheads must be able to sense the communicator because now that it was assembled, the real crazies started coming out of the beer-stained woodwork.

The barman was a redhead. He came up to us with our stews grinning away like a cat in a mouse factory. I gasped and started looking around for an exit. But then he pulled out a copy of my book and said he was going to the reading tonight and would I please sign his book now so he doesn’t have to stand in the queue. I relaxed. It’s quite normal for an Irish person to have red hair, I realized. I signed his book and he went on his merry way. Burbank and I exchanged a That was close glance.

But on our way out of the pub, someone put his hand on my shoulder and said “Mr. Tomb, believe you got something belongs to us.” I turned slowly, saw a whizz of red hair then stars as something fist-like damaged my abdominal muscles. I doubled over and heard Lenore scream.

She beat one of them over the head with her purse, and Burbank kneed the other in the gut. We all took off running down the street toward the bookshop.