Eddie tightened the muscles in his arms, his grip on the primitive blowgun and knew,
at least for the moment, that he was out of danger. But if spotted, the giant could
turn, charge, and tear him apart. The savage, silver-
Eddie heard the smooth sounds of Benny Goodman’s jazz clarinet in his outer office and wondered if the primate appreciated the technical purity of the “King of Swing.”
He sucked air into his lungs until the pain racked his ribs. He knew he would get only one shot with the blowgun and sighted along the handmade weapon to the thickly muscled breastplate just below the beast’s heart. He had only one dart. Only one chance to get out alive.
Suddenly, a file drawer slid shut beyond the glass partition punctuating a trumpet riff. If Trixie came in and alerted the gorilla, it would be over in an instant. Air exploded out of his lungs and into the narrow tube, cracking the tension in his office with a sharp pop. The lethal bamboo dart flashed across the room and sank deep into the chest of the monster.
Eddie put down the blowgun, leaned back, folded his hands behind his head, and looked around. The cracked blue and white football helmet hadn’t budged from the gorilla’s head and the two white and red pompoms he had been given as a gift from a Vegas showgirl a few years back, remained firmly clutched in the gorilla’s right hand. The blow dart had no effect.
Eddie was doomed. Again.
He had been stalking Fred for two weeks through leech-