Palm Sunday by William R. Vitanyi Jr. Page A

within a few feet of the palmtop when the front door burst open. A man stood, his body outlined by the street lamp behind him. For a moment he didn’t see Slocum near the computer desk, and when he did it was too late. A shot spat out from Slocum’s pistol and the man in the doorway slumped to the ground. Bobby yelled and gripped his father tightly.
    Slocum half stood and made a grab for the palmtop, but another man appeared in the doorway. His shot was too quick, but it forced Slocum to duck away. With no time remaining, he ran for the back door and disappeared into the night. Bobby and his father watched wide-eyed as two men ran through the house after him, also disappearing through the back door.
    Stanley slowly got up and walked to the computer, cautiously glancing at the open back door. He rapidly entered some commands into his computer, clicked several icons, and scooped up the palmtop and its cable.
    “Come on, Bobby. Hurry.”
    He grabbed his car keys, wallet, and laptop computer case, quickly shoving the palmtop and cable into a side pouch. They ran to the garage and got in the car. Two minutes later they were well away from the house.
    “Where are we going, Dad?”
    Stanley looked at his son. “I told you I’d take you fishing, right?”
    Lights from other cars flitted across his face as they drove through the night. 

    ***

    Slocum was gone, the house was empty, and one of the three agents sent to retrieve Robert Slocum was dead. It was a disaster.
    “What now?” The junior of the two remaining agents looked around the living room.
    “We better call in. Pampas is going to have our heads.”
    “I didn’t think Slocum could move that fast.”
    The other agent gave him a dour look. “Yeah, that’ll sell.” He took out a cell phone and put through the call.
    “Pampas here. What’s your status?”
    “Not good. We found Slocum at the address you gave us, but he made us before we could take him.” He hesitated before giving him the rest of the news. “Frank bought it.”
    A long silence followed.
    “How?”
    “Slocum. One shot, then he ran out the back door.”
    Pampas sighed. This thing was getting out of hand. “Okay. Bring Frank’s body back. Make sure no one sees you.” He had almost forgotten. “What about the palm unit?”
    “What?”
    “The handheld computer. Did you get it?”
    “Oh. It’s right…” He looked at the computer desk. He was sure it had been there when he ran past earlier. He turned to his partner. “Did you pick up the palmtop?”
    “No. I thought you had it.” The two looked around for a moment, but it was nowhere to be seen.
    The senior agent closed his eyes as he informed Pampas. “It seems to be missing.”
    “What do you mean? Does Slocum have it?”
    “No. We chased him, and he absolutely did not have it.” He remembered the father and son. “But there were two other people here. They were gone when we got back.”
    It was all Pampas could do to keep from shouting. “Just get back here. We’ll regroup and figure out how to handle this.”
    “Yes, sir.” He clicked his cell phone closed, and turned to his partner. “Big fan, lots of crap–inbound.”
    “Pappy ain’t happy, is he?”
    “You could say that. Help me with Frankie.” 

    ***

    Slocum was lying on his back, staring up at the stars. It reminded him of a time when he was a boy, probably about Bobby’s age, camping out in his back yard. He hadn’t lasted the night that time, frightened inside the house by a variety of unfamiliar noises. His current situation was rather more complex.
    When he ran out of the house, his only intent was survival. He immediately headed for the spot where Bobby had tossed the palmtop, thinking that his limited familiarity with the terrain would give him an advantage. As he tried to put distance between himself and his pursuers, an unseen branch smacked him in the face, his leg twisting under him as he fell. He had managed to roll over a few times, gaining the