Leslie then checked Matthew and seemed satisfied that he was expired also. She moved back to Colby and knelt beside him.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he managed to say, nodding at the forty caliber Glock in her hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“Meister,” she said. “Took his gun.”
Colby nodded, a wave of pain and nausea sweeping over him. Thank God for retired coppers and concealed carry, he thought. And for guardian angels who could shoot. He managed to look up at her one more time.
An angel, he thought, as the world suddenly went totally black.
Chapter 25
Colby remembered waking up twice during the ambulance ride, and once more in the ER, before the black void overwhelmed him again. When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he was in a room with tan walls and a long white curtain to his right. It was either heaven, or hell, or perhaps a hospital room. It was too cool for the second, and too dingy for the first, so he assumed it was the third. He rotated his head and saw a profusion of brown hair leaning over by the foot of his bed. The hair turned, and he saw an angelic face. Maybe this was heaven after all.
“Where—” he tried to say.
Leslie leaned forward and her soft fingers caressed his face. “Shh,” she said. “You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be just fine.”
“Water,” he managed to say.
She stepped next to him and held a plastic glass with a straw to his lips.
He sucked some fluid through it, swallowed, and felt slightly better.
“How long?” His voice sounded distant and raspy, his throat dry.
“Two days,” she said. She reached up and pressed the button for the nurse.
Two days? It seemed impossible. The last thing he remembered was being on the ground at the old refinery. “Really?”
She nodded.
“How did I go to the bathroom?” he asked, trying his best to smile back at her.
She laughed softly. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”
“Oh, Christ,” Colby said, suddenly cognizant of an intrusive penetration in his penis. He tried to move, but felt weak and somewhat shaky. But things were starting to come back to him, like pieces of a large puzzle becoming visible. He felt a sudden surge of panic.
“Those two little girls. The twins?” he asked. “They’re fine. Safe and sound.”
He felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest.
“You did good,” she said. “You saved them.”
“You mean you did. Keep spouting bullshit like that about what a hero I am, and my next book’s gonna have to be a novel.” The drip of the morphine-tainted saline suspended from the hook over his bed slid lazily down the long clear plastic tube connected to the IV on his left hand. The sheets felt smooth and clean, and his pillows fluffy and soft. “Otherwise, nobody’ll believe you made a head shot like that. Way too unbelievable.”
Leslie smiled.
At least now I know what an angel in heaven must look like, he thought, as she leaned over him and whispered, in that supremely sexy voice of hers, “Special Agent Pearson, your Deputy Superintendent, and Lieutenant Kropper are waiting outside in the hall wanting to know if you feel good enough to talk to them now.”
Colby considered this. “So they’re all lining up to kiss my ass, huh?”
“Actually, they’re waiting on permission from your doctor, and he told me to ask you if you felt up to it.”
“Fuck ’em,” Colby said. “Let them wait. They bring in Dr. Frankenstein from New Genesis yet?”
She shook her head. “Special Agent Pearson—”
“Hey,” he said, interrupting her, “that’s Special Asshole Pearson.”
Leslie giggled. “Okay. Special Asshole Pearson and company hit the place yesterday, after getting the subpoenas and search warrants despite some, and I quote, ‘Some unexpected, heavy-duty government clout.’” She paused, then said, “They found Professor Jetters in his laboratory. He’d hanged himself. Destroyed all his records, too.”
“Figures,” Colby said. “Taking the coward’s way out.”
“But during the raid they found a whole section of strange, mentally challenged young men. One of them was in the refinery that night, too.” The area between her eyebrows furrowed. “They all look very similar to the one I shot. And we both know whom he resembles.”
Colby nodded his head. The visions of the young Morgan Laird holding the pistol flashed through his memory. His worst nightmare. The bastard had spoken the truth. “Find out who he was yet?”
“His name’s Matthew Jetters, but he’s not related to the Professor. Not biologically, at least.”
“What?”
Leslie shifted. “There have been whispers that New Genesis created him. That he was Morgan Laird’s clone.”
“Clone?” Colby shook his head. “No way. That’s not possible. Is it?”
“They’re already cloning animals.” Her eyebrows rose. “And, like I said, there’s a whole slew of twenty-something males at New Genesis who look just like our dearly departed Matthew. And your friend, Morgan Laird, in his younger days.”
Colby shook his head. “But, that means they would’ve had to have done it way back when…no, I can’t buy it.” But he suddenly remembered the shock of recognition when he saw the little pervert’s face as he was standing there with the gun. I want you to know before you die, the nightmare had said.
Leslie shrugged. “I know it sounds pretty farfetched, but they say cloning’s in our future. That it’s only a matter of time.”
“Time,” Colby said, holding up his wrist. He realized he wasn’t wearing a watch. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Quarter after nine, and,” she turned quickly and held the remote toward the television, “Oh, my God.”
“We missing a rerun of The Lone Ranger?”
“No, something better. Your partner, Dix called and told me to make sure we watched Chicago Today at nine, if you were up.”
Leslie carefully settled down next to him on the bed as she flipped through a few channels. Dix came into view, sitting across from Carmel Washington. Both were laughing and smiling.
“That old, randy son-of-a-bitch,” Colby said. “Turn it up, a little.”
“So it was all part of our master plan for me to get arrested,” Dix was saying. Carmel’s pretty face had a Mona Lisa smile. “I mean, sometimes, in police work, you have to go undercover.” He leered at her legs, “Deep under.” She smiled with her teeth this time. “And my partner, Roger Colby and I, knew we’d have to make everybody think I was responsible for killing Laird and Fontaine, in order for him to flush out the real killers.”
“Is there anything more you can tell us about who these real killers were?” Carmel asked.
Dix waggled his eyebrows, and grinned. He looked like an obese Groucho Marx.
“Well, Carmel,” he said, “there’s a lot I could tell you, believe me, but I’m bound by my oath to truth, justice, and the American way right now.” He paused and looked directly into the camera. “Besides, my buddy Rog will probably want to write another one of them books of his about it.”
Carmel asked another typically standard question, but it was drowned out by Colby’s groan.
“That sly bastard,” he said. “Maybe I should remind him that my next book’s definitely gonna be a novel. A science fiction novel.”
“Is it now?”
He looked up at her, the potent mix of painkillers making her face look more angelic than usual. “Have I thanked you yet for saving my life?”
“Why don’t we wait till you’ve recovered and you can give me a special thank you?” she said, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Now, two things. Do you feel able to talk to your boss?”
Colby pushed his head against the softness of the pillow. “Sure, why not?”
She nodded and began to straighten up.
“What’s the second thing?” he asked.
S
he paused, placed a hand on his forearm, and squeezed. “I have to be back in Toronto tomorrow.”
Colby felt like he’d been struck by another bullet. This time in the heart. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt too dry. “Oh.”
Her fingers stroked his forehead lightly. “Guess I knew it was coming,” he said.
“Toronto’s not that far,” she said.
“Neither is Chicago.”
“You could come up for a visit sometime. When you’re feeling better, of course. We could go on a trip to Niagara Falls. One of the Seven Wonders of the World.”
“We could.” Hell, he always knew he was too old for her anyway.
“Or, better yet, you could retire and move up there.” Her fingers traced over his features. “Think how much your big, American paycheck would be worth in Canadian dollars.”
Now it was his turn for a lips-only smile. Live outside the United States? But like she said, Toronto wasn’t really that far…he looked up at her.
Man, is she gorgeous, he thought. If I was smart, I’d make sure we turned out to be more than just two ships passing in the night
“What’s the conversion rate for Canadian dollars into real money?” he asked.
Her face took on a dreamy look as she leaned over and kissed his lips again.
“Real money?” she said. “I’ll have to think on that one for a while.”
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael A. Black was a US Army Military Policeman and a police officer in south suburb of Chicago. He worked in various capacities in police work including patrol supervisor, SWAT team leader, plain clothes tactical sergeant, and investigations. He was awarded the Cook County Medal of Merit in 2010, and retired from police work in 2011. Black is the author of 26 books and over 100 short stories and articles. He has a BA in English from Northern Illinois University and a MFA in Fiction Writing from Columbia College Chicago. He has written two novels with television star Richard Belzer of Law & Order SVU. Black also writes novels as Don Pendleton in the Executioner series.
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