The living room is clear. I hear screaming, can’t pinpoint it.
“Harry!”
“We’re fine!” he yells from the bathroom. “Alex took off through the garage!”
I rush over to the garage door, get a quick peek at Munchel on the floor, his stomach wound leaking bloody foam. He’s the one screaming.
I look past him, see Alex heading for the side window. I fire twice, missing as she dives through.
I can’t let her get away.
I hobble between the boxes, crouching low if she decides to fire at me, sticking the barrel of my gun out the window and jerking left and right to see if she’s hiding on either side.
Alex comes up from below.
She grabs my wrist and squeezes like a vise. I keep my grip on the pistol but can’t aim it toward her. I sense, rather than see, her gun hand coming up, and I reach blindly and latch on to it, stiff-arming the barrel away from my head.
Alex tugs, dragging me out of the window, broken glass scraping against my stomach, hips, and legs. I fall on top of her, each of us trying to gain control of our weapons without letting the other do the same, my face inches from hers as we both grunt and strain.
She rolls, swarming on top of me, straddling my chest. Slowly, inexorably, her gun begins to swing toward my face. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m injured, close to passing out again, and Alex is so big and so strong and so damn evil. She’s not a human being. She’s a force of nature.
Her gun bears down on my forehead.
“After I kill you,” she says, “I’m coming back for your friends and family.”
I’m not scared.
I’m enraged.
I hear a yell — a bone-chilling, animalistic yell. It’s coming from me. And then I open up my palm, letting the Desert Eagle drop, flexing my biceps and grabbing hold of Alex’s hair and yanking her head so hard I give the bitch whiplash.
Alex falls to the side, off of me, and I shove her gun hand away and get my knees under me. Then I make a fist with my left hand and hit her square in the nose.
I can feel the cartilage crack under my knuckles. Her gun goes off, shooting into the night sky well over my head. She rolls with the punch, and I scramble to my feet, ready to lunge in under the gun and rip out her heart with my bare hands.
But she doesn’t attack. She runs.
The monster runs away.
I scan the ground, find the Desert Eagle, and snatch it up, but she’s already sprinting around the corner.
“Jack!”
Phin, at the garage window, shotgun in his hand. He looks sort of fuzzy around the edges, and I feel my legs start to wobble.
“Make sure she doesn’t get back in the house,” I tell him.
Then I go after her.
12:17 A.M.
KORK
I’M STILL SEEING STARS from where Jack popped me in the nose, but I don’t let it slow me down. I run around the back of the house, adrenaline pumping, rounding the other side, sprinting straight for the Bronco. I quickly look back, see that Jack is fifty yards behind me.
She’s per sis tent. I’ll give her that.
She also has a bigger gun, and by now so does everyone in the house. I’ve got to get the hell out of here.
I slide on my belly across the hood of the truck and through the broken windshield. I wiggle myself into the driver’s seat, push the key in the ignition, and have a bad moment when the truck doesn’t turn over.
It’s the battery.
I check to my right. Jack has stopped less than thirty yards away. She’s in a shooter stance, aiming the big Desert Eagle at my head.
I kill the headlights, press the gas pedal, and crank it again.
The truck roars to life. I make a U-turn, burning rubber on the street and kicking up dirt and grass when the wheels go off the road.
I duck down right before Jack puts three shots into the driver’s-side window, peppering me with bits of glass. I keep the pedal pressed down, feel the tires grip the asphalt again, and continue to stay low until I’m at least two hundred yards away.
I tap the brakes when the road reaches an end, jerk the wheel right, and speed down the street and through a green light. Then I force myself to slow down.
I raise a hand to my nose, wipe away some blood, and it causes a spike of pain. I check the glove compartment, find a box of tissues, and wedge a wad up each nostril even though it makes my eyes water.
It hurts. But my ego hurts more. I had her. Had her. But when it came time to punch her clock, I got greedy and tried to draw out the moment, talking when I should have been pulling the trigger.
It’s not entirely my fault. There were unforeseeable circumstances. If it weren’t for those idiot snipers, I’d still be back at the house, controlling the situation, having some fun.
But what’s done is done. No point dwelling on the past.
Besides, this isn’t over yet.
Not by a long shot.
12:23 A.M.
JACK
I WATCH ALEX TEAR DOWN the road, and the Desert Eagle all of a sudden weighs a hundred pounds. I let the gun drop to my side, and a strangled sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a sob comes out of my mouth.
She’s gone. Alex is gone. And everyone I care about is still alive.
I walk back toward the house, but I don’t feel weak. I don’t feel hurt at all. For the first time all night, I feel pretty damn good.
I meet up with Phin on my front lawn.
“We’ll get her,” he says.
I meet his eyes. “I know.”
We enter through the front door. Harry is standing guard with a Desert Eagle. He blows out a big breath when he sees me. “That was some pretty intense shit. Who needs a beer?”
“I could use something stronger,” Phin says.
Harry nods. “Mom has some codeine, and I think there’s vodka left.”
“We’re not out of this yet,” I say. “We still need to find the jammer and get some help.”
“Phin and I will take care of it,” Harry says. “Don’t bogart the vodka.”
They head outside. I head to the bathroom, and Mom embraces me.
“Is she gone?” she asks.
“Yes. I still need to go outside, guard Phin and Harry.”
I look at Herb, who is sitting up. His color has returned. He’s trying to open a pickle jar.
“Don’t eat those,” I say, taking the jar away.
Herb frowns. “Harry said they were good.”
I ask Mom to find something else for Herb to munch on, then go to Latham. I touch his forehead, and he opens his eyes. His fever has gotten worse.
“Did the good guys win?” he asks.
I nod.
“I wasn’t worried,” he says. “Not with you here to save us.”
“Ambulance is coming soon,” I tell him. “We’re all going to be okay.”
“I love you, Jack.”
“Love you, Latham.”
“Love you more.”
“No, I love you more.”
Herb’s mouth is occupied with what appears to be a wedge of cheddar cheese, but he says, “For crissakes, I’m trying to eat here. Kiss him already.”
I smile, kiss Latham, and then hurry back into the kitchen. The screams from the garage have stopped. I take a peek. Munchel is dead. Then I go outside and witness the spectacle of Harry on Phin’s shoulders, reaching for the veranda.
“Dammit, Phin, push!”
“You want me to climb up there on my own, then pull you up?”
“Could you do that? Please?”
I lend two hands to the cause, and we manage to get McGlade onto the roof. And he had the audacity to comment on my weight. Everywhere I touch him, it feels like pizza dough.
“What’s it look like?” Harry calls from above.
“No idea,” I answer. “But it’s probably around front.”
I turn to Phin. “Any wants or warrants out on you lately?”
“I don’t thin
k so. Worried about fraternizing with a known criminal?”
“Hell no. I was going to talk to a judge friend, get everything dropped.”
Phin smiles. “Can that apply to any future indiscretions I may commit? There’s a liquor store near my house just begging to be robbed.”
“Thanks, Phin.”
I give him a hug, since this is the Night of a Thousand Hugs anyway. His skin is freezing.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.
He holds me tighter. “Not anymore.”
“Hey!” Harry yells. “I found a tennis ball! You play tennis, Jackie?”
I pull away from Phin, feeling a little awkward.
“I think Latham has some shirts inside. I’ll get you one, when Harry comes back.”
“Thanks.”
Harry farts around on the roof for a few more minutes, then yells, “Got it!”
He tosses the jammer down. It’s a black box, about the size of a walkie-talkie. I hit the off switch, and pull out the battery just to be safe. Then I turn on my cell phone and see those beautiful signal bars.
I call 911, give the operator my badge number, and request as many cops as possible. I also ask for six ambulances, and for an APB to be put out on a red Ford Bronco with a hole in the windshield.
Then I go to find a shirt for Phin, and a change of clothes for me.
The first cop arrives in four minutes. A minute after that, six more cops arrive. Then the ambulances come. All the swirling lights on my front lawn make it look like a Fourth of July fireworks display.
I give some very brief statements, and then oversee the loading of my friends and family into the ambulances. Mom. Latham. Herb — who fights with the paramedics to hold on to the cheese. Phin. And Harry.
“Mom invited me over for dinner next week,” Harry tells me as they’re strapping him to the gurney. “It will be nice to hang out with you when someone isn’t trying to kill us.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say.
“Does she like flowers?” he asks. “I’ve got forty-nine Mother’s Days to make up for.”
“She loves flowers, Harry.”
Only after Harry is carted off and everyone is safe do I allow my guard to ease up and finally let them put me into an ambulance of my own.
“I have a cat,” I tell one of the paramedics. “He isn’t good with people.”
“We’ll catch him, make sure he’s okay.”
“Might be wise to call animal control, let them help you.”
He passes along the info, then takes my vitals.
“Helluva night, huh?”
I laugh. It feels good. Real good.
“You have no idea,” I say.
1:24 A.M.
KORK
MY NOSE STOPS BLEEDING. I pull out the tissues, wipe away some of the extra blood, and make myself presentable. Then I ditch the Bronco in an alley behind a convenience store, jog six blocks to the ER loading dock, and sit down on a bench and wait.
This is the nearest hospital to Jack’s house, so it makes sense they’ll take the injured here.
The first ambulance arrives, and two paramedics hop out and open up the rear, pulling out someone I recognize all too well.
The .38 is lousy, but I don’t miss at point-blank range. Both emergency technicians drop, either dead or dying. I walk up to the gurney, taking my time, enjoying the moment.
“Thought you got away, huh?” I ask. “Life’s like that sometimes. Just when you think you’re in the clear, something blindsides you.”
I cock the gun and half of my face smiles.
“Any last words?” I ask.
All I get back is a defiant stare.
“Nothing? I was hoping for something witty.”
“She’ll find you.”
“I certainly hope she will. And just to make sure she goes looking…”
I aim for the head, and hit what I aim at.
Some people run out of the ER, wondering what’s happening. Time to go.
I run off into the parking lot, find an old guy looking for his car. We make a quick swap. I get his car keys, and his wallet, which contains eighty bucks and a few credit cards. In return, he gets a chop in the throat that breaks his windpipe, and a final resting place in his own trunk. A much better deal for me than for him, but life isn’t all that fair.
I pull out of the parking lot, considering my next move. It’s too risky to stay in the area. Plus, I have other things to do. While incarcerated, I did a lot of planning. Big planning. Some of it involved Jack. Some of it didn’t.
I need to get started on the stuff that didn’t involve her. But that doesn’t mean I still can’t keep Jack in the loop.
I pass several police cars on the way out of town, but they leave me alone. After driving for a bit I check into a suburban hotel using the dead man’s American Express.
I yawn. It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m exhausted. I strip off my clothes, take a hot shower, and climb into my first real bed in a long time.
The sheets are warm. The pillow is soft.
I fall asleep dreaming of the many deaths to come.
1:38 A.M.
JACK
I OPEN MY EYES when I realize the ambulance has stopped. I look over my shoulder. The paramedics are gone.
I get a feeling — a bad feeling — and reach up to unbuckle my straps. I open the rear of the ambulance and see the parking lot is a tangle of emergency vehicles, most of them cops.
A paramedic comes up alongside me.
“You don’t want to see this.”
I push him off, hurrying toward the nexus of activity near the rear of the hospital.
A cop is setting up some crime scene tape.
Oh… no…
I grab a nearby uniform and yell, “Who is it? Who’s dead?”
He doesn’t answer. Two more cops see me and begin to walk over, but I duck under the tape and see the dead EMTs, and there, on the gurney…
“NO!”
I become another person. Someone without any control left. Someone overcome by emotion. I rush over to the bloody body, punching anyone who tries to stop me, screaming and screaming because I just can’t stop.
Someone jabs me with a needle, and my consciousness floats away, and all I can think is that I failed, I failed, I couldn’t protect everybody, dear God I’m so so sorry…
4:57 P.M.
JACK
I’M MEDICATED. Something strong that makes it hard to stay awake.
People come and go all day. Doctors and nurses. Cops. People I care about.
I have nothing to offer them. Nothing to give.
My hospital room fills up with meaningless flowers. Friends. Police officers from around the country. Strangers who watched the news.
Captain Bains even shows up, offers his condolences. Tells me to take as long as I need to recuperate.
He even offers to help with the funeral arrangements.
I decline.
“We’ll get her,” he tells me. “We’ve got the Staties involved. The Feds. Every cop shop in Illinois and the surrounding states.”
His words don’t reassure me. I know they won’t get her. I know, because Alex has already gotten away.
She’s told me as much.
Before Bains arrived, one of my floral arrangements began to ring. Inside the planter was a cell phone.
I picked it up, and read the text message on the screen.
SO SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS, JACK.
I’M IN MILWAUKEE.
COME GET ME.
Along with the text was a picture. A shot of Alex, a half smile on her scarred face, standing in front of a restaurant.
I don’t share this information with the captain. Maybe I will later. I’m not sure. It depends on whether or not I’m going to stay a cop.
I look at it now. The phone. My direct link to the person who hurt me worse than anyone has ever hurt me before.
COME GET ME.
“You can bet on it, Alex. You can bet on it.”
Acknowledgments
Big thanks to the following people. You’ve helped me immeasurably, and I won’t soon forget. (Apologies to those folks I forgot.)
William E. Adams, Augie Aleksy, Tasha Alexander,
Feo Amante, Brenda Anderson, Patrick Balester, Sarah Bewley,
Dave Biemann, Irene Black, Michele Bradford, Wendy Brault,
Tisha Britton, Lynn Burton, William Conner, Gail Cooke,
Jim Coursey, Tammy Cravit, Blake Crouch, Josephine Damian,
Terri Dukes, Chris Dupee, Audrey N. Durel, Jane Dystel,
Barry Eisler, W. D. Gagliani, Miriam Goderich,
Norman Goldman, Terri Grimes, Jude Hardin, Joe Hartlaub,
Linda Holman, Kay Hooper, Adam Hurtubise, Eileen Hutton,
Bob Hutton, Steve Jensen, Cynthia Johnson, Jon Jordan,
Ruth Jordan, Richard Katz, Nick Kelly, Maria Konrath,
Talon Konrath, Chris & Mariesa Konrath, Laura Konrath,
Mike Konrath, John Konrath, Amy M. Krueger, Michele Lee,
Meredith Link, Brenda C. Long, Maggie Mason,
Joseph P. Menta Jr., Brenda Messex, Jim Munchel, David Omo,
Henry “Hank” Perez, Paul Pessolano, Barbara Peters,
Jeanine Peterson, Sharon L. Pritchard, Pat Reid,
Heather M. Riley, Terry Robertson, J. Greg Robison,
James Rollins, Marcus Sakey, Judith Saul, Terri Schlichenmeyer,
Rob Siders, Wendy K. Smith, Shaun A. Sohacki, Greg Swanson,
Linda Tonnesen, Leslie Wells, Matt Wilhite, Lloyd Woodall.
And special thanks to the many booksellers, librarians, interviewers, bloggers, reviewers, and booksellers (they deserve to be thanked twice) who have embraced my series. I owe every one of you a drink.
About the Author
J.A. Konrath is the author of four previous Jack Daniels mysteries, and lives in the suburbs of Chicago.
OTHER WORKS BY J.A. KONRATH
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