Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection

by Gordon Kessler

  Tony Parker symbolized security although he wasn’t rich. He had a confidence always evident in any situation, except when she teased him. That was another reason she was so attracted to him. She knew how to pull his strings when no one else could.

  Hill took another sip and smiled again. A tear spilled from her eye and dripped into her drink.

  The phone rang.

  She laid the book down, a little irritated that her much needed peace had been disturbed.

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  “Hello, this Truong from Doctor White Cloud clinic.

  “Who? Oh, yeah, I remember you.

  “Me have something like dog, Sheik, hear.”

  “You have something like dog Sheik hear?” she mocked. “Get real, what is this?”

  “Please. Very important. This help Mr. Parker. Sheik there?”

  “Yeah, he’s here. But I don’t think he’s accepting phone calls.”

  “Please. Very important!”

  “Sheesh! All right, all right!” She held the phone out. “Hey, Sheik, it’s for you.”

  Sheik raised his head, ears perked. After several seconds, Hill hadn’t heard anything so she put the phone back to her ear.

  “Come on, already, Sheik’s a busy dog. He can’t talk on the phone all night.”

  Nothing but a dial tone.

  “Wow, what a weirdo. Sorry, Sheik, prank call.”

  She looked at Sheik. He looked back from the corners of his eyes. His snout wrinkled. An unfamiliar look flared in his eyes, and his pupils dilated.

  He growled, low at first, then drew a breath and made the next complaint with more enthusiasm.

  “Well, shit! Don’t get pissed at me.”

  He turned his head toward her and growled again, this time topping it off with two sharp barks.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Hill put it all together fast. The call—Sheik acting like the rest.

  She threw the phone at Sheik and ran for the bedroom.

  Sheik caught the phone hard in his mouth and dropped it on the floor. He leaped off the sofa and raced for Hill, jumping on her back, sending her to her knees. He went for her throat. She ducked. The first try broke the skin, and Sheik ended up with a mouthful of bathrobe collar.

  “Aah, he-elp! Somebody help me! Sheik, get off. Bad boy!”

  She stood, causing the dog to roll off, and tried once more for the safety behind the bedroom door. Sheik lunged again, this time his fangs sunk deep into her thigh.

  “Ah-waa, Sheik, you bastard!” Hill cried, falling to the floor.

  She hit the dog in the eye, then on the end of the nose, with the bottom of her fist. He let go but struck again before she could crawl more than a foot. Now, he clamped onto her right calf. She yanked it from his mouth. The pain of tearing flesh, tendons, and muscles made her body quake. She screamed out in agony.

  “Owwww, get away!”

  Hill spotted the large glass candlestick holder her mother had sent her from Florida last Christmas. She grabbed it off a small table nearby as Sheik went for her other arm. She brought the holder down hard in the middle of his thick skull as he bit.

  She cried out again.

  The dog didn’t let go. He had set his jaws like Vise Grips on her elbow.

  She drew the big glass candlestick holder back as far as she could and slammed it between his eyes.

  It fractured with a pop and fragments of glass flew.

  Sheik sounded with a yelp, reeling back with several thick chunks of broken glass embedded in his snout. Hill had many of the jagged, shards stuck in her hand. That didn’t matter now. She had to get away while she could.

  Using her good elbow and the other hand, she crawled frantically toward the bedroom while dragging her injured leg. Clearing the door, she tried to kick it shut, but it bounced off Sheik’s side as he burst into the room.

  He went for her throat again. Hill screamed as she blocked with a swing of her arm. The dog grabbed her shoulder, puncturing deep into her body. The pain was so piercing she thought she would pass out.

  Hill used all of the strength she had left to push loose from his powerful grip and scamper under the bed. This time, he caught her by the foot before she could pull it under.

  CHAPTER 47

  Parker seemed to be passing in and out of some sort of a stupor, at times thinking clearly, at other times confused and frightened. For now, his mind cleared.

  He glanced at his watch and saw it was a quarter after nine. The ten-o’clock news would be on soon with Truong’s interview. If any of the dogs that were in Doc’s clinic in the last couple of months were near a TV when the news on Channel Two came on, there would be more attacks, maybe dozens more.

  Parker sprang off of the tailgate and ran into the house. He had to warn Hill first. It could be too late. She may have already seen the preview with Sheik. The line was busy.

  “Damn!” he said and hung up the phone, then ran out the door to the truck. He pulled out of the driveway quietly, trying not to wake Julie, and waited to turn the lights on until he was down the street.

  “AC One to dispatcher,” he panted, finding it hard to breathe.

  “Dispatcher. Go ahead, Top Dog. Didn’t expect to hear your voice so soon.”

  “Good, it’s you, Tyrone. Listen very carefully. We have a major— disaster about to happen.” He heaved, gasping for breath.

  “Uh, sure, Tony. You okay?”

  Parker didn’t answer Tyrone’s concern.

  “First thing, you need to get a hold of the police chief. Tell him that if Channel Two News shows the interview with a guy named Truong tonight—there will be more dog attacks, possibly over a hundred of them. The chief will be the one—that will have to tell them not to air it. I don’t think they’d believe me—they might believe him. Have him contact all of the TV and radio stations and cable, too. I want bulletins on every channel and station—instructing people to lock their dogs up.”

  “Damn, Top Dog, you for real?”

  “I’m very serious, Tyrone. Now stick with me. Next, call the animal-control office. Have the officer on duty—I think it’s Tommy Chin— have him meet me at Dr. White Cloud’s clinic. We’re going to have to get a hold of all of the dog owners that could be affected tonight. I’m guessing that there’s—around two hundred of them. We’ll call you as soon as we have their names and phone numbers, and we’ll split them with you. You and the other dispatchers can divide those names up—and call them all immediately while we call our share from the clinic.”

  “What do we tell them? Don’t let your dog watch the news tonight—it might be bad for him?”

  “Damn it, Tyrone, I’m serious. I need your help. Tell them anything, I don’t know. Tell them that their dogs—have been exposed to rabies and their last vaccination was defective. Have them lock them in a garage—or a vacant room—or a securely fenced-in backyard on a leash—until the police come. And above all else—tell them to keep their dogs away from their TVs—because it might excite them. Then, give the addresses to the police—and have them go pick the dogs up and bring them to the shelter for now. I don’t know what we’ll do with all of them—but we’ll figure something out.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Trust me. I’m sure.”

  “What if the chief doesn’t go along with it, or Channel Two? It’ll be a miracle if we can get a hold of that many people by ten.”

  “Well then—we have a real problem on our hands, don’t we? I’m on my way to Dr. White Cloud’s now. But I’m stopping at Sarah Hill’s on the way. Tell Chin not to go in—if he gets there before I do. Tell him to wait outside. There might be a madman there. His name is Truong. He saw him before at the clinic—when he took one of the dogs in. He’s to stay clear of him. Truong could be very—dangerous. You got that?”

  “Tony, you don’t sound too good. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I asked if you understood, Tyrone. Do you?”

  “Yeah, I
got it, Top Dog.”

  “All right, then. Get busy.”

  “Right. Ah, uh-oh, it sounds like it’s already started. We’ve got two dispatchers taking calls about dog attacks.”

  “Probably saw the preview I did. No time to lose, Tyrone.”

  If Truong’s interview aired, there would be little chance of preventing all the attacks. The sooner they got the names, the more lives would be saved. He had to get those names quick. He reached over and opened the glove compartment and pulled out Jack’s .357. If he ran into Truong, he might have to use it.

  The first thing was to alert Hill. Parker ran up the stairs to Hill’s third-floor apartment. His wrist throbbed, and he held his arm close to his stomach to hold Simpson’s gun in his belt while he ascended the steps. Blood stained the front of his pants and the side of his collar.

  He rang the doorbell and worked the knob. The door was locked. He beat on it. Maybe she was asleep already, but the lights were still on.

  “Come on, Sarah, open up. It’s me, Tony.”

  Still no answer. Parker put his ear to the door. There was a muffled sound. The TV—or maybe Sheik growling.

  Parker stepped back and kicked just to the side of the knob, and the door blasted open, splintering the jamb.

  “Sarah! Sarah!” he yelled out, running into the room.

  Phone on the floor. Spots of blood leading to the bedroom.

  He drew the gun and stepped into the bedroom doorway. Sheik had Hill’s foot in his mouth and he was dragging Hill’s limp body out from under the bed. The dog dropped her foot and pounced, open-mouthed, at her exposed throat. Parker aimed and fired. The dog reeled around, a red spot between his shoulders. Blood

  flowed from the side of his neck where the bullet passed through. He snarled. Parker pulled the trigger again. The dog collapsed like a plumber’s canvas bag full of pipe

  wrenches across Hill’s legs, a bullet hole just in front of one ear. He ran to Hill, falling to her side and lifted her head up to his lap. “Sarah, wake up. Sarah,” he pleaded. She moved her head, and he saw that the wounds, although deep

  and mutilating, weren’t immediately life threatening. “Tony?” she said, coming to, “Tony, what happened?” She frowned up at Parker’s face, then at the gun. She looked

  down at Sheik, lying across her legs, and broke into tears. “Oh, Sheik!” she cried, pulling his bloody head up to her chest.

  His beautiful, snow white, fur coat was matted and stained with blood. “He called, Tony. That son-of-a-bitch called.” “Truong?” “Yeah. And he asked to speak to Sheik. Then, he didn’t say anything, but Sheik started going nuts!” Sarah buried her face into Sheik’s neck, crying. Parker got up and called for an ambulance, then went back to her.

  He held her, trying to quiet her. “Will there be more? Will there be more of this shit?” she asked. “Truong is taped on an interview to be aired during Channel

  Two’s ten-o’clock news. I think he plans to set off as many as another two hundred dogs.”

  “You’ve got to do something. I don’t know how he does it, but you’ve got to stop him,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. The ambulance will be here soon.”

  Parker looked into her beautiful blue eyes, now badly bloodshot. Her platinum hair was sopped in red tangles. Blood smudged her face. One deep slash was plowed across her right cheek. Her pink bathrobe was spotted in blood and her neck was covered in red. Her lovely, silky smooth right shoulder was exposed, and blood flowed down to her breast from two large gashes raked into her throat. Her thigh was badly injured and bloody. Muscle and bone were exposed on her calf. Parker gaped at her injuries.

  Hill looked at him and said, “I guess my men will have to love me for my mind, now, huh?”

  Parker tried to give her a reassuring grin.

  “How about you?” she asked.

  “No problem, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

  Sirens keened in the distance. The ambulance was only seconds away. Parker bent down and kissed Hill on her forehead. She reached up and kissed him on the lips. The kiss told Parker that there would never be another chance, that they would never be lovers, and never again be alone together.

  He heard the ambulance stop in front, then hasty footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “Bye, Tony,” Hill said and pushed against his chest.

  Parker tucked a pillow under her head, then rushed out the door.

  CHAPTER 48

  Patsy White Cloud sat alone in her big empty house less than a mile from Doc’s clinic. Loneliness had set in, and a tear rolled down one cheek as she sat on the sofa, watching the Dances With Wolves videotape she’d given Doc last Christmas. It was his favorite movie. He’d told her that it made him feel young and free again.

  She unbraided her long ebony hair and brushed it slowly down over her shoulders. She remembered how Doc had liked her long black hair. He had liked the way it shone in the low light of their bedroom when she brushed it before going to bed. He had liked the way it felt soft and silky.

  Patsy drew a ragged, sobbing breath.

  Scratching and whining came from the back door. Red was feeling the lonelies also and wanted inside. Patsy put the movie on pause and got up. When she looked out the window, she could see the big half-Irish setter, half-German shepherd looking up at her with sad, begging eyes, wagging his tail.

  “Poor old Red.”

  She opened the door and looked out at him. Red sat and looked back, still wagging his tail. He’d been well trained and knew he wasn’t to come in unless invited.

  “What’s wrong, Red? Lonely, too?”

  A strange, chilling howl pierced the night’s stillness.

  Patsy looked up and scanned the neighborhood but could see nothing. Red was alert and also looking around.

  “Oh, come on in, Red. We’ll be lonely together.”

  Red wasn’t interested now. He’d run over to the fence and began a low growl, the fur on the back of his neck standing up.

  “It’s all right, Red. Come on in,” she pleaded.

  Red hesitated for a moment, then turned and came back to her. They went inside, and Patsy locked the door behind them. Red went straight to the front window and looked out with the same low growl. Patsy scurried to his side.

  A car, parked at the curb three houses down and across the street, had just turned its headlights out. She couldn’t make out the type of vehicle or who was in it. It looked like it could be a white van like the clinic’s. It was too dark. They both watched for a full two minutes and didn’t see anyone get out.

  “Oh, come on Red. It’s nothing. Come on over and watch the movie with me.”

  She yanked at his collar, and he obeyed. They sat together on the sofa with Red’s head in Patsy’s lap. She patted his brow and pushed the play button to continue the movie.

  “You miss ol’ Doc, don’t you, Red?” she asked, seeing the big dog look to the chair Doc used to sit in.

  Red responded with a sad whine.

  “I know, Red. I miss him, too,” she said, scratching behind his ears.

  Suddenly, Red sat up. He looked at the front door, then to the back.

  The low growl got a little louder.

  “Red?”

  He wasn’t responsive this time. He jumped off the sofa and headed toward the back door and began barking, pacing back and forth.

  “Stop it, Red. You’re scaring me. Is there somebody out there? No, there can’t be. Now, you stop that this instant.”

  He continued, barking frantically.

  “Stop it, Red. Stop it, or you’re going out.”

  More barking.

  “All right then.” Patsy opened the door. “Get out!”

  He ran past her and out the door. He continued raving, running back and forth in the yard, jumping up on the roof of his dog house under the kitchen window and then running back out into the yard again. Patsy watched from the back door.

  “Fool dog. Probably some cottontail.”

  She
closed and locked the door. Now she wasn’t just lonely, but frightened, too. Red still barked frantically. Maybe it wasn’t a rabbit. Maybe it was something else. Maybe it was Jezebel.

  “I’ll call Tony. He’ll know what to do,” she said aloud and headed for the phone in the kitchen.

  As she walked past the sink, the window over it broke with a loud, shattering crash.

  It was Red.

  He landed on her shoulder.

  She knocked him to the floor.

  “Stop it, Red! What’s got into you?”

  Red replied with a furious growl, looking up at her from terrifying, dark eyes.

  He leaped for her again.

  Patsy held him away from her throat. He’d pushed her back to the cabinet. It was all she could do to keep him from tearing at her neck. The big dog was nearly her height when standing on his hind legs, and his paws were on her shoulders. They struggled, looking as if they were dancing a strange death waltz, which only one of them could survive.

  “Oh, Red, not you, too. Not you!”

  He chewed on her wrist. Patsy searched the countertop behind her with her free hand and came across a butcher knife she’d been using earlier to cut up some chicken.

  The dog yelped when she slung the large knife around and drove it deep into the side of her beloved companion’s chest. His eyes became blank and lifeless, and his body went limp. She held him up close to her. His long tongue lay out the side of his mouth.

  “Oh, Red! Red!” she cried and hugged the big dog.

  The window in the back door broke through.

  What was this? She couldn’t imagine. Her eyes widened as she gawked around the corner. Something big, something dark, had entered the house. Patsy pulled the knife out of Red’s side and let him flop to the floor. She held the cutlery over her head and crept nearer the back door.

  *-*-*

  Tommy Chin waved a patrol car down at an intersection just before Doctor White Cloud’s clinic. He wasn’t going to radio for help, but he thought since they were already there, he might as well have some back up. The policemen followed Chin down the long drive to the dark building. Tony Parker was yet to arrive.