Everybody Dies - A Thriller (Phineas Troutt Mysteries Book 3)

by J. A. Konrath

  Phin.

  Phin and Harry.

  Hugo noticed her gaze and turned around.

  “It’s about time,” he said.

  Then he scooped Pasha up off the floor, held Göth to her neck, and backed up toward the canisters, waiting for his brother to come.

  PHIN

  I took the stairs fast, McGlade a few steps behind me. They went down pretty deep, and ended at a hallway, which we took right per Hugo’s instructions.

  “You find your Magnum?” I asked Harry.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What have you got?”

  “A flare gun.”

  “What are you going to do with a flare gun? Alert the Coast Guard?”

  “That 1911 is actually mine. Give it back.”

  “I’m not giving it back.”

  “Want to trade? For a flare gun?”

  “Shh.”

  We were at the door with the tape on it.

  “Open the door on three,” I whispered, gripping the .45 in both hands. “One… two… three.”

  McGlade yanked open the door, and I went in, gun leading the way, seeing a dark room, four TV screens, a chair, and in the corner—

  Hugo. Crouching behind Pasha, who had a razor to her throat.

  “Throw the gun over here,” he ordered.

  “Phin,” Harry said, behind me. “Do not throw him the gun.”

  Pasha moaned as her neck began to bleed.

  I threw Hugo the gun.

  “Who’s that behind you?”

  “Harry McGlade, Private Eye. It’s over, Hugo. The cops are coming. There’s no escape. Your reign of terror has been thwarted. All thanks to me, Harry McGlade, Private Eye.”

  “Tell him to be quiet, or she dies.”

  “Shut up, Harry.”

  “Is he armed?” Hugo asked.

  “He has a flare gun.”

  “Why does he have a flare gun? Is he going to alert the Coast Guard?”

  “Must run in the family,” Harry muttered.

  “Toss it over here.”

  McGlade obeyed.

  “Here’s how it’s going to work. You two are going to come inside and close the door. I’m going to beat all three of you to death. Then I’m going to turn the dials on the canisters of gas, and the Roscoe Theater is going to be filled with sarin gas.”

  “Sarin gas?” Harry squeaked. “I’m outie.”

  McGlade ran off.

  “Your friend is an asshole,” Hugo said.

  I couldn’t argue there.

  “Close the door, little brother. Let’s play.”

  So, this is it. The end of your sad, pathetic life.

  I entered the room and shut the door. “It’s going to be okay,” I told Pasha.

  You don’t believe that. It’s a lie.

  Hugo pushed Pasha aside, bouncing her off the nearby wall. She fell to the floor. I moved to go to her, but Hugo stepped between us.

  “Is this a knife fight?” I said, thinking of the scalpel still in my boot.

  “No. That would be too quick. I still have five minutes to kill.”

  Hugo bent down, tucked the razor in his boot. Then he backhanded Pasha across the face.

  “Let’s go, little brother. Me and you. Just like old times.”

  He put up his fists.

  I put up mine.

  Pathetic. You actually think you have a chance?

  Hugo moved in, crouching down, throwing a fast jab, crazy fast for a guy his size. I blocked with my forearms. The force was still enough to slam me back against the door.

  He followed with a hook, landing it on my good side. I doubled over and fell to my knees, feeling like I’d been hit with a bat.

  You’re not even going to hit him back, are you? This is the saddest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

  Hugo’s enormous hand reached out, circling my neck—

  —and he muscled me back onto my feet.

  I threw a combination, right then left, one in each kidney. It was like hitting a slab of beef. He took it without even flinching, then brought a fist down on the top of my head, driving me face-first into the floor.

  “You fought harder when we were children,” Hugo said.

  You deserve this.

  “This is sad.”

  He’s right. You’re sad.

  “You aren’t even worth the effort.”

  No, you’re not. You’re worthless, Phineas Troutt. You’ve always been worthless.

  “Shut up,” I muttered.

  “Is the baby trying to talk?” Hugo asked.

  Yeah, Earl said. What’s the baby trying to say?

  I repeated it, louder this time. “Shut up.”

  “Why don’t you make me shut up, little brother?”

  Or maybe just drop your pants and turn around for him. You’re good at that.

  And that was it. I was done.

  I’d put up with the abuse for too long.

  I’d finally, FINALLY, had enough.

  “Both of you,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

  “Both of us?” Hugo laughed. “Who else is—”

  I sprang up, driving the top of my head into his balls. He wasn’t wearing a cup this time, and he grunted and stumbled back.

  Then I was on my feet.

  And I was pissed.

  I began throwing punches. No style to it. No grace. Just wild haymakers, putting everything I had into each swing. His chest was huge, but it was also damaged. All that bird shot. The 9mm slug to his heart. My brother used to brag that nothing hurt him, but I saw his eyes as my blows landed, saw the pain.

  It made me feel good.

  As he put up his arms to block, I charged left, putting a foot up on the table by the monitors, launching off of it and whipping out my foot.

  My cowboy boot met his broken nose, breaking it again.

  Hugo dropped to one knee, which put him at eye level.

  “All of these years!” I screamed, my vision blurry with tears, my fists hammering his face over and over and over. “I took it for all of these years!” He swatted at me, and I caught his arm, put him in a wrist lock, and dropped all of my weight on it—

  —snapping his goddamn elbow.

  Hugo howled. I ate it up like candy.

  “I’m done with you.”

  At this point I had no idea if I was talking to Hugo, or Earl, or both of them. I was nearly insane with rage, and I reached into my boot, found the scalpel, and brought it down on his face.

  Hugo blocked with his giant hand, the blade sticking into his palm. He pulled it back, taking the scalpel with it, and then swatted me aside.

  I rolled with it, onto the floor, righting myself, trying to get my bearings and find the Dan Wesson, but the room was too dark, I had no idea where it went, and then I saw Hugo pulling a gas mask onto his face.

  Then he went for the canisters and yanked out one of the hoses.

  Then he turned the valve, and there was a loud HSSSSSSSSS as the gas escaped into the room.

  HUGO

  Disorder.

  Chaos.

  Anarchy.

  Agony.

  This was the ending he’d hoped for.

  Finally, there was a challenge. Finally, stakes worthy of him.

  His whole body throbbing, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side, Hugo pulled out the second hose. Once he turned the valve, the two precursors would mix, combining to form sarin gas. It would kill Phin. Who, Hugo had to admit, finally put up a decent fight.

  He was almost proud of his younger bro.

  But he had to die. And Hugo couldn’t risk taking him on with only one arm.

  It had to be sarin.

  Not the most noble way for a warrior like Phin to go. But it would be fun to watch.

  At least he’d die with his bitch.

  Where was Pasha, anyway?

  “Uh-oh,” Hugo said when he noticed her at his feet.

  PASHA

  She opened her eyes, in pain, confused, panic
ked.

  The door was only a few meters away.

  The way out. Out of this endless nightmare.

  Pasha began to crawl for it—

  —and stopped when she noticed Phin on the floor.

  He was looking past her. Pasha followed his line of sight to Hugo, yanking the tube out of the first canister, and then turning the valve.

  The giant was focused on Phin, not even knowing she was there.

  Or maybe he did know, and didn’t consider Pasha a threat.

  Big mistake.

  That psychotic sadist wants to reduce me to a single scar on his shin?

  I’ll show him a scar.

  Within two seconds, Pasha had crawled over to him, dug into the top of his boot, and pulled out Göth.

  Then she sliced Hugo’s leg so deeply she hit bone.

  PHIN

  I didn’t find the .45.

  But I did find Harry’s flare gun.

  I picked it up, aimed it at my brother as Pasha slashed at his leg and Hugo raised a huge hand to break her skull.

  I fired.

  Nothing happened.

  McGlade, the asshole, hadn’t loaded the flare gun.

  I scrambled up to my feet, charging at Hugo getting under his fist and taking the blow that was meant for Pasha.

  I was driven to the ground, next to her.

  We locked eyes.

  I tried to tell her I was sorry.

  Hugo reached down, grabbed her wrist—

  —and snapped her arm like it was a New Year’s Eve party cracker.

  Pasha passed out, mid-scream.

  I grabbed Hugo’s leg, trying to dig my fingers into the wounds my lady had made, and he kicked me aside and stepped on my chest.

  Then I watched, helpless, as he pulled the hose from the second canister and turned the valve.

  I wondered if I should try to hold my breath, but from what I knew about nerve gas, it wouldn’t matter. Lungs, skin, mouth, mucus membranes; you were dead if a drop hit you anywhere.

  And there was more than a single drop being sprayed into the air.

  I looked at Pasha.

  Even though she was unconscious, she’d begun to cry.

  I was crying, too.

  But it wasn’t normal crying. It was like my tear ducts had been opened up.

  Then came the drool.

  As everything got blurry, I realized Hugo had taken his foot off of my chest. I seized the opportunity, managing to get to my feet.

  Once again, for probably the last time, I put up my fists to square off against my brother.

  HARRY

  I ran to the Corvette, so fast I probably broke land speed records.

  This was it. My big moment. I could already picture the headlines.

  HARRY MCGLADE SAVES THE CITY.

  I just needed to find—

  My cell rang. Jack.

  “We’re in front of the theater. The doors are locked.”

  “Nerve gas,” I told her. “Hugo has sarin. Enough to kill thousands.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The alley, half a block away. Entrance in back. Hugo has Phin and Pasha, and I’m about to make my move.”

  I hung up, found my gas mask and my disposable hazmat suit, but still couldn’t find the thing I needed most. Phin had thrown my shit everywhere. The guy really had no respect for other people’s stuff.

  I began to sort through everything. Duct tape. Tent pegs. Fishing tackle box. Trench shovel. Hand saw.

  Where the hell was it? Big ass white box with a red—

  “Cross,” I said.

  My first aid kit.

  I still couldn’t find my Magnum, but I’d run out of time. I needed to get the hazmat suit on. It was a big, yellow, thin, one-piece, chemical-proof, fabric jumpsuit with built-in booties, hood, and gloves.

  It was state of the art. Top of the line. Best of the best.

  It was also impossible to put on.

  PHIN

  It looked like Pasha had stopped breathing.

  I wasn’t far behind.

  Another punch, which hit with the force of a freight train, spinning me around, knocking me to my knees.

  I heard my brother laugh, muffled through his gas mask.

  Then I heard thousands of people cheer. The TV monitor, showing a full house, the audience applauding.

  My hands were shaking uncontrollably, drool running down my chin. My eyes were so wet that everything was a blur.

  I threw up.

  My body was failing. Shutting down.

  I was dying. Fast.

  Everybody dies. It was inevitable.

  But I wasn’t going to let Hugo win this time.

  If I was dead, he was coming with me.

  I advanced.

  HUGO

  Phin still wanted to fight? Didn’t he know it was over?

  His little brother threw a punch, which Hugo deflected easily.

  Sad.

  But funny.

  Hugo chanced a look at the monitors.

  The egg scene was on the screen. Fog had filled the stage.

  Hugo hit Phin, knocking him aside, then turned off the sarin valves so he didn’t waste more of it.

  Time to kill six thousand people.

  It would be fun to see if he could get away before the cops arrived. If he was caught, no big deal. Hugo liked prison. He’d be treated like a god.

  But if he got away, it would be legendary. He’d be known as the biggest mass murderer in US history. There would be a nationwide—maybe even a worldwide—manhunt for him.

  Hugo imagined a life on the run. So much excitement. So much brutality.

  It beat the hell out of any dumb ass white supremacy agenda.

  Hugo turned and began to reattach the tubes.

  HARRY

  The damn hazmat suit didn’t have an opening. No zipper. No Velcro. How the hell were you supposed to get into it? Climb in through the neck hole?

  I squinted at the instructions.

  You were supposed to climb in through the neck hole.

  Apparently, the neck hole was elastic, and could stretch to fit over your legs.

  “Huh. That’s pretty clever.”

  I began to put it on.

  Turned out it wasn’t clever at all.

  It was a gigantic, impossible, pain in the ass.

  PHIN

  My whole body began to spasm. But my thoughts were surprisingly clear.

  I realized something. Something obvious.

  Nerve agents had antidotes.

  If my hunch was right, I could save Pasha, and kill both Hugo and Earl in one bold move.

  I stood once more, on wobbly legs, and ran at him. He turned, facing me, throwing a jab that I barely ducked.

  Then I clung to my brother’s waist, and before he could peel me off I reached up—

  —pulling off his gas mask.

  And then I saw it. For the very first time in as long as I’d known him.

  Fear.

  Hugo was afraid.

  HUGO

  The Man With Seven Tears tore at the collar of his Tyvek suit, and found it surprisingly strong.

  He dropped to his knees, searching the floor near the woman.

  Göth. Where is—

  There!

  He snatched up the razor and slashed it across his hip, cutting the suit and his flesh. Ignoring the pain, he reached for his back pocket.

  For the Mark 1 kit.

  HARRY

  Wow. That was a struggle.

  When they did the made-for-TV movie based on this, I had to remember to tell the writer that the real fight wasn’t between Hugo and Phin, or what was happening inside the theater. All of the drama, pathos, conflict, and triumph, occurred in an alley, between one heroic man and a devious hazmat suit.

  But once that fight was over—Harry McGlade Private Eye for the win—I located the first aid kit and got ready to spring into action.

  Except that something caught my eye.

  No, it wasn’t
my Magnum. I’d given up hope of ever seeing my beloved .44 again. Phin, ever careless, had no doubt lost it somewhere.

  But right in front of me, on the car seat, was a Taser gun.

  “That might come in handy,” I said.

  There was no one to hear it, but that would play awesome on TV.

  PHIN

  You had to give a tiny bit of credit to Nazis. They were pretty good at planning.

  If you’re going to use a nerve agent, there needed to be safeguards. A gas mask and biohazard suit, obviously. But they couldn’t guarantee your safety.

  So you have to have an antidote close by.

  By taking Hugo’s mask, I’d made him show me where the antidote was.

  I could still save Pasha.

  Hugo would die. And I would die. But I’d take Earl with me, and it would be worth it never to hear his diseased voice in my head ever again.

  I could win.

  All I had to do was take the antidote from Hugo.

  As he knelt there, fumbling with a plastic case, I did a spin kick aimed at his head.

  My form was sloppy. I’d pissed myself.

  But I connected, hard, and the son of a bitch went down, the antidote skidding across the floor.

  We both scrambled for it.

  I got there first.

  Then my whole body seized. My muscles going rigid. My jaw locking shut. My diaphragm began to spasm, making it impossible to draw in a breath.

  I watched, helpless, as my brother injected himself, twice, in the hip.

  “Stay alive a little bit longer, Phineas. You can watch six thousand people die.”

  Hugo limped over to the second canister and attached the hose, putting his hand on the valve. Then he turned to me and grinned his horrible, toothless grin.

  “What did you think was going to happen, Phin? That you were going to win?”

  “Of course we’re going to win, you giant sack of horse shit,” said Harry McGlade. “We’re the good guys.”

  And then he shot Hugo in the chest with a Taser.

  My brother dropped like the giant sack of horse shit Harry said he was. McGlade left the switch on, letting Hugo do the million volt boogie, and then he knelt next to me and opened a med kit.