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by Lee Goldberg

  "Give me about an hour, I've got to wrap my arm up in a trash bag and take a shower."

  "You have to what?"

  "It'll all make sense when you see me."

  After Sabrina hung up, she lay in bed, trying to decide whether to stay where she was and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep and be all warm and cuddly in bed when he arrived, or take an invigorating shower and greet Charlie awake and clean.

  She opted for the shower and went into the bathroom to run the water, thereby proving it's the little choices in life that often have the biggest consequences. The sound of the shower running killed any chance she had of hearing her front door opening, and Delbert Skaggs slipping inside her house.

  He took a moment to admire her colonial-style furnishings and her sharp eye for interior design as he screwed the silencer on his gun. The native pine drop-leaf dining table went well with the open-beam ceilings. He'd try not to get too much blood on the walls—it would be a shame to soil the fine knotty pine cabinetry and moldings.

  As he was making his way down the hall to her bedroom, outside the house and across the street Otto and Burt were sitting in their truck, the engine idling.

  They had followed Delbert here, and watched him enter the house a moment ago. Now they were wrestling with the issue of just how to kill him. They were determined not to mess this up the way they had with Boo Boo.

  "It has to look like an accident," Otto said.

  Burt studied Sabrina's tiny, one-story, cottage-style house, with its bay window and small porch.

  "What if a giant boulder fell from a cliff and smashed the house?"

  Otto gave Burt a look. "We don't have a boulder."

  "We could get one," Burt replied.

  "We don't have a cliff," Otto said.

  "Fine, shoot down my ideas. That's easy." Burt argued. "Let's see you come up with something."

  "Okay, what if a runaway train veered off the tracks and plowed into the house?"

  "We don't have a train," Burt said. "Or tracks. See how easy it is to be negative?"

  "But we have a truck," Otto pointed out. "What if a drunk driver lost control of his car and smashed into the house?"

  "We don't have a drunk driver," Burt grinned, just being difficult.

  Otto grinned back. "Hand me a beer."

  Burt reached under the seat for a beer, popped it open for his buddy, and handed it to him. Otto opened his mouth, tossed his head back, and poured the entire beer down his throat, crumpled the can, and threw it out the window.

  "A buzz ought to do," Otto said.

  With a deep belch, Otto revved the engine, jammed the car into drive, and floored it.

  Sabrina Bishop was naked, about to step into the shower, when she suddenly had the overwhelming sensation that she was not alone. She stepped into the bedroom and saw a shadow in the hall.

  "Charlie?" she said.

  Delbert Skaggs stood in the hallway, about to answer her with a bullet, when he heard screeching tires outside. He looked back just as a truck burst through the living room window in an explosion of wood and glass.

  The truck roared through the house, demolishing one wall after another, finally hurling through the sliding glass door and skidding to a halt in the backyard.

  Otto and Burt jumped out of their crumpled truck and shook bits of the windshield off their bodies, then turned to admire their path of destruction. The gutted house barely stood, swaying and creaking, bits of plaster and glass raining down on the rubble. A geyser of water shot up where the shower used to be.

  "Too cool," Burt declared.

  "Let's check it out," Otto said.

  They ran into the house, dodging falling rafters and shards of glass, looking for signs of carnage. They didn't have to look far. The hallway had collapsed on Delbert, all they could see was his bloody hand peeking out from under the rubble. Burt stomped on it for good measure.

  "Maybe we should cut it off and take it with us as proof," Burt suggested.

  The front wall suddenly collapsed, opening the interior of the house to the street. Any second now, neighbors and police would be showing up.

  "Forget it." Otto sniffed the air. He could smell gas, and based on recent experience, he knew it wasn't Burt. "We better hustle our bustles."

  They were turning to leave when Burt suddenly grabbed Otto by the arm. "Do you see what I see?"

  Otto followed Burt's gaze into what remained of the bedroom. The walls had caved in on the bed, which propped them up just enough to save Sabrina's life. She lay unconscious on the floor, naked and bloody, covered with a thin layer of plaster dust.

  "Yeah," Otto replied. "A fringe benefit."

  Otto and Burt rushed over to her, slid her out from under the rubble, carried her to the truck, tossed her onto the bed, and covered her with an oily tarp.

  Then they climbed into the truck, slammed their doors, and peeled out, smashing through the fence into the alley, their tires squealing as they charged off.

  # # #

  Charlie knew something was wrong as he turned the corner, steering the rental car with his good hand. People were standing on their lawns and sitting on their porches, staring up the street, where a section had been cordoned off with yellow police tape and officers were herding a crowd away.

  He pulled over to the curb, got out of the car, and jogged up the sidewalk, dodging people going in the opposite direction.

  Charlie ducked underneath the tape and ran down the center of the street, terrified that he'd see a coroner's wagon in front of Sabrina's house. Instead, he saw a lone police car, its lights flashing. Her house looked as if it had been hit by a hurricane.

  He was heading for it when an officer grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" the officer yelled.

  Charlie shook free, but the officer blocked his path.

  "Turn around," the officer demanded. "We're evacuating the area."

  "I've got a friend in there," Charlie shouted.

  "Not anymore you don't," the officer said. ''The house is empty."

  Charlie tried to push past him, but it wasn't easy with just one good arm. "I have to be sure."

  The idea that Sabrina might be hurt because he hadn't anticipated she might be a target, because he'd been too late, was too much to stand.

  "I'm sure." The officer pushed him back. "Now get the hell out of here, there's a gas leak and—"

  Just then the house exploded, knocking them to the ground and belching a tremendous fireball into the air that showered the street in flaming debris.

  Charlie scrambled out from under the dazed officer and stared at the burning house, the flames spreading to the homes on either side. Charlie was also burning, the rage inside him so strong it was all he could do not to strangle the first person he saw.

  They had gone too far. It wasn't a question any more of keeping himself out of jail, it was all about making them pay. If Sabrina was hurt, they would pay with their lives, regardless of the law.

  He was Derek Thorne now, a rogue cop meting out his own brand of justice, and it felt right. Charlie marched back to his car, oblivious to the crowds running to the flames, the sound of sirens in the distance. He had to save Sabrina. It was the only thing that mattered.

  He got in the Chevy, jammed the car into reverse, and slammed on the brakes. The car fish-tailed to face the opposite direction, then he sped off, weaving through the traffic until he found a pay phone.

  The car jumped the curb and slammed into the phone booth, shattering the glass and nearly toppling it to the sidewalk. Charlie stomped through the broken glass, dropped a quarter in the slot, and dialled the studio. Eddie Planet wasn't there. Charlie dropped another quarter in the slot and called him at home.

  Eddie answered the phone on the first ring, his voice cracking. "Hello?"

  "I'm coming for you," Charlie said, "and if she's hurt, you're dead."

  It was what Eddie had feared, but it was trivial in comparison to the
gun a horribly disfigured Delbert held to Eddie's temple.

  Eddie covered the phone, glanced desperately at Delbert, and stammered, "What do I say?"

  Delbert stood next to him, his nose crushed and his forehead slashed open, wiping the blood out of his eyes with the back of his mangled left hand. His entire body was caked with blood and plaster, his right ear held in place by a clump of matted hair and one thin membrane. And yet, as bad as he looked, Eddie didn't doubt the killer's resolve, or his fury.

  ''Tell him to fuck off," Delbert demanded.

  "But—"

  Delbert cocked the trigger. Eddie wet his pants and quivered as he spoke.

  "Fuck off," Eddie said unconvincingly into the phone, then covered it as he appealed to Delbert. "He's gonna kill me."

  "Don't worry. I'll kill you first." Delbert wiped more blood out of his eyes.

  Charlie gripped the receiver so tight it was beginning to crack.

  "You've got one way to come out of this alive," Charlie said. "You'll bring me Sabrina Bishop."

  Delbert grinned, tearing open his broken lips, blood dribbling from his mouth like saliva. "Tell him if he wants the woman, we want something in return."

  "You got something to trade?" Eddie trembled as he spoke into the phone, the urine stinging his thighs. Charlie took a deep breath. So that was how this was going down. Fine. He could play by those rules. It was just a question of who would break them first, and who would die doing it.

  ''Tell Delbert I have Boo Boo," Charlie said. ''The dog for Sabrina."

  "Bullshit," Eddie screeched.

  "I found the dog last night at the studio," Charlie said. "Makes you wonder about that 'wild animal' that attacked Reed Roland, doesn't it?"

  "The whole fucking country thinks they've seen Boo Boo," Eddie yelled. "The dog is fucking dead."

  If Charlie was telling the truth, Eddie feared Delbert would kill him right now. But it wasn't the truth. The dog was dead. Otto and Burt couldn't have blown it. It was a simple job, it couldn't have gone wrong.

  Then Eddie remembered Otto and Burt didn't wear seat belts because they couldn't figure out how they worked.

  "If you're so sure, then we have nothing to talk about," Charlie said.

  Eddie covered the phone and mustered all the self-confidence he could find within himself, which wasn't easy, standing in soiled pants with a gun to his head.

  "He's full of shit, Delbert."

  ''The idiots you sent to kill me"—Delbert spit blood out of his mouth with each word. "Were they the same ones you hired to kill the dog?"

  "I never sent anyone to kill you, how could you even think—"

  Delbert pistol-whipped him across the face. Eddie fell to the floor, dragging the phone off the table with him.

  Eddie started to cry. "Yes, it was them."

  Now Delbert knew Charlie had the dog. He shoved the gun into his shoulder holster and grabbed the phone. "All right, Willis. You have my attention."

  It was the first time Charlie Willis had ever heard Delbert Skaggs's voice. And the first time they met face to face would be the last, one way or the other.

  "We make the switch at ten o'clock tonight, Pinnacle Studios," Charlie said, "on the Global Armageddon stage."

  "I don't like it," Delbert said.

  "It's nonnegotiable."

  If Charlie was going to have a chance, he would have to make sure they met in a place he could control, and on his terms.

  "I'll kill the woman," Delbert retorted.

  ''Then the dog shows up at UBC, Frankencop dies, and so do you."

  Delbert spit out a gob of blood and glared at Eddie, who was whimpering on the floor, his pants soaked in his own piss. Delbert liked everything clean and this wasn't just a mess, it was an incredible, ugly mess. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, his injuries, or the dirt, the blood, the drool, and the piss that surrounded him. Charlie Willis's proposal had the benefit of being quick and clean, and Delbert had to appreciate that. However it went down, it would be orderly.

  "All right, Willis. Tonight."

  Delbert hung up and grabbed Eddie by the throat, pulling the urine-soaked, sobbing executive producer to his feet.

  "You're going to call them," Delbert said, "and they are going to bring her to the studio."

  Eddie nodded, a simpering coward.

  "You better hope she's alive, Eddie, because that's the only reason you still are."

  Delbert threw Eddie back on the floor and went to clean himself up.

  # # #

  Charlie burst into Dr. Gaston Grospiron's clinic and searched all the examination rooms until he found the jabbering Frenchman looking down a wheezing St. Bernard's throat.

  "Where's the dog?" Charlie demanded.

  "Ah, my good friend, I 'ave bean looking for you," Dr. Grospiron excused himself from the St. Bernard and its owner, and led Charlie into the hallway. "I 'ave good news. Ze dawg does not 'ave ze rabies."

  "Great, where is he?"

  "What do you mean'?"

  "Where is the damn dog?"

  Dr. Grospiron shrugged. "Most of 'eem is in a body bag in ze freezer, ze 'ed is steel in ze lab."

  Charlie felt his heart skip a beat. "You decapitated the dog?"

  "Of course," Dr. Grospiron replied. "I 'ad to exameen ze brain to determeen if 'e 'ad rabies."

  Charlie slumped against the wall. Things only got worse. No matter what he did, he always ended up further and further behind.

  Dr. Grospiron gave his friend a bewildered look. "You weren't planning on keeping 'eem, were you?"

  "Actually, I was planning on giving him away," Charlie said.

  "A vicious beast like zat?" Dr. Grospiron shook his head, confused. "You are deranged, my friend."

  Dr. Grospiron walked away, shaking his head. Charlie, despondent, slid down to the floor and rested his head on his knees. What the hell was he going to do now?

  The door beside Charlie opened and a woman covered in Givenchy emerged, her perfectly coiffed French poodle walking in time with her owner.

  "You did a wonderful job, Emilia darling," the woman said to the groomer. "You're the Jose Eber of dogs."

  Charlie lifted his head and glanced at the dog, who looked like a walking topiary, then peered into the room at the groomer, a petite Mexican woman who was already sweeping up the hair.

  An idea occurred to Charlie. It was a long shot, but it might buy him a few precious minutes when it counted.

  "Excuse me," Charlie asked the groomer, "but how good are you at making a dog look really pitiful?"

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sabrina awoke to find herself in a black silk negligee, sitting on a couch, her hands bound behind her back with duct tape, her head resting on a tuxedo-clad man's shoulder. Her head pounded, and she felt like throwing up.

  "Smile," Burt said. She looked up, just long enough to see Burt in a tuxedo holding a Polaroid camera, and then she was blinded by the flashbulb.

  "Who are you? Where am I?" She squinted, trying to focus her eyes and control the urge to vomit. The man she saw, in that brief moment, looked like he'd gone bobbing for apples in a french fryer.

  Otto abruptly stood up and hurried over to Burt. Sabrina, losing her support, flopped down onto the couch cushions, which reeked of beer, Doritos, and body odor.

  Ignoring her, Otto and Burt waited anxiously as the Polaroid slowly spit out the photo. When it was nearly out, Otto plucked it from the camera and held the photo in his hands, watching as the image of Sabrina resting her head on his shoulder began to appear.

  Sabrina blinked several times, and her eyes focused on a dozen Polaroids spread out on the cushion beside her. Each photo showed her in various stages of undress, propped in a different adoring or suggestive position with either Otto or Burt, wearing their rented tuxedos, a stupid grin on their blistered, greasy, fire-seared faces.

  That was too much. She vomited on the floor, her stomach heaving until she thought she might pass out again. But she regained control over h
er spasming muscles and opened her eyes.

  Neither Otto or Burt seemed to have noticed her intestinal upset, they were so completely absorbed in the picture.

  ''This is the best one yet," Otto said. "I reek suave."

  "You do," Burt agreed.

  Her stomach purged, Sabrina suddenly felt better, her mind sharper, and she began to regain her bearings. The last thing she remembered was going to take a shower, and having the sensation someone else was in the house. Then there was an enormous crash, and she dived to the floor. The walls caved in on her and that was the last thing she saw before waking up here.

  Wherever here was.

  She took in her surroundings. It was a mobile home. Centerfolds were stapled to the walls, and the floors were littered with fast-food containers, beer cans, and potato chip bags. The furniture was ravaged, and the TV set looked like it was stolen from Ozzie and Harriet's living room.

  Sabrina did a mental inventory of her body. She felt a little bruised, and there was a cut somewhere on her head, but she was certain she hadn't been raped or sodomized, which was a tremendous relief. She preferred not to imagine what else they might have done with her while she was unconscious. Her feet felt numb, and she couldn't move her legs. She glanced down to discover her ankles wrapped together in duct tape. She was a prisoner.

  "Take a look at this." Otto held the picture in front of her face. "Don't I look debonair?"

  Sabrina thought very carefully about what to say. "Yes, you do."

  Otto seemed genuinely pleased. "We're on our way to the top," he predicted to Burt. Sabrina concentrated on squeezing any fear out of her voice. "I don't mean to sound rude, but what am I doing here?"

  "Promotion," Burt said.

  "For Sunn of a Gunn," Otto added. "We have to show the network we're twice as good as George Hamilton."

  "I see." Sabrina realized she was being held by two dangerous lunatics. The good news was that so far she hadn't been hurt. Humiliated and degraded, yes, but she could live with that. After all, she was an actress. "So you're actors."

  Otto and Burt shared a proud grin.

  "Not yet," Burt said, "but soon."