Antenna Syndrome
Page 24
I tugged the sleeve from Werewolf’s mouth. There was something still inside it – a forearm, severed at the elbow joint. I examined it under the penlight. It was a few inches longer than a man’s, with a mottled purple shell encasing bloody muscle. Its hand had five digits, each with an extra phalange for greater articulation, and ridged with rows of serrated teeth for gripping. A knot of dog’s hair was caught in the joint between thumb and first finger.
“What kind of monster is that?” Major whispered.
I swept my penlight around the cave. A pair of wraparound sunglasses, broken in two, lay on the floor near our feet. A few yards away lay the calf of a leg severed at the knee joint. Same purplish exoskeleton as the arm but it wasn’t much thicker. The pant leg was torn away but a boot remained on the thing’s foot. I didn’t remove the boot to look at the foot. I wasn’t that interested.
Major directed the flashlight further into the cave. Just beyond the cone of light, the cave constricted to little more than four feet in diameter, and twisted off to the right in a steeper decline.
“No way the two of us can maneuver in there,” I told Major.
“What do you want to do?”
I handed him my penlight. “Let’s exchange shotguns. You take Werewolf and get out of here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Go down there and finish this.”
“No need. He’s lost half an arm, half a leg. He’ll bleed out in an hour.”
“Will he? This thing’s not made the same as you and me. Those parts could grow back.”
We looked at each other in the dim light. Werewolf was panting in quick shallow breaths. He needed a vet’s attention. Even if the bleeding had stopped, he was in shock, and there was always the risk of infection.
Major nodded. He slung the shotgun over one shoulder, Werewolf over the other, and stood. I patted him on the back and sent him on his way.
I picked up the shotgun with the flashlight taped to its barrel, and made sure the magazine was full. I shone my light into the tunnel. If it got any tighter in there, it’d be hard to bring a shotgun to bear. I checked my pistol and switched the safety off.
I took a deep breath. I’d been down in sewers before, hunting nasty things, but I was still afraid. Buzz was badly wounded but still dangerous, and would kill me in the blink of an eye given half a chance. So I wasn’t going to blink.
I advanced another twenty yards, still on my feet but in a crouch. The cave sloped down to the right. The diameter shrank to three feet and I crawled on hands and knees. The cave twisted to the left and closed in some more. I began to feel claustrophobic and wondered how much further I could go. If it got any tighter, I’d never be able to turn around. Could I crawl backwards out of here?
The tunnel made a sharp left turn into a still tighter space. I didn’t even want to turn that corner, let alone try to squeeze into that crevice. Buzz was in there, badly wounded but maybe not incapacitated. I could wait for him to die but how long would that take? Hours, or longer? Or I could wait for him to come out so I could shoot him. How long would that take? Minutes, or less?
I backed up a bit and lay there, feeling scared and uncertain of what to do. Panic began to creep up on me.
Since it was physically impossible to maneuver the length of the shotgun around the corner and fire into the crevice, I ripped the duct tape off the barrel and freed the flashlight. I dug into my tote bag and took out the mainstays of my exterminator arsenal – a gas mask and a large spray can of DDT.
I put on the gas mask and duct-taped the flashlight to the right side of the mask. I taped the can of DDT to the end of the shotgun barrel and removed the safety cap to expose the spray button.
With pistol in one hand and shotgun in the other, I crawled back to where the tunnel made a sharp left turn into the crevice. I extended the shotgun until the spray button touched the far wall at the turn in the tunnel. The can hissed as a fog of DDT filled the narrow crevice.
A claw shot out of the crevice, seized the shotgun barrel and shook it. Under different circumstances, the gun might have been yanked right out of my hand, but down here, there was little latitude for movement. The claw withdrew. I jammed the spray can against the wall again. The DDT filled the tunnel with its toxic mist until the can was empty.
I withdrew a bit and waited. From inside the crevice, I heard violent coughing. I had my finger on the shotgun trigger, thinking this would smoke Buzz out of his hole and I could blow his head off as soon as he emerged. But the coughing subsided and all I heard now was the muffled retching of something being sick.
I left the shotgun behind and crawled to the end of the tunnel with my pistol. I stuck my head around the corner and shone my light into the gaseous fog.
Two large multi-faceted eyes glimmered in the misty darkness. The slit of a mouth opened and a pair of mandibles shot out at me.
I jerked my head back and fired three quick rounds into the cul-de-sac. The mandible teeth ripped through the top of my gas mask and tore away a clot of scalp. I fired another three shots as the mandibles withdrew.
Fuck this shit. I was in a bad space and I couldn’t stay another second. I’d put six rounds into that bastard, surely he was dead and I could call it a day. I crawled backwards as fast as I could go, grabbing the shotgun on the way by.
I’d almost reached the point where the passage above opened into a less-claustrophobic space when Buzz came scrabbling up the tunnel after me. Despite two truncated limbs, he moved with the frightening speed of a giant cockroach. I emptied the shotgun into him as he came, saw him shudder and shake as each shot tore gaping holes in him, one eye gone now, but he kept on coming, refusing to die.
I dropped the empty shotgun and switched to my pistol, but my vision was hampered by the mask and I was badly rattled. I don’t know how many of my rounds found their target before the pistol clicked on empty.
Buzz’s mouth opened and the mandibles shot out again at my head. I jammed the empty pistol into his maw and drew my knife. His mandibles flailed wildly, unable to coordinate their decapitating pincer movement. I thrust my knife into his neck and sawed. His remaining good arm clawed at me, the serrated fingers trying to tear the mask off my face. I gritted my teeth and worked the knife with the fury of a man possessed.
I felt the head detach from his body. The mandibles fell slack. The rest of the body kept moving, twitching and jerking, the hand still clawing at me. I crawled backwards several feet and lay there panting, my knife sticky in one hand, flashlight dangling from the ragged duct tape on my gas mask.
Five minutes passed. Nothing stirred except my still-pounding heart. I assessed my wounds. Bloody scalp aside, my shoulders and upper arms were oozing from cuts inflicted by his serrated claws. And no matter how much I panted, I felt short of breath. Fearing venom, I pulled the EpiPen from my pocket and jabbed it into my thigh.
After ten minutes I put on gloves and crawled back in, just far enough to get my hands on the now-limp mandibles. I pulled the head out with me and retreated back up the tunnel, slowly rising to a crouch.
On the way out, I was too tired to pick up the arm and the leg. I had the head to prove what had killed Boyle and Mundt, and that was enough of a war trophy to last me a lifetime.
Chapter 55
Jordan was waiting for me just outside the cave, crouched behind a boulder with a shotgun. Major had carried Werewolf back down to the house. The blonde had called 911. Police and emergency medical services were on their way from Tannersville.
I peeled the gas mask off my face and stood there a few minutes, sucking in clean air.
Jordan stared at the gruesome head tucked under my arm. “What the hell is that?”
“Once upon a time it was a human head. Then surgically reconstructed with insect parts – probably a praying mantis – grown in a lab.”
He shook his head in dismay or disbelief. “Why?”
“That, sir, is a question only a mad scientist could answer.”
We walked back down the mountain. On the way I told Jordan everything that had happened since he’d left town for his country retreat – Marielle’s “abduction” by her dubious friend Crabner, Natalie’s hiring me to find her sister, Dr. Globik’s clinic and his Russian mob connections, and the murder of LeVeen for the GPS evidence of meetings between borough bureaucrats and Russian mobsters.
He was both shocked and relieved to hear about Marielle. He used his phone to immediately call Natalie. I went on ahead, giving him privacy to talk to his daughters.
Back at the house, Jordan’s personal assistant Samantha sat fully clothed on the front porch with Major and Werewolf. Major was on the phone, telling the Newburgh airport manager about the chopper’s accident. Werewolf lay on his side, a makeshift bandage of paper towels taped to his ribs, as Samantha stroked his head.
Jordan joined us a few minutes later.
Major examined my trophy, grimacing at the sight of the extended mandibles protruding from its mouth slit. He clapped me on the back. “Get it mounted and hang it in your office. That’ll impress the clients.”
“This is just for the NYPD. Hopefully, their forensics people will match these cutting mandibles with the slash wounds that decapitated Boyle and Mundt, get me off the hook.” I explained to Jordan what had happened in my office.
“I’ve got the Commissioner’s ear,” Jordan said. “I’ll call him right now, make sure he’s aware of your situation.” He took out his cell phone and entered the house.
“I checked out his Mercedes,” Major said, “just in case Buzz messed with it while we were fighting off that hornet swarm. No explosives or poisonous spiders, but I did find this.” He showed me something the size of a match book.
“What’s that?”
“GPS transmitter. I guess that’s how Buzz found his way here.”
I didn’t have to wonder how it got in Jordan’s Mercedes. Jack would have had easy access.
The local police arrived. I gave them my statement, ignoring the incredulous looks the senior officer gave me throughout. I handed over Buzz’s head and they sealed it in a large evidence bag. Jordan gave them directions to the cave, and I told them where they’d find an arm, a leg and the rest of the body.
The ambulance arrived. One of the attendants stitched my scalp and cleaned the cuts on my arms and shoulders. The other dressed Werewolf’s more serious gash and gave him a shot of antibiotics. Apparently neither of us would die from our wounds.
We celebrated with a bottle of wine over a lunch prepared by Samantha. Afterwards we sat on the porch and smoked some of Jordan’s Cuban cigars. The police returned from the mountain, carrying a body bag with Buzz’s remains. With everything now in hand, we were free to go. They’d ensure chain of custody getting Buzz’s remains to the NYPD.
A local handyman showed up to assess the damage to doors and windows. Jordan left the house keys with him. We all piled into the Mercedes and headed out. I rode up front with Jordan. Werewolf sprawled on the rear seat between Major and Samantha.
Heading south on I-87, Jordan stopped for gas in Kingston. I went inside to buy coffee for the two of us. Major and Samantha had both dozed off. Major had been up all night with me for the assault on the Avatar Clinic, and he was exhausted. I don’t know what Samantha’s excuse was.
We resumed our drive to Long Island. Jordan had been quiet so far, but I could tell he was chewing on something. Finally, he let it out. “Why didn’t Jack tell me about Marielle’s disappearance?”
“Aside from the fear of losing his job? He’s been helping the Russians spy on you.” Not to mention, molesting your daughter.
“I can’t believe it. I treated him like a friend more than an employee.”
“With friends like that…”
“Sonofabitch.”
He was silent for a long while after that, probably thinking about his checkered past, especially regarding his daughters. I didn’t bother him with any unwanted advice regarding his personal life. I was just an exterminator, not a life coach.
It wasn’t until we were on the Long Island Expressway that he spoke again. “I’ve been a lousy father,” he said. “Leaving Marielle to be raised by Vivien while I pursued my personal ambitions... Neglecting to stay in touch with Natalie... They’re both smart and talented young women, worthy of my love and attention. But I allowed them to slip under the radar while I focused all my attention on my career. What an asshole!”
“Take this as a wake-up call. It’s a good thing Natalie turned up when she did. She and Marielle will bond all over again. You have a chance now to embrace your daughters, reunite as a family. I hate to be so mundane, but if you put your PR people on this, they can spin it to your advantage in the eyes of voters.”
He nodded, and I saw tears in his eyes before he brushed them away. We left the highway and entered East Massapequa. As we turned into the driveway, I saw the Tesla parked next to the house, plugged into the charging outlet.
“Stop,” I barked at Jordan. “Jack’s here.”
He hit the brakes. “What? I thought you said he’d left town.”
Major and Samantha awoke with a start. I explained the situation and we worked out a game plan. Major and I got out and went through the trees to the back of the house. We’d left our shotguns in the trunk of the Mercedes but carried our pistols.
We crept along a hedge to the pool area and the backyard patio door. We waited there until we heard the front doorbell chime. Inside the house, two dogs started barking.
I counted to five. Plan was, Jordan would leash his dogs as soon as he opened the front door, securing them to the verandah railing.
I slipped through the hedge and opened the patio door. Major was right behind me. We passed through the kitchen on the balls of our feet, him taking the hallway, me cutting through dining room and living room, both heading toward the foyer.
“Hey!” a woman’s voice shouted from the hallway. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
I pressed against the living room wall and peeked into the foyer. Jordan stood just outside the front door, both dogs leashed to the railing. In the driveway I saw Samantha still in the Mercedes.
In the foyer, a platinum blonde stood with her back to me. In her left hand she had a fistful of Vivien’s hair. In her right was a pistol aimed down the hall. I recognized the hair and the voice. Tatiana.
I came up behind her and chopped her hard at the wrist. Her pistol flew from her hand and skidded down the hall. Major picked it up, checked the safety and stuck it in his belt.
Vivien skittered out of the foyer and into Jordan’s arms. Tatiana was now down on her side, clutching her sprained wrist and howling with pain. I crouched beside her and pressed my pistol against her teeth to shut her up.
“Where’s Jack?”
“Upstairs,” she groaned.
Chapter 56
We left Jordan with Tatiana’s gun to watch over her. Major and I went upstairs. We no sooner hit the second floor landing when Jack fired several shots from within Jordan’s office. He must have heard the ruckus below and readied himself for us. But he was a lousy and reckless shot, and wasted half a dozen rounds right off the bat.
I crouched just outside the doorway to Jordan’s office. Major kneeled in the bathroom doorway across the landing, both of us now with fields of fire that minimized the risk of shooting each other.
“Jack,” I called out, “it’s Savage. Tatiana’s out of play and three of us have guns. You’re not going anywhere, so put down your weapon and end this now.”
“Let me go and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’ve got nothing to negotiate with. You’re a rapist and a murderer and you’re going to prison.”
“I can’t go to prison. If I don’t deliver, they’ll kill me.”
“Who?”
“The bratva. The Russian mob.”
“If you turn state’s evidence, maybe they’ll put you in witness protection.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
Which gave me an idea…
I took a can of pepper spray from my jacket pocket. It was the large size – 200 mL – that I carried at all times to keep feral dogs at bay.
I didn’t know exactly where Jack was but probably hunkered down behind Jordan’s oak desk. I gave the can a good shake and rolled it into the office. I peeked around the corner, took aim and popped off a quick one. The can of pepper spray blew up and skidded off into the corner behind the desk. I hooked my fingers under the door and swung it shut.
A second volley of shots blew holes in the office door. I counted four. Depending on his weapon, Jack might not have many rounds left. I rapped on the closed door with my pistol. Another two shots ripped through the door. What a dummy.
Inside I heard violent coughing, the sound of windows being opened. I imagined the scene – office filled with pepper spray, air too hot to breathe. I rapped on the door again. This time, no answering gunfire.
I nodded to Major. We got to our feet and he came across the hall to flank the door with me. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. We each took a deep breath and entered the room at diverging angles.
Jack had his head out the window, coughing violently, gun hand on the windowsill. I went over Jordan’s desk and tackled Jack. He went down in a pile, arms flailing. Major snatched the pistol from his grip.
We each grabbed an arm and dragged him from the office, gulping for air as we hit the landing, not pausing for the stairs, down the hallway and into the back yard.
Jack curled up on the pool patio, coughing, his eyes streaming with tears. Major and I sat on pool chairs to catch our breath. I inspected the ribs I’d bruised diving across Jordan’s desk. I was getting too old for this.
I heard a siren approaching. The police would be here any minute and it’d be out of our hands. There was just one more thing I had to do.