Rusty Nail
Page 26
Holly spun in a semicircle and hit the floor.
I sat there, clutching the brush, breaths coming out in ragged gasps, waiting for her to get up so I could give her a second helping.
She didn’t get up.
“I wet my pants again,” Harry said.
I crawled over to her, not looking at the ruin that was once a gorgeous face, not listening to the gurgling coming out of the hole that was once a beautiful mouth, taking the knife out of her hand, digging around in her pockets until I found my handcuff keys.
Dragging myself across the floor, I uncuffed Latham, who hugged me gently and kissed my fingertips.
“Nice job, Jack. I forgot how exciting life with you was. We’ve been apart for months, and not one person has tried to kill me in all that time.”
“So you’re taking me back?”
“You couldn’t keep me away if you tried.”
“Hey lovebirds!” Harry yelled. “Can you save the kissy face for later and get me the fuck out of here?”
Latham ran off to get help. I stared at Phin, and he gave me a weak thumbs-up.
Returning to Holly, I cuffed her hands behind her back and pulled off her shirt to try to stop some of the massive bleeding coming out of her face. It didn’t help much.
“Use a tourniquet,” McGlade suggested. “Put it around her neck.”
I crawled over to Phin, not wanting to move him in case of a spinal injury. He had two bullet wounds in his left shoulder. Holly hadn’t wanted him to die, probably because she wanted him around for a while to torture.
I slipped off Harry’s belt and tied it around Phin’s arm to slow the bleeding. Then I picked up some tin snips off the table and crawled to Harry, setting him free just as the sirens howled in the distance.
Harry hugged me.
“Thanks, Jackie. I owe you one.”
“Just take me off that damn TV show.”
“Take you off? Do you know what kind of amazing episode this would make? Shit, Jack, we’d hit number one in our time slot.”
“Harry . . .”
“Fine. You’re off.”
The sirens got closer, and Latham came back in, toting my cell phone. He sat beside me, holding me tight. And I began to sob. But it wasn’t from pain, and it wasn’t from shock. It was from pure relief.
A purring sound made me turn around. Mr. Friskers was sitting in McGlade’s lap, a dead rat in his jaws.
“Good kitty,” Harry said. “Good fucking kitty.”
And he continued to pet him until the ambulances arrived.
CHAPTER 52
WE WERE ALL taken to Alexian Brothers Hospital in Elk Grove. Latham got stitches. I got stitches too. I also had my nose set and packed, which hurt worse than when Holly broke it, and had a cast put on my ankle for a bad sprain. Phin needed five units of blood, but came out of surgery in good shape.
And Harry—I actually felt sorry for Harry. He had to have his ruined right hand amputated.
“Don’t let them do it, Jackie,” he pleaded as they wheeled him into the OR. “That’s half my sex life.”
I patted his shoulder. “You’ll get one of those cool robotic hands, like on James Bond.”
That made his eyes light up.
“I’ll be able to crush cans and shit like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Do women like those things?”
“They’re sexy,” I told him. “You’ll have to fight the women off.”
Alex Kork, whom I knew as Holly Frakes, also needed surgery. She had skin removed from her buttocks, her hips, and her stomach, to try to reconstruct her face. From what I heard, it wouldn’t help much. She’d spend the rest of her life looking like a patchwork quilt.
I also finally got through to Herb, and spoke with an exhausted Bernice.
“Everything went fine. He’s doing great. I’m watching what’s happening on TV. Are you okay?”
I squeezed Latham’s hand.
“Never better.”
“Herb wants to talk to you.”
“He’s awake?”
“He’s still a little dopey. But then, he’s always a little dopey. Here he is.”
“Jack! I’m watching you on TV. It was Harry’s wife all along?”
“Yeah. How’s that for a shocker?”
“Well, at least now it makes sense why someone would marry that moron. For a while there, I thought there was something seriously wrong with the universe.”
“How are you doing?”
“Good. Just like an oil change. You gonna come visit?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Bring donuts.”
Latham and I were discharged at around three in the morning. As expected, my apartment was a full-blown crime scene, infested with cops.
Bud Kork, gut-shot and burned, had died on my kitchen floor next to his common-law wife.
I picked up some essentials and spent the night at Latham’s new condo. With the cat, of course.
“I bought this king-sized bed with you in mind,” he told me.
“Might be a while before I’m ready to break it in.”
“We can take as long as you need.”
Between the two of us we had three black eyes, twenty-three stitches, a nose full of cotton, and a twisted ankle, but we managed to break it in that night.
I fell asleep wrapped up in Latham’s arms, a goofy, chipped-tooth smile on my face.
The next few days were spent playing catch-up. I visited the office and finished my reports, and Captain Bains told me the superintendent was considering a promotion for me. I visited Herb and brought him Cinnabons. I visited Mom and told her everything that happened. I visited Harry, and he showed me his stump and moaned about the tetanus shots he had to get. I visited Phin, who thanked me for a wild weekend. And I visited Alex.
She had two armed guards at her door, and another one that sat inside her room. She lay on top of her sheets, bandages covering most of her body from the many patches of skin they’d harvested trying to reconstruct her face. Her head was swaddled in gauze, mummy-style. Her hand was cuffed to the bed frame. A single blue eye peered out through the cotton, fixing on me when I entered.
“Hello, Jack. Thanks for coming.”
Her voice sounded weak, muffled by her dressings. I sat down in the chair next to her.
“I hear you’ve been cooperating with police. Telling them everything they want to know.”
“Just listening to my lawyers. They want to use an insanity defense, obviously. Poor abused child grows up confused and alone. Some bullshit like that.”
“Do you think you’re insane?”
She shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I think there’s something seriously wrong with you. Maybe you’ll be able to get some help. Professional help.”
“I doubt it. I killed my last four shrinks.”
I leaned forward.
“Why did you want to see me, Alex?”
“You can call me Holly if you want.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“The doctors, they didn’t want me to see my face yet. But last night I got up and went to the bathroom and took off my bandages in the mirror. I look like someone stapled some raw pork chops to my face.”
If she wanted sympathy, she was preaching to the wrong choir.
“I’ll be scarred for life, Jack.”
“You already were,” I said.
Holly didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I got up to leave.
“Jack.”
I stopped. Waited.
“You beat me this time. But it isn’t over.”
I gave her a final glance.
“It’s over,” I said, and left the hospital.
That night, in Latham’s bed, I had a strange dream. I was at the shooting range, and no matter how carefully I aimed, I couldn’t hit the silhouette.
But rather than frustrate me, I found it funny as hell. Every time I missed, I laughed like crazy. It was one of the most wond
erful dreams I’d ever had.
My cell phone woke me up.
“Ms. Daniels? This is Julie, over at Henderson House.”
Henderson House. The long-term care facility where my mother lived. I checked the clock, saw it was three in the morning.
The fear washed over me like a wave. I’d been expecting the worst for so long, but found myself unable to handle it.
“Is it Mom?” My voice quavered, my eyes filling with tears.
“Yes, it’s your mother. It happened just a few minutes ago. She’s come out of her coma.”
Had I heard correctly?
“Mom’s out of her coma?”
My talking woke Latham up. He hugged me in the darkness.
“Not only is she awake, but she’s completely lucid. Can you come over here, Ms. Daniels? She’s asking for you.”
EPILOGUE
Several Months Later
THE ALLEY WAS dark, and I shouldn’t have gone in there. It was just plain stupid.
But into the alley I went, following McGlade, gun drawn and moving in a crouch.
“I see something.” Harry had his gun out as well, a much larger gun than mine. “Cover me.”
“No.” I tugged his arm back. “It’s my turn to go first. You cover me.”
“Jack, this is dangerous. Don’t fight me on this.”
Without listening I pushed past McGlade and broke into a run. I stopped in a Weaver stance, legs two feet apart, both arms stretched out in front of me, steadying the gun—
—silhouetted by the street light behind me.
A perfect, easy target.
“Freeze! Police!”
The first shot caught me in the stomach, blood gushing out before me like a fountain.
I fell in slow motion, three more shots ripping into my chest and shoulders, spinning me around, painting the brick walls with blood before I hit the pavement.
I heard Harry yell, and watched him run out to me, firing into the alley as he ran, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out onto the sidewalk, leaving a smeared trail of red.
“Harry . . .”
“Shh. Jack, don’t talk.”
I looked down at the ruin that was my chest, blood pumping out in a ridiculous amount. McGlade tried to press down on some of the wounds. I cried out in pain.
“I’ve got to get help, Jack.”
He tried to stand up, but I stopped him, grabbing his hand.
“It’s . . . it’s too late, Harry . . . too late.”
“Hold on, Jack.”
A single tear rolled down my face. I put on a brave smile.
“You’ll get the guys. Right?”
“Of course I will, baby. Count on it.”
I blinked a few times.
“Everything’s getting dark, Harry.”
McGlade knelt down, propped my upper body onto his lap, and put his arms around me.
“I’m here, Jack.”
“Harry . . . I . . . I need to tell you something.” I was whispering. “Come close.”
“I’m all ears, Jackie.”
“All . . . all of these years . . .”
McGlade now had tears in his eyes too.
“I’m listening.”
“I . . . love . . . you . . . Harry . . . McGlade . . .”
Harry bent down, and his lips touched mine. When he pulled his head back, my eyes were wide and staring into space.
I was dead.
Harry cried out, lifted his head back, and screamed and screamed and screamed.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . appeared at the bottom of the screen. Then the image froze and faded to black.
My mother clicked off the TV with the remote control, frowning at me.
“That was crap. Pure crap. You never would have gone into the alley like that.”
I shrugged. “At least I won’t be back next season. You want a beer?”
“A beer sounds wonderful. Let’s get good and plowed and order a pizza with extra everything.” She made a kissy sound, and Mr. Friskers bounded into her lap.
“You sure you want everything, Mom?”
Mom smiled, and it was beatific. “Absolutely. I’ve got a lot of eating to catch up on, Jacqueline. I’ve got a lot of life to catch up on.”
She reached for my hand and held it tight. I held it just as tight, never ever wanting to let go.
“You know what, Mom? That makes two of us.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every book, the list of people I need to thank gets longer . . .
To fellow scribes: Barbara D’Amato, James O. Born, Lee Child, Blake Crouch, Bill Fitzhugh, Jack Kerley, William Kent Krueger, David Morrell, PJ Parrish, and M.J. Rose, for their words, encouragement, and inspiration.
To those in the book biz: Robin Agnew, Augie Alesky, Lorri Amsden, Elizabeth Baldwin, Jim Berlage, Terri Bischoff, Jane Biro, Chris Bowman, Linda Brown, Bonnie Claeson, Diana Cohen, J.B. Dickey, Moni Draper, Tammy Domike, Judy Duhl, Luane Evans, Dorothy Evans, Bill Farley, Beth Fedyn, Dick File, Marilyn Fisher, Holly Frakes, Steven French, Fran Fuller, Sandy Goodrick, Diane Gressman, Maggie Griffin, Joe Guglielmelli, Maryelizabeth Hart, Patrick Heffernan, Jim Huang, Rick Jensen, Steve Jensen, Jen Johnson, Jon Jordan, Ruth Jordan, Steve Jurczyk, Bob Kadlec, Richard Katz, Edmund and Jeannie Kaufman, Carolyn Lane, Steve Lukac, Sheldon MacArthur, Bobby McCue, Dana Mee, Laurie Mountjoy, Jim Munchel, Karen Novak, Cynthia Nye, Otto Penzler, Henry “Hank” Perez, Barbara Peters, Sue Petersen, Sarah Pingry, Taryn Schau, Terri Schlichenmeyer, Matt Schwartz, Cindy Smith, Terri Smith, Kathy Sparks, Laura Stanz, Dave Strang, Jim & Gloria Tillez, Barbara Tom, Maria Tovar, Susan Tunis, Chris Van Such, Lauri Ver Schure, Linda Vetter, Janine Wilson, Chris Wolak, and the many others who have helped spread the word—if your name isn’t here, blame the typesetter!
To the publishing folks: Lauren Abramo, Ellen Archer, Alan Ayres, Michael Bourrett, Susie Breck, Anna Campbell, Regina Castillo, Jane Comins, Natalie Fedewa, Nicola Ferguson, Brad Foltz, Miriam Goderich, Jessica Goldman, Laura Grafton, Dick Hill, Amy Hosford, Eileen Hutton, Navorn Johnson, David Lott, Bob Miller, Phil Rose, Will Schwalbe, Michael Snodgrass, Abby Vinyard, Katie Wainwright, Miriam Wenger, Kimberly West, Westchester Book Composition, and Raynel White.
The amazing Leslie Wells.
Jane Dystel, who kicks major booty.
Barry Eisler and Jim Coursey, for their first draft insights.
Family and friends: Laura Konrath, Mike Konrath, Chris Konrath, John Konrath, Talon Konrath, Latham Conger III, George Dailey, Mariel Evans, and Jeff Evans.
And of course, Maria Konrath. I couldn’t write a word without her.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER
51
CHAPTER 52
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Copyright © 2006 Joe Konrath
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Publisher. For information address Hyperion, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York 10023-6298.
ISBN 1-4013-8476-5