Phineas Troutt Series - Three Thriller Novels (Dead On My Feet #1, Dying Breath #2, Everybody Dies #3)

by J. A. Konrath

  Harry grimaced. “Sorry, babe. It’s only 2008. Maybe in a few years. How are you? You sound good.”

  I told McGlade to shut up.

  “We’re coming, Pasha. So are the cops. Just hold on.”

  “Hugo said something about the show almost being over.”

  “We know. We think you’re at the Roscoe Theater. Harry and I are almost there.”

  “I think I’m below street level. I can hear music, and applause, but it seems far away, and I also hear—ohmygod—”

  I held my breath, not daring to speak, fearing the worst.

  PASHA

  As soon as the door began to open, Pasha dropped the cell phone in the bucket.

  “I like games,” Hugo said when he came into the room. He was wearing a white hazmat suit, a gas mask propped on his head. “People are always so serious about things. Careers. Families. Money. Politics. Religion. Health. Death. It’s ridiculous. Everybody dies. It makes no sense to worry about something that is guaranteed to happen.”

  He walked closer. Close enough to see into the bucket. But his eyes remained locked on Pasha.

  She wondered if Phin was still listening. Had he hung up? Was the battery finally dead? What if he, or 9-1-1, tried to call back?

  “So many people, so many lives, so many worries. And what do these fools do, to take their minds off things? They play games. Did Phin ever tell you about the game of war?”

  Pasha shook her head, willing herself not to accidentally glance at the bucket.

  “It’s a card game. You each take a deck of cards, and pull from the top of the deck at the same time. High card takes them both. Phin and I played when we were children. But our family version had a twist. Whenever one of us lost a card, Father would slap us.”

  “That’s horrible,” Pasha said.

  Hugo grinned, baring his infected gums. “It was… beautiful. You never knew what was going to happen. You had to surrender to chance. Give up control. Live in the moment. When we were playing pick-up-sticks, we didn’t care about anything else. We were completely focused on the game.”

  He took a step closer. Pasha knew she had to distract him somehow.

  Try to seduce him again?

  She didn’t think she could bear it.

  Beg?

  Begging excited him.

  Fight back?

  She could try. But it wouldn’t be effective. Or last very long.

  There was a chance Phin and Harry would find her. Or the police would arrive. All she had to do was hold out until then.

  Hold out, and don’t let Hugo know about the cell phone.

  “People play games to distract themselves from real life. But life can be a game. Life is a game. If you want to take it seriously, you lose. But if you give into it…”

  Hugo lifted up his enormous foot—

  Oh, no.

  —and nudged the bucket over.

  The giant smiled. “Then you always win.”

  HUGO

  Early on, Hugo learned the secret to playing war.

  He cheated.

  While Hugo enjoyed the excitement and surprise of randomness, he also enjoyed rigging the outcome. The game of war required no strategy. But there was danger, and skill, in hiding cards from his father and brother, and then magically producing them for a win. Sometimes he’d lose on purpose, to fool them both. Sometimes he’d tempt fate by winning over and over, until Phin’s cheeks were so red and puffy it looked like he had the mumps.

  He’d done so much to rig the current game. He’d played Packer and Whitman and the rest of the CN. He had Phin running around like a headless chicken, probably half out of his mind with fear and worry.

  But his stupid little brother still hadn’t put it all together, and Hugo was almost out of time. Instead of the exciting, dramatic ending he’d hoped for, it wasn’t much fun at all. And shouldn’t killing six thousand people be fun?

  He bent down and picked up the phone.

  “Who is this?” Hugo said, louder. “The cops? Or my little brother?”

  “It’s me.”

  Phin. At least that was a step in the right direction.

  “Have you figured out where we are, yet?”

  After a hesitation, Phin said, “No.”

  “How many more hints do you need? I showed your girlfriend the Playbill in my pocket. Mentioned aliens and eggs. Thousands dying. Told her we were at a show. I’ve been waiting for you since yesterday.”

  “What are you planning, Hugo?”

  “I’m not planning. I’m doing it. Killing thousands of people. I was hoping you’d show up, but it looks like you’re going to miss everything. Where are you?”

  “Chinatown.”

  “Yeah, you’ll miss it. But just in case, I’ll tell you where I am. There’s a service tunnel, in the alley on Columbus, half a black east of The Roscoe Theater. It has a ribbon tied to the handle. Take the stairs down and to the right, go about thirty paces, and there’s a door with gaffer’s tape on it, in an X. You have twenty minutes to get here.”

  “I’m more than twenty minutes away.”

  “Too bad. I’ll be sure to take some pictures of your dead girlfriend.”

  Hugo broke the phone in half.

  “Did you call the pigs?” he asked Pasha.

  She didn’t answer.

  “You stupid bitch, why do you think I let you have the phone? If Phin’s not here, and the cops aren’t coming, this isn’t going to be nearly as exciting.”

  He reached down, grabbed the chain cuffed to the iron pipe, and gave it a fierce yank. It snapped. As Pasha tried to scurry away, Hugo grabbed her neck.

  “Here’s the new game. We’re going to watch all of these people die. Then I’m going to play doctor with you. I’m going to reach up inside you, and pull out a baby. And if there’s no baby up there, I’ll just yank out everything else I can find.”

  PHIN

  McGlade fishtailed into the alley with the sound of screeching rubber and his own high-pitched screams. The ass end of the Corvette hit a parked car, sending the contents of his rucksack and bugout bag everywhere, and he recovered from the swerve and hit the gas.

  “Coming up behind the theater. Look for a ribbon on a door handle.”

  “I don’t hear sirens.”

  “Jack said she’d be here. They may be coming quiet, not to alert him. Is that it?”

  Harry stomped the brakes, bouncing me off the dashboard, making the stars come out. When I was able to focus I saw he was staring into the alley, at a cellar door with a red ribbon.

  I got out of the car, drew my gun, and ran to the door and pulled on the handle.

  “Locked.”

  “I’ve got a universal key in my prep bag somewhere,” Harry said. He was kneeling next to the back seat, still looking for his .44 Magnum.

  “So do I.”

  I drew the Dan Wesson 1911 and fired six times at the door lock.

  “You coming?” I said, swinging open the door and staring at a dark staircase.

  “I don’t have a gun.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Wait! Okay, I got your back.”

  I took the stairs, McGlade three steps behind me.

  HUGO

  He dragged her into the control room.

  1:33. Thirteen minutes until the egg scene.

  Plenty of time to do some hands-on surgery.

  He slapped Pasha across the face, driving her to the floor.

  What was that thing called? Where a woman had all of her lady parts ripped out?

  A hersterectomy?

  Hugo had never done one before. And Pasha was so tiny, he wondered if his hand would even fit.

  Only one way to find out…

  PASHA

  The blow was unbelievable. Pasha had been in a car accident, years ago, bad enough to cause whiplash.

  Hugo’s slap was twice as bad.

  She stared up at him, seeing the sick look of joy on his face, realizing that this was it. No more trying to get
him to talk, no more poor attempts at seduction, no more tricks. He was going to kill her, in a horrible way, and she couldn’t think of any way to delay it.

  Pasha pulled on the end of her ankle chain, wondering if it was enough to maybe whip him in the eyes, and when she looked up, she noticed one of the TV monitors on the wall.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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, panicked.

  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.