They never got around to the drink.
Alex closes her eyes for a moment, and can practically feel Sam’s body lying next to hers. It’s so pleasant, so right, that it makes her anger fade away.
The future is looking brighter and brighter.
This is the home stretch. Soon after Chicago, Alex will leave the country. She’ll be gone for a while. A year at least. Sun and fun, rest and recuperation. And then, who knows? Once everything is taken care of, the whole world will be open to Alex. It will be like starting a whole new life.
“I think I can fall in love with you, Samantha,” Alex says, half of her face grinning.
She reaches Chicago an hour later, never having to stop for gas. Maybe there’s something to this Prius hype after all.
The neighborhood is dark, quiet. She got the address, and the idea, from an earlier phone call. Rather than park anywhere near the house, she finds a space next to a fire hydrant, one block over.
If Alex wanted to do this quick, she could burst into the house, guns blazing, and kill her intended victim. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so quick. He’s armed, has a burglar alarm, and has most assuredly been on heightened alert since Alex has gotten out. She could set the building on fire, wait to shoot him when he came running out. Or use some of Lance’s ordnance to send the house into the stratosphere. But those aren’t nearly as fun as what she has planned.
Giving Jack a sporting chance to prevent this murder, and watching her fail, is simpler, and more satisfying. Plus the authorities, and the media, will be focused on events here while Alex is off doing other, more important things.
She grabs her duct tape and a fresh cell phone. With some difficulty—both with the climbing and the securing—the phone gets set up in a tree across the street from the house, some dead leaves packed around it to keep it hidden. Then she brushes off the bits of tree from her outfit and heads back to the car.
After all the text messages she’s sent lately, Alex is becoming pretty adept at what is an awkward skill. Maybe she’s not as fast as the average schoolkid, but the six words appear on the screen quickly and easily.
THIS IS HERB. HE’S YOUR PARTNER.
CHAPTER 45
NO PHOTO THIS TIME. But the first text message was followed up by:
HE DIES TOMORROW.
I was on the phone with Herb ten seconds later.
“Herb! It’s Jack. I—”
“Jack, I’m absolutely starving,” he interrupted, talking louder than normal. “Why don’t we meet to night at that sushi restaurant you liked? Remember how you went crazy for the maki roll?”
“Enough with the food, Herb. Alex just called me. You’re her next target.”
“Let’s discuss it over raw fish.”
“Did you hear me? I said Alex is coming after you.”
“I’ll be fine. Trust me. And I insist we grab a bite together. If not sushi, how about that seafood place on Halsted?”
“Herb—”
I stopped myself. Herb never met a food he didn’t like, but I’d met several, sushi being one of the biggies. He took me to a place a few years back and the maki roll made me so ill I still can’t eat fish. He knew that.
“Would dinner be just us?” I asked carefully. “Or would we have some friends along?”
“I’m pretty sure the Nicholas Brothers would be there too.”
Cute. The Nicholas Brothers were tap dancers. Herb also could have mentioned drinking draft beer, which was another reference to tap.
The Feds. They were listening in.
“Sounds nice, but I can’t make it. You need—”
“We can have a few draft beers afterward,” Herb said.
“I got it already, Herb. Now listen closely. The message from Alex said that you’ll die tomorrow. I need you to go away for a while. No credit cards, no relatives, don’t tell anyone.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be safe here. I have angels watching me.”
Herb isn’t good at subtle.
“Don’t put your faith in angels, buddy. She’s smarter than they are.”
“If we have a chance to catch her by making me bait—”
“No!” I yelled it loud enough that Harry jumped in his seat.
“It’s not your call, Jack. You’d do the same thing.”
“Dammit, Herb—”
“I’ll come out of this okay. I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
“Catching Alex isn’t going to protect me, Herb. You need to protect yourself and your wife. Alex…she killed Alan.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. I shut my eyes, saw Alan’s face, opened them again.
“I’m sorry, Jack. But that’s all the more reason I need to do this.”
“Herb, please—”
“Looking forward to that Turduckinlux. We’ll deep fry that baby when this is all over.”
He hung up on me. I stared at the phone.
“We could kidnap him,” Harry said. “Toss him in back with Slappy.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why? You think he’d eat my monkey?”
“The Feds.” I rubbed my temples. “His phone is being tapped by the Feds. And now that they know Alex is after him, they’ll camp on his front lawn. I won’t be able to get within a mile of him.”
“That’s a good thing. If you can’t get to him, neither can Alex.”
“She has to know that. She told me Herb was the target, which means she has a way to get through them.”
Harry gave me a sideways glance, then narrowed his eyes.
“You didn’t call Fatso on your phone, did you?”
I still had my cell in my hand. Harry made a face.
“Christ, Jackie. I told you the Feds can trace that. Have you been using that a lot?”
“No.” Then I remembered the long conversations with Mom and Dad earlier. “Not much.”
Harry rubbed his eyes, then extended the motion downward, massaging his jaw.
“You need to keep your head in the game, sis. The bond between siblings may be one of the strongest in nature, but those Feebie pricks pretty much guaranteed I’d do time if I help you or Phin.”
I folded my arms, anger creeping up my back and perching on my shoulders.
“So don’t help me, McGlade. Let me out here.”
He sighed. “Sis—”
“And stop calling me sis. There isn’t any proof we’re actually related.”
Harry shook his head. “You don’t know that. What about the DNA test thingy?”
“The lab hasn’t called. But I don’t need a lab to know that I share more DNA with Slappy than I do with you. Hell, McGlade, take a good look at yourself. You actually think we could have the same genes?”
“Mom says I look like my father.”
“Mom has trouble remembering to take her arthritis medication every day. You think she can remember a one-night stand from fifty years ago?”
“You’re just jealous she likes me more.”
“Likes you? No one can stand you, Harry. You’re an obnoxious, irritating, offensive, petty little man.”
“You forgot ugly,” Harry said.
“I’ll also add dirty to the list. Lathering yourself with aftershave is not, nor has it ever been, a substitute for a shower.”
“Wow. I really suck. You must have hated all of that time we were partners.”
I nodded. “I did.”
“And you must really resent that I still keep popping up in your life.”
More nodding. “I do.”
“And you must think I’m a total idiot that I never knew any of this before.”
Really enthusiastic nodding. “You got it in one.”
“Except I’ve known it all along.”
“I—” I squinted at him. “Huh?”
“Remember the Grant Park case?”
Of course I remembered the Grant Park case. An unsolved rape/murder, gone cold. I worked it in my free time, gathering evidence for over a year, building a case, sharing m
y findings with Harry. He made the collar without me and got all the credit.
“I’ll never forget it, McGlade. You got the promotion, when you didn’t do a damn thing.”
He smiled, the bastard.
“You still think it’s funny that you screwed me?”
“After all these years, you still think I screwed you? No one wanted to work with you, Jackie. You weren’t a team player. All you cared about was proving to the world that you were a good cop. Guess what? Everyone thought you were a single-minded, self-righteous, ball-busting bitch. They respected you. But no one liked you. You think I got a higher rank because of one lousy arrest? I got it because I passed the damn tests, had been there longer than you, and I bowled with the captain on my days off. Maybe you should have been doing the same thing, then you would have gotten promoted sooner. Hell, you might even still be married.”
I made a fist, wondering where I was going to hit him first.
“You stole the credit for that bust,” I said through my teeth.
“Yes. Yes I did. And it was wrong. But maybe if you’d been the least bit cool, and not constantly acting like I was something you wanted to scrape off the bottom of your shoe, maybe I wouldn’t have. But here we are, two de cades later, and you still treat me like shit. You know something, Jackie? I’ve changed. But you haven’t. You’re still the same holier-than-thou supercop, chasing bad guys instead of having a life. Say what ever you want about me. I like myself. Do you like yourself?”
“Stop the car.”
“It’s not a car. It’s a Crim—”
“Stop the fucking car, McGlade!”
He put on his turn signal, then coasted onto the shoulder of the highway.
“Jackie, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
I needed my backpack, but it was in the motor home section, with Slappy the Psychotic Macaque. I opened the door anyway, ready for a fight.
The monkey was sitting on the sofa, chewing on a remote control. He eyed me when I entered.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I warned him.
He stayed where he was, watching as I grabbed my stuff and opened the side door.
“Jackie, you have to stop pushing away the people trying to help you.”
“Go to hell, McGlade.”
I stepped onto the side of the road.
“Come on. This is stupid.” McGlade, poking his head out. “Come back.”
I spotted a road sign, stating the next exit was two miles ahead. I started to hike.
“It’s cold and dark, Jackie, and there are probably wild animals. I think Wisconsin has wolves and mountain lions. And mad cow disease. At least let me drive you someplace.”
I picked up my pace.
“You can’t take on the whole world by yourself, Jackie!” Harry called after me. “The world always wins!”
Not this time, I swore to myself. This time, I’m going to win one.
But my threat, and my conviction, got lost in the darkness as McGlade pulled away.
CHAPTER 46
ANOTHER DRIVE, BUT SHORTER THIS TIME.
Staying in Chicago isn’t a smart idea. By now the authorities know she’s here. Killing across state lines is a federal crime, so the FBI is going to be involved. Plus, the CPD won’t take threatening one of their own lightly. Everyone will be looking for her, and hers isn’t a face that’s easily forgotten.
But just because Alex has to be in Chicago for one final crime doesn’t mean she has to stay there. So instead she gets a room in nearby Rosemont, at a second-tier hotel near the airport. She dons the black veil and pretends to be a grieving widow as she checks in, the fake sniffles and sobs giving her an excuse to keep her hand on her face, over her scars.
When Alex gets to her room she collapses onto the bed, exhausted. She thinks about her upcoming sabbatical, and how nice it will be to take a break from killing for a while. After she kills the doctor, of course.
There’s still Jack to deal with. And that asshole Harry. And Phin. But the need for revenge, pressing on Alex’s every thought like a full bladder, isn’t quite as pressing. Jack’s not dead, but she’s certainly suffering.
And it’s going to get a lot worse, Alex thinks. After Herb dies, she’s going after Jack next.
It’s kind of sad, really. Alex has been fixated on Jack for so long that having her gone will leave kind of a gap. Perhaps it’s best to savor the little time they have left.
Alex kicks off her shoes, wiggles her toes, and locates the nail polish she bought earlier. She dials, then begins painting the first little piggie.
The phone is answered on the third ring, but Jack doesn’t say anything.
“What, no hello?” Alex asks. “Rude. Are you still mad at me for Alan? That was hours ago.”
“I’m going to find you.”
Jack sounds weak.
“I know. And I’m going to make it easy for you. Tomorrow, after your partner dies, I’m going to call you and we’ll set up a meeting. Just me and you, Jack. That’s what you want, right? Revenge?”
No answer.
“Are you still there? If you want, I can call up Harry instead.”
“I’m here.”
“And you want revenge, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Quiet and squeaky, like a mouse.
“I’m an expert in revenge, and let me tell you something. It doesn’t bring back the dead. Sure, it’s fun. I’m having a great time slaughtering everyone important to you. But Charles is still dead. And even if, by some miracle, you happen to kill me, Latham will still be dead. Herb will still be dead. Alan will still be dead.”
“You’re the next one to die, Alex.”
Alex listens to the background sounds. Wind. A car passing at a high speed. She discerns Jack is on a highway.
“What happened to Phin? Were you too much of a downer so he took off?”
“Get to the point.”
“I wanted to tell you that I watched you try to save your husband. Exciting stuff. You know, you were only about thirty seconds late. If you’d been just a little faster, he’d still be with us.”
Another sound joins the wind and car noises. Alex is overjoyed to hear it.
“Lieutenant Daniels, are you crying?”
The sound becomes muted. Jack has put her hand over the mouthpiece. Not only is she devastated, she’s also embarrassed.
How delicious.
“He’s in a better place, Jack. If he lived, he’d just be pining for you. Did you know his Internet password was Jacqueline? I’m not making that up. And he still had a picture of you in his wallet. Poor sap. I bet he was the type who sent you poems. Did he write you a poem, after your first time? Something about how lovely you were, fucking him in that restaurant bathroom? What rhymes with toilet?”
“I’m…I’m going to—”
“Jack, woman to woman, threats don’t really work when you’re crying like a baby. It’s pathetic. Now, fun as this little chat has been, I’m painting my toenails and it isn’t easy holding the phone at the same time. So here’s the deal. When I call tomorrow, with the clue to save your partner, you’ll have to react fast. You won’t have twelve hours, or two hours. You’ll have less than a minute. Use it wisely.”
Alex hangs up, pleased with how the call went, but not pleased with the job she’s done on her first few toes.
Now isn’t the time to be sloppy. Alex pads over to the bathroom, dumps some acetone on a hotel towel, and wipes off the nail polish to start again.
CHAPTER 47
BY THE TIME I found a room for the night I was a mess. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I’d walked several miles, freezing my tail off, before finding a small mom-and-pop motel with carpeting older than I was. I ate out of the lobby vending machine, not tasting a damn thing, and drew a bath in a cracked tub with water tinted orange.
I crawled in and let the guilt overtake me, crying until my throat hurt. Mixed with the guilt was shame, for not being there for Herb when he needed me most, and anger, at Phin and Harr
y and Alex, but most of all at myself for allowing all of this to happen.
And hate. I felt hate so dark it scared me. I didn’t just want to kill Alex. I wanted to burn her alive and watch her scream. I’ve lived—hell, I’ve dedicated my life to upholding the law, but I would trade every arrest I’d ever made, ever perp I ever put behind bars, for twenty minutes alone with Alex in a small cell, her handcuffed to a chair, me with a baseball bat.
What had I become?
A drip, from the lime-coated showerhead above me, dimpling the surface of the water between my feet. I stared up at it, and then the shower curtain, old and stained but on an aluminum rod that looked strong, sturdy. It would probably support my weight. I didn’t have any rope, but there was a gas station on the corner.
Stupid. Cops don’t hang themselves. They eat their guns.
I thought about the Beretta in my backpack. One bullet, and I’d stop feeling this awful. I’d let so many people down, myself included. One bullet would make it all go away.
You’re being weak, Jack.
So? Can’t I be weak for once?
Killing yourself is the coward’s way out.
Okay, I’m a coward. One more reason to hate myself.
I stood up, walked naked into the bedroom. Stared at my backpack.
You’re seriously considering this?
A sob caught in my throat. I blinked away some tears.
Yes. It’s the best idea I’ve had all week.
I reached my hand inside, wrapped my hand around the butt of my gun. It felt solid. Reassuring.
Just do it.
I closed my eyes, tried to think of a reason to stop myself. Faces popped into my head.
Mom, begging me not to.
Sorry, not good enough.
Dad, tacking an article about my suicide onto the wall in his spare bedroom, to add to the dozens of other articles and pictures of me.
Take it all down, Wilbur. I’m not worthy of a shrine.
Harry, telling me I hated myself.
You nailed that one, bro.
Cherry Bomb Page 21