She bent over double and threw up again. She continued to heave until nothing came up, not that there had been much to throw up in the first place. She staggered back into the hallway, got one more look at the two bodyguards, Karl and Geezer, still dead she saw: Karl's brains were leaking out of the side of his head like some gelatin creation. She looked away quickly and staggered into the kitchen. She sat down at the stools that lined a small counter. The place she usually found Richie sitting. She sat there for a few seconds and then remembered the small counter was also a bar and sometimes rich kept a little something else back there too.
She got up and went to the sink, ran the water, drinking right from the tap. She swished the water around in her mouth and spat, then did it a few more times. She bent closer and splashed the cold water on her overheated face. Pushing the excess off her face with her hands. She straightened and walked back to the counter which, from this side, was open and stocked with all sorts of bottles of booze. All high test. All the good stuff. No bad ones in the bunch. She grabbed a bottle of imported Russian vodka. The label entirely in Russian, all the printing too: All that writing that looked like backwards writing to her that she could almost figure out. She snagged a clean water glass from the top shelf and filled it with the vodka. Her eyes fell on the small refrigerator under the shelves.
He kept some shit there. In the top. In the freezer section, she thought... Sometimes... Most times in fact that she could remember... He had said, "Wait just a second," and he had walked right over to the bar, opened the small refrigerator, and come back with what she needed... Was it every time or almost every time, she asked herself?... She couldn't remember. She was usually too fucked up to think about it, but she thought it was nearly every time. And she thought it was the freezer because it seemed to be where he reached.
She sat on the stool and sipped at the vodka. Loving the fire that it ignited in her stomach. No one would know... No one would know at all... She had seen Richie's BMW in the other stall of the garage. She could take that to get away...
If the keys...
She looked over at the small hooks just inside the kitchen door. The BMW keys looked back at her. She could see the little BMW medallion on the leather fob. She licked her lips, took a deeper sip of the vodka, let it burn its way down into her stomach. And now she could feel it inside, working its way down further, making her thighs warm. Hot even. She looked at the small, compact refrigerator again. She licked her lips once more, got up and swung the small door open.
Her eyes bugged out of her head. She had never seen the inside. She had only assumed that it was a refrigerator, but it wasn't. It was shelf after shelf packed tight with shit. Pot, cocaine, heroin, crack, crank and pills... Probably E, she thought. And at the very bottom stacks of money. She forgot to breathe and nearly toppled over off the stool before she remembered to take a breath again. She took several deep breaths and then went over to the kitchen sink and found the garbage bags underneath. This is not real, she told herself. It's just not real... But it was. She knew it was. She could feel that it was. She took two bags, slipped one inside the other, and then loaded everything in the refrigerator into the bag. All of it. She hefted it and then went back and got a third bag and slipped it over the first two.
She was on autopilot now. She crossed to the rack, took the keys to the BMW and walked into the hallway. Gelatin, she told herself, just gelatin, as she stepped over Karl and Geezer and then started down the steps that lead down into the garage.
She nearly tripped over the carpet again, looked down, saw one slim dusky gray hand that had slipped out from under the carpet edge when she tripped over it, and quickly looked back up before it could cause her to lose her happy thoughts again.
She opened the garage door. She had thought it would be so hard. She had been convinced it would be, but it was easy. Push the button, the door went up. She climbed into the BMW, set the black plastic bag on the passenger seat, backed the car out of the garage, and then came back and pushed the button to close the door. She stepped back out the side door, shut it as well as she could, then opened it back up, turned the knob on the handset to lock it, and swung it closed once more. It was broken, but maybe it would lock anyway, she told herself. She looked at the dented gold handle of the knob for a moment wondering what had happened here, and then turned and walked back toward the BMW. No going back, her mind said. No going back.
She was nearly to the BMW when she bent double and heaved. The vodka came back up. Burning her throat raw as it did. She slammed down onto her knees, skinning them, and retched until the nausea finally passed. She got up slowly, straightening her clothes as best she could, turned, and that was when she saw the kid standing on the sidewalk. She tried to smile as she staggered toward the BMW.
"You okay, lady?" the kid asked.
She looked at him. Sunday morning, before dawn. The newspaper carrier bag slung over one shoulder. Sunday papers. Maybe he was 16. Maybe 17. Well built. Healthy, unlike herself. She needed to dry out. Funny, a few minutes ago all she had wanted was a fix. Now she didn't want to ever touch heroin or anything else again. Dry out, be normal. She'd been sixteen herself not so long ago.
"Are you?" the kid asked again.
She shook her head. "Probably not... But I will be... You got a girlfriend?" she asked.
The kid shrugged.
"You want to have an adventure?" She straightened up and looked at the blood running from one of the cuts on her knees. She raised her eyes to the sky and then looked back again. "Maybe get out of this crappy fuckin' town?" she asked quietly.
"With you?" the kid asked.
"Yeah, maybe I'm not so hot right now, but I clean up real well... Yeah, with me. There's no one else here. Want to deliver fuckin' newspapers the rest of your life? Or maybe get some shit-job flipping burgers someday?" she asked. She allowed a little laugh to slip into her low voice.
"No," the kid answered.
"Can you drive?" she asked.
The kid looked at the idling BMW, the driver's door hanging open. "Yeah," he said a little breathlessly. He looked back at her. She smiled.
"I'm... I'm going to be sick for a while... Kicking the shit, you understand? The big H. The big H... I'll need help... You'll take care of me... Won't run off and leave me?" She wobbled a little on her feet.
"Took care of my mother before she died... I can take care of you... You won't die though, right?" His eyes looked worried, but he shifted the carrier sack from one shoulder and let it drop to the wet pavement.
"Nope," she answered. "But I'll probably wish I did..." She looked at him, "You'll really stick it out?" She watched his eyes.
"Yeah... I'll do it," he said.
"Liv," she said.
"Brian," he said. He stepped toward her.
"Well, Brian, better get me into the fucking car before I pass out," she said as her vision blurred. She wobbled, but he was right there. More substantial than he had looked. Stronger. He pushed the plastic bag off the passenger seat, belted her in, and then went around to the driver's side. He backed out into the street.
"Where... Where to, Liv... Where are we going?"
"Down south... Stop and buy a map at a gas station. Take us south. Get a motel when you need to. When I... When I get crazy... Okay?"
He nodded as he drove. The BMW accelerating smoothly on the rain slicked streets. "I only have about 20 bucks," he said.
She laughed, worked her way into the bag, drew out one of the stacks of money and handed it to him. She pawed through the bag taking out all the money, stacks of it: Slipped the bottom bag off, put the money in it and then tied the bag with all the drugs in it.
"You saw all the money? That bag's got a lot in it. Take it wherever you go and be careful," she said. "This shit?" She lifted the other bag and pressed the switch to roll down the window. The air felt cold, but good. She flung the bag into the woods that lined the side of the road. And then she burst into tears. It was gonna be so hard.
She p
ressed the button and the window whispered closed.
"Take care of me, Brian. Take care of me," she said. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the glass and passed out.
Manhattan
Jilly
Jilly sipped her diet coke and browsed through the directory of the website. She had her FTP client up and she was downloading the entire content section, which she could sell to someone else before she sunk the site for good.
Jilly did things for people: Bad things for bad people, but only because they paid well, she told herself. She was 23, owned her own apartment, a loft. A big loft. She didn't owe anything to anyone. All the latest and newest computer equipment. Not many women her age could say the same. Bad people paid well. She did the bad things. You got this bit of information, that bit. Did this thing or that thing. Bad things, but they paid well.
Her e-mail alert chimed and she popped the window up over her browser window. She read the e-mail and smiled. A big payoff, maybe. She reached for the phone, dialed a number and waited.
"Yeah," she said. "The dead guy, Neo? He bought himself a new car... Yeah... Yeah... Got it all on a phish. License, make, model, where... It's on its way to you... Yeah... The usual... Oh!... Thanks, you're so sweet to me." She hung up, checked her downloads and sipped at her diet coke. Bad people, good money, she reminded herself. She picked up the phone and called the other interested party.
Tennessee
Billy Jingo
The Suburban was so smooth it was like being in another world, Billy thought. The sun was up, early morning, 9:00 AM his watch said. All the money in the world and he had walked into a Kmart and bought himself a $29.00 Timex. He liked it. It suited him.
They had passed over into Tennessee. It was not far to the border and then they would be in Alabama. From there they would follow I 65 down to Mobile. He had tried to call Rich at 8:00 AM as they had arranged, but no one had answered. It bothered him. He knew two numbers for Rich. The one just rang. The other just beeped and then hung up on him after a few seconds, which meant the messages were full. The one that rang and rang was Rich's cell phone. It made no sense that it should ring and ring. Rich was a businessman. He never missed phone calls.
He picked up the phone and tried the cell phone again. It rang on and on, a dozen times. He was just about to hang up when he heard the click of an answer. No hello, no anything. Just an open line.
"Rich... That you, Rich?" Billy asked.
Nothing, then "Billy?... Billy Jingo... Don't hang up, Billy, just listen to me. Don't..."
Billy clicked off the phone, looked at it as if it had betrayed him, pushed a button for the window and tossed the phone out onto the highway. He watched in the mirror: Just an explosion of parts catching the sunlight as the phone came apart.
"What?" April asked.
"Some dude answered Rich's phone, but it wasn't Rich," he said.
"Might not be bad," April said. "Doesn't have to be anyway."
"He knew my name," Billy said.
"Shit," April said.
"Yeah. Tried the cop trick too: Keep them talking. Told me not to hang up," Billy told her.
"Don't panic," April said. "They don't know anything. Think about it. They can't know anything or they would have us. Might have been a lucky guess on their part. Maybe they... Maybe they were supposed to answer. Supposed to see if it was you," April reasoned.
"Maybe, but it felt wrong. And how are we going to know where to go. We'll probably be in Mobile sometime in the early morning," Billy said.
"Baby," April said. "We'll do what we said. If we don't hear back or we don't feel right about it, we'll just drive on through. We don't need the money or the headache. There's nothing wrong. We don't have to do it."
"Yeah," Billy said. He tried a smile back on. "Yeah. Okay."
Watertown
Richard Dean's House
Sammy and Don
The phone rang and rang. Don wasn't going to pick it up, but it was still ringing when he finally got a latex glove on. What the hell, he thought. He clicked the button and listened. The sound of travel. Tires singing on pavement. A radio low in the background, nothing else for a minute. He was about to say hello when the kids voice spoke. "Rich?... That you Rich?"
He was usually quicker; maybe it had been the lack of sleep. He knew the voice from somewhere, it just took a few extra seconds to figure out where from. The kid. Billy Jingo. It was his voice, Billy Jingo's voice...
"Billy!... Billy Jingo?" he had said. "Don't hang up, Billy. Listen to me. Don't trust these guys. Rich is dead. They'll kill you too... Billy?... Billy?... Fuck," Don said and slammed the phone into is free hand.
Sammy looked at him over the small bar where he had found the phone sitting on a high shelf along with two rubber banded stacks of fifties.
"Hung up," Don said. "It was the kid. I know the voice. He hung up." Don ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were shot with red. His temper was frayed, even after the time he had spent with Janet. Maybe because of it. He would sure rather be back with her than here looking through the glass at the horrors in the exercise room.
He looked back at the high shelf. It went back deep. Impossible to see what else might be up there. He pulled over a stool and climbed up on top of it. Sammy walked away toward the garage to let the techs know the scene was secure. He looked for a long time at what was hidden in the dust.
Mobile Alabama
Jimmy West
Jimmy punched in the number Rich had given him. No answer, the phone just rang and rang. He folded his phone, dug up a small piece of paper and reread the phone number to make sure he had gotten it right. He had. He chose the alternate number and punched that in. It rang four times before it was answered. The young woman's voice. The kids' girl, April. Had to be. "Is Billy right there? This is Ronnie Lee. I've been trying to reach him." He tried to make the accent believable. Not too heavy, but there nonetheless.
Nothing but silence. He moved around the counter top. The guitar shop was quiet, dark, a little dirty light coming through the front glass. Ronnie lee was tied to a tall metal backed chair. His eyes were missing.
"Did I dial a wrong number?" he asked.
"No," April said at last. "Billy can't talk right now, Ronnie lee. John told us about you," April said.
"Who the fuck is John?" Jimmy asked. "There shouldn't be anyone in this, but us and Richie."
"I meant to say Richie," April lied.
Sure you did you little bitch, Jimmy thought.
"Well, who are you. You know who I am... The girl, I know that. Rich told me, but he didn't say your name," Jimmy said
"Annie," April lied.
"Annie, okay. Annie, do we have a deal? I pulled together an amount of money that should work, but I can't seem to reach Rich at all. His phone just rings. I'm a little spooked, I don't mind telling you, Annie," Jimmy said. “Know what I mean? Then you guys don't answer on the other cell phone number... Made me wonder, you know?"
"We can't reach Rich either," April said.
"So it isn't just me?" Jimmy said.
"Billy called, someone picked up. He thinks it was a cop. We nearly changed our minds about this. I mean it's squirrelly," April told him.
"Annie, I went to a lot of trouble to get all this money together. I wish the two of you wouldn't pull out. I'd understand it if you did, I just wish you wouldn't," Jimmy said.
"I didn't say we would. It's just... It just spooked us too, I guess," April said.
The silence hung for a few minutes.
"Where we at, girl?" Jimmy said at last, figuring he would play it a little hard.
"Don't call me girl," April said.
"Sorry," Jimmy said. "It's my Alabama showing. I don't mean nothing by it."
"Let me talk to Billy... Where can I call you back?" she asked.
"Call me at my guitar shop," he ran off the number that went with the phone on the wall.
"When?" April said.
"When you're ready... It's all a
bout you now, Annie. You and Billy. I'll be here," Jimmy told her.
"Okay," April said and clicked off.
Watertown
Richard Dean's House
Sammy and Don
Sammy came back in with the techs. "Okay, Don?" he asked.
"Yeah, let them do that exercise room after the hallway. At least that way we'll have someplace to go where we don't have to look at death." Don said.
Sammy nodded and led the techs into the living room. They stopped just inside the doorway.
"Who else?" the lead guy asked. His name was Dennis Jones. Sammy had worked with him before. "Just me and Don," Sammy answered.
Dennis looked around. "Probably the kitchen is okay, since you have already been in here. Anything in there?" he asked. He looked down at the bottles in the rack, the refrigerator that sat under the bar, then back up. Don wagged his head no, and then pointed at a phone and two stacks of fifties that sat on the counter top. Sammy walked over and whistled. "Where?" Sammy asked.
"Up next to the phone," Don said.
"Did you touch them?" the tech asked.
Don held up his gloved hands. "But before you do the hall, do the kitchen and the phone, bag the money. I will need to answer the phone if it rings and we need a place to set up, okay, Dennis?" Don asked.
"Yeah, just," he looked around and spotted the short hall that led to the front door. "I'll just hit the short hallway first, then this. That way you guys got an entrance and a place to wait... The rest is gonna take a while."
Dennis crossed to the short hall and printed the door. Vacuumed the carpet and bagged it, then turned it over to them. He bought the phone to Don a few minutes later.
Don walked out to the car he had parked at the curb, and pulled it up onto the lawn next to the front door. He took his jacket off. Folded it carefully and put it on the back seat. The day was warming up a little, although the forecast said cold later. Either way the jacket was off and would stay off. He walked back inside the hallway and stepped up beside Sammy. They watched as the techs worked the other end of the hall that picked up on the opposite side of the kitchen and led to the garage.
Earth's Survivors Box Set [Books 1-7] Page 156