Chaser

by J. A. Konrath

Chandler and I had a stare-off.

  “Am I pulling over or not?” Herb asked.

  Chandler leaned forward. “She’s the mission. If she dies, we call it. We walk away. I was hired to protect you, while you save her. I can help with the saving. But if we can’t, your wife isn’t paying me enough to engage your Nazi asshole brother. He’s a career scumbag. He’s huge. He’s expecting us. And like you said, he’s been planning this for years. So agree with me, or I’m out of here.”

  Rather than challenge Chandler, I carefully considered her words.

  If Pasha died, could I just walk away?

  I couldn’t even consider that. Because I couldn’t let her die.

  So I’d tell Chandler whatever she wanted to hear, to get her help.

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  I tried to sell it, even though I knew it wasn’t the truth.

  Herb switched glances between me and Chandler. “So… pulling over?”

  “No,” Chandler told him, keeping her eyes on me. “But if I find out you’re still in love with Pasha, and you risk any of our lives, including your own, Tequila and I will break your arms. Back me up, Tequila.”

  Tequila said, “I don’t think I can pull someone’s arm off. But I guess I never really tried.”

  “You don’t need to pull them off. Just break them.”

  “I can do that. No problem. Did it plenty of times.”

  “I’m still in,” Chandler said. “Head for the motel, Herb.”

  “No prob. I only booked three rooms, though, Chandler. No one told me you were joining us.”

  “I’ll bunk with Tequila.”

  Tequila didn’t answer. But for a fraction of a second, he looked smug.

  I turned back around and closed my eyes.

  Imagined Hugo’s face.

  Opened my eyes again.

  Then I thought about Pasha with her eyelids cut off, being tortured with a curling iron.

  Thanks, Chandler.

  But if that actually happened, what the hell would I do?

  HUGO

  The Man With Seven Tears sits across from the woman in the basement, staring at her.

  She’s duct-taped to the lawn chair.

  Her make-up has run from crying.

  Dr. Bipasha Kapoor.

  Pasha.

  They’ve been staring at each other for over an hour.

  He hasn’t said a word to her.

  She hasn’t said a word to him.

  Her cheek is still bright from where he hit her.

  She’s beautiful.

  Hugo’s former commanding officer, a Caucasian Nation Gruppenführer named Packer, would have considered Pasha schlammensch; a mud person.

  But her face is perfect.

  Her hair is perfect.

  Her eyes are perfect.

  Her body is perfect.

  Like Hindu Barbie.

  The last time Dr. Kapoor had been Hugo’s guest, they’d talked for hours.

  He knew it was survival instinct on her part. She kept him talking so he didn’t hurt or kill her.

  But it had been an experience unlike any Hugo had ever known.

  He’d hurt others. Raped others. Killed others.

  But he’d never talked to others.

  In prison, and in the Order, and in Hugo’s private life, thoughts and feelings were kept locked up. Hugo shared nothing. He was a sealed safe.

  But Pasha had somehow opened him up.

  He told her things he’d never told anyone.

  About his past.

  About his hopes for the future.

  And terrified as Pasha was, she listened. Asked questions. Offered her opinions.

  It’s so nice to see her again.

  “You look just like I remember,” Hugo says, finally breaking the silence. He reaches out a finger to brush a lock of hair off her forehead, delighted as she tries to keep from flinching.

  She fails, and tries to pull away.

  He continues to caress her cheek, drinking in her revulsion, and then runs his fingertip across her lips.

  Pasha is snake-quick, and she bites him, capturing his finger.

  It’s so large it fills her mouth. Like a porn film.

  She bites down, hard.

  Hugo lets the pain course through him, but stays stock-still.

  Pasha grinds her jaw, breaking the skin.

  Now she’s tasting my blood.

  Tasting me.

  His blood seeps from the corners of her mouth, flicking to the floor as she violently shakes her head, like a terrier with a stuffed toy.

  Her teeth touch bone.

  Hugo still refuses to pull out.

  “You’re turning me on,” he says. “Would you like to bite something even bigger?”

  She releases him, spitting his own blood in his face, then turns to the side and retches onto the cement floor.

  He looks at his finger.

  This will scar.

  Like my tattoos, I’ll have it forever.

  Thank you, Pasha, for this gift.

  “I thought about you a lot, inside,” he says, dropping his hand to his side and feeling the blood continue to drip. “Have you thought of me?”

  She doesn’t reply.

  I’m sure she has.

  “When was the last time you saw Phineas?” he asks.

  Pasha flashes him a defiant look.

  “There’s a woman who broke me out of prison. It cost her a lot of money. She has a grudge against Phin’s wife, Jack. I have to admit, when I heard my brother had gotten married, I assumed it was to you. Not to some cop, ten years older than him. How did you feel about that?”

  He gives her a few seconds to answer. When she doesn’t, he slaps her other cheek.

  It’s no more than a love tap, but it knocks her chair over. Hugo stands up and rights her, as easily as others would curl a ten pound barbell.

  Her cheek begins to glow, matching the smack from earlier.

  She whimpers.

  I like how she whimpers.

  I bet I’ll really like how she screams.

  “It’s impolite not to answer a direct question, Doctor. Where are your manners?”

  She stifles back a sob, and he raises up a palm the size of a phone book.

  “I’m happy he found someone,” she manages.

  Ah, her voice.

  Musical.

  “You notice I haven’t asked you where Phin is. I don’t have to. I know him. He’ll come for you. And his pig wife will come with him. She wouldn’t let him face me alone. But I wonder how she feels about him running to your rescue.”

  He studies Pasha’s face.

  “Why is Phineas with that whore cop, and not you?”

  “That’s not your business, Hugo.”

  “Did my brother dump you?” Hugo considers it. “No. He’s an idiot, but not that big of an idiot. You left him. Why?”

  She coolly says, “Our worlds intersected. But his world and my world are too different.”

  “You haven’t married.” Hugo grins at her surprise, baring teeth as big as dice. “Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs on you. You should feel honored.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why haven’t you married, Doctor? Is it because you’re a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need a man? Or is it because you haven’t found a bad boy who does it for you like Phineas did?”

  “Why does this interest you, Hugo?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “You sicken me.”

  “That makes me like you even more.” He rubs his bleeding finger along her leg, watching the blood run down her bare knee. “Do you remember how we used to have long talks?”

  “What do you want?”

  He pretends to think about it, using his free hand to rub his chin. “For a long time, all I’ve wanted is freedom. Now that’s mine, and my choices are limitless. I want to kill my brother, of course. I’ll rape him first. Like when we were kids. And I’ll let you watch. Then I’ll rape you, while he wat
ches. Or would you prefer to go first?”

  Pasha begins to tremble all over.

  Her fear is a glorious thing.

  “We could flip a coin, I guess. That would be the fair thing.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  You have no idea. But you’ll learn.

  “Do you think Phin’s in town yet? Should we give him a call?”

  Pasha hadn’t volunteered Phin’s phone number, and he hadn’t been listed on her cell phone. But those weird twins found a number she’d been in touch with five times in the last few months. One of those pay by the minute cheap phones.

  It has to be Phin.

  Hugo left a message at the number, sure it was his brother.

  If not, I’ll have to make the doctor tell me.

  He smiles at that thought, and hits redial.

  “Yeah.”

  It is Phin.

  I’m always right about shit like this.

  And he sounds pissed. Just like old times.

  “Great to hear your voice, little brother. Why didn’t you ever visit me at Cofferdale?”

  “You’re only alive because I allowed it. Remember that.”

  “I’ll never forget it. Guess which part of my body Pasha was nibbling on earlier.”

  “Prove she’s still alive. Have her say the name of the goose.”

  Very clever.

  Having her say something only she would know proves it’s Pasha, and also proves she’s still alive, and not a recording.

  “Tell Phineas the name of the goose,” he says, holding out the phone.

  Pasha doesn’t speak.

  She’s being brave. Doesn’t want to lure him in.

  How sweet.

  Hugo reaches for her right earring, a diamond stud hanging from her lobe. He yanks it off, splitting her lobe in half.

  Pasha bites her lips, trying not to scream.

  “The whole ear is next,” Hugo tells her, pinching the bleeding part.

  Pasha blurts out, “The goose didn’t have a name!”

  He releases her, and returns the phone to his ear.

  “Would you like her to answer anything else? Or do you want to hear me pull off her tits?”

  “Where do you want to meet?” Phin asks.

  “Are you in Chicago yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Hugo can’t tell if Phin is lying.

  “Be in Flutesburg at eight pm. I’ll call you with instructions. Leave your phone on.”

  Then Hugo hangs up.

  Then he stares at his quivering, bleeding angel.

  Then he takes her bloody earring, sticks out his tongue, and takes it like a Communion wafer.

  It tastes like her fear.

  Delicious.

  “I knew he’d come for you,” Hugo tells Pasha. “Just like I know you still love him. That’s why you kept quiet. You were trying to save his life. So stop lying to yourself, and to me, and tell me the truth. How did you feel when you learned Phin was married?”

  Pasha snarled. “Leave me alone!”

  He reached for her other ear, and she pulled away, shaking her head. “No! I was hurt! I was hurt Phin got married!”

  Interesting.

  “Do you want him back?”

  Pasha began to sob. But she nodded rapidly.

  “Would you care if anything happened to his wife?”

  She paused, then shook her head.

  Pasha’s jealous.

  She still loves him.

  This information will come in handy.

  “Your ear is still bleeding. Let me do something about that blood.”

  He leans toward her, putting his mouth over her torn lobe.

  Then Hugo begins to nibble.

  JACK

  While waiting for Deb Deiter to come back to us with the traffic cam info, McGlade and I decided to head over to interview another Plastic victim. As we drove, we batted around other ways we might be able to find Tom. Roy had contacted Joan, the police, and the FBI.

  Harry’s ideas were less than stellar.

  “We start knocking on random doors, see if we get lucky. How many people are there in LA?”

  “Idea sucks.”

  “Robocalls. We call everyone, asking if they’ve recently abducted anyone.”

  “Are you joking or really that stupid?”

  “Can’t I be both? How about we rent a billboard, post a sketch of Cissick, and have a phone-in number asking if anyone has seen him.”

  “Seriously? How long will that take?”

  “Tom already had a sketch of Cissick. It’s in my notes.”

  “How long will it take to rent and put up a billboard, McGlade.”

  “I dunno. I don’t put up billboards. About twenty minutes?”

  He can’t be that clueless.

  “You can’t be that clueless.”

  “Oh, believe me. I am.”

  Stupid. But maybe he was on to something. “We could release it to TV stations.”

  “Good call, Jackie. I’ll take full credit for the concept. Hey! I can post it on my blog. I’ve got a ton of rabid followers. Maybe someone has seen something.”

  Not a bad idea. “When do you blog again?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “That has possibilities. Watch out for this guy!”

  Harry swerved, narrowly missing a man in a Superman outfit, pushing a shopping cart filled with aluminum cans.

  “Damn, Jackie. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “You almost ran over him.”

  “It was Superman. Wouldn’t have even scratched him.”

  “That wasn’t the real Superman. It was a wandering lunatic.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He had a shopping cart full of bottles and cans.”

  “Supes wants to save the planet. Recycling is a good start. Thrifty, too. He can get a buck twelve a pound.”

  Phin called, momentarily sparing me from more of Harry’s nonsense.

  “He’s got Pasha,” he said.

  Oh, hell.

  “He wants to meet?” I asked.

  “He’s calling me in a few hours.”

  “Is Chandler there?”

  “Yeah. We’re all at a motel. How’s the search for Tom?”

  “A few leads. Nothing solid yet.” I took a shot. “You promised me you wouldn’t go after Hugo.”

  “You said that. Not me.”

  “He’s got to have a plan already, Phin. He’ll want to meet someplace without any police. Somewhere you won’t be able to have guns. Or back-up.”

  “I know. Chandler’s done stuff like this before. She’s been coaching me. She already told me how to prove he actually had Pasha, asking her about a goose.”

  I wondered what goose he was talking about, but shelved the question. Phin had been with Pasha before he’d been with me. That was none of my business.

  Except it was my business, because my husband was in Chicago risking his life for her.

  “What goose?”

  “Just a dumb Canadian goose that was near her apartment. It doesn’t matter.”

  Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it did. I went with did. “It does matter. All of this matters.”

  “Jesus, Jack, it’s been eleven years. The goose is probably dead.”

  “Canadian geese can have a lifespan of twenty-five years,” McGlade interjected, obviously able to hear Phin’s end of the conversation. “I looked it up, because I thought they’d be cool pets. But I like to walk around naked, and those things bite. Their heads are just about ballsack-height. I didn’t need my boys being mistaken for walnuts.”

  “Harry, shut up. Phin, I don’t want you going after Hugo.”

  “And I didn’t want you going after Erinyes. Or Plastic. But you’re still doing it. So I guess we just don’t care what the other person wants.”

  “He’s got a point,” Harry said.

  “McGlade,” I warned him, “I will shove this phone up your ass if you don’t shut up.”

  “Does it
have a vibrate mode?”

  I punched him on his thigh and he yelped.

  “This isn’t the same, Phin. Erinyes and Plastic aren’t after me.”

  “Plastic is after me,” Harry said.

  I punched him again. He yelped again.

  “This isn’t helping either of us,” Phin said. “We need to keep our heads in the game. We shouldn’t be fighting.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So let’s not fight.”

  “Agreed.”

  Neither of us spoke for about ten seconds.

  “Sounds like you’re fighting silently,” Harry said.

  I raised my fist, and he yelped without me hitting him. “Break the cycle of violence!”

  “How’s Sam?” Phin finally asked.

  “She had a tea party this morning with Waddlebutt and Big Dick.”

  “Your daughter loves Big Dick,” Harry chimed in.

  The guy did not have an off button.

  “She’s drinking tea?” Phin asked.

  “It’s a tea party. It’s pretend. It’s what little kids do.”

  Phin paused, and when he spoke again his voice was lower and softer. “That’s not what I did when I was a kid.”

  I knew very little about Phin’s past. It was a topic he didn’t bring up often. I knew there was abuse. A lot of it. And Hugo was a big part.

  I understood what it was like to be a victim, and have the perp still out there in the world. Having your abuser running around free was like being victimized over and over again.

  “Do what you have to,” I told my husband. “And be careful.”

  “You, too. Tell Sam I love her.”

  He hung up.

  Without saying he loved me, too.

  Without me saying I loved him.

  Should I call him back?

  What if something happened to him? Or me?

  I stared at my phone. But I didn’t make the call.

  “Pride is a bitch,” Harry said. “That’s why I don’t have any.”

  “You’ve got plenty of pride.”

  “Oh. Right. I always get that one confused with humility. Here’s our exit.”

  I turned away from Harry and stared out the window, trying to put the conversation with Phin, and all of its implications, out of my mind.

  We took a left at the light, heading into the neighborhood of Culver City. It was a far cry from Beverly Hills. Smaller houses. Sidewalks needing repair. Mom and pop stores in strip malls rather than fancy designer shopping emporiums.

  “You got the vic’s file?”