Chaser

by J. A. Konrath

  Presley returned, lugging a large, plastic suitcase. She set it on the floor and opened the clasps.

  The exosuit didn’t look robotic. It wasn’t even the silver color of my (former) leg braces. Or of RoboCop.

  Instead it consisted of some black straps, some black rods, and a large black pack.

  Fabler reached in and picked up a section. “Jamal told me that they’re labeled for your left and right legs. This one has an L, so I’m assuming left. Motors are inside the rods. That big section straps to your back, it has the battery and the sensors.”

  He offered it to me. So I guess I got to do this in front of a live audience.

  Presley knelt down, helping me strap the contraption to my left leg. The right came next. The back battery cinched to my waist with two more straps, and was attached to something kind of like a bike-seat that hugged my butt.

  The top thigh rods snapped into the seat, and there were also short cords that plugged in and sticky pads that went under my pants on my butt, thighs, and calves.

  “Now what? Do I press something?”

  “It senses muscle movement and assists. There are adjustment knobs on the knees for sensitivity and angle extension. So try standing up.”

  I reached for a walking stick and prepared to heave myself out of the chair, gritting my teeth in preparation for the oncoming pain.

  I stood up so fast I fell forward. Grim caught me, and he and Presley steadied me.

  Whoa. Powerful.

  Harry smiled so big he bared gums. “Try taking some steps, Jackie.”

  I took one, and lurched mechanically forward. I managed to keep my balance, and took two more short strides.

  The sensation was difficult to describe. Sort of a cross between my old braces, and exercising on a home gym. Like how a crunch machine supported your weight, but the opposite. Instead of following the contours of my body and causing resistance, the exoskeleton eliminated resistance.

  Walking required so little effort I couldn’t even feel my muscles working.

  And the pain?

  No pain at all.

  “This is amazing,” I said.

  The moment the words left my mouth I fell forward again, this time McGlade having to catch me. He and Fabler got me upright again.

  Fabler had muscles like steel cables. “Battery lasts for six hours,” he said. “Charges overnight. The extra battery, and charging cord, are in the case.”

  “So this can help with stairs?” I hated stairs. Lately, I hated stairs more than anything. Even more than I hated low carb diets and sharing my feelings.

  “Stairs, ladders, Jamal said it can even assist in a vertical jump.”

  Harry clapped his hands together, which always sounded odd because his right one was fake.

  “Okay, then. Jill can practice. You guys go ahead and unpack and whatever you need to do after that long car trip. All the bathrooms have urinals. Presley, there are also disposable funnels if you want to pee standing up.”

  “Seriously?”

  “If it snowed here, you could write your name in the snow.”

  Presley seemed interested. When I saw them in the bathroom, I thought they were just gross. I guess that’s the difference a generation makes, because she was about half my age.

  “There are bedrooms down that hall,” Harry continued. “Also got a firing range, an armory-slash-panic room if everything goes to hell. My housekeeper is named Consuela, let her know what you want for dinner. Make it complicated; she loves the challenge. Shoot for cuisines from at least eight different countries. The kids are Sam and Harry Jr. The penguin is named Waddlebutt. He’s friendly. You can also play with my capybara. Big Dick. Would you like to see my Big Dick, Fabler?”

  Grim smirked at that. The other two mercs stayed stoic.

  “Do you get a lot of sexual harassment lawsuits?” Fabler asked.

  “I used to. Now I hand out waivers whenever I talk to new people. Speaking of, I have waivers, NDAs, contracts, and cash for you guys in my office. Also, as part of the home security, I have cameras in every room.”

  “Imagine that,” Fabler said, eyeing Grim.

  Grim cleared his throat. “We, uh, want to do a perimeter check.”

  “Sure. I’ll go over the security system with you. Does anyone need weapons?”

  “We came strapped,” Presley said.

  “Great, let’s sign some stuff and get you settled in. Or get settled in and then sign stuff. Or look around, then get settled in, then sign some stuff. But I gotta leave in half an hour.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “I got a private thing to do.”

  The mercs went about their business, and I easily caught up to McGlade, catching his shoulder to stop my momentum. “You okay?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Your heart. You going to a cardiologist appointment?”

  “Huh? No. It’s personal. I’ll be back in an hour. Keep an eye on the kids. I’m going to show these guys around before I go.” McGlade made an odd, pensive face. “You ever think of joining the military?”

  “When I was younger. But I couldn’t distinguish between serving my country to protect it, and serving the current elected government to protect global big business interests.”

  “Cynical, Jackie. They’re heroes.”

  “Remember when cops used to be heroes?”

  “Yeah. I thought about joining the Army when I was a kid. Anything to get out of school and the foster care system. But I realized I may have a problem with authority.”

  “You think?”

  “Following orders isn’t my thing. Plus, honestly, I never would have passed basic training. I got through the police academy by getting our instructor laid, taking pics, and threatening to send them to his wife.”

  “That seems like a Harry McGlade thing to do.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “There are two kinds of people in the world, Jackie. Those who can run a mile. And those who hire prostitutes and use blackmail so they don’t have to run a mile.”

  “There are probably more types than just that.”

  “Whatevs. I got shit to do. You’re welcome for the exosuit.”

  He walked away. I was very thankful for the exosuit. And giving me the chance to earn enough money to rebuild after the hurricane. And for a dozen other stupid little things.

  McGlade was a pain in the ass. Obnoxious, rude, oblivious.

  But he had a good heart.

  Scratch that. He had a bad heart.

  I hoped he’d be okay.

  I hoped all of us would be okay.

  HUGO

  You know where he is?” the Man With Seven Tears asks the weird computer twins.

  “Your brother is in a motel four miles east of O‘Hare,” says one of them. The guy on the right.

  Hugo can’t tell the freaks apart. They’re wearing matching tee shirts, to make it even more difficult.

  Doesn’t matter. They’ve been useful so far.

  Unlike the Cowboy.

  That relationship began better than any Hugo had ever had. She broke him out of prison, gave him weapons and clothes, gave him sex.

  Treaties have been forged on less.

  But ever since grabbing Pasha, the woman has been distant.

  Hugo wonders if it’s a jealousy thing.

  He wonders if he’ll have to kill the Cowboy before all of this is over.

  He wonders if he even can kill the Cowboy. He walked past while she practiced her quick draw.

  So fast I couldn’t even see it.

  She’s a warrior. Like me.

  Warriors don’t die easy.

  “I need the phone to call my brother,” he tells the weirdos.

  The one on the right hands it over without even looking at him. “Bring it back when you’re done.”

  Hugo bristles. If anyone in the Order, or in prison, or in line at a fast food place, had given him a rude order like that, Hugo would had twisted their head off like a toothpaste top and sq
ueezed their insides up out of the neck hole.

  But I have to play nice.

  At least until I get what I want.

  “Did you get the guitar strings?”

  The other one holds them up, again not respecting Hugo enough to bother looking at him. “High E strings, like you asked.”

  Hugo takes the three square envelopes.

  “How about the wheelchair?”

  “Still in the car.”

  “Go get it.”

  He takes the strings, and the cell phone, back into the basement.

  Pasha, who’d been wiggling in her chair, obviously trying to free herself from the duct tape, immediately stops when she sees him.

  Hugo goes to the corner of the basement and finds an old rake. He easily snaps eighteen inches off the end of the handle.

  “I’m calling your boyfriend. We’re going to meet. If you don’t answer him, I’m going to take this stick and keep ramming it down your throat until it’s soaked with blood. Understand?”

  She nods.

  “Say it. And address me as sir.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Understand what?”

  “If I don’t answer Phin, you’ll take that stick and ram it down my throat until it’s soaked with blood.”

  “Glad you were listening, Doc.”

  Hugo calls Phin on the cell; not an easy task when you have fingers as wide as bratwursts. His little brother picks up on the first ring.

  “I want to make a trade. We’ll meet, and trade you for her. Come alone.”

  But you won’t come alone. You’ll bring your pig wife with you.

  Then everyone gets what they want.

  “I need to know she’s still alive.”

  “I’ll give you one question. Ask her whatever you want.” He holds out the phone.

  “Has he hurt you?” Phin asks.

  How noble.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll come for you. It’s going to be okay.”

  It’s not going to be okay. I’m going to kill both of you.

  And I’m going to take my time doing it.

  Hugo brings the phone to his ear. “The Great Midwest Amusement Park. In front of the carousel. From that shitty hotel you’re staying at, it should take you sixty-three minutes to get there, five minutes to park, and five minutes to run to the spot. I’m giving you exactly sixty minutes. You don’t show up on time, she dies. You bring anyone with you, she dies. You call the authorities, she dies. And she won’t die easy. I’ll text you pictures of what I do to her.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “There are metal detectors. Don’t bother bringing any weapons; it’ll just waste time. And you don’t have much time, little brother. Move your ass.”

  Hugo ends the call, then shuts the phone off.

  “Excited to see him again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Delightful.

  “Maybe he’ll take one look at you, fall in love all over again, and decide to leave his wife. Would you like that?”

  She struggles to maintain eye-contact, but manages. “Yes, sir.”

  Hugo sticks the phone in his pocket and opens up an E string. It’s all curled up in a circle, a little ball on each end. He unravels the string and sticks the ball end in his mouth, using huge incisors to nip it off.

  The E is the thinnest diameter steel string. With the ball off, it’s as sharp as a needle.

  “I read a lot in prison,” Hugo says. “I may know more anatomy than most doctors. But I never got to try this before. If I poke this through your brachial artery, you could bleed to death before we get there. So you need to keep your arm very, very still.”

  He holds her bare shoulder and places the pointy end of the string against her triceps.

  “It’s okay to scream. It won’t distract me.”

  She screams.

  A lot.

  And it is a distraction, because Hugo really, really likes her screams.

  PHIN

  I had it on speaker so Chandler, Tequila, and Herb all heard everything.

  We didn’t stop to discuss. We got in Herb’s Mustang and hauled ass.

  In the car, I called Jack.

  “He wants to meet at the amusement park in Redemption. A swap. Me for Pasha.”

  I was met with silence.

  “We’re going. We have a plan.”

  Sort of. Scribbles on a pizza flyer. Some uncomfortable clothing. A swallowed GPS transmitter that may or may not work. And a ceramic knife.

  Against my gigantic, insane brother, and whatever group of maniacs helped him break out of a maximum security prison.

  I wasn’t big into gambling, but I wouldn’t bet on me.

  “If you go with Hugo, I won’t forgive you, Phin.”

  Ouch. Way to make this even worse, Jack.

  “Chandler can track me. She’s got a GPS thing.”

  “I don’t give a shit. You do this swap, I’ll be pissed. Even if you live.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You figure it out. You’d be choosing an ex over your family.”

  “I’d be trying to save someone who is in danger because of my past. You know about that better than anyone.”

  “This isn’t about me. This is you.”

  She’s throwing down an ultimatum. I didn’t know how to answer, so I changed the subject.

  “What’s going on with Tom?”

  “The mercs are here. Seem competent. We have some leads on Erinyes. And on Plastic. We will get him back.”

  “We? Meaning you as well? You’re giving me shit about rushing into danger, and you’re ready to do the same thing.”

  “I won’t be rushing anywhere.”

  “Sure you won’t.”

  More silence. Long, uncomfortable, awful silence.

  “We can get through this.” I wanted her to know how much I meant that. “I need us to get through this.”

  “So do I.”

  “You won’t walk away.”

  “Neither will you.”

  I could have responded, I will if you will.

  But I didn’t know what she’d say. Or what I’d do.

  Caring about someone wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Was it?

  “Be careful,” Jack told me.

  “You too.”

  She hung up.

  Herb deliberately ignored me.

  I didn’t look at Chandler or Tequila.

  For the rest of the forty minute white-knuckle drive, I only uttered one thing.

  “Give me the ceramic knife.”

  HARRY

  I parked in the lot, next to the tanning salon.

  Half the shops in the strip mall are closed.

  But not my good old plastic surgeon, Dr. Schlimm. Burning the midnight oil just to help me look my best.

  That kind of dedication is rare in LaLaLand.

  However, the office marquee is dark, and as I approach I don’t see any lights. The sign by the glass door says CLOSED. I pull the handle, and find it locked.

  So much for dedication.

  I whipped out my cell, about to give my doctor a call, when I saw him walking up to the door. He unlocked it and smiled.

  “Sorry, Mr. McGlade. If I leave the lights on, people keep trying to get in.”

  “Sounds like a quality problem to have.”

  He held the door open for me, and locked it after I entered. “You know how it is. Hell is dealing with your own success.”

  “Don’t I know it. Is your partner still here?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Nope. All alone. Even the staff left for the night. But I don’t mind staying late for one of our best clients.”

  “Thanks. Makes me feel special.”

  I followed him past the dark waiting room, down a hall, and into one of the procedure rooms. Without asking I sat in the big chair, pressing the buttons so it reclined.

  The doctor brought d
own his lighted magnifying glass and directed it over my eyes, so he looked like a giant monster.

  “Yes, those wrinkles are coming back stronger than ever,”

  “Are my pores as big as yours? Yours look like moon craters.”

  He smiled. It was enormous. I could see where the caps on his teeth began.

  “Can you tell I had a lot of work done?”

  “Not really,” I answered honestly. “Whoever did you, did a good job.”

  “Thanks. I had over a dozen procedures. Believe it or not, I wasn’t born one of the AP.”

  “AP?”

  “Aesthetically Privileged.”

  “Right. I’ve heard you use that term before.”

  “I use it a lot,” Dr. Schlimm said, drawing liquid from a vial with a syringe. “Some are born beautiful. Some, like us, have to work at it.”

  “No kidding. You obviously work out.”

  “I do.” He raised the needle.

  I disliked needles, so I closed my eyes and kept talking, to distract myself.

  “I belong to a gym, but my trainer there sucks. One of those health-crazed douchebags. All he eats is a single radish every two days. And while he eats he’s teaching a spin class.”

  “I know the type. You’ve kept our association secret so far, haven’t you, Mr. McGlade?”

  “So far, so good. You give me the free visits, and I’ll endorse you when you’re ready. Until then, I’m keeping it under wraps like we agreed.”

  I’m waiting for the pinch of the Botox needle, but it doesn’t come.

  “So you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here tonight?”

  Weird question. “It’s our little secret. Where do you work out?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  I smirked. “More secrets? Want to keep your trainer all to yourself?”

  “Nothing like that. You just won’t need a trainer, after your lobotomy.”

  I felt a stab in the arm, and my eyes snapped open. “What the hell, doc?”

  “I’m going to give you a lobotomy, Harry McGlade. When I’m done with my procedure.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t seem like a joke. Dr. Schlimm seemed weirdly excited.

  “You’re not making sense.”

  Then I felt woozy and loopy and obviously drugged.