bet you’re wishing the same thing right now, aren’t you?”
Jack stares back at me, but her eyes are glassy. She’s fighting to keep it together.
“It took a long time for the pain to go away,” I continue. “The state doesn’t have the best plastic surgeons, as you can see. They had to graft on some skin from my leg. It actually grows stubble. Can you feel it?”
Jack tenses, strains to pull away. But my muscles are big and strong and it’s like restraining a child. I rub my scarred flesh against her perfect cheek, letting her feel the pointy little hairs that used to be on my calf. She stops struggling. Her muscles relax. Jack knows she can’t fight me, knows I can do anything I want to her.
I’ve been waiting a long time for this.
“Where’s Latham?” Jack asks, meek, submissive.
“We’ll get to him in a minute. First we need to call some old friends.” I find her cell phone in her purse. “Is Harry on here?”
Jack nods.
“You need to convince him to come over.”
“No.”
I half smile, make a fist, and hit Jack in the gut so hard she spits up food she ate last year. While she’s doubled over, I walk over to Mom.
“I understand the reason you’re holding out,” I say, standing behind Mom’s chair. “You figure that you’re going to die anyway, so why should you be helpful? That’s not the correct mind-set. What you should be thinking about is all the things I’m going to do to you before you die.”
Jack coughs, spits. “You’ll do those things anyway.”
“Of course I will. And eventually I’ll get my way, and you’ll call Harry. I know you’re tough, Jack. Maybe if it was only me and you, maybe you wouldn’t call. But we’ve got other people involved here.”
I hold Mary’s hand, her wrists bound to the chair with tape.
“I’ve heard arthritis is agonizing. I poked around in the medicine cabinet earlier. Mom is taking some major pills, isn’t she?”
I swivel the chair around, give Mom a frown that only appears on half of my face.
“I hope you’re not turning into a junkie. That’s a road you don’t want to go down. No matter how bad the pain gets.”
I begin to squeeze her hand. Her eyes get wide, and I watch her shake with the effort not to make any sound.
“Look how brave your mother is, Jack. Trying to hold it in.”
“I’ll call,” Jack says.
“I wonder if she’d scream if I broke a few fingers.”
“I’ll call!”
I release Mom’s hand, give the old gal a pat on the head. Then I drill my eyes into Jack. She’s pale, and appears close to collapsing.
“Convince him to come over here. Do I need to make any more threats?”
Jack shakes her head.
“Don’t look so devastated,” I say to Jack. “We’re just getting started.”
8:15 P.M.
JACK
M OM AND I ARE as good as dead. It’s just a matter of how much we suffer before Alex kills us.
Seeing Alex again stunned me. Instead of acting, of fighting back, I’d been caught off guard. That opportunity has passed. But I might be able to create another one with Harry McGlade.
I need to somehow convince Harry there’s a problem, without alerting Alex. Unfortunately, Harry’s intelligence falls somewhere between a chimpanzee and a crescent wrench. This is going to take some finesse.
Alex dials the number, presses the speaker phone button, and holds it to my mouth.
“Harry’s Den of Dyslexic Sex, where you can duck my sick. Harry speaking.” His voice is nasally, Chicago through and through.
“Hi, Harry. It’s Jack.”
“Jackie! Good to hear from you. Looking for work? Since that Joliet thing I’ve been swamped. I could hire you part-time. You’d do some paperwork, answer some phones. I’m paying seven fifty an hour, clothing is optional.”
Harry McGlade is a private investigator. A hundred years ago he used to be a cop, and my partner. I didn’t like him much then, and don’t like him much now, but he keeps popping up in my cases. Harry’s tough to get rid of. Like
Jack stares back at me, but her eyes are glassy. She’s fighting to keep it together.
“It took a long time for the pain to go away,” I continue. “The state doesn’t have the best plastic surgeons, as you can see. They had to graft on some skin from my leg. It actually grows stubble. Can you feel it?”
Jack tenses, strains to pull away. But my muscles are big and strong and it’s like restraining a child. I rub my scarred flesh against her perfect cheek, letting her feel the pointy little hairs that used to be on my calf. She stops struggling. Her muscles relax. Jack knows she can’t fight me, knows I can do anything I want to her.
I’ve been waiting a long time for this.
“Where’s Latham?” Jack asks, meek, submissive.
“We’ll get to him in a minute. First we need to call some old friends.” I find her cell phone in her purse. “Is Harry on here?”
Jack nods.
“You need to convince him to come over.”
“No.”
I half smile, make a fist, and hit Jack in the gut so hard she spits up food she ate last year. While she’s doubled over, I walk over to Mom.
“I understand the reason you’re holding out,” I say, standing behind Mom’s chair. “You figure that you’re going to die anyway, so why should you be helpful? That’s not the correct mind-set. What you should be thinking about is all the things I’m going to do to you before you die.”
Jack coughs, spits. “You’ll do those things anyway.”
“Of course I will. And eventually I’ll get my way, and you’ll call Harry. I know you’re tough, Jack. Maybe if it was only me and you, maybe you wouldn’t call. But we’ve got other people involved here.”
I hold Mary’s hand, her wrists bound to the chair with tape.
“I’ve heard arthritis is agonizing. I poked around in the medicine cabinet earlier. Mom is taking some major pills, isn’t she?”
I swivel the chair around, give Mom a frown that only appears on half of my face.
“I hope you’re not turning into a junkie. That’s a road you don’t want to go down. No matter how bad the pain gets.”
I begin to squeeze her hand. Her eyes get wide, and I watch her shake with the effort not to make any sound.
“Look how brave your mother is, Jack. Trying to hold it in.”
“I’ll call,” Jack says.
“I wonder if she’d scream if I broke a few fingers.”
“I’ll call!”
I release Mom’s hand, give the old gal a pat on the head. Then I drill my eyes into Jack. She’s pale, and appears close to collapsing.
“Convince him to come over here. Do I need to make any more threats?”
Jack shakes her head.
“Don’t look so devastated,” I say to Jack. “We’re just getting started.”
8:15 P.M.
JACK
M OM AND I ARE as good as dead. It’s just a matter of how much we suffer before Alex kills us.
Seeing Alex again stunned me. Instead of acting, of fighting back, I’d been caught off guard. That opportunity has passed. But I might be able to create another one with Harry McGlade.
I need to somehow convince Harry there’s a problem, without alerting Alex. Unfortunately, Harry’s intelligence falls somewhere between a chimpanzee and a crescent wrench. This is going to take some finesse.
Alex dials the number, presses the speaker phone button, and holds it to my mouth.
“Harry’s Den of Dyslexic Sex, where you can duck my sick. Harry speaking.” His voice is nasally, Chicago through and through.
“Hi, Harry. It’s Jack.”
“Jackie! Good to hear from you. Looking for work? Since that Joliet thing I’ve been swamped. I could hire you part-time. You’d do some paperwork, answer some phones. I’m paying seven fifty an hour, clothing is optional.”
Harry McGlade is a private investigator. A hundred years ago he used to be a cop, and my partner. I didn’t like him much then, and don’t like him much now, but he keeps popping up in my cases. Harry’s tough to get rid of. Like
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