Hack (29 page)

Good advice.

Skippy woke me, barking loudly from another room. I was freezing, shivering, cold tears dripping from my eyes. I felt tired. Who was I crying for? There was a chemical stench in the air, mixed with something bad. I opened my eyes.

I was in the hospital, a sterile treatment room. What the fuck? I was on a steel table, looking up at a florescent light on the ceiling. A counter nearby held equipment: a white plastic box smaller than a paperback book, with a clear plastic tube coming out of it, ending in something that looked like a small rubber mask. Blue lettering said it was an
AERONEB
. Of course, a nebulizer. A nice one. Like I’d seen on the web. Next to it, there was a steel box that looked like an old-fashioned computer modem, with wires coming out and a tube, ending in a short wand with bright yellow and red stickers on it. Black lettering, blurred through my tears, said
VETRIX
. Not helpful. There was also a stainless-steel surgical tool kit, and a large bone on the wall, smiling at me. A cartoon bone. What the fuck? Where the hell was I?

I couldn’t remember how I got here. I tried to move but black straps held me tight on my ankles, knees, waist, chest, wrists and neck. Skippy kept barking. I was totally buzzed around the block. I could not recall when I last… it was weird. Every time I tried to remember it was like trying to use your finger to get a bug out of a glass of soda. Every time you went for it, by pressing your finger against the inside of the glass rim, it just slid away. Un-grabbable. I remembered I was at the grandmother’s house. Whose grandma? She cried. Yes. How did I get here? Then the gang bangers on the corner. A cab, the office. Skippy and me. He was still barking. I tried to tell Skippy to stop barking but my voice didn’t work. I remembered I spoke to somebody. Izzy. On the phone. He told me something about drugs. Now I’m on drugs. It was about the killings, it was something I’d seen on the web. Every time I tried to remember what had been on my screen, it disappeared. Very frustrating. Dinner. We went to dinner. Jane and I went to dinner, didn’t we? Skippy suddenly stopped barking. It gave me a bad feeling. I blinked my tears and looked around. It was bright in the room but the hall was dark.

“Hello? Ish anybody there?” I yelled into the gloom. “Schkippy!”

My voice sounded damp as a sponge and slurry, shivering like the rest of me. I was whacked out of my gourd. Did I have a gourd? I was talking to Ginny Mac-and-Cheese. In the new office, but I was keeping a secret. What was the secret? I don’t know it. Top Secret. About the drug? I don’t know. Too cold, can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop thinking. I blinked tears out of my eyes again and tried looking around, as far as my neck strap would let me. Pretty pictures of pretty Jane with dogs and kids and cats. A Pepsi commercial. I was in Jane’s animal hospital. Tied down. Drugged. Why? I remembered talking to Xana, Jane’s assistant. About Bobby. Yes. Then I looked stuff up about vets and had dinner with Jane but she wouldn’t tell me. Tell me what?

“Jane,” I warbled.

Nothing happened.

Nothing could happen if I stayed outside the office. Jane had sent me a text saying we had to talk. Yes. But I was too crafty. I would not go in unless other people were there. No crazy person in a tight spot. I’m bad. I had Skippy. But now I’m here. How? Maybe I should not yell. Maybe being alone and alive was good.

Too late. Someone appeared in the doorway and I had to crick my neck to see Jane.

It wasn’t Jane.

“Thank God, Xana,” I said from my table.

Seeing her brought it back to me. Her
SAVE A LIFE
t-shirt, Xana, waving to me through the glass front door. She had unlocked it for me, so I knew I would not be alone with the killer, with Jane. Skippy growling at her. Helpful, whacky, sexy Xana, unlocking the door with her keys, telling me to tie Skippy up outside because there were cats inside. I looped and tied his leash around the railing and followed her in. Skippy barking his head off, snarling. Xana locking the door behind us. The sign flipped to
CLOSED
. That was the end of my rope. No more memory.

“Xana, get me out of thish. Untie me quick,” I said, trying to keep my voice low.

Xana froze in the doorway, looking at me all trussed up. She must be stunned.

Then she laughed. It began as a tee-hee type of titter and blossomed into a long and lush laugh. Not a nice, wholesome ‘for-goodness-sakes-what-are-you doing-tied-up?’ kind of laugh but a chilling ‘that’s-hysterical-you’re-so-high-you-think-I’m-here-to-help-you’ kind of cackle. I was totally killing her.

“That is sick, Shepherd. You’re a hoot. I forgot the drug causes amnesia,” Xana said. “Also, tearing, shivering and dizziness and, obviously, slurred speech. Your memory will come back… given enough time,” she said, with a sad sigh.

I cleared my wet eyes again and looked at her.

“Neil moleshted Bobby.”

“Yeah,” Xana agreed. “His grandmother didn’t know, or doesn’t want to know. He wouldn’t tell her. He never actually said the words to me but he nodded when Jane and I asked him outright. I saw how Bobby reacted when Leonardi came in here—it was odd. Neil was a total creep.”

“Thash why you killed him,” I told her, my accusation sounding ridiculous through my thick tongue.

“Of course,” Xana said. “Bobby wouldn’t tell his school or a priest or the cops. He was ashamed, didn’t want anyone to know. Made us promise not to tell. I know what that’s like.”

“You were mol-ested,” I said carefully, avoiding the slur.

“Yeah. I knew the signs. He was a good kid but he couldn’t take it. Thought it was his fault, that he was gay or something. We found him unconscious out back, needle still in his arm. Jane tried to bring him back but he’d taken so much. It was a suicide attempt, really.”

“Why didn’t you tell the cops?”

“Because we knew he wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t rat out Adela’s employers. He said his grandmother needed the money. Then he
couldn’t
talk. I knew the cops wouldn’t do anything even if I spoke up, not without a victim who could testify. Bobby has severe brain damage. Neil Leonardi basically murdered him.” She paused. “Now, I sorta wish I
had
gone to the cops but, once I got started, I kinda couldn’t stop.”

“You tried to frame Aubrey becaush… because he knew about Bobby?”

Xana nodded. She looked at the clock on the wall, like she was late for something. It was 11:30. I needed to talk until my head cleared. How long would that take? Too long.

“You killed Cash Cush-ing and Aubrey but not Pookie,” I said.

“Yes, Shepherd. Leonardi was scum. He hurt Bobby and he hurt Skippy,” Xana spat. “And Forsythe liked eating flesh so much, I gave him something really special.”

Meat is murder.

“You cooked up Neil’s… flesh and served it to Aubrey at Bistro du Bois,” I said.

“Amazing how all waitresses look the same to people like him. And I took precautions—wore glasses and a headscarf.” She ran a hand through one of her pigtails of jet-black hair. “But the oinker never even looked up.” My expression must have betrayed my feelings because her tone became scolding. “Okay, I went a little crazy but you wouldn’t let me move on! It looked like you didn’t believe Forsythe was the killer, even though he had—I love your headlines—Neil Parmesan in his stomach. Really—what do I have to do to nail the pig? You fucked everything up. My good deed. My justice. Forsythe knew about Bobby and did nothing. They both deserved everything they got. And Cushing was a greedy bastard. I needed someone else to die so I could pin it on Forsythe, and he fit the bill. All your fault. If you and the cops kept looking…”

“We might figure it out,” I completed her sentence.

“But you didn’t,” she grinned. “You thought prissy Doctor Jane did it. Really? Hello!”

“And you used Aubrey’s cell phone to lure me to Cushing’s house, so I would think he was the killer after all,” I said slowly, trying to keep her talking.

“And I just did it again tonight with Jane’s phone,” Xana smiled. “You’re cute but you don’t learn.”

“You used her favorite mints.”

“The mint was just fun,” she said. “I had some from Jane, she leaves them around the office. It was a gag, after-dinner mint, you know? The second time, I thought I should continue and, you know, sign Forsythe’s name to Cushing and maybe point to Jane if something went wrong.”

“Instead of ending it, you created a franchise. Two men from the
Mail
—Jack Leslie and Matt Molloy—killed Pookie Piccarelli to raise circulation figures.”

“Yeah. I really liked that show,” she said sadly. “I know newspapers do anything for a story but this is, like, surreal.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with her. “How sick is it to kill someone for nothing.”

Oops. Xana frowned and moved to the side table, where the halothane nebulizer and the other equipment sat waiting. Not good.

“Xana. You’re right. Let Aubrey Forsythe and the goons from the
Mail
take the rap for Leonardi and Cushing. We can use someone resourceful like you on our team at the
Daily Press
. You’d make a great investigative reporter.”

“Yeah? I like you too, Shepherd, but you would have to say that, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s true, Xana. I don’t care if you killed Neil and Aubrey and Cushing.”

“And Matt Molloy and Lucky-what’s-his-face?” she added.

“Holy shit. That was you in the black van in Central Park.” I remembered the shadowy figure standing on the hill above me as I had dragged myself out of the lake. I had thought it was Molloy.

“Of course. The Catmobile. Jane was worried about you. She told me you were crazy, going to meet the killer all alone. I cruised through the park but spotted your cops. Later, I heard the shots and saw a cop convention. I drove uptown, looking for you, and heard more shots. I was scared but by the time I got there, you were crawling out of the lake, alive but fucked up. I saw that dork Molloy. He had a gun. I hit him with the Catmobile. Just a good bump to knock him down.”

“So Molloy brought a gun to a car fight.”

“What?”

“Thanks for saving my life, Xana.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This is how you killed them, isn’t it? Forsythe and Molloy?”

“Yeah. Plus Leonardi and Cushing. A stun gun, then halothane. No one suffered. None of them felt a thing. I’m, like, humane. And your boss, that Edgar guy? He made up lies about you. I found him.”

“But not Badger.”

“I would never harm an animal.”

“No. Don Badger, the editor.”

“Who?”

“Okay. After you… put them down… what did you… I mean what did you do then?” I asked.

“Surgical laser,” she said, looking at the modem and wand on the counter. “Disassembly. Final stage is the incinerator. You know, ashes to ashes?”

I began shivering again.

“Are you going to hurt Skippy?”

She looked wounded. Then she looked pissed.

“Skippy wasn’t growling at any cats,” I said. “He was growling at you. The person who killed Neil.”

“He’s smarter than you,” Xana said. “You tied him up outside, remember? I’ll gas him after I gas you.”

“You still have time to get away before the cops…”

“Before the cops kick in the door and save you?”

“Yes.”

There was that tittery laugh again.

“As if,” Xana said. “Dude, I checked your phone. No calls, no texts, no tweets for hours and my text to you from Jane’s phone was the last thing on your call log. I punked the big detective reporter twice. Deal with it.”

“Xana, you’re rich. If you hang around, you’ll never get a chance to spend all that money,” I tried.

“That was, like, fate, man,” Xana said. “Aubrey had this, like, treasure. A bag with stacks of cash and rings and watches. I can set up a whole animal rights thing in California.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “Anything you want. Where’s Jane?”

“Next door,” Xana said. “Like you, but she’s still out. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. Neither will she.”

Xana turned her back to me, opened a drawer and took something out. Time to go. I fought against the straps with everything I had. I wasn’t proud. At the same time, I yelled my head off. I yelled “HELP!” loudly several hundred times. Then I tried screaming “POLICE!” I also shouted “FIRE!” because I had read that it was more likely to make New Yorkers respond. The straps cut into my neck, hands and legs painfully. I tried harder. Xana giggled. I stopped.

“Please don’t hurt Jane,” I said. “Maybe
I
can disappear but if your boss goes missing you’re going to be suspect number one.”

“No, Shepherd. You’re gonna be suspect number one. You’ll disappear but Jane will be found, tragically murdered—by you. I think you should, like, confess by text to that cop. Or maybe to your newspaper. The new one, I guess. More people will see it that way. So what do you think the headline will be?”

I thought about that for a moment.

“How about ‘Dumb Reporter Killed by Psycho Goth Vet Aide?’”

“I’m not a Goth, dork. I’m Emo. And no, not the real deal—like, what people will think. See, you’re going to totally admit all the killings.”

“Okay. ‘Crazy Pet Groomer Tries to Blame Serial Slayings on Dead Reporter.’ You’re going to get caught, Xana. Give it up. Walk away.”

“Call me crazy one more time, paperboy, and I’ll eat your fucking face like a chimp,” Xana warned.

I had no reason to disbelieve her.

I heard a bang and a tinkle, like a drummer’s rim shot and cymbal splash on a comedian’s punchline. But I’m the joke. Xana’s head snapped toward the dark hallway, her Pippi Longstocking pigtails whipping around. She heard it too, so it was real. Skippy began barking again. Xana did not look happy.

Good.

She grabbed something that flashed like a mirror in the bright light. It was Aubrey’s fancy stainless-steel meat cleaver.

Bad.

She was indecisive. Hack my throat open now or postpone the fun? She smirked and dashed out. Then it was quiet. I tried to make my ears bigger but there was no noise. Then I thought I heard a crunching noise. Then nothing. I tried to get free again. No way. I tried screaming for help again. Nothing. Then, distant voices. Then nothing again. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to stand the suspense but I realized I wanted as much suspense as I could get. Tons of it. I shut my mouth and waited. No hurry. No worry. Still alive.