Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) (36 page)

“None taken.” We were in far too much trouble for me to be offended by anything.

“Let me tell you,” Harry went on, “this is not my preferred method of dying. I always thought it would be something else.”

“How did you think you’d die?” Herb asked.

“A stroke in the middle of skydive sex.”

“There’s an image I don’t want in my head,” Herb said.

“That hurts, Herb. Because I wanted it to be with you. I’ve always wanted to tag that pale, flabby ass. Also, in this fantasy, you don’t have a parachute.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“You’re so fat.”

“How about you, Jack?” Herb asked.

“I’d been hoping for old age,” I said. “After my daughter had grown up.”

“Lame,” Harry said. “Skydiving sex is cooler. What’s your death fantasy, el chubbo? Drown in a giant vat of pudding?”

“Honestly? I was always stuck on that selfless hero ending. Getting my ticket punched just as I was saving someone’s life. You know, like pushing a child out of the water just as I’m eaten by a Great White shark.”

“Have to be a damn big shark,” Harry said. “Like the biggest shark ever.”

The door opened, and the guards walked out. I craned my neck to see who it was, hoping for the slight chance it was Chandler, or Val.

It was Luther Kite.

He wore a purple cloak, like a king might wear, but it was ratty and old and looked like a cheap costume. His black hair was greasy, patchy, and his pale complexion and scarred face made him look zombie-ish.

Behind him, Lucy. Short, disfigured, her gnarled skin stretched tight across her skull and giving her the appearance of a very ugly doll.

“And the winner of the most hideous person in the world is…” McGlade said, “an unexpected tie!”

Luther lurched over to us, studying each in turn. Then he asked, “Who are you people?”

H
e went through the entryway, the AK-47 he’d taken from the guard at the ready, staying low in case he met resistance.

He met none. No one was guarding the underground prisoners.

Phin checked the wall, where he’d seen the keys for the shackles and cages. The key ring was hanging there like it had been waiting for him.

He began to open up cells.

T
hat arena match had been something.

Lucy had almost taken the opportunity to kill K while it was going on, but when the fight began, she’d been transfixed.

Hanover had performed adequately. Too bad he got his neck broke. Woulda been fun to have tried the electric burner thing with him. But that short guy… he’d been amazing. Leaping and spinning around like it was the Olympics.

A shame he was dead. He’d been a lot of fun to watch.

They were rushed to safety by guards as pops of gunfire continued to erupt all across the compound. But whatever attack they’d been under was sure to end soon. A sentry informed K that three intruders had been captured and taken to the playroom.

Time to finally find out what was going on.

The prisoners were on their knees, hogtied. Lucy didn’t recognize either of the men. But the woman…

“Who are you people?” K asked.

The man on the left who’d called them hideous began to laugh. “Seriously? He doesn’t even know who we are? Skydiving sex! I traded skydiving sex for this!”

Lucy slapped the guy, shutting him up, then looked closer at the woman.

“You’re that cop. Jack Daniels.”

The woman said nothing.

Lucy turned to K. “Remember? From Michigan?”

K came closer, peering at Jack. “I do. Good to see you again, Jack. Did the sky machines tell you where I was?”

I
n my capacity as a law enforcement officer, I’d unfortunately encountered many examples of mental illness.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, known as the DSM-V, catalogued all of them according to type and severity.

The correct medical term for Luther Kite’s disability was
in-fucking-sane
.

I gazed hard into the monster’s eyes and said, “Yes, Luther. The sky machines told me.”

He flinched like I’d smacked him. I ran with it.

“They’ve been whispering to me, Luther. They know all about you, and sent me here to help.”

“How?” he whispered.

“I can turn the machines off.”

“She’s fucking with your head, K. She came here with her friends to kill you. To kill us.”

He brought his face close enough to mine that I could smell his breath. It stank, strangely, of rotten lemons.

“Did you come here to kill us, Jack Daniels?”

I refused to blink. “I came here to free you, Luther Kite. I know how you have suffered. The robots have sent me signals.”

Lucy tugged his arm. “You can’t believe this shit, K.”

“But she knows about the robots.”

“She’s making that up. Trying to confuse you. Next she’s going to start quoting fucking Shakespeare.”

Shakespeare? I knew a little Shakespeare.

“He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf,” I said. “Lucy is lying to you, Luther.”

“Just kill the bitch, K.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” I warned him.

“My kingdom for a horse!” said Harry.

“Test her!” Lucy said. “Test her to see if she’s telling the truth.”

Lucy walked behind Luther, then picked something up. Something small and black, with a cord attached.

An electric hot plate.

“Make her prove herself, K. You know what to do.”

P
hin ran outside, among the liberated prisoners, just as the rising sun peeked over the horizon.

Shots rang out.

People went down.

Phin looked around for Jack, hoping she was near, fearing she was near.

A guard came around the corner. Phin took aim, but the man was immediately swarmed, falling beneath a throng of fists and feet.

Movement, behind him. Phin swung the rifle around just in time to see something charge past.

Was that…
a pig?

S
he turned the portable electric grill up to high, and it only took a few seconds for the heating element to glow orange.

“Ten seconds,” she told Jack Daniels. “The sky machines have foreseen that Luther can only trust the one who can keep their hand on the burner for ten seconds.”

“Is that true?” Jack asked Luther.

K looked from Lucy, to the cop, and back again. “They tell me things. The things they tell me come true.”

“If it’s true,” Jack said, “then I’m not the only one here who must prove their trust.”

Lucy shook her head. “She’s confusing you, K.”

“She’s the one confusing you, Luther. Like Lady Macbeth. Or Claudius plotting against Hamlet.”

“She came here to kill you, K.”

“I came to free you, Luther.”

K made his hands into fists. “I don’t know who to trust. I can’t even trust myself.”

“K—”

“If you can’t trust yourself, Luther,” Jack interrupted. “You know what you have to do.”

K stared at the burner. Then he stared at Lucy.

Lucy saw her chance, and went for it. “She’s right, K. How can you even trust yourself?” She held out the burner. “You have to prove it.”

“My fate cries out,” K said. “And makes each petty artery in this body as hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve.”

And—holy shit—he stuck his hand on the burner.

There was a sizzling sound as flesh met heat, and Lucy expected him to immediately pull back, but he kept it there.

As the Hitchcock story dictated, Lucy began to count.

“One…”

Smoke began to rise. And with it, an odor not unlike bacon.

“Two…”

K’s arm shook, his lips peeling back in a silent scream.

“Three…”

Now the scream was no longer silent. It started in K’s throat, then rose up past his teeth, like a train whistle.

“Four…”

The scent was strong now. Meat on the grill. Fat sizzling. The acrid stench of cooking blood.

“Five…”

K dropped to his knees, but Lucy helpfully lowered the burner so he didn’t lose contact. After all, what were friends for?

“Six…”

K placed his other hand atop the roasting one, pressing down in an obvious effort to keep it there.

“Seven…”

The sleeve of K’s robe ignited. But it was some cheap, artificial fabric, and instead of burning it began to melt, glowing bits dropping to the floor.

“Eight…”

Lucy couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. This was the biggest thrill she’d had in a long time. K had been right. The best and worst pain was what we did to ourselves.

“Nine…”

K’s eyes sought hers, and Lucy drank in his pain.

“Nine…”

That’s for keeping me a prisoner here.

“Nine…”

And this is for all of your not-so-subtle threats.

“Nine… almost there K!”

And this is for all the fucking Shakespeare quotes, you annoying fucking son of a bitch.

“I think I lost count,” Lucy said, and K screamed “TENNNNNNNNNN!”

He pulled his hand away, and it looked a lot like perfectly cooked BBQ brisket. In fact, it looked so good that Lucy’s mouth watered, even though she was a confirmed vegan.