Shaken (48 page)

Then Brotsky tried to say something. A glimmer of hope overtook Phin. Did the killer know something after all? Phin let up the pressure enough to allow Brotsky to speak.

“C-c-call…her,” the fat man sputtered.

Call her? That actually made sense. The camera over Jack was connected to an iPhone. Perhaps it was possible to talk to the guy who had Jack. Make some kind of deal.

“What’s the number?” Phin demanded, relaxing his trembling hands.

Brotsky coughed. “I do not know. But Meester K will call me. He said he would. I paid him to. He sent me the phone so I could watch her die, and hear her screams.”

Then Phin heard it. Music, coming from the hallway. It was Garth Brooks, “Friends in Low Places.” Phin released Brotsky, ran past the guards who’d been watching with casual interest, and saw Herb sitting with his back against the wall, staring at the iPhone as it played the country tune—Brotsky’s ringtone.

Herb’s jowls were slick, tear-stained, his eyes rimmed in red.

“Dalton…he…broke her leg…”

Phin snatched the phone from Herb, running his finger along the touch screen to answer it.

“Is this Dalton?” Phin was surprised how calm and together he managed to sound.

“Who is this?”
a man answered.

There was no point in lying. “My name is Phineas Troutt. I was in bed next to Jack when you grabbed her.”

“Ah, yes. You must be the father of the baby. Would you like to talk to the mother? I’ll try to wake her up for you.”

Phin held the iPhone away from his face, seeing Jack on the wheel, seeing Mr. K wave something under her face—smelling salts—waking her up.

Jack’s face transformed from the peace of sleep to a mask of twisted agony. Something inside Phin snapped. He slid to the floor, next to Herb, his own tears coming fast and hard.

“Jack?” Phin’s voice was thick, the words threatening to clog up his throat. “Where are you, babe?”

“Phin? Is that you
?” Jack’s voice was strained, her breath labored.

“It’s me.” He pressed the screen, putting it on speaker phone. “Do you know where you are?”

“No. I’m…I’m with a man named John Dalton. Herb…he knows who he is.”

Dalton?
Phin had no idea who he was. He’d been expecting Luther Kite.

Then Phin realized Luther Kite couldn’t have been the one to grab Jack, because there had been no nettles in the house. When Phin came down from the tree where Kite had been, he’d gotten covered in nettles, and had dragged them into the kitchen. If Luther had been in the house, he’d have done the same.

Phin heard a scream coming from Brotsky’s cell. Then the guards rushed in. “Herb’s here with me. So’s Harry.”

“I’m here, Jack,” Herb said, leaning close. A tear slid down his nose, splashing onto the phone. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Herb. Nothing you could have done.”
“Jack…” Herb began to cry so badly he couldn’t talk. The cop pressed his hand over his face and began to shake. More guards hurried up the hall, piling into Brotsky’s cell.

Jack looked up at the camera.
“You’re my best friend, Herb. And you’re the best man I’ve ever met. It was such an honor to work with you, to know you, for all of these years.”

“You’re my best friend too, Jack. I…love you.”

Jack’s tortured face broke into a sad smile.
“And you didn’t even have to be drunk to say it. I love you too, buddy.”

Harry walked over and crouched down. His hands were bloody, and his expression grim.

“Jackie? Can you hear me? It’s me, Harry.”

Jack nodded, her head slumping down as her body shook with sobs.

“Victory Brotsky, he said he paid to watch you die,” Harry said, his voice cracking.

“But he won’t, Jack. He won’t watch anything ever again, because I just poked his fucking eyes out.”

“Thanks, Harry. Tell Mom I love her, would you? And take care of her for me?”

“I will, Jack.” Now Harry started to cry. “And I know I’ve been an asshole. A huge asshole.”

“You’re my favorite asshole on the planet, Harry McGlade.”
“And you’re…the bravest person I’ve ever known, Jackie Daniels.”

“You and Phin are going to hunt down this bastard for me, right?”

Harry nodded. “There won’t be a place on earth he can hide from us.”

“Phin?”
Jack began to cry. “I’m right here, babe.”

Jack hung her head down, then summoned some inner reserve of courage and looked up into the camera. Right at Phin.

“I’m pregnant.”

Phin struggled to control his own sob. “I know.”
“I was thinking. If it was going to be a girl, to name her after my mother. If it was a boy…oh, Christ…if it was a boy…”
Jack stuck out her lower jaw, defiant and strong. “
I want to name it after you guys. The men in my life. Phineas Herbert Harrison Daniels.”

Phin shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe. But you got the names wrong. If it’s a boy, or a girl, we have to name it after the woman I love. Jack. Our child has to be named Jack. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Phin. That’s why I’ve got a last request.”

Phin had to wipe away the tears, because he couldn’t see anything but blurs. “Name it.”

Jack stared up at the camera again.
“Don’t watch me die.”
“Jack…”
“Please. It will hurt more if I know you’re watching. Promise me.”

Phin summoned up the courage to lie to her. “I promise, Jack. We won’t watch. I love you.”

“I love—”

Dalton took the phone away, holding it to his ear.
“That was touching. Really. Now I’ve got a proposition for you gentlemen. I want a hundred thousand dollars, wired to my account.”

Phin’s spirit soared. Was this guy actually going to let her live?

“A hundred grand, and you let Jack go?” Herb asked.
“Don’t be silly. Jack is going to die today. I’m planning on breaking her legs and her arms, ripping her child from her womb, spinning her on the wheel, then pulling out her intestines, inch by inch.”
Dalton looked up at the camera.
“But if you wire me the money, I’ll be merciful and put a bullet in her head right now.”

Chapter 24

“J
ack,” Phin said as Dalton held his phone to my face. I could hear the pain in Phin’s voice, and my heart bled for him. “
What do you want us to do?”

My leg throbbed, and every tiny jiggle of the wheel I was strapped to brought waves of agony. I couldn’t imagine having all of my limbs broken, then spun. It would be unendurable.

But then I thought of a Mark Twain quote. The one about bravery in the face of fear. It was a truism that had served me well throughout my life, prompting me to do things I never thought I was capable of doing.

Yes, I’d made mistakes. Yes, I’d missed some opportunities.

But I really did believe I’d made the world a slightly better place, because of my efforts. Trying to objectively judge my years on this planet, I figured I deserved that B+ as a final grade.

An A- would be sweeter, though. And last words, last acts, if they were brave enough, could perhaps count for a bit of extra credit and make my time here just a little bit more worthwhile.

I’d never been big on spirituality. I had no illusions that this life would lead to another.

That meant, for every second I still breathed, I had to make this life count.

If my final act could be one of defiance, of bravery, or showing fear that it had no hold over me, then I damn well earned that A-.

I looked at John Dalton—Mr. K—dead in the face and spoke evenly, clearly, and calmly to Phin—no tears, no regrets, no hint of fear, knowing these might well be my last words.

“Don’t give this prick a dime.”

Chapter 25

D
alton stares back at Jack with mild surprise. He knows he gave her leg a solid hit, and that the bone snapped. Not too many people could remain cool in the grip of such pain.

He puts the phone to his ear and speaks to Phin, Jack’s boyfriend.

“What is it you’d like to do?”

There is silence.

“While you’re deciding, I’d be happy to break her other leg.”

“We’ll pay,”
Phin says.
“Just don’t hurt her anymore.”
Dalton’s mouth twitches in a slight smile. “Get something to write with. I’m going to give you a routing number. Then you’ll have ten minutes to transfer the money into my account.”

“Phin! Don’t give him—!”

Dalton gives Jack a swift kick in her shattered shin, prompting a scream.

“Shh,” Dalton tells her. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

“Stop hurting her, you son of a bitch!”

“Here’s the number.” Dalton rattles off the digits and hangs up. “Luckily, your friends have more sense than you do, Jack. They’re going to pay.”

Jack says nothing. Dalton can’t tell if she’s upset or relieved. Either way, he doesn’t care.

Dalton is tired. He flew into North America through Canada, under a fake name, and has been working nonstop since his arrival. That Brotsky somehow was able to get in touch was a big surprise. But the crazy Russian had been a standup guy in jail, not naming names, keeping his mouth shut. When he inherited that money, Dalton’s former employer had contacted him on Brotsky’s behalf, keeping a generous finder’s fee.

At first, Dalton hadn’t wanted to take this job. He was getting old. But after three years of retirement, he was grateful for a change of scenery and the chance to stretch his old muscles.

Besides, the opportunity to torture the legendary Jack Daniels to death was something he really couldn’t pass up. Two very distinguished careers were coming to an end with this single moment.

After he’d given Jack his murder notebook, via his sister Janice, the U.S. had gone Mr. K crazy. There had been two different TV movies, a Hollywood feature staring James Woods, half a dozen books, and a gangsta rapper had a #3 Billboard hit called “Do the Dalton.” It had been great fun, and Dalton wouldn’t mind seeing a resurgence in his popularity when Jack’s broken body was discovered and the video of her agonizing death showed up on YouTube.

And her death would be agonizing. Right after the wire transfer went through, Dalton was going to break the rest of Jack’s limbs, just for starters.

It is a serendipitous turn of events that her friends and lover are watching. Now they’ll get to witness Jack’s suffering, while also being out a hundred thousand dollars. It’s so delightfully horrible that James Woods will be drooling to do the sequel.

Yes, this is certainly worth coming out of retirement for.

Chapter 26

“Y
ou’re going to torture me, even if you get the money,” I told John Dalton.

He stared at me, saying nothing. Though my leg hurt so badly I feared I was going to go crazy, I managed to bark out a laugh.

“You’re pathetic, John. You think you’re so special. Emotionless. An iceman. You kill only because you’re good at it. Because it pays well. But I see through your lies. I know your real secret.”

Dalton’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed quiet.

“What was that bullshit you told me, years ago? About the two types of killers. The one who got off on evil acts, and the other who had no passion for it. No emotion. You were trying to tell me that was you. The cold, emotionless one. What an epic denial.” I leaned forward, stretching against my bonds. “But you’re not emotionless at all, are you, John? You love this shit. I can picture you, in your mansion on the beach, watching your movies, reading your books, getting all hot and bothered and jerking off to the sick things you’ve done to people.”

This time, he actually flinched. The cold, hard mask of his face began to fall away.

“Oh, wait a minute. It wasn’t just the books, was it? Your kink is photography. That’s your porn, isn’t it, John? I bet you’ve got a whole stash of photos, of all the sick shit you did to people. Is that the only way you can feel like a man? By hurting the helpless?”

Dalton folded his arms across his chest and began to chew on his lower lip. “I did it for the money.”

“You did it because it gets you off. You know I’m right. You can’t wait to use that speculum on me, can you? I bet you got really turned on when you bought that. Tell me something, Mr. K. How many of your victims did you rape?”

“I…I didn’t rape any of them.”

“You don’t sound convinced, John. I’m betting you did rape them. You were careful. Used protection. Knew the only way you’d ever get laid is if you had someone tied up, at your mercy. Or maybe you were so afraid of leaving evidence that you just masturbated into your handkerchief while they were in agony.” I watched his face, saw I’d hit home with that last one. “Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it? You weren’t even man enough to fuck them. You’re too pathetic for that.”

Dalton shook his head. His left eye had begun to tic.

“I know you, John. This was never just a job to you. This is your kink. Your sick fetish. You’re not some cool as ice hit man. You’re a pervert. A sexual deviant. A sadist. No different than any of the other trash who came before you. No different than Brotsky. You wear expensive suits. Drive a Caddy. Get paid to live out your pathetic little fantasies. But you’re just a regular, by-the-book psychopath. Textbook DSM-IV. What was the trigger, Johnny Boy? Were you one of those little freaks who liked breaking their pet hamster’s legs? Setting fires? I bet you wet the bed until you were fifteen.”

Dalton blushed and turned away. I saw blood in the water, and went for it.

“What happened to you, John? Did Daddy get drunk and smack you around? Did Father O’Malley get a little too grabby when you were in Sunday school? Or was it your sister, Janice? Did she do bad things to Little Johnny when the lights went out?”

Then he was on me, hands at my throat, shaking my whole body. Gone was the calculated veneer, the façade he’d spent his whole life trying to portray. Instead, he was just another drooling, raging sexual predator. A dime a dozen. Pathetic. I’d dealt with so many of them it was almost passé to be killed by one.