And now add a rakosh to its long list of fugitives.
"We're not too far from Leeds Point, you know," Prather said, an amused expression flitting across his sallow face. "The birthplace of the Jersey Devil."
"Save the history lesson for later," Jack said. "Are you sending out a search party?"
"No. No one wants to go, and I can't say I blame them. But even if some were willing, we've got to be set up in Cape May for our show tonight. And frankly, without Dr. Monnet buying its blood, I can't justify the risk of going after it."
"That leaves me."
If Scar-lip got too much of a head start, he'd never find it which he could live with… unless the drive to kill Vicky was still fixed in its dim brain. Seemed unlikely, but Jack couldn't take the chance.
"You're not seriously thinking of going after it."
Jack shrugged. "Know somebody who'll do it for me?"
"May I ask why?" Oz said.
"Take too long to tell. Let's just leave it that Scar-lip and I go back a ways and we've got some unfinished business."
Oz stared at him a moment, then turned and began walking back toward his trailer.
"Come with me. Perhaps I can help."
Jack doubted that but followed and waited outside as Oz rummaged around within his trailer. Finally he emerged holding something that looked like a Game-boy. He tapped a series of buttons, eliciting a beep, then handed it to Jack.
"This will lead you to the rakosh."
Jack checked out the thing: it had a small screen with a blip of green light blinking slowly in one corner. He rotated his body and the blip moved.
"This is the rakosh?" Then he remembered the collar it had been wearing. "What'd you do—rig it with a LoJack?"
"In a way. I have electronic telltales on our animals. Occasionally one gets loose and I've found this to be an excellent way to track them. Most of them are irreplaceable."
"Yeah. Not too many two-headed goats wandering around."
"Correct. The range is only two miles, however. As you can see, the creature is still within range, but it may not be for long. Operation is simple: Your position is center screen; if the blip is left of center, the creature is to the left of you; below center, it's behind you; and so on. You track it by proceeding in whatever direction moves the blip closer to the center of the screen. When it reaches dead center, you'll have found your rakosh. Or rather, it will have found you."
Jack swiveled back and forth until the locator blip was at the top of the faintly glowing screen. He looked up and found himself facing the shadowy mass of trees west of the Parkway. Just as he'd feared. Scar-lip was in the pines.
But this'll help me find it, he thought.
And then something occurred to him.
"You're being awfully helpful."
"Not at all. My sole concern is for the rakosh."
"But you know I'm going to kill it if I find it."
"Try to kill it. The pines are full of deer and other game, but the rakosh can't use them for food. As you know, it eats only one thing."
Now Jack understood. He grinned. "And you think by giving me this locator, you're sending it a CARE package, so to speak."
Oz inclined his head. "So to speak."
"We shall see, Mr. Prather. We shall see."
"On the contrary, I doubt anyone will ever see you again."
"I'm not suicidal; trust me on that."
"But you can't believe you can take on a rakosh single-handed and survive."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
Jack headed for his car, relishing the look of concern on Oz's face before he'd turned away. Had he sounded confident enough? Good act. Because he was feeling anything but.
2
"Here he comes," Doug said.
Nadia lifted her head from his shoulder and glanced through the car window. Jack was about a hundred feet away, striding toward them. The sight of him elicited a warm glow against the deep chill that pervaded her. She couldn't remember ever being so glad to see someone as when she'd looked through the open door of that awful trailer and found Jack standing outside. She couldn't imagine how he'd tracked her down or why, but when she'd most needed someone he'd shown up.
"Good," she said. "Now we can get out of here."
She'd been huddled against Doug in the rear seat, feeling cold and tired, totally wrung out, but mostly sad.
Dr. Monnet wanted me dead.
She'd been forced to accept the truth of that, and yet… how could it be? Horrifying enough to learn that anyone wanted you dead, but Dr. Monnet… and after she'd been so worried about his well-being. It was too cruel.
To her surprise, Jack walked past the car and into the food court. Minutes later he emerged with a canvas shoulder bag emblazoned with Atlantic city in Day-Glo green letters.
"How's everybody doing?" he said as he slipped into the front seat.
"Better now," Doug said. "Thanks to you." He extended his hand over the seat. "I'm Doug Gleason."
They shook hands.
"Jack." He gave Doug's wrist a quarter-turn. "Is that a Quisp watch? Neat."
"You want it? It's yours."
Jack waved him off. "No, that's OK."
"I'm serious," Doug said. "I don't know how to thank you."
"You will in a minute."
Jack backed the car out of its spot but didn't drive far. To Nadia's dismay he parked in another spot in a far corner of the rest area by the rideshare info sign. She wanted to go home.
"Aren't we going back?"
"Not yet." Jack pulled a couple of bottles of Snapple from the canvas bag and handed them back. "If you're thirsty, drink up; otherwise, dump it out on the pavement."
Nadia drank half of her lemon-flavored iced tea quickly. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. Jack had opened his door and was emptying bottle after bottle into the parking lot.
"Shame to waste the stuff, I know," he said, "but it seems Snapple's about the only thing that comes in glass bottles these days."
Then he took out a glass cutter and began scoring the flanks of the bottles.
Baffled, Nadia said, "What are you doing?"
"Trick I learned from an old revolutionary. Ups the chances these'll shatter on contact."
Then he pulled an Atlantic City souvenir T-shirt and a newspaper from the bag. He began tearing up the shirt.
Nadia studied his face, his deft, sure movements. Where was the easy going fellow she'd seen off and on over the past few days? He'd been replaced somehow by this fiercely focused man whose sense of purpose radiated through the car. His expression was grim and the brown eyes she'd once thought mild now gleamed with intensity.
"What's going on?" Nadia said.
"One of Oz's attractions escaped. I have to go after it."
"He hired you?"
"No. This is my own thing."
"Why on earth—?"
"It may harm someone who matters to me."
"Can't you call the police?"
"They'll think I'm nuts, or trying to scam them with a Jersey Devil story."
Doug said, "This 'attraction' wouldn't happen to be a big, strange-looking creature with yellow eyes and dark skin."
Jack looked up. "You saw it?"
"Yeah. I think so. The night I was kidnapped they brought me into one of the tents and pushed me up against the bars of a cage with this huge guy in a stinking rubber monster suit inside."
"That wasn't a suit."
"Bullshit."