“In the apartment, move.”
She stepped back, her face awash in surprise. Carlos took a quick look around. The doc was on the couch, snoring.
Carlos pulled Theena close, one arm around her neck. He reached back into the hallway for the dropped box, and closed the door behind him. Then he fished out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.
“I’m in.”
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
When he opened his eyes, Franco and Carlos were standing over him.
“Good morning, Doc.”
A large hand grabbed him by the shirt.
“This is what happens when you don’t play along.”
Fear coursed through him, so hot and deep it was just as palpable as the blood in his veins. He was off balance, and summarily dragged away in a half stumble, half crawl.
A gun was pressed to his head. It felt huge. He watched, unable to move, barely capable of drawing a breath, while Carlos pulled on a ski mask.
There was a camcorder resting on a nearby box.
They were going to videotape his death.
He looked around the room for a weapon. There was nothing suitable. Do something, he screamed in his mind. Don’t die without a fight.
He made a fist and swung, a big loping blow aimed at Franco’s chin. The large man twisted, catching the punch on his shoulder. He giggled, high pitched and horrible, and then hit back.
The hitting went on. And on.
“Quit it. We have to do this on tape.”
Franco gave him one more kick.
“Aren’t you excited, Doc? Gonna star in a movie.”
The world had become pinpoints of pain. Rather than cringe, he embraced the sensation. It might very well be the last thing he ever felt.
Carlos handed Franco the camcorder.
“If it means anything, Doc, I kind of liked you. You were an okay guy.”
Franco pointed the lens.
“Action!”
The red light on the camera began to blink.
“Come over here.”
Carlos led him into the corner of the room. He couldn’t get his brain around what was happening. The magnitude was so tremendous he refused to accept it.
“Kneel down.”
He tried to think of something, a reason, a point. Not just for his death, but for his life. Something, anything, to take with him into the void.
“N-Som will get FDA approval.”
A speck of hope. Was this all just another scare tactic, to make him approve that damn drug?
“Yes. I promise it will.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
He didn’t even feel the shot. The wind left his lungs, as if he’d fallen on his back. He tried to breathe, but his brain couldn’t get his lungs to work. Everything got fuzzy, soft. His life leaked out the large hole in his chest.
I hope there’s something else.
But he knew there wasn’t.
That was his last thought, and he died.
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
Bill’s eyes sprung open and he sucked in air. He sat up, frantic. His hand felt his chest.
No hole.
N-Som dream.
Theena had said they were realistic, but he had no idea. The detail, the imagery, the tactile sensations, all making him feel as if he’d actually been there.
Mike Bitner’s death.
The perspective was different than the video tape. Bill felt like he’d actually lived through his death, seeing everything happen through Bitner’s eyes, feeling what he felt up until the very end.
And unlike a regular dream, this remained lodged in Bill’s head like a real memory. He could close his eyes and still feel the cool concrete of the basement floor under his knees…
“Good morning, sleepy head.”
Bill stood up and spun around. Carlos was standing by the front door. He had on some kind of delivery uniform. Standing next to him, a gun pressed to the back of her head, Theena was fighting not to cry.
Bill blinked and shook his head.
This was no dream.
“Sit down, Doc. Put your hands above your head.”
“Where’s your fat buddy?”
“He’s coming. You in a hurry to get this party started?”
Bill considered his slim options. Carlos was only half a dozen feet away, the sofa between them. Going over it was faster than going around it, but either way Carlos would be able to shoot him before he got there.
He had to think of something, and fast. Once Franco arrived the odds would become much worse.
“I have a lot of money.”
“Is that so?”
Bill nodded. He laced his hands behind his head and walked over, trying to look submissive.
“Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You let us go, you can have it.”
“And you got this where, in your wallet?”
“In a CD. Two phone calls, I can pull it all out.”
He stood in front of Carlos, his muscles tensing.
“And how do I get the money, once you pull it out?”
“We can go to the bank, together. Franco stays here with the girl, so I don’t try anything funny.”
Carlos laughed. “I like that, Doc. You’re a thinking man. Wouldn’t work, though. Soon as we got out in public, you’d start screaming your head off.”
Bill set his jaw. He had to make a play for the gun. It would endanger Theena, but there was no other choice. They were both going to die anyway, and he wasn’t going to go out like Mike Bitner did, on his knees wondering what the meaning of life was. One memory like that was enough.
“I can call my lawyer. He’s got authorization on my account. He can bring the money here.”
Carlos grinned. “It’s getting better. But wouldn’t the bank be suspicious, taking out all that money?”
Bill eyed Carlos’s pistol. He hadn’t ever fired a gun, but he had a basic understanding of how they worked. Carlos had a revolver, the kind that gunslingers from the old West used. Pulling the trigger caused the hammer to draw back. When the hammer fell, it would hit the bullet in the cylinder, causing the gun to fire.
Bill stood in front of Carlos, his hands out in supplication, his voice frantic.
“I’ll tell him I need it for bail, for my cousin.”
“Clever, Doc. You’re a clever…”
Bill shot out his hand, aiming for the hammer, grabbing the gun near the back.
Carlos fired. A spark of pain shot up Bill’s wrist.
Instead of falling on the bullet chamber, the hammer pinched the webbing between Bill’s thumb and forefinger. The gun couldn’t fire.
He tugged. Carlos refused to let go of the weapon, being pulled along with it. They fell to the floor.
Bill was bigger, and younger, but he’d never been in a real fight before. The older man snarled and kicked with ferocious energy, tearing at Bill’s eyes with his free hand, trying to bite Bill’s arm.
Bill strained, trying to kick Carlos away, but he received a stiff poke in the eye and the pistol was ripped from his hand.
“You son of a…”
There was a thumping sound, and a scream. Bill squinted, focusing his blurry vision.
Theena had whacked Carlos across the face with her cactus.
She dropped the pot. Half the plant was gone, a ragged break on top leaking milky fluid.
The other half was embedded in the killer’s face. He wrestled with it. Some of the needles held like fish hooks, stretching his skin as he pulled. His wail was keening, a hurt puppy.
Bill scurried to his feet and picked up his overnight bag-he didn’t want to lose the N-Som file. Then he grabbed Theena’s wrist.
“Back door!”
She stared for a long moment at the man writhing on the floor, then ran with Bill to the apartment’s rear entrance.
They hit the stairwell and bounded down two at a time. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete, and Bill couldn’t be sure he didn’t hear someone above, coming after them. It fueled his fear.
The cold gave Bill a shock when they stepped outside. The earlier drizzle had frozen, forming an icy sleet. Without a coat, the weather pinched at his cheeks and hands. He tugged Theena through the alley, trying to decide where to go.
He saw a cab, coming down the block. Bill chanced a look behind him. Franco, charging towards them like a bull, his head down and fists pumping.
Bill stepped in front of the cab, forcing it to stop. He and Theena practically dove inside.