“What are you doing?” Harry asks. “Using your psychic powers to call the other members of the Justice League?”
“I’m going to break this wire.”
“It’s too strong. You’ll cut your hands off first.”
“Either way I’ll be free.”
“Good plan. If it doesn’t work, I’ve got a plan too.”
Phin winces. He can feel the blood start to leak down his palms.
“What’s your plan?”
“When she comes back, I’m going to swallow my own tongue and choke to death.”
“Good plan.”
“Yeah. That’ll show the bitch.”
Phin continues to twist. Back and forth. Back and forth. The wire cuts like a blade, but it’s loosening just a little.
That, or it’s in so deep, it just seems like it’s looser.
“GODDAMMIT!” McGlade’s scream scares the hell out of Phin. “GET AWAY FROM THAT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“Harry? You okay?”
“YOU BASTARD! I’LL HUNT YOU DOWN AND ROAST YOU!”
It sounds like McGlade is losing it.
“Harry, what’s up? Who are you screaming at?”
“Goddamn rat. Ran off with one of my fingers.”
Phin isn’t sure how to reply to that.
“My middle finger, I think.”
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
“That was my favorite finger.”
“Maybe we can get it back.”
“Ah shit. I can see it, in the corner, holding it up.”
Phin starts to laugh.
“The rat is giving you the finger?”
“Kiss my ass, Phin. It’s not funny.”
Phin uses the laughter to twist even harder, his thick wrists bending the wire millimeter by millimeter.
“What’s it doing now, Harry? Using your finger to pick its nose?”
“It’s eating it. Corn on the cob style.”
Back and forth. Back and forth. Flesh is stronger than steel, Phin thinks. Determination is stronger than steel. Pain is temporary. Don’t stop. Don’t stop...
“Uh-oh.”
Phin hears the dripping sound, feels the hot liquid pour down his fingertips.
The wire has gone in too deep and severed something important. A vein. Or maybe an artery.
There are about ten pints of blood in a human body. When more than four pints are lost, the situation becomes critical. Shock ensues, and then death.
Phin knows this, and wonders how to proceed.
Either I’ll make it, or I won’t, he thinks.
Not seeing any choice, Phin resumes twisting.
CHAPTER 46
MORE COPS WERE called, and a four-block search of the area conducted. There was no sign of Holly.
I went through the motions, but I knew she wouldn’t be found. Especially since she now knew we were after her.
What a disaster.
The Feebies were sympathetic. They promised to keep trying her cell phone to get a fix on her position. I didn’t hold out much hope for that either. Anyone who watched TV knew that cell phones could be traced, and Holly had more knowledge than most. She wouldn’t use her phone again.
I got back to my apartment a little after ten, and was surprised to see Latham sitting on my sofa.
My happiness was short-lived. Next to Latham, holding a semiautomatic to his head, was Bud Kork.
I reached for my holster and stopped cold when I felt the gun press against the side of my head.
“Hands up, pig.”
Lorna. She’d been hiding behind my door.
I lifted my hands above my head, watching as her pudgy fingers tugged out my Colt. Using one hand, she released the catch and opened the cylinder. After shaking the bullets onto the floor, she tossed the gun aside.
“We’ve been waiting all night for you. Your boyfriend was kind enough to let us in.”
I glanced at Latham, precious Latham, dressed in a suit and tie, a bouquet of roses on the floor at his feet. His red hair was shorter than I’d ever seen it, almost a buzz cut. His green eyes, so sparkly and full of life, looked tired and dull. One of them bulged, black and swollen, and a nasty gash on his forehead left a trail of dried blood along the side of his face.
“I let myself in with my key,” he said. “I wanted to surprise you.” Latham offered me a weak smile. “Surprise.”
Lorna reached behind her and slammed the door, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Sit on the sofa, pig. We’re gonna have us some fun.”
I stole a glance at my burglar alarm. I hadn’t punched in the disengage code. If the alarm went off, the police would be here within three minutes.
But the panel was dark, no blinking light. Latham. He knew the code too. They must have made him deactivate it.
If I lived through this, I really had to get the hell out of this apartment.
I limped to the sofa, sitting down next to Latham. The warmth of his body next to mine should have felt good, but instead I only felt emptiness.
Lorna waddled up to me, keeping the gun on my head. She wore red sweatpants, so small her legs looked like cellulite sausages. Her top was equally tight, a T-shirt that had a faded INDIANA DUNES graphic on the front, distorted by her small breasts and belly rolls.
“So Bud and me, we spent a long time thinking ’bout what we wanted to do to you, while we drove up here. Bud, tell her how upset I was when I heard ’bout little Caleb on the radio.”
“We heard it on the radio,” Bud said. “Lorna was upset.”
Lorna’s face became the dictionary definition of hate. “You murdering pig.”
I watched her finger tremble on the trigger. She was holding an automatic, looked like a.45. A big gun. I winced.
“It wasn’t me. Alexandra killed him.”
“Horse pucky!” Spit flecked off Lorna’s liver-colored lips. “You did it, you liar! Tell her, Bud!”
“Alexandra is an angel. The helper and defender of mankind. It’s what her name means. She’s the one that helped Lorna.”
Bud’s gun hand was shaking, from the Parkinson’s. He sat on the other side of Latham, too far away from me to make a grab for it. He held a 9mm, looked like a Glock. The hammer was cocked back. One little muscle twitch and Latham was dead, and Bud was a twitcher.
Lorna came closer. I could see the blood caked under her fingernails.
“Any more lies, pig, and we’ll cut out your lying tongue.”
I snuck a quick glance at Latham. His hand brushed against mine. I wanted to grab on to it, hold it tight. But keeping both hands free was the smarter move.
Poor Latham. If I hadn’t ever called him, he wouldn’t be here facing this.
“Where was I?” Lorna stuck out her tongue and chewed on it, her face scrunched up in thought. “Bud, where was I?”
“We heard about little Caleb on the radio.”
“Right. Poor baby. He loved his mama so much, and you killed him. So I’m driving and thinking how to make you pay. And Bud’s in the kitchen, with the stove.”
“The kitchen?” Latham asked. I gave him a subtle elbow and a look that said, Don’t antagonize the dumb animals.
“We was driving one of those recreational camper vehicles,” Lorna said. “Got it on the highway.”
Bud added, “That’s where we got the clothes.”
I looked at Bud again. He had on a loose pair of jeans and a bulky red sweater with a big green Christmas tree stitched onto the front. I could guess what happened to the poor owners of the camper.
“So Bud’s doing what he does with the burner, yellin’ and cryin’ and punishing himself to cleanse his sin, and I realized that’s what we’re gonna do to you.”
Bud touched his chest. “Burns hurt. Hurt real bad.”
I pictured Bud’s gnarled flesh under the sweater, and figured he knows of what he speaks.
“So let’s the four of us go on into the kitchen. We got something on the stove we think you’re gonna like, pig.”