Chaser Read online

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know, when a guy loses a nut and gets a silicone one.”

  “Yes. I’ve done that.”

  “How do you think I’d look with, like, six balls?”

  Plastic continues to shave.

  “Think it would look cool? Six nuts?”

  “Stop talking.”

  “My sack been getting longer since I turned forty. There should be plenty of room. It hangs low, like a pink canvas bag.”

  “How about I give you twelve balls? Would you like that?”

  “Maybe. Can you do it in two rows, like a carton of eggs?”

  “You’re seriously one of the worst people I’ve ever met.”

  “Twelve balls. That’s a lot. I’d have to get new pants.”

  Plastic finishes the first cheek. He starts on the other one.

  “Where am I?” McGlade asks.

  Maybe I’ve got the anesthetic wrong. I want him to know what I’m doing to him, but I don’t want him chatty.

  “This is really happening, Mr. McGlade. I’m sewing your asshole closed, sewing your cheeks together, putting a stoma in the middle of your chest, and then giving you a lobotomy.”

  “On my brain?”

  “Yes.”

  “My brain is my second biggest organ!”

  “You’ll live out the rest of your days an ugly, babbling idiot.”

  Which isn’t really that much of a difference from what he is now.

  “Oh, yeah? Well you’re some kinda super stupid. You’re so stupid you need a cape.”

  Plastic continues to shave.

  “You think people hated you because of your looks? That’s bullshit, Schlimm. I never looked like Brad Pitt. But I have friends. Good friends. People didn’t hate you because you’re ugly. They hated you because you’re a dick. And it doesn’t matter how many nose jobs you’ve had, or how long you spend in the gym, you’ll always be a dick. And no matter what you do to me, I’ll always be Harrison Harold Assmaster McGlade. And I’ll always have more friends than you.”

  “When I finish with you, McGlade, you’ll be a drooling, spastic potato, unable to move, unable to form a sentence, lying in a bed and shitting out of your chest. A burden to the healthcare system. And I can promise you, you won’t have a single friend left.”

  McGlade stays silent.

  Hopefully he’s in emotional agony.

  “Can you give me two dicks?”

  Oh. My. God.

  Maybe I should do the world a favor and just kill him.

  “I always wanted the double dick. I could double-fist. It would be like milking a cow.”

  Plastic tries to ignore him.

  “On second thought, cancel that. I’d probably just come twice as fast.”

  That’s all I can take.

  Plastic adjusted the anesthetic to put the annoying son of a bitch back to sleep.

  New plan. I do the procedure while he’s blessedly silent.

  Then I’ll allow him to recover for a few days, let him see the monster he’s become.

  Then I’ll cauterize his frontal lobe so he can never tell anyone.

  “Does this mean no more free Botox?”

  That was the last thing he said before going under.

  Plastic finishes shaving, disinfects the entire area, chooses a scalpel, and makes the first incision.

  ERINYES

  Venturing into the garage, Erinyes sees that Tom is hiding in his doghouse.

  I can’t even see him.

  Not good for subscribers.

  I’ll need to get more lights down here.

  “Come out,” he commands.

  Tom doesn’t come out. But there’s a pounding sound.

  Is he trying to destroy my brand new doghouse?

  “You’re being a bad dog, Tom. Bad dogs get the hose.”

  Tom sticks out his arms and raises both middle fingers.

  Erinyes limps away to the back of the garage, behind the movie lights. He turns on the hose and brings it back, making sure he stays just outside the length of his chain, giving Tom a liberal squirting.

  Tom stays in the doghouse.

  Fine. Time to try a new toy.

  Cissick bought the animal electric shock prod online, and it had been delivered a week ago. One hundred centimeters long, rechargeable, able to deliver twenty-thousand volts.

  The pain is extraordinary.

  Erinyes knows because he tried it on himself.

  But one thing I haven’t tried is conducting the shock using a puddle of water.

  He has researched it on the Internet, knowing this might be the way to keep his doggy from hiding in the house. He found several references to police using a taser on a suspect standing in water, and eleven officers being accidentally electrocuted.

  I’m optimistic this will work.

  Erinyes touches the two prongs to the wet cement floor, and hits the trigger.

  In the doghouse, Tom begins to scream.

  Glorious. Such a lovely sound.

  After fifteen seconds of shock, Erinyes stops.

  “Come out, Tom. Or I’m going to keep doing this until the battery dies. And I bought a spare battery.”

  Tom doesn’t reply, and Erinyes gives him a twenty second shock.

  Music. Screams like music.

  And I’m the conductor.

  “Okay! I’m coming out.”

  “You have five seconds.”

  By the count of four, Tom has crawled out of the doghouse.

  No visible marks on him.

  Yet.

  Erinyes pulls his belt off.

  “Bad dogs get punished, Tom. You’ve been a bad dog. Lie face down and accept the belt, or I’m going to keep shocking you.”

  Tom doesn’t move.

  Erinyes raises the prod, and Tom holds up his hands in supplication.

  Then he lies on the floor.

  Good boy.

  Time to show you who the master is…

  JACK

  Harry’s laptop is showing me a live streaming video of hell.

  And I can’t handle it.

  After watching Cissick use the cattle prod, he was about to beat Tom with a belt.

  I’d already called Fabler, but he hadn’t arrived yet.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Stay here and keep watching?

  Or take action?

  I considered Samantha. Her father is already risking his life. Her mother shouldn’t risk hers as well.

  Then I saw Erinyes raise the belt and whip Tom across the back.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Fuck it. I’m going in.”

  I called out to Consuela as I lumbered out of the bedroom as fast as my exosuit could carry me. She met me in the kitchen, and after a brief exchange she gave me the keys to her car…

  A 1985 Chevy Nova.

  “Take the kids and animals and wait in the panic room for me or Harry to get back.”

  She nodded and grasped my shoulder. “Be safe.”

  But I wasn’t going to be safe.

  I was going to be reckless and crazy and kick the shit out of that psychopathic son of a bitch.

  THE COWBOY

  The Cowboy enters the Great Midwest Amusement Park ahead of Hugo.

  Late admission is twenty dollars.

  I feel naked without my gun.

  In its place, she has some 144x binoculars.

  The night is cool and smells like popcorn. The park crowd is still substantial at the late hour, people everywhere she looks. She glances at the brochure map she got with her ticket, then heads for the carousel.

  As expected, there are no lines.

  Who wants to sit on a stupid plastic horse when the park offers over forty thrill rides?

  She finds the high ground; a grassy hill dotted with picnic benches, near one of the many food courts.

  The Cowboy sits on a bench top and uses the binocs, watching as Hugo, his face tattoos hidden behind makeup, pushes Pa
sha through the metal detector in her wheelchair.

  The detector goes off, naturally. Hugo consents to a search, but keeps his hand on Pasha’s upper arm.

  It’s a smart way to keep her quiet and under control.

  I may try it someday.

  After he is patted down, and the chair checked, he continues into the park.

  “We’re watching the entrance,” says Heckle, in her ear microphone.

  Or maybe it’s Jeckle. She can’t tell them apart by voice.

  “They show up yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  The Cowboy checks her phone.

  Phin has five more minutes.

  And, hopefully, Jack will be with him.

  I still don’t like letting Hugo have Phin. He should be mine to kill.

  But, according to Hugo, he’s planning on keeping his little brother alive for a few days. So after I take care of Jack, I’ll be able to get in a bit of revenge.

  Another minute passes. The Cowboy watches a family. Mom, Dad, a kid probably around ten or eleven. The child has three balloons, two stuffed animals, and a wilting cone of cotton candy. The parents appear tired, but they’re smiling.

  The Cowboy pities them.

  She pities their normal, boring lives. Normal is worse than death.

  She pities the love they obviously share. Love is a burden, not a blessing.

  She pities their stereotypical happiness. Happiness always ends. Pain is what endures.

  Love. Marriage. Children.

  Boring and stupid and a waste of energy and time.

  They’re sheep. I’m a wolf. Being the predator is always better.

  Just ask the prey.

  “They just pulled in,” says Heckle (or Jeckle). “Phin, Herb, and Tequila.”

  “Is Jack with them?”

  “There’s a woman. I can’t tell yet. She’s in a black hoodie. I see blonde hair.”

  Jack could have dyed her hair. Or she might be wearing a wig.

  “One of you follow the woman. Not too close. The other watch their car. Pop a tire so it stays put.”

  The Cowboy aims the binocs at the entrance, holding them in her rocksteady hands, and waits.

  Within two minutes she sights Tequila walking into the park, through the metal detectors.

  He’s packed on a lot of muscle.

  Yummy.

  Maybe I can take him alive, relive some old times.

  A wiry, tanned man comes after him, and it takes the Cowboy a few seconds to realize it’s Herb Benedict.

  Way to turn your life around, Herb.

  A shame for you I’ll be ending it soon.

  Then a woman with a hoodie enters through a line to the west. A blonde woman.

  That’s not Jack Daniels.

  WTF?

  The Cowboy keeps her eyes on the woman while fishing out her cell phone. She dials the number by memory, alternating between her touch screen and the binocs.

  The phone rings.

  “Missing me?” a woman answers.

  The blonde in the hoodie is walking away.

  “I thought I was looking at you. But the hair is blonde, and I don’t see you talking on the phone.”

  “It’s one of my sisters,” Hammett says. “Upright, or in a wheelchair?”

  “Upright.”

  “Chandler. Don’t engage.”

  “You have a soft spot?”

  “No. I want her for myself.”

  “You’d kill your own sister?”

  “Only if I get to hurt her first. She’s had the same training I have. I know you’re fast. She’s fast, too.”

  “Neither of us are armed.”

  “Then definitely don’t engage. She can kill you in a hundred different ways.”

  “She’s that good?”

  “She’s better. You’ll need my help to deal with her.”

  “You want more crypto?”

  “I’ll do this one for free. I’m tracking your phone and I’m not far away. Where is this going down?”

  “The Great Midwest Amusement Park. Near the carousel. There are metal detectors. No weapons.”

  “Not all weapons are metal. Keep your phone on. When I show up, I won’t be blonde.”

  Hammett hung up.

  The Cowboy didn’t need a second superspy in play. But even more annoying, Jack Daniels hadn’t shown up.

  Where is the cop? Why isn’t she here for her husband?

  Even if this plays out, it looks like I’m going to need to default to my back-up plan…

  FABLER

  They parked at the corner of Nantucket and Wharf, in a quiet little neighborhood crowded with tiny bungalows and transplanted palm trees.

  Unlike Fabler’s house outside of Wichita, which blended into the surrounding forest like it had grown there from a seed, these homes seemed like they were trying too hard, and the end result was tacky.

  A vehicle—a Cadillac—pulled up and idled on the other side of the street. Fabler thumbed the safety off on the KRISS Vector rifle in his lap, and heard Presley do the same in the backseat. Grim had gone on recon to scout the house and report on the alert-level of the neighbors.

  A man got out of the Caddy. Tall. Fit. African American. Fabler assumed it was Roy, Tom’s partner.

  I forgot to ask for a description of him or his car so I could ID on sight.

  Sloppy.

  I can’t make any more mistakes like that.

  “Red Leader, this is Red Five.” Grim on the earbud radio, with his fanboy squadron call signs. “Lights out at houses on either side. Four points of egress on the target. Front door, back patio door, garage door, open bedroom window. Over.”

  “Hold position, over.”

  “Roger that.”

  Fabler placed his rifle in the passenger seat and exited the Jeep, keeping his hands in view as he approached Roy.

  “I assume you’re Fabler.”

  “Correct assumption.”

  “No one else on this street wearing Kevlar, except me and you.”

  “Grim and Presley are, too.” Fabler motioned for Presley to join the party. She got out of the Jeep and began to jog to the target house. Instead of a rifle, Presley had a holstered Glock on her left hip, a holstered cordless drill on her right. In her hands, a small metal suitcase.

  Roy moved a bit closer, and Fabler could see the tension creasing his face. “Cissick is beating my dude with a belt.”

  “We know. Jack called me. We’re moving as fast as we can.”

  “Why aren’t we just busting in?”

  “Too many unknowns. We haven’t confirmed this is the right house. We don’t know who is inside. We don’t know about any sort of precautions Cissick might have taken. When we go in, we go in right.”

  Roy didn’t look happy about it, but he offered a curt nod.

  Fabler handed him an ear bud radio, returned to the Jeep, checked the street for cars, then grabbed his rifle and sprinted over to Cissick’s alleged house.

  I really hope he’s in here.

  He came in behind Presley, who was crouched next to the garage, behind a hedge. She’d wrapped the drill with a yard of pink fiberglass insulation, and the sound of her using the twelve inch bit was considerably muffled. She made it through the side wall in a few seconds, and then opened up the silver case, removing the endoscope.

  Fabler did a three-sixty lookout while Presley powered up the viewing device and stuck the semi-flexible tube into the hole she’d drilled. She’d turned down the screen brightness for nighttime use, and Fabler and Roy watched as she slowly pushed the camera through the wall and into the garage. It came up against something black and couldn’t go in further.

  “Feels spongy,” she whispered. “Like foam.”

  “Can the drill reach?”

  “Maybe if I pull the end of the bit out of the chuck a little.”

  Presley gave it a try without Fabler telling her to, and after another ten seconds of drilling, she inserted the endoscope camera once again.

&n
bsp; “Still hitting the foam.”

  Grim came on the radio. “It’s baffling.”

  “I know,” Presley replied. “We’re all confused, Red Five.”

  “It’s noise baffling. Like in recording booths. It’s made out of foam, keeps the inside sounds in and the outside sounds out.”

  “Red Five?” Roy whispered.

  Presley frowned. “It’s Luke’s callsign in Star Wars.”

  Fabler dug into his utility belt pouch (Grim called it a man-purse) and took out an old credit card wrapped in duct tape, and a metal candy box. Inside the box, sitting on foam, were assorted razors and box-cutter blades.

  “I get it,” Roy said. “No names in case someone is listening in on the frequency. I’ll be Han.”

  Presley rolled her eyes.

  “What? Cause I’m not white? You think I should be Lando? Or Mace Windu?”

  “I think you should be an adult, not a Star Wars fanboy.”

  “Adults can like Star Wars,” Roy said. “And buy Star Wars Lego sets.”

  “I just got the Imperial Star Destroyer,” Grim boasted.

  “The one with five thousand pieces? That’s tight.”

  Fabler selected two pointy X-ACTO knife blades and spent thirty seconds peeling off duct tape and began taping them to the camera of the endoscope.

  “What’s your callsign?” Roy asked her.

  “Diana.”

  “Like Wonder Woman Diana? So you can fangirl DC and we can’t fanboy Lucas?”

  “I’m with Han,” Grim said.

  “Keep the chatter down,” Fabler told them.

  “Copy that, Red Leader.”

  “Red Leader?” Roy squinted at Fabler. “You know Red Leader dies?”

  “So does Han Solo.”

  “I talking because I’m nervous. We’re taking too long and my best friend is getting his ass beat.”

  “We need to make sure he’s in there.”

  Fabler finished with the makeshift blade attachment, and Presley once again pushed it into the hole. She began to twist.

  The drill hadn’t been sharp enough to get through the foam, but the blades did the trick. When the camera popped through, Presley turned off the light and took a moment to adjust the angle. The three of them huddled around the endoscope screen, looking at the back end of a small structure in the middle of the garage.