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I have to move. I’m out of bullets.

  She drops her precious Vaquero revolver—this might work out in her favor—and quickly pats Phin down.

  Wallet. Plane ticket. Cell phone.

  Then she runs out of the restroom, screaming.

  “Gun! He’s got a gun! The man has a gun!”

  Some people were already staring, no doubt because they heard the gun shots. But her shout causes a stampede.

  A stampede heading for the exits.

  The Cowboy goes with the flow.

  Thirty seconds later, she’s running for the rental van, jumping through the side door as Heckle opens it.

  Once inside she orders Jeckle to step on it. “They’re going to shut down O‘Hare. Move your ass.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “I got him.”

  “Where are we going?”

  The Cowboy checks Phin’s ticket. LAX.

  “Midway airport,” she orders. She turns to Jeckle. “Can you run a trace from the van?”

  “Yeah. We got all of our tech gear.”

  She hands him Phin’s phone. “Find Jack’s number, track down where she is.”

  The Cowboy was already on her own phone, searching for the next flight to Los Angeles.

  Ready or not, Jack. Here I come.

  JACK

  I hate hospitals.” Presley sat next to me in the waiting room, handing me a coffee. I thanked her and raised it to my lips.

  Terrible. Reminded me of the coffee we used to get at the 27th District, during my cops days.

  I hadn’t felt like a cop in a long time. But the mindset had returned.

  I was calm. Cool. Collected. In control.

  In other words, my old self.

  No more playing the victim.

  No more pity parties.

  No more hiding from the world, and dragging my family down with me.

  I was back.

  “You sure you don’t want me to get you something to wear in the gift shop?” Presley offered.

  She’d asked me before. I got pretty bloody giving Dr. Schlimm CPR, and was attracting a lot of sideways looks.

  “I’ll shower and change back at Harry’s place. Phin’s flight will be getting in soon. Just waiting for Roy and Tom to come by and take over the vigil.” I smiled. “You and your team did well, Presley.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You guys don’t have to stick around. We got all the bad guys.”

  “That’s what I told Fabler.” She shrugged. “He’s got this thing about seeing stuff through to the very end. I think he’s waiting for McGlade to wake up and give us all bonuses.”

  Knowing Harry, that’s exactly what he’ll do.

  I just hope he wakes up.

  “Can I ask you something, Jack?”

  That was usually a precursor to an uncomfortable question, but I allowed it.

  “When you shot Plastic, you weren’t trying to kill him. You meant to keep him alive.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “You knew Harry had congestive heart failure.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know Plastic was a donor match?”

  “No. But Harry is type O. About forty percent of the population has type O. Not the best odds, but we got lucky.”

  “So you went for brain death, so his heart would still be good, for Harry.”

  “Or for some other patient needing a heart. Can’t transplant a dead heart. Has to be still beating.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Presley said. “It’s just… I dunno… ruthless.”

  “It wasn’t cold blood, Presley. Plastic was giving McGlade a lobotomy. He had the icepick in his eye socket. I had to make a split second decision.”

  “I know. Still, it seemed… kind of… premeditated.”

  And it was kind of premeditated. More than kind of.

  It was long past due that one of these crazies gave back to the world. If not Plastic, then Erinyes. They made the world worse. I gave Plastic the opportunity to make the world better. To save a life, rather than ruin one.

  Premeditated? Yes. Ruthless? Sure. Illegal? Possibly. Breaking my own moral code? Definitely.

  But Harry helped me get my legs back. I was going to do whatever I could to make sure he came out of this situation with a new heart.

  That’s what friends do.

  I changed the subject. “How mad was Cissick when the cops showed up?”

  Presley snorted. “He was pissed. Kept saying he made a deal. Threw such a fit they had to taze him.”

  The irony was sweet. “Did they discuss charges?”

  “Against him? A laundry list.”

  “Against any of us.”

  “Not so far. We stuck to the story. Just a neighborhood watch group, keeping the streets safe. We heard screams at Cissick’s house and acted, heard screams at Plastic’s house and acted.”

  It was thin, but the LAPD were riding the hero parade, stopping two menaces to their fair city. It wasn’t likely they’d pursue prosecution against any of us, lest public opinion flip-flop. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Or the ass, as McGlade liked to say.

  “How about you, Jack? You talk to the cops?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And gave them your real name?”

  “I did.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m done hiding. Whatever the future holds, I’m facing it as me.”

  Presley smiled. “Good to hear it.”

  Tom, Joan, and Roy chose that moment to enter the ER visiting room. Tom’s hand was in a cast, and he had a few bandages on his face, but he looked terrific.

  Much better than when he was chained to a doghouse.

  They each took turns hugging me, even though I looked like an extra from a Romero film.

  “You okay?” I asked Tom.

  “Thanks to you guys.” He held out his good hand and Presley shook it. “You must be Presley. The pleasure is mine.”

  “Weird to see you with your clothes on,” she blurted out. Then she glanced at Joan and apologized. “Sorry. Inappropriate.”

  “You saved his naked ass,” Joan said. “You can be inappropriate all you want.”

  “How’s our dude doing?” Roy asked.

  “He’s got four doctors working on him at once. Plastic gave him a colostomy and sewed his ass shut. Harry has congestive heart failure, and Plastic turned out to be a match, so they’re going ahead with the transplant even though he’s not first on the waiting list. Apparently he met the medical utility criteria, and victim justice played a part.”

  “I saw on TV that Plastic had two more vics,” Tom said.

  I’d been following it on the Internet. “A woman was picked up yesterday, in Pipe Canyon. Disfigured her so she looked like a circus clown, but she’s okay. Plastic also had another guy at his house. They brought him here to reverse the procedures Plastic did.”

  “And Phin got his brother?” Roy asked. “And his ex is okay?”

  I nodded. “She might not be playing tennis for a while, but Herb saved her. Herb and her doctors.”

  “So the home team gets the triple-play.” Roy smiled. “Joanie, I got a list in my head of A-List actors to play me in my movie.”

  Joan raised an eyebrow. “Your movie?”

  “Damn right my movie. I’m obviously the most interesting character in this whole adventure. And there’s only one guy who has the gravitas to be me on the big screen. Harrison Ford.”

  Joan snorted.

  Roy made a face. “Why not? Because he’s white and I’m black? That’s typecasting.”

  “More like because he’s eighty and you’re in your thirties.”

  “Age discrimination. We all know CGI can de-age people. This casting is perfection. Get your people to call his people, get something in the works before Oscar season. Let’s make some cinema magic.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Roy. And who should play Tom?”

  “I think Roy is right about typecasting,” Tom said. “I’m think
ing Morgan Freeman.”

  Roy pointed at him. “Sexism, too. How about Kelly Marie Tran? She was Rose Tico in Last Jedi. She’d play the hell out of your character.”

  “I’d be cool with that,” Tom said.

  I checked my watch. Assuming Phin got on the next flight after I talked to him, he’d be arriving in about half an hour.

  I wanted to get cleaned up for him. And practice that butter churn position in my exosuit before he got back.

  “I’m off to Harry’s place, everyone. Someone text me if we get any news.”

  I endured a round of handshakes and hugs, and then left the hospital and got back in Consuela’s Nova and headed back to La Casa de McGlade.

  Usually, life didn’t offer me happy endings. I made due with bittersweet, or just good enough to get by.

  But this time, it looked like things were finally going to improve.

  I wasn’t going to get part of my life back.

  I was going to get my full life back.

  After a decade of struggle and worry and fear and setbacks, I was ready to start a new chapter. A better chapter.

  No more self-pity. No more fake names.

  I was going to get my happily ever after.

  TOM

  After Jack left, Tom asked Joan to come with him to the hospital cafeteria.

  Hunger played a part, but Tom had something else to discuss.

  “Jack seems different,” Joan said, shuffling through the containers of prepackaged salads to find one with sprouts. “Stronger.”

  Perfect lead-in.

  I’m going for it.

  “She’s not afraid anymore. Neither am I.”

  Joan paused her salad selection and stared at him. “What are you saying, Tom?”

  “I’m saying what you think I’m saying.”

  Her eyes got wide. “Kids?”

  “However many you want.”

  “I want six.”

  “Done.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

  “Seven?”

  “No problem.”

  “Eight?

  “The house is big enough. We make enough. Let’s fill the house with children.”

  “Nine?” she asked.

  Ahhh. I see what she’s doing here.

  Tom put his good hand around Joan’s waist, snugged her against him. “You’re saying we should deal with The Nine first.”

  “I’m saying if we want to start a family, we should make sure we’ve got a fresh start. That means tying up all old loose ends.”

  Joan was talking about the people, like her and Tom. People who had numbers tattooed on their feet, because of a long-ago experiment. Tom and Joan, with Roy’s help, had found the first eleven individuals with numbers. Nine remained. Some of them would be leading normal lives, unaware of what the tattoos meant. Unaware of who they really were.

  But others…

  If genetics really did dictate personalities, there could be some really bad people loose in the world. As bad as any who had ever lived.

  “Okay. As soon as my hand is better, and you can get some time off, we’ll round up the gang and go find The Nine.”

  He’d never seen Joan so excited. She was practically glowing. “And then we have kids?”

  “As many as you want,” Tom assured her. “As long as it isn’t more than three.”

  She hugged him, and Tom closed his eyes, living in the moment, allowing himself to be happy.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Joan said into his chest.

  “Bad? I’m sure raising children with you will be amazing.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Tom knew.

  She’s talking about finding the others.

  Tom also knew that Joan’s optimism was misguided.

  We’ll do our best to prepare.

  But the last time, dealing with some of those tattooed maniacs had almost been the death of both Tom and Joan.

  And there’s no reason to think this time will be any different…

  THE COWBOY

  That’s Jack,” Heckle says as a shitty old Nova pulls up the street.

  After landing at LAX, the Cowboy had a bad moment where she almost lost her self-control and killed both twins.

  All this time wasted, all this money spent, and all along Jack Daniels had been in contact with Harry McGlade.

  After the twins assured her, repeatedly, for months, that McGlade thought she was dead.

  If McGlade thought she was dead, why is she staying at his goddamn house?

  But the Cowboy didn’t shoot their eyes out, much as she longed to do so. She still needed them.

  They had rented a new van, and were parked just off of McGlade’s property. The man’s security is state-of-the art.

  But so are Heckle and Jeckle.

  Jeckle did a blunt force attack on McGlade’s system, finding the WiFi password—McGladeIsHellapants—and was ready to shut it down. Heckle was ready to cut the cable, which included phone land line and internet, and also had some sort of scrambler to block cell phones.

  They’d already performed a thermal scan. One adult inside, probably Harry’s maid, two children, and what looked like some pets.

  The plan is simple. Kill all the electronic ties to the outside world. Then the Cowboy goes in and kills everyone inside.

  Naturally, there’s also a back-up plan.

  “Once I’m in, start the timer,” the Cowboy tells the twins. “Give me five minutes exactly, If I’m still inside, you guys come after me. Do NOT shoot me. Just back me up.”

  The Cowboy has been making them train with handguns, and they can hit what they aim at, most of the time.

  “When are we going in?” asks Heckle.

  The Cowboy considers it, taking her spare Vaquero from her checked luggage, strapping on the hip holster and the bulletproof vest and leggings.

  “In three minutes, kill her communication and security system.”

  And I’ll kill the rest.

  JACK

  I walked into Harry’s place, greeted by children, animals, and a maid.

  No Phin.

  “Mommy, did you win?”

  “We won, Sam.”

  “You kicked their asses?”

  “Yes.”

  “High five!”

  I knelt down and gave Sam a high five, then I hugged her. I hugged her so tight.

  Harry Jr. stood next to us, holding his palm in the air. I also gave him a high five, and he joined the hug.

  “Is Daddy coming home soon?” Sam asked.

  “Soon, pumpkin.”

  “Is my daddy coming home, too?” Harry Jr. asked.

  I did a double-take.

  Not only was that the first thing Harry Jr. had ever said, but it was a complicated sentence. Practically a miracle.

  “Yes, Harry Jr. He misses you and loves you very much.”

  “Buttfucker,” said Harry Jr.

  Harry is gonna love that.

  “So everything worked out good, Miss Jack?” Consuela asked me.

  “As good as we hoped for. Maybe better.”

  “When will Mister Harry be home?”

  “Harry’s in the hospital getting better, and won’t be back for a few days.”

  “For a few days?”

  “Yes.”

  After a pause, she asked, “Would you like to join me for some wine?”

  I smiled. “Absolutely.”

  I gave Big Dick a pat on the head, and he nuzzled my leg with his nose. Then he walked over to Waddlebutt and took one of the stones the penguin had gathered in the corner of the kitchen. Waddlebutt threw a fit, squawking at him. Big Dick chewed the stone like is was gum.

  “He does that so his teeth don’t grow too long,” Sam said.

  “Poobah borf,” said Harry Jr.

  So much for the miracle.

  Consuela led me to a large wine cellar, and picked out a sideways-stored bottle.

>   “Château Lafite-Rothschild, 1982.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  We went to find glasses, and my cell rang. I eagerly answered, hoping it was Phin.

  It wasn’t Phin. But it was Tom, hopefully with a McGlade update.

  “How’s everyone?”

  “Fabler and crew left, Harry’s still in surgery. Look, Firoz just called me. Are you at Harry’s house?”

  I didn’t like the urgency in Tom’s voice. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

  “He figured out the software that made the deepfake of your face on that Usher House 2.0 video. Same software used to erase the tattoo of THIRSTY on the Erinyes vid.”

  I let that sink in. We knew someone had been helping Cissick with technology. Coaching him.

  “Is that a program we can track?”

  “It’s not a commercial program. It’s custom. I searched the site, found other instances. It’s the editing software the webmaster uses. Someone who calls themselves Romulus.”

  Warning bells went off in my head.

  Romulus and Remus were twins from mythology. They were raised by wolves and founded the ancient city of Rome.

  I only knew of one set of twins who would have anything against me. Who would delight in putting my face in one of those horrible snuff videos.

  I knew them as Heckle and Jeckle. They worked for the Cowboy.

  Coincidence? Or is the one person I feared more than anyone somehow involved with this?

  “You need to get out of there, Jack.”

  “Harry’s place is probably the safest place in all of Los Angeles. And there’s no reason to think that the Cowboy is coming. Do you think Cissick put two and two together and contacted her?”

  Cissick had told me he liked my face.

  “Tom?”

  Tom didn’t answer. I checked my phone and saw it had been disconnected.

  Not only that, I had no service.

  A sick feeling wrapped itself around me. “Consuela, can you check the security system.”

  She nodded, setting down the bottle of wine, picking up a tablet computer. “It’s offline, Miss Jack.”

  “Offline? Can you reboot it?”

  “I can’t get a signal.”

  I motored over to the landline next to the microwave.

  Dead.