James PATTERSON: The Big Bad Wolf

I turned back toward the house. What about the family? Where were they? Had he made up his story? Oh Christ, what had Dennis Coulter done?

Then I saw the family walking single file out of the house. It was an incredible scene. The hair on my neck stood up.

An old man in a white shirt, black trousers and braces. An elderly woman in a blowing pink dress and high heels. Tears were streaming down her cheek. Two small girls in white party dresses. A couple of middle-aged women holding hands. Three males in their twenties, each of them with their hands up. A woman with two little babies.

Several of the adults were carrying cardboard boxes.

I figured I knew what was in them. Yeah, I knew. The records, the proof, the evidence .

Detective Dennis Coulter had been telling the truth, after all. His family had believed him. They had just saved his life.

I felt Ned Mahoney pat my back hard. ‘Nice job. Really good job.’

I laughed and said, ‘For an FNG. That was a test, wasn’t it?’

‘I really couldn’t say. But if it was, you aced it.’

A test? Jesus. Is that why I was sent to Baltimore? I hoped to hell not .

I got home late that night, too late. I was glad that no one would be up to see me, especially Nana. I couldn’t handle one of her soul-piercing, disapproving looks right now. I needed a beer and then I wanted to go to bed. Sleep if I could.

I slipped quietly inside the house, not wanting to wake anyone. Not a sound except for the tiniest electric hum that came from somewhere. I was planning to call Jamilla as soon as I got upstairs. I was missing her like crazy. Rosie the cat slid by and rubbed against my leg. ‘Hello, Red,’ I whispered. ‘I did good today.’

Then I heard a cry.

I hurried up the front stairs to little Alex’s room. Looked in on him. He was up and working himself into a good wail. I didn’t want Nana or the kids to have to get up and tend to him. Besides, I hadn’t seen my boy since early that morning, and I wanted to give him a snuggle. I missed his little face.

When I peeked into his room he was sitting up, and he seemed surprised to see it was me. Then he smiled and clapped his hands. Oh boy! Daddy’s on the case. Daddy’s the biggest sucker in the house .

‘What are you doing up, Pup? It’s late,’ I said.

Alex’s bed is a low-riser which I made myself. There are protective bars on either side, to keep him from slipping out.

I slid in beside him. ‘Move over and give your daddy some room,’ I whispered and kissed the top of his head. I don’t ever remember my own father kissing me, so I kiss Alex every chance that I get. The same goes for Damon and Jannie, no matter how much they complain as they get older and less wise.

‘I’m tired, little man,’ I said as I stretched out. ‘How about you? Tough day, Puppy?’

I retrieved his bottle from a space between the mattress and the guard bars. He started to drink, and then he moved in close to me. He grabbed his stuffed cow ‘Moo’, and he fell right back to sleep in minutes.

So nice. Magical. That sweet baby smell I love. His soft breathing – child’s breath.

The two of us had a nice sleepover that night.

The Couple was hiding out for a few days in New York City. Lower Manhattan. It was so easy to get lost there, to disappear off the face of the map. And New York was one city where they could get whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. The Couple wanted rough sex. For starters anyway.

They had stayed out of reach of their employer for more than thirty-six hours. Their contact man, Sterling, finally got through to them on the phone in a room at the Chelsea Hotel on West Twenty-third Street. Outside the window was a sign: Hotel Chelsea in an L shape. The vertical Hotel was in white, the horizontal Chelsea in red. It was a famous New York City icon.

‘I’ve been trying to reach you for a day and a half,’ Sterling said. ‘ Don’t ever turn off your cell on me. Consider this a last warning.’

The female, Zoya, yawned and gave the phone receiver the finger. With her free hand, she popped a DVD, East Eats West , into the player. Rock music kicked in hard and loud. ‘We were busy, darling. We’re still busy. What the hell do you want? You have more money for us? Money talks.’

‘Turn down the music, please. Please . Somebody has an itch. He’s very rich. There’s a lot of money involved.’

‘Like I said, darling, we’re busy right now. Otherwise occupied. Out to lunch. How big an itch is it?’

‘Same as last time. A very big itch. He’s a personal friend of the Wolf.’

Zoya flinched at the mention of the Wolf. ‘Give me details, specifics. Don’t waste our time.’

‘We’ll do it like we always do, darling . A piece of the puzzle at a time. How soon can you be on the road? How about thirty minutes?’

‘We have something to wrap up here. Let’s say four hours. This need that somebody has, this itch – what kind of itch is it?’

‘One unit, female. And not too far from New York. Let’s say, four hours from where you are now. I’ll send you directions first. Then specifics on the unit.’

Zoya looked at her partner, who was lounging in an armchair. Slava was idly fingering a pecker leash as he listened on the second phone in the eclectically furnished hotel room. He was gazing out the window at the Candyman sweet shop, a tailor shop, a one-hour photo shop. Typical N.Y.C. view.

‘We’ll do the job,’ said Zoya. ‘Tell the Wolf, we’ll get his friend what he needs. No problem whatsoever.’ Then she hung up on Sterling. Because she could.

She shrugged at her partner. Then Zoya looked across the hotel room to a queen-size bed with a steel decorative headboard. A young blond male was lying there. He was naked and gagged, handcuffed to vertical rods spaced about a foot apart on the bed.

‘You’re in luck,’ Zoya said to the blond. ‘Only four more hours to play, baby. Only four more hours.’

Then Slava spoke. ‘You’ll wish it was less. You ever heard of a Russian word – zamochit ? No. I’ll show you zamochit . Four hours worth. I learned it from the Wolf. Now you learn from me. Zamochit . It means to break all the bones in your body.’

Zoya winked at the boy. ‘Four hours. Zamochit . You’ll take the next few hours with you through eternity. Never forget it, darling.’

When I woke in the morning, little Alex was sleeping peacefully beside me, his head on my chest. I couldn’t resist sneaking another kiss. And another. Then, as I lay there next to my boy, I found myself thinking about Detective Dennis Coulter and his family. I had been moved emotionally when they came out of that house together. The family had saved Coulter’s life, and I was a sucker for family stuff.

I had been asked to stop at the Hoover Building, always referred to as ‘the Bureau’, before I drove down to Quantico. The Director wanted to see me about what had happened in Baltimore. I had no idea what to expect, but I was anxious about the visit. Maybe I should have skipped Nana’s coffee that morning.

Almost anybody who has seen it would agree that the Hoover Building is a strange and supernaturally ugly structure. It takes up an entire block between Pennsylvania Avenue, Ninth, Tenth, and E Streets. The nicest thing I could say about it is that it’s ‘fortress-like’. Inside, it’s even worse. ‘The Bureau’ is library quiet and warehouse ugly. The long halls glow in medicinal white.