L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

“Small or mid-sized?”

“Mid-sized.” Rudker fingered the driver’s license he’d found in the taxi.

“How about a Ford Taurus?”

“Okay.” Under any other circumstances, he would have said no thanks. But being commonplace would be useful to his plans.

“Would you like to put this on a credit card?”

“No. What’s your daily rate?”

“Forty-seven plus taxes, plus mileage.”

Rudker pulled out four fifties and handed them to the clerk. “This will cover three days.”

The young man hesitated. “I need to see your driver’s license.”

Rudker gave him Richard Morgenstern’s ID. The clerk entered the number into the computer and handed it back without ever looking up to compare images.

“You need to fill it with gas before you return it or we charge for that too.” They went out to the lot, and five minutes later Rudker was driving away.

His next stop was the Wetlands tavern. The place was dark and packed with a happy hour crowd. Perfect. Rudker picked up a beer at the bar counter, then moved around the room, pretending to keep an eye on the basketball game. He was really looking for a cell phone. After a few minutes, he spotted one on a table, where two guys were watching the game. He leaned against a nearby wall and focused on the TV, while keeping an eye on the cell phone three feet away.

He hated sports, such a colossal bore. After ten minutes, the guy closest to the phone got up and headed for the bathroom. Moments later, a player scored a three-pointer and tied the game. The second guy at the table jumped up, along with a dozen other guys, and began to cheer. In a flash, Rudker grabbed the phone, spun around, and plowed toward the front door. He half expected to hear one of the guys run up behind him, but they didn’t.

Out in his car, he used the stolen phone to call in a couple of pizzas for pick up. Rudker got a charge out of being anonymous. It made him feel invisible, as if he could do anything and get away with it.

His next stop was Papa Murphy’s, where he picked up two sausage-and-mushroom pies. From there he headed up to Friendly Street. Jimmy’s blue sedan was parked three houses from Sula’s. Rudker eased in across the street from the sedan and walked over with the pizzas. He caught Jimmy snoozing and rapped loudly on the window. Jimmy bolted upright, grabbing for the gun under his jacket. Rudker laughed. He’d forgotten Jimmy carried a weapon.

“Jesus. Don’t ever fucking do that.” Jimmy yelled as he rolled down the window.

“Don’t sleep on the fucking job.”

“I wasn’t. Yeah, I close my eyes every once in a while. But only for a minute or two a time. I’m trained at this. I don’t sleep on stakeouts.”

“Hungry?” Rudker pushed one of the red-and-white boxes at him.

Jimmy set it on the seat beside him. “Am I done here?”

“I need you back at midnight. I have some things to do this evening, but I’ll be back before daylight, before she makes any moves tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jimmy sighed. “I’m still on double pay.”

“Of course.” Rudker retuned to his piece of shit rental, watched Jimmy drive off, then dug into his pizza.

The last light in Sula’s house went off at 11:06. She hadn’t shown her face outside even once. Rudker looked around the neighborhood for a place to urinate, but nothing looked promising. Jimmy would be back in less than an hour, but he didn’t know if he could hold out that long.

Sitting in the car for five hours had been its own special brand of hell. He didn’t know how cops and government agents did it. Rudker had gotten out and walked around twice. He’d kept one eye on Sula’s house and worn a baseball cap to block his face from view. The second time, he’d seen a woman watching him from her front window, so he’d gotten back in the Taurus and driven off, only to circle the block and park out of her line of sight.

The hour passed slowly, and Rudker grew more anxious by the minute. It occurred to him he hadn’t taken his Zyprexa in days. He loved the unbridled energy he was experiencing even though it was dangerous. He would have to settle himself back down eventually, but for now he wasn’t ready. He wanted to stay sharp. And aggressive.

He had important things to accomplish. This morning, after dozing for only an hour or so, he’d woken up to a terrifying realization. Even though he’d arranged to have the files removed from the Puerto Rico clinic, he’d forgotten to track down and destroy the Rios cousins’ paperwork that was still filed somewhere in the bowels of Prolabs. The thought that the paperwork was still there, just waiting to be discovered, freaked him out. That was the reason he was sitting here now. If Sula would steal from Warner’s office and fly to Puerto Rico for her crusade, then she might also try to enter Prolabs in search of the files. She could have a key and might have done it already, before he started watching her.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You are your own worst enemy. Rudker agreed with his internal critic this time. Tara’s slutty treachery had temporarily weakened him, and it was difficult to do battle with a bruised heart and ego. Now he was determined to ignore his emotions and put an end to Sula’s campaign to ruin him. She was a self-involved reactionary, a do-gooder who had no idea of the scientific expertise and dedication that had gone into developing Nexapra. It was a miracle drug that would help thousands more people than it would harm.

Jimmy pulled up behind him at 12:07. Rudker took off without getting out of the car and speaking to the PI. People were paranoid about strangers these days. There was no point in attracting attention.

Saturday, April 24, 8:17 a. m

“I’ve got your stash, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Jason yawned as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. His roommate had bed hair and was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Robbie abandoned his search under the table.

“I need to know how many I took.”

“There’s about five pills left in the bottle.”

“That means I only took about half.”

“Only?” Jason gave him angry glance.

“Hey, I’m sorry to put you through that. Thanks for taking care of me.”

Jason stopped rummaging through the cupboards and turned to face him. “I want you to get some help. Go see a counselor.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. Make an appointment today.”

“Shrinks aren’t open on weekends.”

“So call the UO hotline.”

“Okay.” Robbie moved into the kitchen and helped himself to a tall glass of water and two aspirin. Physically, he had never felt worse in his life, but emotionally he was recovering. “Hey, I’m all right. I have a plan.”

“What’s that?” Jason’s voice was thick with skepticism.

“Monday, I’m going back to Prolabs with the hope I still have a job. Then I’ll contact Food for Lane County and start volunteering.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Serving meals. Calling donors. Whatever they need me to do. I think it will be good for me to help others, to have a purpose.”

“Hmm. I guess it couldn’t hurt.” Jason poured himself a bowl of Captain Crunch. “But call the university’s crisis hotline today anyway.”

“Chill. I will.”

Jason offered him the box of cereal.

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Robbie poured himself a cup of coffee, took one of his trial meds, then went out to the deck. He dug through the junk box until he found a partial pack of cigarettes he’d stashed a few weeks back. They were stale and slightly crushed, but he didn’t care. He needed the nicotine to stimulate his brain. His life was still shit but he wasn’t ready to give it up.