F Wilson - Fatal Error

Jack shook his head. "That's beyond him, I'm afraid."

Beyond anyone, Jack thought.

He'd read somewhere that the last thing you wanted to do with a severed anything was freeze it. Keep it cold, yes, but freezing killed the cells. The finger was most likely already a goner by the time Munir received it. He thought he'd done the right thing, but sticking it in his freezer had been the coup de grace.

Jack couldn't tell these people that. They wouldn't believe it, wouldn't want to hear it, needed to give their boy every chance at a full complement of fingers.

Munir straightened. "He needs a hospital, the best surgeons. And now I'm free to tell the police everything."

And that would start officialdom down a road that might lead them to Jack. He clenched his jaw. This was why he stayed the hell away from kidnappings.

"Except about me, okay? I don't exist. You've got two victims who can testify against him, you have the recordings of his threats-an airtight case against the bastard. You don't need me."

Munir nodded. "I owe you… everything. Without you-"

"But that's taken care of. Now your so-called justice system goes to work. It doesn't know about me. I'd like to keep things that way."

"Of course. Anything you say. I am forever in your debt." He looked back at the closed door of 2D. "I still cannot understand it. Richard Hollander… how could he do this to me? To anybody? I never hurt him."

"You fired him," Jack said. "He's probably been loony tunes for years, on the verge of a breakdown, walking the line. Losing his job just pushed him over the edge."

"But people lose their jobs every day. They don't kidnap and torture-"

"I guess he was ready to blow. You just happened to be the unlucky one. He had to blame somebody-anybody but himself-and get even for it. He chose you. Don't look for logic. The guy's crazy."

"But the depth of his cruelty…"

"Maybe you could have been gentler with him when you fired him," Barbara said.

The words sent a chill through Jack, bringing back Munir's plea from his first telephone call.

Please save my family!

Jack wondered if that was possible, if anyone could save Munir's family now.

It had begun to unravel as soon as Barbara and Robby were kidnapped. It still had been salvageable then, up to the point when the cleaver had cut through Robby's finger. That was probably the deathblow. Even if nothing worse had happened from there on in, that missing finger was going to be a permanent reminder of the nightmare, and somehow it would be Munir's fault. If he'd already gone to the police, it would be because of that; since he hadn't, it would be his fault for not going to the police. Or for firing Hollander in the first place. Munir would always blame himself; and deep in her heart Barbara would blame him too. Later on, maybe years from now, Robby might blame him too.

Because there'd always be one too few fingers on Robby's left hand, always that scar along the margin of Barbara's nipple, always the vagrant thought, sneaking through the night, that Munir hadn't done all he could, that if he'd only been a little more considerate before the kidnapping, had been just a little more cooperative after, Robby still would have ten fingers.

Sure, they were together now, and they'd been hugging and crying and kissing, but later on Barbara would start asking questions: Couldn't you have done more? Why didn't you cut your finger off when he told you to?

Even now, Barbara was edging into the possibility that Munir could have been gentler when he'd fired Hollander. The natural progression from that was to: Maybe if you had, none of this would have happened.

The individual members might still be alive, but Munir's family as a viable unit was still under the gun.

And that saddened Jack. It meant that Hollander might still win.

Barbara hugged Robby against her side. "We need to get to the hospital. Now."

Jack said, "You can flag a cab on the street."

As they started for the stairwell, Munir held back.

"I must speak to him. I have to ask him why."

Jack wondered if talk was all he had in mind.

"Sure. Go ahead. We'll hold the cab for you."

Jack led Barbara and Robby down to the steel front door. He grabbed a takeout menu flier from the floor, wadded it up, and stuffed it in the door's latch hole.

Might want to give the place a once-over before the cops arrived.

Took a couple of minutes, but finally a cab cruised by and he flagged it. As Barbara and Robby slid into the rear, Munir stumbled from the building looking dazed.

Had Hollander escaped?

"What's wrong?"

"That is not Richard Hollander."

"Then who is he?"

"I have never seen that man before in my life."

Dawn stepped off the private elevator into Mr. Osala's duplex. She felt totally dazed and knew she looked like some sort of mental patient in her bathrobe and borrowed scrubs from the surgicenter. After she'd come to a couple of hours ago, they'd checked her over to see if she was all right, then stuck her in a cab. Lucky the doorman, Mack, recognized her and keyed her up in the elevator, or she'd never have been able to return.

She felt totally awful and weird. She'd been trying to get out of this place for like nine months, and now that she had her chance to take off, she didn't. She'd never thought she'd look at this place as home, but that was what it felt like at the moment.

She passed a stack of cardboard boxes as she stumbled down the hall to her room, but stopped at the door when she found Gilda within. The older woman was scooping clothes out of her drawers and dumping them into a cardboard box, just like the ones in the hall.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She started-so intent on what she was doing she hadn't heard Dawn arrive. She straightened and gave her a cold smile.

"I am packing your things."

"Why?"

The smile became harder, colder. "You are moving out."

The words shocked her. Moving out? No. No way.

"You're crazy!"

"Oh, no. Not me. The Master has called and told me to pack up your things. You leave tomorrow."

"Like hell!"

The woman stepped closer. "Yes. He is kicking you out. And good riddance, I say. You have been nothing but trouble since you set foot in this house. No more will I have to listen to your whining and complaining. I cannot wait till you are gone. Then there will be peace."

"You're lying."

"We will see. The Master will be here tomorrow to personally throw you out on the street."

No… he couldn't. Not now.

"Get out," Dawn said.

"I will not! The Master told me to-"

Despite feeling she might collapse at any minute, Dawn grabbed the older woman by the front of her blouse and swung her around, then shoved her toward the door.

"Get out!"

Gilda stumbled backward through the doorway and almost fell. She steadied herself at the last instant just as Dawn slammed the door and locked it. Feeling too exhausted, too totally rotten to deal with any of this now, Dawn pulled back the covers on her unmade bed and slipped under them.

Sleep… she needed sleep… she'd be able to deal with this once she got some sleep.

Jack peeked through the tiny glass pane set in the emergency exit door. Outside in the alley, Abe stood next to the open rear doors of his dark blue panel truck. He looked edgy, repeatedly glancing toward the street.

The mystery man hung over Jack's shoulder. Trussed head to foot in duct tape and wrapped in a sheet, he'd struggled at first. But the bouncing trip down the stairs had taken some of the fight out of him. Jack's shoulder nestled in his gut and he had to be sore by now. The guy was heavier than he looked.

Jack kicked the door to get Abe's attention.