J. Konrath - Fuzzy Navel

Then I go to find a shirt for Phin, and a change of clothes for me.

The first cop arrives in four minutes. A minute after that, six more cops arrive. Then the ambulances come. All the swirling lights on my front lawn make it look like a Fourth of July fireworks display.

I give some very brief statements, and then oversee the loading of my friends and family into the ambulances. Mom. Latham. Herb – who fights with the paramedics to hold on to the cheese. Phin. And Harry.

“Mom invited me over for dinner next week,” Harry tells me as they’re strapping him to the gurney. “It will be nice to hang out with you when someone isn’t trying to kill us.”

“Looking forward to it,” I say.

“Does she like flowers?” he asks. “I’ve got forty-nine Mother’s Days to make up for.”

“She loves flowers, Harry.”

Only after Harry is carted off and everyone is safe do I allow my guard to ease up and finally let them put me into an ambulance of my own.

“I have a cat,” I tell one of the paramedics. “He isn’t good with people.”

“We’ll catch him, make sure he’s okay.”

“Might be wise to call animal control, let them help you.”

He passes along the info, then takes my vitals.

“Helluva night, huh?”

I laugh. It feels good. Real good.

“You have no idea,” I say.

MY NOSE STOPS BLEEDING. I pull out the tissues, wipe away some of the extra blood, and make myself presentable. Then I ditch the Bronco in an alley behind a convenience store, jog six blocks to the ER loading dock, and sit down on a bench and wait.

This is the nearest hospital to Jack’s house, so it makes sense they’ll take the injured here.

The first ambulance arrives, and two paramedics hop out and open up the rear, pulling out someone I recognize all too well.

The.38 is lousy, but I don’t miss at point-blank range. Both emergency technicians drop, either dead or dying. I walk up to the gurney, taking my time, enjoying the moment.

“Thought you got away, huh?” I ask. “Life’s like that sometimes. Just when you think you’re in the clear, something blindsides you.”

I cock the gun and half of my face smiles.

“Any last words?” I ask.

All I get back is a defiant stare.

“Nothing? I was hoping for something witty.”

“She’ll find you.”

“I certainly hope she will. And just to make sure she goes looking…”

I aim for the head, and hit what I aim at.

Some people run out of the ER, wondering what’s happening. Time to go.

I run off into the parking lot, find an old guy looking for his car. We make a quick swap. I get his car keys, and his wallet, which contains eighty bucks and a few credit cards. In return, he gets a chop in the throat that breaks his windpipe, and a final resting place in his own trunk. A much better deal for me than for him, but life isn’t all that fair.

I pull out of the parking lot, considering my next move. It’s too risky to stay in the area. Plus, I have other things to do. While incarcerated, I did a lot of planning. Big planning. Some of it involved Jack. Some of it didn’t.

I need to get started on the stuff that didn’t involve her. But that doesn’t mean I still can’t keep Jack in the loop.

I pass several police cars on the way out of town, but they leave me alone. After driving for a bit I check into a suburban hotel using the dead man’s American Express.

I yawn. It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m exhausted. I strip off my clothes, take a hot shower, and climb into my first real bed in a long time.

The sheets are warm. The pillow is soft.

I fall asleep dreaming of the many deaths to come.

IOPEN MY EYES when I realize the ambulance has stopped. I look over my shoulder. The paramedics are gone.

I get a feeling – a bad feeling – and reach up to unbuckle my straps. I open the rear of the ambulance and see the parking lot is a tangle of emergency vehicles, most of them cops.

A paramedic comes up alongside me.

“You don’t want to see this.”

I push him off, hurrying toward the nexus of activity near the rear of the hospital.

A cop is setting up some crime scene tape.

Oh… no…

I grab a nearby uniform and yell, “Who is it? Who’s dead?”

He doesn’t answer. Two more cops see me and begin to walk over, but I duck under the tape and see the dead EMTs, and there, on the gurney…

“NO!”

I become another person. Someone without any control left. Someone overcome by emotion. I rush over to the bloody body, punching anyone who tries to stop me, screaming and screaming because I just can’t stop.

Someone jabs me with a needle, and my consciousness floats away, and all I can think is that I failed, I failed, I couldn’t protect everybody, dear God I’m so so sorry…

I’M MEDICATED. Something strong that makes it hard to stay awake.

People come and go all day. Doctors and nurses. Cops. People I care about.

I have nothing to offer them. Nothing to give.

My hospital room fills up with meaningless flowers. Friends. Police officers from around the country. Strangers who watched the news.

Captain Bains even shows up, offers his condolences. Tells me to take as long as I need to recuperate.

He even offers to help with the funeral arrangements.

I decline.

“We’ll get her,” he tells me. “We’ve got the Staties involved. The Feds. Every cop shop in Illinois and the surrounding states.”

His words don’t reassure me. I know they won’t get her. I know, because Alex has already gotten away.

She’s told me as much.

Before Bains arrived, one of my floral arrangements began to ring. Inside the planter was a cell phone.

I picked it up, and read the text message on the screen.

SO SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS, JACK.

I’M IN MILWAUKEE.

COME GET ME.

Along with the text was a picture. A shot of Alex, a half smile on her scarred face, standing in front of a restaurant.

I don’t share this information with the captain. Maybe I will later. I’m not sure. It depends on whether or not I’m going to stay a cop.

I look at it now. The phone. My direct link to the person who hurt me worse than anyone has ever hurt me before.

COME GET ME.

“You can bet on it, Alex. You can bet on it.”

Big thanks to the following people. You’ve helped me immeasurably, and I won’t soon forget. (Apologies to those folks I forgot.)

William E. Adams, Augie Aleksy, Tasha Alexander,

Feo Amante, Brenda Anderson, Patrick Balester, Sarah Bewley,

Dave Biemann, Irene Black, Michele Bradford, Wendy Brault,

Tisha Britton, Lynn Burton, William Conner, Gail Cooke,

Jim Coursey, Tammy Cravit, Blake Crouch, Josephine Damian,

Terri Dukes, Chris Dupee, Audrey N. Durel, Jane Dystel,

Barry Eisler, W. D. Gagliani, Miriam Goderich,

Norman Goldman, Terri Grimes, Jude Hardin, Joe Hartlaub,

Linda Holman, Kay Hooper, Adam Hurtubise, Eileen Hutton,

Bob Hutton, Steve Jensen, Cynthia Johnson, Jon Jordan,

Ruth Jordan, Richard Katz, Nick Kelly, Maria Konrath,

Talon Konrath, Chris & Mariesa Konrath, Laura Konrath,

Mike Konrath, John Konrath, Amy M. Krueger, Michele Lee,

Meredith Link, Brenda C. Long, Maggie Mason,

Joseph P. Menta Jr., Brenda Messex, Jim Munchel, David Omo,

Henry “Hank” Perez, Paul Pessolano, Barbara Peters,

Jeanine Peterson, Sharon L. Pritchard, Pat Reid,

Heather M. Riley, Terry Robertson, J. Greg Robison,