Jonathan Kellerman - Time Bomb

“How poetic.”

“Who else knows what you know?” he said.

“How about the police for starts? I sent them tapes.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Bullshit. You believed our FBI scam. If you’d been in contact with the police they’d have called in the Feds, and the Feds would have interviewed you already. We’ve been watching you, know who you’ve met with. Try again, turd.”

I said, “You’re assuming greater efficiency on the part of the authorities than they deserve. Bureaucratic wheels turn slowly. The cops know. I was waiting for the FBI. That’s why I opened the door for Blanchard and Crisp. And I didn’t buy the scam. They had to sucker-punch me to get me here.”

“I said Try again.”

“That’s it, D.F. Just the cops. There’s no way you’re going to pull this off.”

“Negative thinking,” he said. “Time for a little preliminary scrub.”

He stood, holding the gun in one hand, the knife in the other. Running his eyes over Milo, he said, “Despicable. How can you live with yourselves, the things you do?”

He rotated the knife, “Here’s the way it’s going to go down, You and him doing filthy stuff- your filthy friendship . Things get out of hand. You beat him up badly. Trash him to death, then start feeling so guilty that you write a little note and blow your own faggot brains out.”

I said, “Shame to dirty up your warehouse. Randy might not like that when it comes time to give it back to her. Not to mention the health hazard from faggot blood.”

He smiled. “Not to worry, turd. We’ve got a nice little place all set up for you. Cock-sucky motel over in Pacoima.”

“Another of her real-estate tidbits?”

He said, “C’mon, time for a butt-hole party. Up you go.”

I remained seated.

The gun waved. The pink eyebrows climbed.

“I said Move it,” he said.

Wink wink wink.

I ignored him.

All at once the blunt face was transformed into something livid and howling:

“I said Get the fuck up!”

I stood. Very slowly.

Latch rose, brushed off his trousers, and smiled at me. “Thought you might want to know we’ve also got something planned for Little Miss Principal. The snotty cunt- does she know you swing both ways? That you’ve been infecting her?”

I said, “She doesn’t know anything.”

I could tell from the way his face creased in a Kewpie-doll smile that I’d allowed my terror to show.

“Hey,” he said, “you were balling her, which means pillow talk. She’s a liability and it’s all your fault . She’ll be having a wild time tonight.” He clicked his tongue. “Really wild. Shocking example of the burgeoning rise in crime on the West Side. Perfect timing for my campaign. I’ll be showing up at the crime scene, pledging my troth to law and order. That’s the way we work, you fucking piece of shit. Nothing ever goes to waste. Not even the squeal. And boy, will she squeal.”

He giggled. I strained against my bonds.

“A wild time,” he said. “We’re sending someone to do her who really enjoys that kind of thing. Knows how to bring out the best in a woman. Try to get that image out of your mind. The look on her face when it actually happens and she realizes what’s going on. The sounds she’ll make.

Wink wink wink from the couch.

I said, “Bring out the best in a woman, huh? Then it sure wouldn’t be a job for you. When’s the last time Randy saw anything stiffer than her own upper lip?”

The Kewpie doll turned malignant. He began coming at me, arms up, boxer-style.

Aldward said, “Not now,” in a jaded tone.

Latch didn’t seem to hear, kept coming.

Wink.

I backed away, danced on fear-laden legs. My turn to leer. “Sure, Gordie. Nothing like a fair fight. But who’s going to protect you when D.F. finally realizes that without Randy’s big bucks you’re not very useful? Just a wimpy little piece of limp-dicked shit. Second cadre all the way?”

Latch said, “Give me the knife, D.F. I’ve had enough.”

Ahlward raised the blade, holding it out of reach. “Don’t be an idiot. It has to be done the right way.”

Latch backed off.

I said, “Roll over, Gordon. Say bow-wow, Gordon.”

Stuck out my tongue and dog-panted.

Latch charged me, swinging.

I moved to meet him, faked a shoulder butt, faded back suddenly just short of impact and caught him off guard. Again. He grunted in anger, regained his balance, and charged again.

Ahlward put the gun down, reached out, and restrained him with one hand. The other held on to the knife.

Gun on the desk. But no free hands.

I kept talking, bouncing on my feet. “Play dead , Gordon. Eat your kibble , Gordon. Don’t wet the rug , Gordon.”

Ahlward screamed at me: “ You shut the fuck up!”

Latch shook off Ahlward’s hand and lunged again.

At the same time a pale bulk rose from the couch, a polar bear coming out of hibernation. Taking hold of Latch’s shoulders, shoving him forward.

Latch fell heavily. Toward Ahlward. On Ahlward. His weight causing the red-haired man to stumble backwards, onto the desk, a look of surprise on the blunt features.

Latch was on top of him, thrashing wildly. Ahlward tried to shove him off, cursing and twisting to get free. Trying to get to the gun.

Latch remained sprawled on top of him.

Screaming.

The two of them wrestling.

Then Ahlward’s face was speckled with blood.

Showered with it.

Latch screamed. A terrible sound; more than just frustration.

Blood kept spurting, Ahlward thrashing away from it, spitting it.

Something shiny and sharp emerged from the soft freckled flesh on the back of Latch’s neck. Worked its way through like a burrowing grub.

Silver, sharp-nosed grub. The knife point, ruby and silver.

Latch gurgled and tore at his throat.

The knife kept nosing its way out.

Ahlward gave a hard, two-handed shove. Latch came loose. Inertia threw Ahlward backwards, off the desk top, onto the swivel chair, stricken by astonishment.

Milo moved unsteadily toward the gun. Reached out for it, touched the butt, missed. The weapon skidded across the wooden surface and sailed away, landing somewhere on the floor.

Ahlward dove for it.

I felt a hand on my wrist, yanking. Freeing my hands. “C’mon!”

Milo limped toward the door. I followed him, dazed. Watching Latch sink to the floor, the knife still embedded in his neck. Hands grabbing the handle, gurgling, trying to yank it free.

Salivating blood.

His eyes rolled back…

“C’mongoddammitalex!”

Yanking me.

The two of us out the black door, slamming it.

Into the hall. Four black-shirts, smiling, as if savoring the tail end of a joke. They saw us and the smiles hung in mid-air.

Milo howled at them and kept coming. The smiles vanished and they looked terrified. Naughty kids, unprepared for reality. One, a dark-haired fat boy with an old man’s jowls, wore a bolstered pistol and reached for it. I used my shoulder and hit him hard. Ran past the sound of pain-screams and cracking bone.

Running through a cardboard alley.

Warning shouts. The crackle of gunfire.

We took the first turn available, meeting up with two more Gestaposcouts- girls. They could have been sorority sisters discussing pledge night. One put a hand to her mouth. We hurtled past, bowled them over, heard girl-squeals.

Fuck chivalry.

More gunshots.

Louder.

I looked back as I ran, saw Ahlward, pumping his legs, screaming orders that no one was heeding. Calling for his troops, but the troops were frozen, unprepared for reality.