John Locke - Wish List

I thought again about calling Lissie, but decided against it. I knew Rudy’s people were listening, and what if they decided it would be easier to just blow her up? If her garage was wired with explosives, who’s to say her entire house wasn’t set to blow?

And what about Buddy?

Hours ago, his last words to me were, “They’re coming. I’ve got to go.” So whoever “they” were, and I’m guessing Rudy and Perkins, maybe some others—they obviously took Buddy somewhere against his will. Since Lissie was still home, waiting for Buddy, she probably didn’t know about Wish List, or where Buddy was.

They had to be using Lissie to force Buddy’s cooperation. As in, “Do what we want, or something bad happens to Lissie.”

I called my tech expert, Lou Kelly. When he answered, I said, “Is there any way to remotely remove a listening device from someone’s land line?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said.

“Then I’ve got a problem,” I said. “A woman’s life is in danger, her house is being watched, and her phones are tapped. I need to save her. Any suggestions?”

“Have you called the phone company to report a possible bug?”

“What good would that do?”

“If they came to the house, maybe you could borrow one of their uniforms and join them.”

“Great idea!”

“Really?”

“No, it’s a lousy idea. But it helped me think of a great idea.”

“Tell me. No, wait. Why is it a lousy idea?”

“You know how long it takes the phone company to respond to problems? I’d be waiting all day.”

“So what’s the good idea?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I pulled into a convenience store a couple of miles from Lissie’s neighborhood, and parked by one of the gas pumps. After making sure no one was nearby, I retrieved one of the disposable cell phones from my kit and called 911. When the operator answered I disguised my voice with a Middle Eastern accent and told her I was calling in a bomb threat. I didn’t want to give them Lissie’s address because the Wish List guys might decide to blow her up if the cops showed up at her place. But I wanted to get as many police in the neighborhood as fast as possible, in order to discourage Rudy from paying a visit. So I gave them the address of Lissie’s neighbor, the guy in the diaper who gets no visitors.

“Sir, we take bomb threat calls very seriously.”

“That is precisely why I called you.”

“You sound like a cartoon character.”

“This may be, and yet I can assure you the bomb threat is real.”

She sighed. “Your name, please?”

I could tell the call was going south, so I screamed, “Dogs! You will never stop us! Death to the infidels! Allah Akbar!”

Then I hung up.

I took my time filling the tank, and fussed with the window cleaning equipment I found next to the gas pumps. Ten minutes later, the sound of sirens filled the air as all sorts of vehicles went screaming past me. I don’t care how many people Wish List has. Louisville Swat, LPD, the local media and bomb squad would be more than Rudy and his gang could handle all at once.

Knowing the scene was going to be pure bedlam for the next twenty-four hours, I figured I should get back to my woodland prisoners. But first I wanted to visit my former girlfriend, Rachel Case.

Chapter 9

Rachel’s live-in house guest is my former psychiatrist, Dr. Nadine Crouch. Nadine is a retired psychotherapist who was originally hired by my government handlers to help me cope with losing three years of my life to a coma (don’t ask, it’s a long story). Nadine is a gifted, no-nonsense therapist, whose abrasive disposition is counterbalanced by the ever-present twinkle in her eye. She’s mid to late sixties, slightly plump, and generally appealing in a gruff, spinster aunt sort of way. She’s strong, capable, and the most mercenary human being you’re likely to find on the planet. Sitting across the table, she was frowning, regarding me as she often did: with a sneer. But deep down, I know she’s actually quite fond of me.

“Come to survey your work, Donovan?”

“My work?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t repeat my words,” she snapped. “I’m the shrink, not you.”

I nodded. “You think I had something to do with Rachel’s condition?”

“You think you didn’t?”

“No. But I’m open to hearing your theory.”

“Theory? That’s rich. Fact: when you met her, Rachel had a husband, a house and a responsible job. Now she’s a widow, homeless, and thinks she’s Desmond Tutu.”

“Desmond Tutu.”

“That’s what I said.”

I shook my head. “First of all, Rachel’s husband, Sam, was cheating on her. Second, she’s not homeless. She owns this entire building, and could buy three more just like it. And third, she wouldn’t know Desmond Tutu if he walked in wearing one. You’re exaggerating again, Nadine.”

“Maybe so. But you can’t deny your part in all this.”

“My part is I saved Rachel.”

“From?”

I started to speak, but caught myself. This wasn’t just me and Nadine sitting around, having a discussion about Rachel. She was probing me, pushing for a reaction. She was on the clock and I was being psychoanalyzed.

“Why don’t you tell me how you see it?” I said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to say anything that might cost me my job.”

“I’ve never known you to hold back an opinion.”

She sighed. “I’m getting older, Donovan.”

“You’ll outlive us all.”

“You, certainly. But I need to think of my future. Like my age, the cost of living continues to advance. I hate to think what might happen if I’m forced out onto the street at my age.”

I laughed. “Nadine, you’re a scary old miser. You’re hoarding more than ten million dollars I personally know about, though I’m certain it’s at least twice that, since I’ve never known you to pull so much as a penny from your purse. But please, speak freely. Your job is safe as long as Rachel wants you here.”

“Well, that’s comforting. Rachel’s a dear girl, and despite my meager wages, it’s clear she needs me. Though I do worry about the two of you running off to start another crime spree.”

“Oh, come on, Nadine. Rachel and I are great together.”

“Oh, posh.”

“Posh? Care to elaborate?”

“I dare not. Your fragmented identity poses an ever-present threat to my safety. I enjoy living these days, and I’d like to keep doing it awhile longer.”

“You think I have it in me to kill you for expressing an opinion?”

“I do.”

“Nadine, I’m shocked.”

“You probably killed someone on the drive over here.”

“Let’s get back on subject,” I said.

Nadine stood and walked to the small refrigerator on the other side of her office.

“Care for a bottled water?” she said.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

She pulled out a single plastic bottle of water and handed it to me. It took me a moment to realize why.

“Arthritis acting up?”

Nadine shrugged. “We all have our weakness.”

I twisted the cap open and handed the bottle back to her. “What’s my weakness?”

“Simple. Rachel.”

I thought about that a moment before saying, “How do you drink when I’m not here? Does Rachel open your bottles?”

She returned to her seat and took a sip. “I’ve got a special gripping thing I use.”

We were quiet a moment.

“You really think Rachel’s condition is my fault?”

Nadine said nothing.

“You can’t deny she makes me a better person when we’re together,” I said.

She sipped her water. “You’re old enough to be her father.”