John Locke - Lethal Experiment

• Название: Lethal Experiment
• Автор: John Locke
• Жанр: Прочая старинная литература

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“I only eat like this when I’m alone or with somebody,” I said.

“You were due,” he said. “Keep working out and eating like this and you’ll be back to normal strength before you know it.”

I almost told Augustus how much I’d missed him, but changed my mind at the last second. It wouldn’t have been worth all the shit he’d give me for saying it.

“What brings you to Philly?” he said.

“I came to see you.”

He twisted his face in the manner I’ve come to recognize as his signature smile. “That’s nice,” he said.

“People like us,” I said, “can’t afford to have many friends. I like to think of you and Callie as people I can count on.”

Quinn said, “I feel the same way. They’d have to pay me a lot to kill you or Callie.”

Coming from Quinn, that was quite a compliment. On the other hand, it was scary to think that this monstrous man who would kill me for the right price was the closest I had to a guy friend.

I looked at him as he stared at the women coming and going on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and wondered if our team of surgeons could do anything about his extreme deformities. I decided they could not.

Quinn wasn’t as ugly as Joseph Merrick, the Elephant man, but at least Merrick enjoyed two years on earth as a normal human being before the growths began forming on his face and head. Quinn was born this way, and his world view was formed in response to the reactions he got from others.

Doctors couldn’t agree on the source of Quinn’s particular malady, but the consensus pointed to a form of Proteus Syndrome, a condition so rare that less than a hundred cases have been documented world wide.

Proteus would explain the deformed facial features on one side of Quinn’s head and face, but none of the reported cases shared the strange, multi-colored striations that covered the left side of his face and neck. It wasn’t a skin disease, and there was no odor to his skin, so one theory was that the splotches were a giant, multi-colored birthmark.

Bottom line, Quinn’s poster boy looks were closer to Joseph Merrick than Brad Pitt. As you might imagine, there were gaping vacancies on Quinn’s social calendar, a situation that afforded him plenty of time to ogle the women that entered his field of vision.

A model-thin stunner entered the main dining room at Smith & Wollensky’s and took a seat at a table where three suits had been waiting. Her glimmering platinum hair was chopped shoulder length, and she had on some sort of purple makeup that looked like war paint.

“Oh Mama,” Quinn said. “What would you do to that one?”

“How long do I get?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I’d turn her more ways than a monkey can turn a coconut.”

He looked at me. “Can I make an observation?”

“Please do.”

“You’re saying all the right things about these chicks, but your heart’s not in it.”

“Like I said, tonight’s more of a test drive.”

“You know what you need? You need to get your pipes cleaned. You’re in my town, let me make a call. Right now you’re sitting in a steakhouse, but you’re only thirty minutes away from the best night of your life.”

“What’s her name?”

“Her name? Jesus, you really are a mess,” he said.

I shrugged. “I’m a detail guy.”

“You are that,” he said. “Her name is Heavenly.”

“What makes this hooker better than all the rest?”

He did that smile thing with his face, and when he did it, I smiled too.

“She got a friend for you?” I said.

“Her roommate’s Delight.”

“Heavenly Delight, huh? What are they, a tag team?

He cuffed me on the arm. “I won’t pretend I don’t know,” he said.

We sat in silence awhile, me thinking again about how we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event. Quinn’s eyes fairly danced with anticipation, like a kid hoping I’d take him to get ice cream.

“What the hell,” I said. “Make the call.”

“Really? That’s great! You won’t be sorry!”

He stepped away from the table. A moment later he returned, still on the phone, but didn’t sit down. I heard a click.

“Tell me you didn’t just take my picture,” I said. He pointed behind me. “Chick with the boobs.” He pressed a few buttons, ended his call.

We finished our fine dinner with a sauterne as rich and thick on the tongue as syrup.

“That some kind of wine?” Quinn said. “Are you kidding me?”

“It is and I’m not.”

“Tastes more like desert. What is it?”

“Lafaurie Peyraguey,” I said, showing off my French accent.

“Those words could never come out of this fucked-up mouth of mine,” he said, “but I can see why it’s your favorite.”

“Actually, purists prefer Chateau d’Yquem.”

“What do they know,” he said.

His phone buzzed and he checked the text. He winked at me.

“We’re on! The girls are excited.”

“Excited hookers?”

“I told them I was bringing a movie star.”

“You didn’t!”

“I had to, they were already booked.”

“Let me guess: they didn’t believe you, so you took my picture and forwarded it to them.”

“Well, what was I gonna do,” he said, “send her a picture of the chick with the boobs?”

“You took a picture of her too?”

He did that grinning thing again. “You want to ride with me or follow me there?”

I thought a moment. “I’d better follow you. We’ll probably be there awhile; the restaurant might be closed by the time we’re done with the girls.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” Quinn said, cuffing my arm again.

The valet guys retrieved our cars. Quinn rolled out and I followed from a short distance. I reached under my seat and found the small box Callie had put there while Augustus and I were in the restaurant. I placed it on the seat beside me.

Car bombs are as diverse as they people they kill. They can be wired to ignition systems, set to timing devices, attached to tilt fuses that detonate when the car hits a bump in the road, or detonated wirelessly from a distance. The payload can be placed under the driver’s seat, dash, or attached magnetically to the underside of the car, or, as in this case, inside the wheel well. The detonator on the seat beside me was good for a distance of at least a hundred yards line-of-sight, or fifty if obstructed.

Quinn was my best guy friend, and one of the last people I’d ever want to kill. But he was also the guy who’d kidnapped Alison Cilice and held her captive in his warehouse for the past three years. I knew this as well as I knew my name. Well, scratch that. I knew it as well as I knew anything. It began as a hunch, and became a near certainty after having Lou Kelly’s geeks run a full-out search on Alison. When they found that her trail dried up less than a month after I went into my coma, I measured her disappearance against my in-depth knowledge of Quinn. I’d been ninety-nine percent sure before talking to Quinn at the restaurant. By the time we’d gotten our cars, I had no doubts at all.

If Quinn had told me Alison was dead and buried in a specific place, or that she’d taken up with someone or changed her name, or given me any plausible explanation for her current whereabouts, I could have Lou follow up on it. But Quinn said all the wrong things.

He admitted to dating Alison. He also said she bolted after a few weeks, and I believed him. But I had entrusted Quinn with Alison’s care and well-being, and whether she wanted anything to do with him or not, he’d have kept tabs on her these three years.

Because he’d still be guarding her, would in fact have guarded her for the rest of her life, since that had been my last request, just as I would, had our positions been reversed. It’s how we’re wired. We keep track of the people we guard, period. So his claim that he hadn’t heard from her in three years was preposterous.

My guess is that after being spurned, Quinn tracked her down and tried to get her back. She would have refused, and he would have kidnapped her. Like Beauty and the Beast, he probably hoped in time she’d grow to love him. But of course, Beauty and the Beast were from a time and place where women had fewer options.

And it was a fairy tale.

And Augustus Quinn was a real life monster.

Quinn turned left on Clancy, and as I followed him I glanced at the compact rectangular box with the toggle that meant life and death for Augustus Quinn.

Did I have to kill him?

I could pretend I didn’t know about Alison, and hope Augustus would release her someday. Except that I knew Quinn well enough to know that the only way he’d let her go is if he killed her. Which he wasn’t likely to do, because as his captive, she’d represent everything he wants in a woman: she’d be subservient, faithful, always available, and grateful to see him return. By that I mean he held the key to her survival. If he failed to return, she’d starve to death, so of course she’d be relieved and grateful when he returned to the warehouse.

I didn’t want to kill Augustus. We’d worked together so long I could hardly imagine going after the bad guys without him. Of all my assassins, Quinn and Callie were the only ones I trusted with my life. To a point. But I needed to save Alison, and there’s no way I could save her if Quinn was alive. I’ve seen his warehouse, and I knew the room he’d be using to hold her, and it was virtually impenetrable. I’d need a great deal of time to bust her out, whether it was through the steel door or one of the reinforced walls that held her.

If I did manage to distract Quinn long enough to break Alison out of the warehouse, Quinn would make it his mission in life to kill both of us. On my own, I could probably handle Augustus, or at least stay ahead of him. But I’d have to protect Alison, and she’d slow me down in short order. We’d be sitting ducks for a guy with Quinn’s killing ability. It made no sense to rescue Alison if Quinn was going to hunt us down and kill us anyway.

Quinn stopped at a red light at Clancy and Olmstead. I could see his monstrous form silhouetted by the headlights of the cars facing us. I wondered if he suspected I knew about Alison. If so, was he already plotting my death?

I sighed. In the end it came down to this: Alison was innocent. She was being held captive because of the decision I’d made to place her in his care. That made me responsible for her, and I take my responsibilities seriously. Always have. Besides, I don’t like the idea of her being at Quinn’s grisly mercy these many years. It’s the fatal flaw part of the heroic code Nadine had spoken about, my inability to remain detached. I simply could not ignore Alison’s situation, much as I’d love to. And Quinn would never allow her to leave.

The light turned green and Quinn released his foot from the brake. When he did so, the brake light went dark and the car moved forward. I placed my thumb on the toggle switch and followed him.

Maybe I could hold off . We could bang the hookers, make a great night of it, and maybe afterward he and I could talk about Alison.

But what would we say? If he agreed to release her, and I agreed to forgive and forget, we’d still have the problem of her going to the police. Quinn would never allow himself to be a fugitive. He’d either commit suicide or die in a firefight after killing a dozen members of a swat team.

There was no getting around it, Augustus had to die.

But did he have to die right now?

He’s already had his last meal, why not let him have one last fling with these first rate whores? It could be sort of a gift from me to him, for old times’ sake. I could always kill him afterward, maybe come up with a more peaceful way to take my friend out of this world.

The more I thought about it, the more I decided this was the way to go. Let him enjoy Delight’s full menu of services first. Then I’d give him a lethal dose from my syringe before the smile has time to fade from his face. While waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, I could even spend a little time getting to know Heavenly.

The night was clear and clean and we headed east under a thick canopy of stars that seemed bright enough to drive by if we wanted to turn off our headlights. I thought about Kathleen and Addie a mere ninety-five miles away and felt connected, wondering if they were looking into the same sky.

I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ready to jump into the sack with anyone, let alone a hooker named Heavenly. And anyway, the moment you know a damsel is in distress, you save her. It’s rule number one in the Hero Handbook, no exceptions. I backed off the gas and let Augustus get fifty yards ahead of me. Then I made a sudden left turn. As I did, I flipped the switch on the detonator box and blew my best friend, Augustus Quinn, to hell.

Chapter 52

I circled the block from the other direction and did a drive by, inspecting my work. My friend was in a more peaceful place now, and yes, I’m referring to hell. Because hell would be a picnic compared to the torments of Quinn’s life.

I drove two more blocks and picked up Callie. She gave me a huge hug and said, “It’s so great to see you!”

“You too, I only wish the circumstances were better.”

“I wish we could have met before all this happened,” she said. “But you’re right, it would have been too risky.”

She settled into her seat and I put the car in gear.

“I heard the explosion,” she said. “I assume everything went according to plan.”

“It did.”

“Okay, then.”

She grew quiet as I picked my way through the downtown streets. Knowing where the explosion occurred helped me avoid the police cars and ambulances converging on the scene. Once we were past that, I stole a glance at Callie and saw her staring straight ahead with vacant eyes.

“You okay?” I said.

Her lip trembled. When she spoke her voice sounded spent, like it had traveled a long way to get here.

“I feel dirty,” she said. She turned and watched my face as I drove. “I can’t even imagine how you must feel.”

“No,” I said, “you probably can’t.”

Most people would consider Callie and me to be stone-cold killers. But we’re not killers, we’re assassins. Maybe I’m splitting hairs here, but to me the distinction is we don’t get a high from killing. To us it’s a job, like working in an ice cream store or delivering the mail. You don’t get emotionally attached to the ice cream or the mail. You just scoop or deliver it. But Quinn had been a friend to both of us, and while I’d known him many years longer than Callie, she had considered him to be trustworthy in all the ways that count.

Until the thing with Alison.

I wondered about the repercussions I might experience from killing Augustus, and subconsciously touched my chest. No pain is good. I hadn’t expected the symptoms to return, due to my counseling sessions with Nadine, but after going through what I did, I suppose there will always be a small wedge of doubt in the back of my mind when I take lives in the future.