Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) (16 page)

“He can do tricks,” Harry said. “Herb. Sit.”

Herb stared at him.

“Herb, sit.”

Herb snuffled Harry’s pocket, then began to gnaw on the fabric.

“We’re working on it,” Harry said, giving him another treat. “Pigs are just as smart as dogs. Which puts him about ten IQ points above his namesake. And this Herb is so much slimmer and better looking.”

Tequila boarded the Crimebago and stared at the pig, his expression blank. “Is this so we don’t have to stop for food during the drive?”

“Don’t listen to the Oompa Loompa, Herb,” Harry said, covering the pig’s pointy ears with his hands. “He’s angry with the world because he has to shop for clothes at Kids-R-Us.”

Tequila dropped his duffle bag and found a seat in back, ignoring Harry. He put up his legs and stretched out.

“Nice to know you guys get along” I said.

“Me and Tequila go way back,” Harry said. “We see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. But only when he’s standing on an apple crate.”

Tequila folded his arms and closed his eyes. Herb walked over to Tequila and began to rub up against his leg, then made a sound that was kind of purring, kind of gargling.

“That’s a pig,” Katie said, climbing aboard.

“Your grasp of the blatantly obvious is startling,” McGlade said.

Katie looked at me. “This is a joke, right? We’re not driving sixteen hundred miles with a pig.”

“With two pigs.” I pointed my chin at McGlade.

Harry made a face. “I thought women went crazy over cute pets. Are you sure you both aren’t actually dudes?”

“That’s not a pet,” Katie said. “That’s lunch.”

Harry’s history with pets had been spotty at best. Years ago, he had an aquarium full of dead fish, which amused him because they sprouted colorful colonies of bacteria as they rotted. Later there was a parrot with a meth addiction that kept plucking off all of its feathers. The only word it said was
homeboy
, so that’s what Harry named it. McGlade also had a former research monkey he called Slappy, so-named because he kept slapping himself in the head. Last I heard, Slappy was loose in the suburbs.

“I’m not sharing a trailer with a pig,” Katie said. “They’re disgusting.”

“That’s a myth,” Harry said. “Pigs are actually very clean animals.”

Herb lifted his curly little tail and dumped at least three pounds of pig shit on the floor. Then he turned around, sniffed it, and began to munch on his own waste.

“See?” Harry said. “He’s cleaning up after himself.”

“The pig isn’t coming with us,” I told McGlade.

“Call him by his name. Herb.”

“Herb isn’t coming with us.”

“He has to. This is called the
socializing
stage. It’s a very important part of pig ownership. He needs to learn who the members of his herd are, so he doesn’t become mean and nasty. Like your Herb. I once tried to take the last donut, and he bit me. Your Herb, not the pig. But the pig bites, too. When you pet him, curl your fingers under your hand.”

“Katie and I will grab a flight and meet you there,” I said, turning to leave.

Herb walked over, bumped up against me, and pressed his fat face against my hip.

“He wants you to pet him,” Harry said.

I gave Herb a little pat on the head with my closed fist, and he oinked.

“He likes you.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you abandon him at this stage,” Harry said, “he may become suicidal.”

Tequila snorted, which might have been a laugh. I looked at him, but his eyes were closed and his face devoid of humor.

“Animals aren’t suicidal, McGlade,” I said.

“Tell that to my parrot, poor little Homeboy. It still haunts my dreams.”

Herb made that pig purring noise again. I gave him a scratch behind the ears.

“Aren’t pigs contagious?” Katie asked. “Swine flu?”

“That doesn’t infect humans,” Harry said. “Much.”

I wrinkled my nose. “He stinks.”

“That’s his breath. Probably because he just ate his own feces.” McGlade reached into his pocket and removed a tin of Altoids. Herb gobbled up a handful. “We drive during the day. At night, you guys can get a hotel room, and I’ll stay in the Crimebago with Herb.”

I frowned. “I can imagine the flies you both will attract.”

“I bought him for you, Jack.”

“You shouldn’t have. I mean that. Did you save the receipt?”

“I got him on Craigslist.”

“Not at a livestock auction?” Katie asked.

“Don’t say that. He’s no doubt lost many relatives to mankind’s carnivorous habits. How would you like it if the main ingredient in hot dogs was your Cousin Lem?”

Herb began to snuffle at the floor of the vehicle, discovered a cardboard coffee cup, and ate it.

“Look at that. He’s also eco-friendly,” Harry said. “Maybe I can get rid of the recycle bin. Think he eats glass?”

I continued toward the exit. “Katie? Tequila? Should I book three seats on the next flight?”

“I’m okay with the boar,” Tequila said. “I’m also okay with the pig.”

“Ha,” Harry said, without humor. “I get it. I’m a bore. But at least I can ride all the attractions at Disneyworld. Maybe they’d let you on Space Mountain if you brought your child seat along.”

“You sure talk a lot,” Tequila said, closing his eyes again.

McGlade folded his arms. “Yeah? Well, you’re below average height.”

Tequila didn’t respond.

“Katie?” I asked.

“He’s actually kinda cute.” She gave Herb a pat on the rump.

“Seriously? Am I the only one with any sense?”

“There’s enough room,” Katie said. “Maybe it will make the trip more interesting.”

“Come on, Jackie. Don’t be a hog hater. Don’t be pig prejudiced. Don’t be a swine scorner.”

“Don’t be an alliterative ass,” I told him. “See what I did there?”

McGlade blinked. “Good golly.”

I rubbed my eyes. I’d been hoping to learn more about Katie during the long ride. Her refusal to talk about her past was odd. Not necessarily odd enough to send up red flags; Tequila didn’t talk about his past either. But I had Tequila pegged. He was a sociopath, and used to work as an enforcer for the mob, but he had a predictable code that he followed.

Katie was a mystery. She had apparent combat training but was never in the military. Wrote non-fiction but didn’t ask a lot of questions. Seemed obsessed with serial killers without saying why, and knew more than she was letting on. Twenty hours in an RV would give me the chance to pick away at some of her layers, and perhaps understand whom I’d actually aligned myself with.

Of course, I’d also have to spend the same twenty hours avoiding the persistent affections of the other white meat.

Decisions, decisions. Put up with a smelly, needy pig to learn more about a woman I was working with? Or take a quick flight to Mexico and start looking for Phin immediately?

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get this travelling circus on the road.”

Herb celebrated the decision by crapping on the floor again, then eating it.

This was going to be a swell two days.

Swell.

S
he rode in the backseat between Ben and Winston, through the frozen city streets. Kept trying to read the time on the dashboard clock of the filthy Cutlass Ciera, but the digits were moving and fading in and out.

It didn’t matter.

It was late.

Too late.

And she couldn’t find any reason to care.

They must have doubled up on her dose, because she hadn’t been this high in months. They passed people on the street. People who could help her. But the heroin might as well have been duct tape, binding her arms, gagging her mouth.

She glanced over at Donaldson. Watching him drive reminded her of something. Something familiar, but at the same time out of reach. She focused on it, and an image popped into her head like she was staring at a snapshot.

Car trips.

I used to go on car trips with my family.

She tried to study the picture, memorize, see their faces, but it faded as the next wave of the drug overtook her.

My family.

“Fam… ily,” she mumbled.

“Goddamn blizzard out here,” Donaldson said, turning up the speed on the windshield wipers. “How much further?”

“You turn on Woodward, next right.”

Her mind began to wobble, but she knew something about her thoughts were important. “Family…” she said, trying to figure out the meaning.

Donaldson glanced across the back seat at Winston.

“How much you give her?”

“Enough.”

“If she dies before we get to the doctor, I ain’t paying for nothing.”

“She won’t die. My shit is good shit. You want to try some for yourself?”

“No thanks,” Donaldson said. “Never cared much for needles.”

“Family,” she said again.

“Don’t you worry, sugar,” Donaldson said, reaching back and patting her belly. “We’re going to take care of that family problem for you.”

She stared out the windshield at all the lights from oncoming vehicles reflecting off the cascading snow, and began to cry without knowing the reason, her hands cradling her stomach as she fell asleep.

When she woke up again, she was staring at the ground, piled high with snow. For a moment, she thought she might be flying, but as she moved out of the cold, into a dim corridor, she realized Winston had thrown her over his shoulder. He was carrying her.

The alarm bells in the back of her mind were more prominent now. The horse had lost its grip, and in its place, a wave of total confusion washed over her.

Where am I?

Not in the apartment that, for what seemed eons, had been her World. Her brain felt like sludge, and her thoughts so scattered, like a puzzle dumped right out of the box, the pieces everywhere, no image evident.

“Where are we?” she asked.

No one answered. Ben was there, and someone else was whistling.

Donaldson. She hated Donaldson, but couldn’t remember why. Or even how she knew him.

They passed through several doorways, she briefly lost consciousness, and then suddenly she was sitting in a straight-back chair, leaning against Donaldson’s shoulder.

It took her a moment, but soon she put the room into focus.

A bare light bulb swung overhead.

A fly buzzed nearby.

Donaldson said, “Where the hell is he?”

They were in a waiting room of some sort. Dirty concrete walls. Mismatched chairs. A strong odor of disinfectant.

Through a pair of double doors, a man in a white coat appeared.

She sat up a little straighter.

His white coat made him look like a doctor, only there were blood stains all over it.

“Who’s paying?” he asked.

Winston and Ben pointed at Donaldson. “This guy,” they both said.

The doctor held out a hand. “Two hundred fifty.”

“Two fifty?” Donaldson exploded.

“Non-negotiable.”

“How about one twenty-five to take out half of it?” Donaldson said. “The other half will eventually fall out on its own.”

The doctor glanced at Winston. “Your friend is wasting my time.”

“You wanted to watch,” Ben told Donaldson. “Pay the man.”

“Watch?” Donaldson grumbled. “For what I’m paying, I’m taking it home. You got a plastic bag, doc?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ben said. “You get caught walking around with something like that, we’re all fucked.”

“I’m not going to get caught. Just be nice to have a souvenir.”

“Just pay him,” Winston said.

Donaldson dug a handful of sweaty, dirty bills out of his pocket.

“What’s she on?” the doctor asked after sticking the money into his coat.

“What’s the difference?” Winston asked.

“If it reacts with the drugs I give her, she could die.”

Winston shrugged. “So don’t give her anything.”

“If she doesn’t get drugs, shouldn’t I get some money back?” Donaldson asked.

She still wasn’t sure what was happening. But some of the puzzle pieces had started assembling.

Ben and Winston.

They own me.

They took me from my family when I was young.

I can’t remember my family.

I can’t remember their faces.

I can’t remember their names.

I can’t remember my own last name.

But I know they exist.

I was with them when I was a kid.

So long ago.

So many years, it was another life.

Before I became Ben and Winston’s slave.

They own me.

They pimp me out to other men for money, and keep me drugged up and locked in a room.

Donaldson is one of their clients.

He did something to me.

She wrinkled her face, trying hard to remember it.

What was it Donaldson did?

“Get her up on the table,” the doctor said.

She looked at the table.

Saw the stirrups.

Her hands cleaved to her belly as all the pieces suddenly snapped together.

I’m pregnant. There’s a baby inside me.

And they want to take it away from me.