Jack coughs, spits. “You’ll do those things anyway.”

“Of course I will. And eventually I’ll get my way, and you’ll call Harry. I know you’re tough, Jack. Maybe if it was only me and you, maybe you wouldn’t call. But we’ve got other people involved here.”

I hold Mary’s hand, her wrists bound to the chair with tape.

“I’ve heard arthritis is agonizing. I poked around in the medicine cabinet earlier. Mom is taking some major pills, isn’t she?”

I swivel the chair around, give Mom a frown that only appears on half of my face.

“I hope you’re not turning into a junkie. That’s a road you don’t want to go down. No matter how bad the pain gets.”

I begin to squeeze her hand. Her eyes get wide, and I watch her shake with the effort not to make any sound.

“Look how brave your mother is, Jack. Trying to hold it in.”

“I’ll call,” Jack says.

“I wonder if she’d scream if I broke a few fingers.”

“I’ll call!”

I release Mom’s hand, give the old gal a pat on the head. Then I drill my eyes into Jack. She’s pale, and appears close to collapsing.

“Convince him to come over here. Do I need to make any more threats?”

Jack shakes her head.

“Don’t look so devastated,” I say to Jack. “We’re just getting started.”

8:15 P.M.

JACK

MOM AND I ARE as good as dead. It’s just a matter of how much we suffer before Alex kills us.

Seeing Alex again stunned me. Instead of acting, of fighting back, I’d been caught off guard. That opportunity has passed. But I might be able to create another one with Harry McGlade.

I need to somehow convince Harry there’s a problem, without alerting Alex. Unfortunately, Harry’s intelligence falls somewhere between a chimpanzee and a crescent wrench. This is going to take some finesse.

Alex dials the number, presses the speaker phone button, and holds it to my mouth.

“Harry’s Den of Dyslexic Sex, where you can duck my sick. Harry speaking.” His voice is nasally, Chicago through and through.

“Hi, Harry. It’s Jack.”

“Jackie! Good to hear from you. Looking for work? Since that Joliet thing I’ve been swamped. I could hire you part-time. You’d do some paperwork, answer some phones. I’m paying seven fifty an hour, clothing is optional.”

Harry McGlade is a private investigator. A hundred years ago he used to be a cop, and my partner. I didn’t like him much then, and don’t like him much now, but he keeps popping up in my cases. Harry’s tough to get rid of. Like an oil stain. Or a wart.

“Look, McGlade, if I asked you to come over to my house right now, as a personal favor, would you do it?”

“No can do to night, Jackie. I’ve got a date with a very special lady. Very special. And if I cancel without giving her twenty-four hours notice, she charges my credit card anyway.”

I glance at Alex. She rolls her eyes, then points her gun at Mom. Even though I don’t have anything left in my stomach, I feel it rumble.

“Harry, I… I broke up with my boyfriend. I’m feeling kind of alone, kind of vulnerable.”

“I get it. You’re a chick, so you need to get laid to feel loved. I’m happy to step up to the plate.”

That hurts to even think about.

“I just need a friend right now. Can you come over?”

“For sex, right? I don’t want to be one of those guys, you cry on his shoulder, piss and moan for two hours, then I leave with snot on my tie and a trouser trout I have to smack around during the car ride home.”

Someone owed me an Academy Award, because somehow I say, “Yes, Harry McGlade. I want to have sex with you.”

Come on, you big dummy. You know there has to be something wrong.

“Pardon my skepticism, Jackie, but that didn’t sound right to me.”

Thatta boy, McGlade. Reason it out.

“Can you ask again?” Harry continues. “But using dirty words?”

Unbelievable.

“Just come over,” I say.

“You mean make like Ward Cleaver and discipline the Beaver?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Say it.”

Even if he saves my life, I’m still going to kill him.

“Come over, Harry, and discipline the Beaver.”

“Are you drunk, Jackie? Is liquor impairing your judgment? Because I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not drunk, Harry. I just need you here.”

“I knew it. I knew those years of insults and dirty looks masked your true feelings. And I want you to know, the feeling is mutual. In fact, back when we rode together, and you got out of the car first, I’d sometimes lean over and sniff your seat.”

Alex has to put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Just make sure you bring protection,” I say.

A gun, asshole. Bring a gun.

“Message received. Leave the front door unlocked. If I get there and you’re already passed out, I’m hopping on anyway.”

He disconnects. Does he know I’m in trouble? Is he playing along? Or does he really think he’s going to get laid?

“Nice work, Jack. Now let’s try another one. That intense guy with the killer abs. Phineas Troutt. I owe him too.”

I stare at Alex. Her scarred face offers no reprieve. No pity. She’s a monster.

But she’s a monster who wants something from me, which gives me just a tiny bit of leeway. If I got in touch with Phin, all I’ll have left to offer Alex is my pain and suffering. Best to stall that for as long as I can.

“Where’s Latham?” I try to sound scared, which doesn’t require any acting.

“Ahh, yes. Where is loverboy? I noticed he wore a ring. You too. When is the wedding, Jack?” She bats her eyes, but the scarred one simply twitches. “Can I be your maid of honor?”

“Where is he?”

Alex makes a show of looking at her watch.

“He’s in the garage. How much air do you think is in one of those kitchen garbage bags? Think there’s twenty minutes’ worth?”

I bolt, running across the kitchen, heading for the door to the garage. My hands are behind my back, so I have to spin around to turn the knob. Alex doesn’t run after me. She stays in the kitchen, hands on her hips, looking vaguely amused.

I manage to pull open the door, and find Latham in the middle of the garage, lying on the floor next to a giant stack of boxes. A white plastic garbage bag is over his head, duct tape wrapped around his neck.

He’s completely still.

I run to him, drop to my knees, scooting around and grabbing the bag along with some of his hair. I dig my fingers in and pull. The plastic stretches, tears.

“Latham! Latham, please answer me!”

I feel him move.

“Jack?”

Thank God. I keep tugging, removing as much of the bag as I can, my fingers encircling his face. His cheeks are wet, with sweat or tears or both.

I shed a few tears too.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, over and over.

“She put a hole in the bag. A little one. Didn’t want me to die yet.”

He talks in a monotone, emotionless. Probably in shock.

“I gave him a choice.” Alex stands in the doorway. “Fuck me, or die. He told me he’d do it if I put a bag over my head. Personally, I think it looks pretty good on him.”

My fear vanishes, replaced by a hate so intense I can taste it. I get to my knees, then to my feet, and charge at her. Alex doesn’t flinch. When I get close enough she sidesteps my attempted body tackle and trips me. Unable to break my fall, I land on my face, my lips kissing the dirty concrete floor, the wind rushing from my lungs.

“You want to play, Jack? We’ve got time to play.” Alex puts her hands behind her back. “I’ll even play fair. You’re Little Miss Tae Kwon Do, right? Let’s see if you can take me.”

I’m so pumped up with anger and adrenaline that I get up before my breath comes back. I take a feeble gasp, shake away the stars, and run at her.

Alex kicks me in the stomach, so hard that it knocks my shoes off. I fall onto my ass, the handcuffs digging in and twisting my wrists, prompting a scream. I use the pain, continuing to stretch at the cuffs, pulling them up under my butt and over my feet.