Fuzzy Navel

say, and locks his claw onto the freezer handle.

“Now take out your batteries.”

“They’re up my ass,” Harry says. “Stick your head up there and take a look.”

I introduce the butt of my gun to Harry’s jaw, and he falls to his knees. I spend a minute pressing and probing his prosthesis until I find the ejector for the battery pack. I pull it out and shove it into my pocket. Then I grab Harry’s collar and pull his face close to mine.

“Aren’t you happy to see me, Harry? Didn’t you miss me?”

“You should run away while there’s still time,” Harry says. “Before the villagers come with torches.”

I smile, give him a peck on the cheek. Then I whisper in his ear.

“Remember what I did to your hand? That’s nothing compared to what I have planned.”

Harry doesn’t have a smart-ass reply for that. I go back into the living room, feeling smug and powerful.

“I warned you, Jack. No yelling. I’m going to have to punish you for that. But first we need to invite Phin to this reunion.” I press the speaker button, then toss Jack her cell phone. “Call him.”

“He doesn’t have a phone,” Jack says.

“Then you’d better think of some other way to get in touch.”

I go over to Mom, squeeze her hand. Mom gasps.

“I’ll try the pool hall I’ve seen him at,” Jack blurts out. “I need to call information.”

“If you dial 911, you watch your mother die.”

Jack wisely chooses 411, asks the computer voice for Joe’s Pool Hall in Chicago, and gets connected.

“Pool hall,” the phone says.

“I need to speak to a guy there. Name is Phin Troutt. Blond, crew cut, probably wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. Tell him it’s Jack, and it’s an emergency.”

“Hold on.”

We wait, listening to the background noise.

“Hey, Jackie!” Harry, from the kitchen. “Does this mean we’re not gonna have sex?”

I think back to the last time I killed several people at once. A family. Mom, Dad, teenage girl. I couldn’t remember the reason. But did I ever need a reason?

“Hello?”

“Phin!” The relief in Jack’s voice is obvious. “I need you to come to my house. Right away.”

“You don’t need another wedding date, do you? The last time didn’t work out well for me.”

“I… need your help.”

Jack gives Phin the address. Phin doesn’t answer.

“Hello? Hello? The call got dropped.” She presses a few buttons. “It isn’t working.”

“Let’s try Harry’s phone,” I say.

“How about instead, you try eating that gun, you freak-of-nature gargoyle!”

I make a mental note to cut out Harry’s tongue when I go back into the kitchen. Then I toss Jack the cell.

She presses some buttons then says, “No ser vice.”

I pick up the cordless phone on a table. No dial tone. Latham’s phone doesn’t work either. How strange. It’s almost as if someone is blocking the-

A bullet comes through the front window and the revolver jerks from my hand, flying across the room. I see the blood on my fingers, feel a sting, and realize that someone has shot me. My previous military experience makes me drop to the floor and elbow-crawl away from the window.

Jack yells, “Get down!” and she drags Latham to the floor. Then she inchworms over to Mom and pushes her chair over. Another shot hits the TV, causing the screen to explode.

“What the hell is going on!” Harry cries from the kitchen.

I see terror on Jack’s face. She says, “I think my work followed me home.”

9:03 P.M. SWANSON

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” Swanson barks into the radio. Some moron, probably Munchel, started shooting before he gave the signal. Swanson isn’t in place yet. Munchel’s rounds could cut through the whole house and come out on his end. Getting shot isn’t on Swanson’s list of things to do before he dies. Especially getting shot by friendly fire.

They’d tracked the GPS Munchel put on the cop’s bumper to this secluded house in Bensenville. The setup is good. Lots of trees, no neighbors, nice and dark. The plan is to form a triangle around the house, keep an eye on doors and windows, and wait until the cop shows her face. But everyone needs to get into position first.

Munchel’s voice comes through the radio. “Just zeroing out my scope.”

“Can’t you do that without shooting?”

“Yeah, but it isn’t as much fun.”

The radios, like the rifles, the scopes, the suppressors, the GPS, the portable cell phone jammer, and various other bits of military and spy gear belong to Pessolano. Pessolano also crept up to the house earlier and cut the phone line and cable connection, so the cop can’t call for help using the Internet.

So far, so good, but Swanson is still nervous as hell. The targets they’d eliminated a few hours ago had been easy, Munchel’s rampage aside. But that had been the result of weeks of training, planning, and surveillance. Even with Pessolano’s equipment and experience, this all seems slapped together at the last minute.

If given the choice, Swanson would have fled. But he fears that running might project a certain lack of trust, and then his handpicked teammates would feel the need to eliminate him as well.

So here he is, crouching behind a tree two hundred yards away from a woman cop’s house, ready to kill for the second time this night. Just to save his own ass.

The lights in the house are on, and he has a view into the living room from a forty-five-degree angle. Besides the large bay window in front, there are ten other windows around the house, and none have drapes or shades or blinds. There’s also a front door, a side door by the garage, and glass patio doors around back, which lead into the kitchen.

Swanson focuses the Leupold scope and squints through it, searching the living room.

It appears empty. Then he notices a foot protruding from behind a couch. That dumb-ass Munchel – his shot made the cop take cover. Swanson fumbles for the radio.

“Is everyone in position?” he asks. There’s no answer. He realizes he’s pressing the wrong button, finds the correct one, and asks the question again.

“Affirmative,” says Pessolano.

“Yeah,” says Munchel. “I see where two of them are hiding.”

Two of them?

“The cop is with someone?” Swanson asks.

“She’s with four other people.”

Five people? This keeps getting worse and worse. While the authorities did a piss-poor job keeping his wife’s attacker behind bars, they still caught him in the first place. They’re the good guys. Swanson wants to be one of the good guys too. He doesn’t see how killing cops and their families can be considered good.

Swanson hits the talk button and says, “Who is with her?”

“One of them is a chick with a gun. Another is a grandmother. And two men. One is sitting next to the refrigerator, the other is tied up.”

“Why is he tied up?”

“Don’t you ever tie up your old lady, Swanson?”

Swanson does a slow burn. He’s told Munchel what happened to Jen. Munchel is either so ignorant that he forgot, or he is throwing it in Swanson’s face.