The Blonde

too. He was still cradling his nuts protectively, but he, too, was looking up at the window.

Son of a …

He crawled to the window. No shattered glass on the tiled floor this side of it, thank God. Heard commotion behind him. Nurses, doctors, security, maybe even priests and nuns and lepers and angels and politicians gathering.

First, one hand up. The good hand. Of all his woes, would you believe his fucking right wrist killed him the worst. The little present from his sweet Kelly.

Up and to his feet. There you go, soldier. Go on, look down. Look down the side of the building from the eighth floor and see what you see.

Ah yes.

The thin-haired bastard, clinging to the sturdy metal frame of an air-conditioning unit two floors down.

He was staring right at Kowalski, sneering. He’d been waiting for him.

“It’s not going to be that easy, ” he yelled.

Two floors down. Kowalski verified the distance the best he could, but… yeah. It seemed about right.

“You know what you are?” Kowalski asked.

Confusion on Thinny’s face. Then he winced. Maybe he was starting to realize. Maybe his head was starting to throb.

Kowalski hadn’t injected him with one or two of the Mary Kates. The blood from Ed’s head was positively teeming with them. There was no need for hours of gestation, replication. There were plenty in there to do their job.

“You’re more than ten feet away.”

And Kowalski was glad he was the only one looking out the window. Because nobody else needed to see what happened next.

The burst.

The bright red quadruple burst out of his mouth, nose, and eyes, splattering the side of the building like a blast from a hose.

His fingers, slipping away from the air conditioner.

His body dropping straight down into the historic graveyard below.

Down where they used to bury the ones they couldn’t save in the hospital, back in the early days, the Colonial times, when people died of natural afflictions, not microscopic machines that traveled to your brain and exploded.

Kowalski looked until he’d had enough. No twitching. No surprise resurrections. He’d seen it happen before.

But no.

Nothing.

He turned around and slid down the wall. Used his good hand to reach into his pocket, looking for his Homeland Security badge. Hopefully, those holographic eagles would work their magic one last time. Christ in heaven, was there some explaining to do.

7:50  a.m.

Within minutes, Kowalski had it squared away best he could. The tricky part had been apologizing to the guards he’d assaulted and then getting them to agree to guard the doors to room 803 until reinforcements arrived. But they did, God love ‘em. Their agreement was encouraged, no doubt, by the fact that Kowalski told them the dead man in the graveyard was an international terrorist. And that they’d probably receive medals and shit.

The guards kept the staff away, and the four of them had the room to themselves.

Kowalski, standing against the wall.

Kelly, in her bed.

Jack, slumped back in a leather and wood visitor’s chair.

Ed’s head, in its Adidas bag, placed in the corner, near the door. He was really starting to ripen.

“You okay, Jackie boy?” Kowalski asked.

“Never better,” Jack said, then looked over at Kelly, who was tucked under covers, eyes closed. “Though I wish I’d known I hadn’t actually been poisoned, oh, about eleven hours ago.”

Kowalski smirked. “Luminous toxin, Jack? It’s from D.O.A. The original. Not that shitty Meg Ryan remake.”

“I saw it, but I’ve never heard of luminous fucking toxin.”

“She pulled a mind op on you, bro. I checked her bag back at the hotel. She slipped you disulfiram. One pill, five hundred milligrams. Odorless, colorless, dissolves fast. Right in your beer. Made you dizzy, made you puke, but it was nothing lethal.”

“Disulwhat?”

“Disulfiram, aka Antabuse. The stuff they give alcoholics. She probably boosted it from some guy’s luggage. Am I right?”

Kelly smiled faintly. Her eyes were still closed.

“What about the other thing?” Jack asked. “The Mary Kates. They made up, too?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Wonderful.”

“Look. Hang with me, we’ll get this sorted out. I really do work for the government. A department you’re not supposed to know about, but still. I’m going to order you and Kelly some blood transfusions. That doesn’t work, we’ll get you more. This is Pennsylvania Hospital. Oldest hospital in the country. We’ll find a way to get you back to normal, even if they have to break out the leeches.”

Not likely, in all honesty.

But you had to give people something to hang on to.

Eventually, he had to get Kelly White—or Vanessa, if that was her true name—out of here. Worst case, he’d fill a syringe full of the old blood from Ed Hunter’s head. The stuff full of the Mary Kates. Loaded with his DNA. Long as Kelly kept that near her, she’d be fine. Could be worse. Some people had to cart around colostomy bags.

Next, he’d have to arrange some transport to move from here. Sort out CI-6’s stake in all of this.

Which, speaking of …

Kowalski picked up the room line, used the prepaid calling card, dialed the last number he had for Nancy.

She answered.

“I’ve got what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you I’d come through.”

“Michael… oh no. Michael.”

She was using his first name. She never did that.

“Something wrong?”

“What are you doing? This mission was over for you.”

“I never fail. You know that.”

“You did this time. Where are you? And is anyone else with you?”

“Like who?”

Kowalski heard a grunt behind him, but he ignored it. He needed to hear it from her. How far into this she was. If she was eating from both sides of the trough.

“Did you encounter any opposition?” his handler asked.