Munir slumped forward on the table, facedown, resting his forehead on his crossed arms. Jack opened the freezer compartment and pulled out the plastic bag.
A finger. A kid's. The left pinkie. Rock hard from the freezer. Cleanly chopped off. Probably with the cleaver he'd seen yesterday in the photo of a more delicate portion of Robby's anatomy.
The son of a bitch.
And then the photograph of the boy's mother. And the inscription.
Jack felt a surge of blackness from the abyss within him. He willed it back. He couldn't get involved in this, couldn't let it get personal. He turned to look back at the kitchen table and found Munir staring at him.
'Do you see?' Munir said, wiping the tears from his cheeks. 'Do you see what he has done to my boy?'
Jack quickly stuffed the finger back into the freezer.
'Look, I'm really sorry about this but nothing's changed. You still need more help than one guy can offer. You need the cops.'
Munir shook his head violently. 'No! You haven't heard his latest demand! The police cannot help me with this! Only you can! Please, come listen.'
Jack followed him down a hall to the office again where he waited while Munir's trembling fingers fumbled with the answerphone controls. Finally he got it playing. Jack barely recognized Munir's voice as he spewed his grief and rage at the caller. Then the other voice laughed.
VOICE: Well, well. I guess you got my little present. MUNIR: You vile, filthy, pervertedVOICE: Hey-hey, Mooo- neeer. Let's not get too personal here. This ain't between you'n me. This here's a matter of international diplomacy. MUNIR: How… [a choking sound] how could you? VOICE: Easy, Mooo-neeer. I just think about how your people blew my sister to bits and it becomes real easy. Might be a real good idea for you to keep that in mind from here on in. MUNIR: Let them go and take me. I'll be your prisoner. You can… you can cut me to pieces if you wish. But let them go, I beg you! VOICE: [laughs] Cut you to pieces! Mooo-neeer, you must be psychic or something. That's what I've been thinking too! Ain't that amazing? MUNIR: You mean you'll let them go? VOICE: Someday-when you're all the way through the wringer. But let's not change the subject here. You in pieces-now that's a thought. Only I'm not going to do it. You are. MUNIR: What do you mean? VOICE: Just what I said, Mooo- neeer. I want a piece of you. One of your fingers. I'll leave it to you to decide which one. But I want you to chop it off and have it ready to send to me by tomorrow morning. MUNIR: Surely you can't be serious! VOICE: Oh, I'm serious, all right. Deadly serious. You can count on that. MUNIR: But how? I can't! VOICE: You'd better find a way, Mooo-neeer. Or the next package you get will be a bit bigger. It'll be a whole hand. [laughs] Well, maybe not a whole hand. One of the fingers will already be missing. MUNIR: No! Please! There must beVOICE: I'll call in the mornin' t'tell you how to deliver it. And don't even think about goin' to the cops. You do and the next package you get'll be a lot bigger. Like a head. Chop-chop, Mooo-neeer.
He switched off the machine and turned to Jack.
'You see now why I need your help?'
'No. I'm telling you again the police and the feds can do a better job of tracking this guy.'
'But will the police help me cut off my finger?'
'Forget it!' Jack said, swallowing hard. 'No way.'
'But I can't do it myself. I've tried but I can't make my hand hold still. I want to but I just can't do it myself.' Munir looked him in the eyes. 'Please. You're my only hope. You must.'
'Don't pull that on me.' Jack wanted out of here. Now. 'Get this: Just because you need me doesn't mean you own me. Just because I can doesn't mean I must. And in this case I honestly doubt that I can. So keep all of your fingers and dial nine-one-one to get some help.'
'No!' Anger overcame the fear and anguish in Munir's face. 'I will not risk their lives!'
He strode back to the kitchen and picked up the cleaver. Jack was suddenly on guard. The guy was nearing the end of his rope. No telling what he'd do.
'I wasn't man enough to do it before,' he said, hefting the cleaver. 'But I can see I'll be getting no help from you or anyone else. So I'll have to take care of this all by myself!'
Jack stood back and watched as Munir slammed his left palm down on the tabletop, splayed the fingers, and angled the hand around so the thumb was pointing somewhere past his left flank.
Jack didn't move to stop him. Munir was doing what he thought he had to do.
He raised the cleaver above his head. It hovered there a moment, wavering like a cliff diver with second thoughts, then with a whimper of fear and dismay, Munir drove the cleaver into his hand.
Or rather into the tabletop where his hand had been.
Weeping, he collapsed into the chair then, and his sobs of anguish and self-loathing were terrible to hear.
'All right, goddammit,' Jack said. He knew this was going to be nothing but trouble, but he'd seen and heard all he could stand. He kicked the nearest wall. 'I'll do it.'
12
Dawn had carried her lunch salad up to the top floor of the penthouse. She sat in one of the poolside chairs and gazed through the green-tinted glass walls at Central Park below. Not nearly as pretty now as in the summer when the trees were in full leaf. The bare branches and winter-brown grass were totally ugly. Shadows from the buildings along Central Park West were stretching her way, edging onto the frozen surface of Jackie O Lake. On the far side of the park, the setting sun peeked between the towers of the El Dorado building.
She sighed.
So damn lonely. She could have eaten downstairs with Gilda bustling about, but being around Gilda was worse than being alone. She'd had a thing against Dawn ever since Henry got the sack, or whatever happened to him. A lot of that was Dawn's fault, yeah, but Henry had gone along with it.
Anyway, she was sure Gilda would have totally poisoned her food long before now if not for her boss. 'The Master,' as she called him, kept Dawn locked away here for her protection. Supposedly. If anything hap She cried out and doubled over, sending her plate flying as a sharp pain ripped through her lower belly.
The plate shattered and the flying pieces hadn't settled before the pain was gone.
Dawn straightened and took a breath.
What was that? The start of labor?
Tensing, she waited for the next shot but it didn't come. After ten minutes of nothing happening, she rose and headed for her room, leaving the broken plate and scattered lettuce behind. Let Gilda clean it up. If it had been anyone else, Dawn would have picked up the pieces as best she could, but not for Gilda.
She stepped carefully, not wanting that pain to hit again while she was on her feet. But she reached her room without even a tiny pang. She lay down on her bed and waited.
13
'Ready?'
Munir's left hand was lashed to the tabletop. Jack had loaded him with every painkiller in the medicine cabinet-Tylenol, Advil, Bufferin, Anacin 3, Nuprin. Some of them were duplicates. Jack didn't care. He wanted Munir's pain center deadened as much as possible. He wished the guy drank. He'd have much preferred doing this to someone who was dead drunk. Or doped up. Jack could have scored a bunch of Dilaudids for him. But Munir had said no to both. No booze. No dope.
Tight-ass.
Jack had never cut off a finger. He wanted to do this right. The first time. No misses. Half an inch too far to the right and Munir would lose only a piece of his pinkie; half an inch too far to the left and he'd be missing the
