NINE

The suitcase was still there, lying on the front lawn. There was a bullet hole punched in one end. No exit hole. The bullet must have gone through the leather, through the sturdy plywood carcass, and burned into a stop against the packed paper inside. If it wasn't that thick, the bullet would have gone through and smashed into his other side. That's not good. Like he hadn't got enough bullet wounds. He grimaced as he bent down and lifted it up, one hand on his side, pressing onto the wound. Petals of blood seeped through the shirt.

He swore creatively under his breath as he limped, carrying the suitcase back to join Kathryn over at the garage. Earlier as they made their way out of the garage, he used the small shelf for support and…let's just say the shelf was full of heavy things ready to fall right at your foot, how's that for an explanation? Kathryn waited for him by the jeep five minutes after she had locked up. He guessed that it was very quiet neighbourhood. The kind of neighbourhood with a kind of hunting place near by.

If Kathryn locked up and made everything look normal, nobody would check out the place. No police would be called. It would be like any ordinary hunting day. "So what now, Spence?" Kathryn asked as they got into the car. She helped him in, her tone was of concern and he knew -oh, he knew- exactly what she was thinking. He was fine, dammit. "Hit me on the side…just a scratch. Nothing serious." If he had said that a few years ago, back when he was a doctor, he would have literally slapped himself. This was deathly serious…

The engine was idling, the air roaring to combat the sun beating down on the Ferrari's silver paint. The vents were angled all over the place, and he was catching Kathryn's perfume mixed in with the Freon blast. For thirty minutes, the car swiftly drove down the road, without a word from either one. He had never expected to see her again. He assumed he would lose track of his childhood friend and neighbour and never see her again. But there he was, sitting right next to her, breathing in her fragrance. His eye-lids felt heavy as his fingers tightened on his grip on the wound.

Sixteen years. Was that a long time or a short time? Does it change a person? It felt like a short time to him. He didn't feel radically different from the person he had been sixteen years before. The pig-headness was still there. The arrogance. The whole Jackass personality, it was all there, all right. He was the same person, thinking the same way, capable of the same things, and maybe even more. He had acquired a thick gloss of experience during those years. He felt she had to be different.

More responsible, more feminine. He would have chuckled, but he didn't. In a way, your side tends to hurt when you laugh. Especially when you've been shot. Ooh, yeah. Especially when you've been shot. So now, he felt he was in uncharted waters, unsure of how to relate to her, because he dealing with separate things, all competing in his head; the reality of her as a kid, sixteen years ago, and then the way he had imagined her to turn out, and then there was the way she really had turned out.

"We're going to find the link…use brains…find answers..." Angelo mumbled. His voice rough and tired, "…knock some heads together…" She smiled to herself, "…eat pizza…"

He knew one thing: she was still so easy. He could say one word and she would forget about everything else. She suddenly frowned, realization dawning, "But…I've got to go to work. If you don't want them to go suspicious or something, I have to go."

"Can't you take a sick leave?" Angelo asked, perplexed, as he inched up the seat next to her, wincing at the slight prick of pain at his side. "No." she said suddenly, before he could even finish his sentence. "I…have…to…go." she repeated, slowly and clearly, like how an impatient kindergarten teacher would talk to her students when they pronounced a word wrong. There were much debating inside the silver Ferrari but the superior one achieved victory. She recited the address of her work. "Ten blocks away. I usually walk."

"Not tomorrow." Angelo shook his head, or at least tried to. "I'll drive you there…"

Her expression was a mix of surprise and confusion. "You will?"

"Damn right I will, Katy." he said. "Ten blocks on foot? You can go ahead and scratch that idea…that makes you a bloody easy target. Your not easy. You'll be safe enough at home, but they could grab you on the street. What about your office? Is it secure?"

She nodded again. "Nobody gets in without an appointment or, and, an ID." she paused and spoke what she had been wondering about ever since the whole conversation started, "…how do you know all these stuff, Angelo? I thought you were a doctor…" Images of five unbelievable fucking years flashed into his mind. Vampires--fangs--blood--death--…and then her. A scream. Of pain--Fury--Anguish--and then laughter…

"You can't run away from me…"

"Spence?"

His mind snapped and he found himself wondering why. What could he have done to prevent all this from happening? What could he have done to prevent these past five years? These fucking hell of years? …there were lots of answers. Lots. "…A few people…influenced me…"

She bit her lower lip for some reason and continued driving. That was followed by another time of nothing but silence. "…so, yeah, my office is secure." she said, shattering the eerie silence between them. "Okay." Angelo said. "So I'll be playing sleepover tonight, and I'll drive you door to door in the morning. Then, I'll come back and do all the sorts of shit I'm meant to do. You can stay there in the office until I come get you out again, okay?" She was silent. He tracked back and reviewed what he'd said.

"I mean, you got a spare room, right?"

"Sure," she said. "There's…there's a spare room."

"So, is that OK?"

She nodded, quietly. She looked at him. The blast of air from the centre vents caught her hair and blew it over her face. She smoothed it back behind her ear and her eyes flicked him up and down. Then, she smiled. "…You bet your ass. I'm cool with you being there…" she punched him on the arm in a boyish kind of way. "…you're my buddy, buddy."

He stared at her. "Are you on drugs?"

"What are you, a jackass?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question?"

She turned to look back at the road and smiled to herself. "Yeah, but you're a good jackass, doc. You can treat your own bullet wound once we get there. There's a big health kit thing in my kitchen. That might help…" An hour later, it was dark, which was the best condition. Angelo felt like a little tourist guy as they swooped around the ramp and up over the hump of the span, soon, they could see the billion bright lights everywhere. "Go a few blocks west," he said. "We'll come in from a distance…" he paused, the air around him was suddenly warm and hot, making it almost impossible to breathe, "…they'll be expecting us to come straight home."

"Why? Maybe their not here…"

"First rule," he said. "Predictability is unsafe."

"You serious?"

"You bet your ass."

"What am I, a VIP?" she asked.

"You bet your ass…" he said again.

"So, you didn't kill him…" He had stopped tapping. He sat still and the colour drained out of his face, leaving his skin dead white, realization dawning in on him. He sat there for a long time, with those words on his lips. He just sat and stared into space, then he lifted his hook off the desk and rotated it in front of his eyes, slowly, examining it as if it were something special. He allowed the thin beams of light from the blinds to catch its curves and contours. It was trembling, so he took it in his other hand and held it still.

"…you let him go…" he whispered, staring at the hook. Then he transferred his gaze at the young man sitting relaxed at the chair across from him. He glared at him, his gaze dark and frightening. The hook hit the wood of the table with a soft but threatening 'thunk'. "Could've done it yourself, Conan." Danny said. "…I actually thought that good-for-nothing hook didn't make you look like a disabled idiot this time. You kind of look terrifying… and sometimes, when your lucky enough, you tend to have that effect to every woman who is unfortunate enough to have been forced to have sex with you…so, I guess it's normal."

The hook scraped the wood and Danny smiled, shaking his head, "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't talking about the hook. Oh, no. Cheap women are fine with the hook…they tend to bleed, but they're fine…it's your puny ass balls their fucking scared off." Through a wimp's eyes, you could see flames firing out from under Conan's nostrils but in Danny's…you'd be confident. And that's something you should give him credit for.

Conan forced a sardonic smile as he pushed back in his chair and stood up, "…Well, I know your mother was intently happy…more than she ever was with that father of yours." The smile from Danny's face vanished. And through Conan' eyes, you could see a visual of what was mentally happening in there…a scared little boy was sitting across Conan, near tears. Scared to death. His eyes cloudy. The vision instantly changed, and there was no trace of anything, except a reaction from Danny. Conan came out from behind the desk, grinning, and he stepped over and stopped still, directly behind Danny who just sat there, too traumatized to move, not daring to turn around to look. Not daring to look the devil in the eyes.

Conan looked down at his 'son' and smiled. Danny wore a size sixteen collar, which made his neck a fraction over five six inches in diameter, assuming a human neck is more or less a uniform cylinder, which was an approximation Conan had always been happy to make. Danny could feel the man's ragged breathing, his face right beside Danny's. Smiling. Grinning. And Conan got the reaction he expected, making his smile broaden. Danny whimpered. Conan's hook was a simple steel curve, like a capital letter J, generously sized.

The inside diameter of the curve was four and three-quarter inches. He moved fast, as if someone who has done this many times before, darting the hook out and forcing it over Danny's throat from behind. Danny tilted his head back. His eyes watery and clouded. Conan's frozen grin never leaving his face. "How's about it now, Dan? Still like that good for nothing father of yours? Even after what he did?" Conan stepped back and pulled with all his strength. Danny threw himself upward and backward, his fingers scrabbling under the cold metal to relieve the gagging pressure. Conan smiled and pulled harder.

"…I still don't understand it, though. Why leave such a beautiful woman for another?" Danny got more frantic and violent, his legs kicking at the air, trying to knock down a table.

Conan chuckled. "Aww, I get it. Ever since he left your mother, she's been a drunken whore…but I suppose she's got a reason." Conan teased. "…you're a nutcase, Danny." he continued, the smile fading away into a straight and serious face. "…you murdered all those people just to get mommy's love and attention…no wonder she's been beating your sorry ass up. Is that the case, Dan? Am I right?"

He tugged on it once again. "Am I Right? Huh? Am - I - right, Danny?" He pulled until the gagging turned to fractured wheezing and the struggling began to slow down. His legs settled back down on the ground, slowly trying to kick on the carpet. Conan eased off an inch and bent close to Danny's ear. "…Am I right, you son of a bitch? Huh? You twisted sicko? Am I fucking right!" Danny was wheezing and coughing. Conan twisted the hook, which relieved the pressure on Danny's voice box, but brought the tip up into the soft area under his ear.

"Am I right?" Conan asked softly. Danny knew that with the hook at that angle, any extra rearward pressure was going to put the tip right through his skin into that vulnerable triangle behind the jaw. Now, he's no doctor but he's pretty sure that does something! Danny gasped for air, his heart was thumping. Why was this happening? How did this happen? He had never…ever…given in. Especially not to this bastard.

Conan kept the hook in position, waiting, but Danny didn't do anything. He didn't nod. He didn't agree at all. "…This is no joke, Wes. This concerns me just as much as it concerns you…now, bring me Ms. Skyler…" Danny nodded as languorously as the hook would allow his head to move. Conan slipped the hook away and Danny collapsed sideways, gasping and retching into the fabric of the sofa.

"You can do whatever you want with D'Angelo. After all…" he bent down and whispered it in Danny's ear. Chuckling maniacally, Conan straightened up and turned around, walking away.