Fuzzy Navel

8:02 P.M.
KORK

JACK’S MOMENT of realization is priceless. It’s an expression of fear and helplessness, and it’s so raw and honest that I feel like a peep-show voyeur watching it.

I want to hit her again, to turn her fear into pain. But there isn’t any need to rush. Better to play it safe, make sure she’s restrained first.

“Handcuffs,” I say.

Jack doesn’t answer. I don’t think she’s trying to defy me. I think she’s so scared she can’t even speak. I give her a kick in the ribs to help with her articulation.

“Handcuffs,” I repeat. “You’ll have plenty of time to be scared speechless later.”

“Purse,” she says.

I follow her eyes, see an ugly clutch on the floor. I keep the gun on her and walk over to it. There are handcuffs inside, but no gun.

“Where’s that little toy Colt you carry around?”

“Internal Affairs. Had a shooting to night.”

I wonder if she’s lying, then notice that she has blood on her skirt, her shirt. Looks like Jack has had a busy night.

It’s about to get busier.

“Cuff your hands behind you,” I say, tossing her the bracelets.

She complies, sneaks a look at Mom. I wait for Jack to say something like “Let her go, this is between us” or “If you touch her, I swear I’ll kill you” or something equally meaningless. She surprises me by saying nothing. Perhaps she knows it won’t do any good. Or perhaps she’s saving her energy because she knows she’ll need it later. For screaming.

I allow them their mommy/daughter moment, then wrap my hand in Jack’s hair and jerk her to her feet. It doesn’t take much effort. At Heathrow, I was able to catch up on two things – soap operas and exercise. The last time I’d encountered Jack, I’d been soft.

There isn’t anything soft about me now.

I check to make sure Jack’s hands are cuffed, then shove the revolver into the back of my pants. I’m still holding her hair, and I bring her face close to mine, letting her see the scars up close.

“See what you did to me? For a while, I wished you’d killed me. I bet you’re wishing the same thing right now, aren’t you?”

Jack stares back at me, but her eyes are glassy. She’s fighting to keep it together.

“It took a long time for the pain to go away,” I continue. “The state doesn’t have the best plastic surgeons, as you can see. They had to graft on some skin from my leg. It actually grows stubble. Can you feel it?”

Jack tenses, strains to pull away. But my muscles are big and strong and it’s like restraining a child. I rub my scarred flesh against her perfect cheek, letting her feel the pointy little hairs that used to be on my calf. She stops struggling. Her muscles relax. Jack knows she can’t fight me, knows I can do anything I want to her.

I’ve been waiting a long time for this.

“Where’s Latham?” Jack asks, meek, submissive.

“We’ll get to him in a minute. First we need to call some old friends.” I find her cell phone in her purse. “Is Harry on here?”

Jack nods.

“You need to convince him to come over.”

“No.”

I half smile, make a fist, and hit Jack in the gut so hard she spits up food she ate last year. While she’s doubled over, I walk over to Mom.

“I understand the reason you’re holding out,” I say, standing behind Mom’s chair. “You figure that you’re going to die anyway, so why should you be helpful? That’s not the correct mind-set. What you should be thinking about is all the things I’m going to do to you before you die.”

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.”