Rusty Nail

CHAPTER 22

ALEX WAITS FOR Dr. Morton outside the pizzeria, on the sidewalk. The doctor had gone in alone, eighty-five minutes ago. Long enough for a leisurely lunch. This place is known for its deep-dish pizza, baked in a pan with the sauce on top of the cheese. Alex has never tried it.

At the eighty-sixth minute after entering, Dr. Morton exits the restaurant. His face is the picture of shock and surprise when he bumps into Alex at the door. He recovers quickly, but Alex is secretly delighted to have flustered the shrink.

“Alex! Oh, hello. Just in the neighborhood?”

“There are more than three million people in Chicago, Doctor. What’s the likelihood we both just happened to pick the same restaurant for lunch?”

Alex watches him puzzle it out.

“So, you followed me. Was there any particular reason?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Dr. Morton looks at his watch. Very unprofessional. “I’m sort of pressed for time, Alex. Don’t we have an appointment tomorrow?”

“You spent eighty-six minutes eating pizza. You can’t spare ten minutes for me?”

“But I’m seeing another patient, Alex.”

“I have to talk to you now, Doctor.” Alex checks the street, which is clear, and casually pulls the gun out. “I’m having a crisis.”

Dr. Morton doesn’t look afraid. But that doesn’t matter.

He will. Soon.

“Can we talk in my car? Just five minutes. I can even give you a ride back to the office, save you some cab fare.”

The doctor lets out a slow breath. “Fine. But I want the gun.”

“Don’t you trust me, Doctor?”

“You said yourself that you’re having a crisis. I wouldn’t want you to do anything regrettable.”

Alex smiles, hands over the weapon.

Dr. Morton shoves it into his blazer pocket, and Alex leads him to the car. If the good doctor notices the missing side mirrors, he doesn’t say anything about it.

After the doctor puts on his seat belt, Alex jabs him with the needle in the upper arm.

“Alex? What are you doing…?”

“Just something to relax you, Doctor.”

Dr. Morton’s mouth opens. He’s shocked. He isn’t used to surprises. He’s used to being in control. Alex can read it in his face.

The doctor grabs for the door, but Alex has disabled the handle. He pulls four or five times, but it doesn’t open.

“Sorry, Doc.” Alex grins.

“Let me out of here, Alex.”

“I can’t do that, Doc. You’re a loose end. I told you too much, and now I have to take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” His words are beginning to slur.

“I’m going to cut a small slit in your belly, right under your navel. And then I’ll stick some tongs in there, and pull your intestines out through the hole. Then you’re going to eat them.”

Dr. Morton’s eyes get comically wide. He gropes for the gun and pulls it out.

“Do you know how to work a semiautomatic, Doctor? That one has a safety on it.”

The doctor obviously doesn’t know. His hands are shaking, and he’s trying to pull the trigger. Alex reaches over, flips off the safety for him.

Dr. Morton doesn’t hesitate. He points the gun at Alex’s head and fires. There’s a clicking sound, and the slide goes back.

No bullets.

“I’m disappointed, Doctor. Is that how you deal with the mentally ill? By trying to shoot them in the head? I’m surprised you have any patients left at all.”

The doctor raises the gun, tries to hit Alex with it.

Alex laughs, easily blocking the blow, then pops Dr. Morton in the nose, causing a minor explosion of blood.

“Don’t bother trying to fight, Doctor. I’m stronger than you are.”

Dr. Morton doesn’t listen. He again tries to club Alex with the gun. Alex slips the blow and takes the gun away.

“Enough. It’s nighty-night time.”

“Please.” Dr. Morton’s head lolls to the side. He’s almost out.

Alex pats him on the head.

“You’ll have plenty of time for begging tomorrow, Dr. Morton. I promise.”