Tick Tock

Chapter 69

I GAGGED AS A WAFT of the stifling room's horrendous body odor slapped into me. I started coughing. I was surprised I didn't throw up.

Whoever the morbidly obese man was, he certainly wasn't the suspect from the witness statements or sketch or the surveillance video.

We'd screwed up, I thought as I lowered my gun.

"God, somebody get a sheet, huh?" Emily said, holstering her service weapon as she averted her eyes.

"And a case of Lysol," Wong said, covering his nose and mouth as he finished cuffing him.

Reluctantly, I went into the room and tore a filthy sheet off the bed and covered the guy's backside with it. It barely fit. He was easily six hundred pounds. Maybe even seven. The ESU guy actually had to use two pairs of handcuffs to secure the fat bastard's wrists.

I knelt down beside him.

"Lawrence Berger?" I said.

"Yes," he said, lolling his large head in my direction. "Oh! Wow! Michael Bennett. I didn't know you were here. My God. This is so surreal."

Emily and I exchanged baffled looks.

"I know you?" I said.

"You gave a lecture on homicide investigation to the general assembly at John Jay back in 'ninety-three, was it?" Berger said, looking into my eyes. "Your wife was there with you. A tall, pretty Irish lady. Tell me, how is your wild Irish rose these days? Oh dear, what am I saying? The article about you in New York Magazine said she died. Well, she's in a better place. My deepest condolences."

Before I could punch the man in his mouth, Hobart hauled back hard on his handcuffs.

"Ahhh! My wrists!" Berger screamed, tears in his eyes. "Ow! Stop it! That hurts! What are you trying to do? Break my arm? Didn't I tell you I had a bad back?"

"I look like your chiropractor, fatty?" Hobart said in the man's ear. "Watch your mouth before I fill it with my combat boot."

Berger nodded as he turned slowly toward Emily.

"Don't tell me you're Agent Parker. You guys have teamed up again? I feel honored. Nice core. Pilates?"

"That's it," Hobart said, tugging back hard on the cuffs again.

But instead of screaming again, Berger did something as surprising as it was horrifying.

He broke into giggles.

"You call this pain?" Berger said, smiling back at Hobart after a beat. "I've paid more than you make in a week for far, far worse, Brown Sugar. What were you going to do with your combat boot again?"

This was taking a bad turn. Getting weirder and weirder. Hobart let the cuff chain go as if it were on fire and wiped his hands on his pants.

"Where were we again?" Berger said, turning back around to face me. There was an oddly chipper tone in his voice now.

"Who the hell is this, Berger?" I said, showing him the sketch and FAO Schwarz surveillance photo.

Berger squinted at it.

"That would be a crappy rough semblance of Carl, I think," Berger said.

"Carl?" Emily said. "Who the fuck is Carl?"

"Carl Apt is my friend," Berger said. "My very close friend and companion. I know what you're thinking. Longtime companion, aka gay lover, but no. Not that I didn't make some overtures. Strictly business, Carl is. Pure as the driven snow and twice as cold."

"Carl what? Works for you?" I said, trying to piece things together.

"Kind of," Berger said. "It's complicated."

"I say we gag this turd," Hobart said.

"Where is he? Where's Carl right now?" I said.

"Where Carl usually is, silly," the fat man said, rolling his eyes. "He's upstairs taking a bath."