Part 10 (1/2)

”Now I could gag you, but we have to talk to you first. You scream at all, you get this.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out an old-fas.h.i.+oned push-b.u.t.ton knife. He hit the b.u.t.ton and I was staring at a saw-toothed eight-inch blade.

”I won't scream,” I said.

”Good. By the way, you were really excellent back there at the bar,” Baines said. ”The whole fiance bit was a real good improv.

You're fine, for an amateur.”

”Look,” I said, ”I have a hundred bucks in my pocket. Just take it.”

They looked at one another and laughed.

”He thinks we want money,” Baines said.

Nicole reached down and held up my chin. ”Look at this picture,” she said.

I looked at the snapshot she thrust at me. A young blond woman with a nice face, a cheerleader's freshness, but with slightly big teeth. The photo looked to be several years old. The woman seemed vaguely familiar.

”I don't know her,” I said.

”You f.u.c.king liar,” Nicole replied. ”She met you in that same bar two years ago. Her name was Gail. Gail Harden.”

I tried but I couldn't quite recall her. Still, there was something- that overbite.

”You remember her, don't you?”

”No,” I said. ”There's some mistake. I never knew her.”

She kicked me in the ribs with her high heels. I groaned, shook my head.

”You were all she could talk about. Roger, the ad genius. Roger, who made love to her for five weeks. Roger and she were going to get married.”

”Married? No. No way I ever told her that.”

”Then you do admit you knew her.”

Now I remembered. Two years ago. I had just gotten back from the Hamptons and wasn't quite ready to give up my good times. She was sitting in the Head one evening, just before it got dark, dressed in this pretty little flower-print gown. She just looked so young and summery. The perfect way for me to launch back into work.

”Okay,” I said. ”We went out for a few weeks. Three, maybe four times, but that was it. And I never promised her anything . . .”

”Bulls.h.i.+t, you gave her c.o.ke, right?”

”Maybe.”

Now it was Ronnie's turn to kick me in the ribs. I groaned and thought I could feel my organs leaking blood.

”Okay, I did. So what? Everybody does a little toot or two. C'mon. It wasn't like it was her first time.”

”No, but it was the first time she'd fallen in love. Then you dumped her. She called you over and over, begged you just to call her back, to be her friend.”

”That's not how it works,” I said. ”When it's over, it's over.

I didn't want to lead her on. I never promised her anything. You bring her here and ask her in front of me. You'll see.”

”That would be kind of hard,” Nicole said. ”My sister went home to Minnesota and hung herself. She left these poems all about you.”

She dumped a book that looked like a journal in front of me.

It fell open and I saw poems written in colored inks. The kind a junior high school girl might have written.

”No, that's a lie,” I said.

She stuck another picture on the floor. A police photograph of Gail hanging from an attic beam. She had on that same summery floral dress. She had long, beautiful legs, like her sister's. Suddenly, I didn't know why, I began to pray, ”Oh G.o.d, G.o.d, G.o.d . . . You can't blame that on me. She must have been unstable to begin with, right? She must have been crazy.”

”She loved you. You turned her onto drugs, made her crazy for you, then you dumped her. You murdered her, as surely as if you'd kicked over the chair she stood on.”

”Who are you, her brother?” I said, crying.

”No, I'm Nicole's husband, a.s.shole. We planned this for a long time. We were going to invite you out to dinner with us . . . but you turned the tables on us. But it doesn't matter. You can just as well drink your dessert right here.”

He pulled two small vials out of his big Burberry coat. One red, the other blue.

”See these?” he said. ”One works like battery acid. The other will just make you violently ill, but you might survive. We're going to give you a chance. Drink either one, then wait five minutes.

You'll know. They're both bad, but the poison makes you start to bleed from your ears, nose, and a.s.shole. The other one will only destroy most of your intestines.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t. You're nuts. I'm not drinking either one of them,” I said.

”If you don't,” Nicole said, ”we'll knock you unconscious and pour the one with the poison down your throat.”

Up until that point I'd been scared but somehow numbed by the whole thing. I mean, there was an air of unreality to the whole strange affair thanks to the c.o.ke, but it was rapidly wearing off.

”Which one will it be, Rog?” Baines said. ”The red bottle or the blue?” He put them close to my lips; that's when I began to scream.

”Help me! Help, they're killing me!”

”Wrong answer,” he said, slamming the gun b.u.t.t down on my head.

I came awake in a white room, my stomach burning, my throat scorched by fire. I tried to talk but it felt as though someone had used a flamethrower on me. Then I tried to move my arms, to signal somebody for help, but I was strapped to a gurney, like a madman. That made sense because I was was a madman, a madman burning alive from the inside out. a madman, a madman burning alive from the inside out.

I thrashed my bashed-in head from side to side, looking for help, making dying-bird noises.

Suddenly, the white curtain flew back and there was a tall woman who looked like a doctor peering down at me through thick gla.s.ses. Behind her was . . . Wease. My c.o.ke dealer.

”Weease,” I croaked.

”Keep calm, Mr. Deakens,” the doctor said.

”Gonna . . . Gonnaa . . . die,” I croaked. ”Poisoned.”

Wease moved forward.