At least I wouldn’t have to deal with Earl anymore.
“What the hell?”
Bruiser released his sleeper hold, just a centimeter, at the same time I heard a noise.
A familiar noise.
A loud HONK!
His easing up was enough to lower my chin, get it between his arm and my neck.
There was another HONK! Standing next to me, pecking at Bruiser’s side, was my junkie Canadian goose pal, wondering why he wasn’t being fed more pills.
“Get away from me!” Bruiser yelled.
The goose pecked him again, in the face, and once again Bruiser eased up on the pressure.
Not enough for me to breathe. But enough for me to get my mouth open.
That’s all I needed. I bit down on his arm hard enough to crush marble.
He screamed, managed to hold me for another half a second, and then he couldn’t shove me away fast enough and I was spitting a hunk of his flesh out and gasping for air.
His foot met with my chest, causing me to roll over. I continued the roll, gulping up oxygen, managing to get on all fours and somehow back onto my feet.
The goose had saved me, but only delayed the inevitable. In fact, everything was worse, because now that I knew I wanted to live, dying would be a lot more painful.
I had nowhere to run. No way to fight back.
Unless…
I looked around, finding my target.
Then I sprinted.
Ten steps later, I was raising the lid and climbing into the Dumpster, falling into the garbage face-first.
I wasn’t there to hide.
I was done hiding.
The trash had piled up since yesterday, but after only a few seconds of digging I found the Cap’n Crunch cereal box in the exact same place.
I dug my hand inside.
Pulled out the baggie.
Hydro.
Opening the zip top, I shoved my face in and snorted as much powder as I could, just as Bruiser reached down and yanked me out by my arm.
He tossed me to the ground.
Then the drug took me over.
First, the sharp hit.
Then the disassociation from pain and reality.
Then—
RAGE!
I snarled, throwing myself at Bruiser, swinging at his face so fast and so hard he began to back up.
He threw a punch at me, I slipped it, and then I jumped on him, my mouth craving more of his blood. My teeth found his neck, and I chewed on it like a tough steak, twisted off his ear, then jammed a finger deep into his nostril.
Howling, Bruiser tried to push me off. But I’d hooked a finger around his septum, and I pulled him to the ground with me.
Releasing his face, I scooted back and tangled my fingers in his hair and began to dribble his head against the curb like a basketball.
What a bouncy, bouncy, basketball.
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
When did basketballs get so bloody?
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
Are basketballs actually alive?
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
This one must be alive. It’s got a brain inside.
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
At least, it used to have a brain inside.
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
BOUNCE!
Aww. Poor little basketball. It’s not alive anymore.
Then the convulsions seized me, and everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, I saw white.
White walls. White sheets.
A hospital.
I took an inventory of my body parts. Legs were still there. So were arms. Everything hurt, but it was a diffused pain.
A woman was sitting in a chair, next to my bed, reading a magazine.
Pasha? Annie?
Who did I want it to be?
The woman looked up.
“You’re awake.”
It was Jack.
“Where—?”
“St. Augustus Hospital. You overdosed on drugs. Pasha found you.”
I looked around the room.
Jack shook her head. “She’s not here.”
“Annie?”
“The girl that Bruiser abducted? She’s not here, either.”
“But you’re here.”
Jack sighed. “I’ve spent the last six hours talking with officials, trying to keep you from being charged with manslaughter.”
“Self-defense,” I pleaded.
“You bashed a man’s brains out. Literally. They were all over the parking lot. When the police came, a goose was eating them.”
“Is the goose okay?”
Jack folded her arms across her chest. “Pasha said you went up to Redemption. The same night Jimmy Mulrooni died.”
“Did she say that to anyone else?”
“Her lawyer advised her not to.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
Jack stared for a moment and said, “No. No charges.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
Jack stood up. “What you owe me, is a game of pool. The doctor says you’re a mess, but you should be out in a few days.”
“You leaving?”
“I got a date. Glad to see you’re not dead.”
Jack headed for the door.
“No kiss goodbye?” I asked.
She gave me the finger.
I smiled, then drifted back to sleep.
Someone was shaking me, saying my name.
Annie? Pasha?
McGlade.
He was wearing a hospital gown.
“Kevlar is a lifesaver, but no one tells you how much it hurts.” He frowned. “Eight broken ribs, and acute groin strain. Want to see?”
“No.”
“You should check it out. My balls swelled up to three times their size. It’s like looking at a big, pink balloon. With curly hairs and a dick on top.”
“I’ll pass.”
Harry pulled up a chair, wincing as he sat down. “Jack told me some of what happened. You want to fill in the details?”
I gave him a condensed version.
“So you snorted Hydro and went Dawn of the Dead on his ass?”
“Something like that.”
“And the goose saved your life.”
“Yeah.”
“Makes sense,” Harry shrugged. “Birds of a feather.”
I actually chuckled at that.
“Really? You’re laughing at one of my jokes? I don’t think you’ve ever done that before.”
“You’re funny, in small doses.”
“Speaking of small doses, let’s talk about my fee.”
“I thought I paid you in coke.”
“That got lost. When I flushed it down the toilet.”
I didn’t pursue the issue. I owed Harry and Jack so much, I’d never be able to repay it.
“So how much do you want, Harry? Name it, and it’s yours.”
“I don’t want money. I want a favor.”
“What favor?”
“I don’t have one right now. But someday, in the future, I may need one.”
I nodded. “Consider it done.”
“It may not be for a while. May not be for years. That means you need to stick around. You get what I mean?”
I was oddly touched by that. “I get it, Harry.”
He beamed, then patted my hand. “Glad to hear it, brother.”
“Brother?”
“It’s a term of endearment.”
“I thought we weren’t friends.”
Harry shook his head like I was an idiot. “Jack doesn’t do tough love. But I do. So I withheld affection in order to get you on the right path, and it worked. Apparently you’re totally in love with me.”
“I’m going back to sleep now.”
“You want a hug, first? A little kiss, maybe?”
I settled for a hug.
Harry offered to get me some coffee from the cafeteria, and I agreed, but a few minutes after he left, I fell asleep again.
When I opened my eyes, Annie was there.
She looked terrific. More beautiful than I remembered.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “About everything.”
Annie shook her head. Her eyes became glassy.
“Did he hurt you?” I asked.
“No. Just scared me.” Then the tears came. “Did you read any of my letters?”
“I’ve kept them all. I haven’t read them.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
I nodded.
“Don’t read them. Throw them away.”
I reached for her. “Annie…”
She pulled away like a snake was about to bite her. “I can deal with the cancer. I can deal with the drugs. I can even deal with the prostitutes. But what I saw… what you did… to that man…”
“He was going to kill us both, Annie.”
“I don’t care, Phin. I can’t unsee that. The look in your eyes. What you did… what you did to his head.”
“I was on a really powerful narcotic. It made me a little crazy.”
“A little crazy?! I was there when the ambulance came. They had to pick him up with a shovel. And you looked happy doing it. Like a child playing in a sandbox.”
She turned away, then immediately turned back. “Promise me you’ll throw away the letters.”
At least I could be graceful in defeat. “I promise.”
“I won’t be writing you anymore. I hope… I hope you get the help you need.”
I watched her leave. She took part of me with her.
Forget her, Earl said. Pasha owes you money. So does that Persian guy at the club, Kahdem. Fifty large for taking care of LaBeck. You know the pile of snow that kind of cash will buy us? We go to Manny’s, drop some Gs, round up a few pros and spend the week at the Ritz. How’s that sound?
It sounded pretty damn good.
You and me to the end, buddy. Don’t you ever forget that.
“Phin?”
Whatever they were putting in my IV, I was grateful for. Because it was strong enough to blot out my dreams.
So why did I think I heard Pasha?
“Phin.”
Not a dream. She was there next to the bed. Holding my hand.
“I didn’t want to leave you,” I told her.
“I know. You said that because you didn’t want me to follow.”
I nodded.
“I followed anyway.”
I nodded again.
“That woman. Annie. She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. I’m sure she’ll make some guy really happy.”
“But not you?”
“Not me.”
She squeezed my hand tighter. “Do you think I could make you happy?”
I didn’t answer.
Don’t do this, man. Don’t drag this sweet lady into your shitty life.
“I’m not exactly boyfriend material, Pasha.”
“Your cancer.”
I nodded.
“Your drug addiction.”
I nodded.
“Your job.”
“You saw what I did to that guy.”
“You did it to save Annie.” Pasha splayed her fingers across her chest. “To save me.”
“I have what the police call a history of violence.”
That’s the understatement of the century, Earl said.
“Would you ever raise your hand to me?” Pasha asked.
“Of course not.”
“Then I think… I think we can make this work. But I have some conditions. First, you get into rehab.”
Tell her to go to hell.
“Okay,” I said.
“And then you go back to chemo.”
Chemo? Is she nuts? Remember how much we hated chemo? That shit was worse than death!
“Okay,” I said.
Pasha smiled. I smiled back.
When her lips touched mine I felt more alive than I’d felt in ages.
“I have to get back to the clinic,” she told me. “We open this morning. I can swing by here after work.”
Pasha—my girlfriend—stood up and walked to the door.
Chemo? You think you can get rid of me that easily? You and I have a suicide pact. I’m not leaving. Ever.
Pasha stopped at the doorway, turned, and then came back and kissed me again.
“See you later,” she said.
Then she left.
I stared at the empty doorway.
“Hurry back,” I whispered. “I don’t know how much time I have.”
THE END
AFTERWORD
DEAD ON MY FEET was my very first novel, written in 1994, two years after I’d graduated college. It was good enough to land me a literary agent, but it was never published. Undeterred, I wrote two other books featuring Phineas Troutt. They weren’t published either, so I took a different route and made Jack Daniels the lead in WHISKEY SOUR, which became my first published novel, in 2004.
Those three Phin books were the only three novels of mine that hadn’t ever been read by anyone other than a few people. But fans have asked for them, so I did some extensive rewriting and now DEAD ON MY FEET, DYING BREATH, and EVERYBODY DIES are available to the public.
If you’re new to my books, Phin, Jack, and Harry also appear in a few dozen of my other novels. Check out the following bibliography, or my website www.jakonrath.com, for more details.
And, as always, thanks for reading!
Joe Konrath
Chicago 2017
His name is Phineas Troutt. He’s a problem solver.
Her name is Jack Daniels. She’s a homicide cop.
And then there’s Harry McGlade, private eye.
Phin is trying to find a missing girl.
Jack is on the trail of a serial killer.
Harry is looking for a runaway.
Little do they know, they’re all on the same case…
They call themselves The Club. A group of rich, privileged twenty-somethings who like to indulge in things that money can’t buy. Things like kidnapping, torture, and murder.
They think they can get away with it.
They’re wrong.
DYING BREATH by JA Konrath
United we stand, united we fall
CONTENTS
Foreword
Epigraph
Begin reading DYING BREATH
FOREWORD
I always skip reading forewords, but I’m writing this one because I think it will be helpful for readers, both new ones and longtime fans.
DYING BREATH was written in 1995, three years after I’d graduated college. It was the second of three Phineas Troutt books I wrote before I moved on to techno thrillers (ORIGIN, THE LIST) and eventually the Jack Daniels series, which were the first books I published.
But Jack existed before WHISKEY SOUR‘S print debut in 2004. Jack appeared in many unpublished short stories, and in the Phin trilogy, before she got her own series.
DYING BREATH is as much Jack’s book as it is Phin’s. It fits in Jack’s chronology between DIRTY MARTINI and FUZZY NAVEL.
This is also Harry McGlade’s book.
Some of my readers love Harry, some just tolerate him. He’s my favorite character, and that’s why I perform Harry’s voice in my later audiobooks.
Harry predates both Jack and Phin, and was created when I was in high school in 1984, as a parody of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer. DYING BREATH is the only novel I ever did where Harry has his own point-of-view (though I did do an experimental humor book with him as hero called BANANA HAMMOCK). I’d always intentionally left out Harry’s POV because I thought he was more interesting as someone who pops up in the lives of my main characters, rather than as a main character himself. But cutting McGlade’s POV out of DYING BREATH would have meant cutting out one-third of the book.
Maybe I should have cut him. He’s pretty immature. He also breaks the four
th wall a few times, addressing the reader directly, which some people find weird. You be the judge. But when I decided to unleash these early “lost” books on the public, I chose to remain as close to my original intent as possible. I wrote these when I was a young adult in my twenties, literally half my life ago, and while I’m the same person, I’m not entirely the same writer.
This is easily the longest book I ever wrote on my own (two of the books in the CODENAME: CHANDLER series I did with Ann Voss Peterson are longer). That’s because DYING BREATH is essentially three interwoven novels—one with Phin, one with Jack, and one with Harry. It also follows much more of a mystery format than my other books, so the pace is a bit different than my other work.
I released this Phineas Troutt trilogy because fans kept asking about my never-published novels. If you ever wanted to know what my early writing was like, warts and all, here it is. And with the release of this book, along with DEAD ON MY FEET and EVERYBODY DIES, every one of my novels is now available to the public.
If you’re new to my books, Phin, Jack, and Harry also appear in a lot of my other work. Check out the bibliography at the end of the book, or my website www.jakonrath.com, for more details.
Also, at one point in this story, Phin gets into a bit of cryptography and puzzle solving. If you like that sort of thing, take a look at my STOP A MURDER series, because that’s all about brain teasers.
And, as always, thanks for reading!
Joe Konrath
Chicago 2018
Real friends are our greatest joy and our greatest sorrow. It were almost to be wished that all true and faithful friends should expire on the same day.
—Fenelon
MINNESOTA
MAY 2008
Tucker Shears padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, a thin sheen of sweat on his naked upper body. He stopped at the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer, holding it against his forehead like they do in TV commercials.
“How’s it hanging?” Chad sat at the kitchen table, poking at his Nintendo DS with a plastic stylus.
Tucker unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long pull before answering. “It’s hanging.” He sprawled out on a swivel chair across from his friend.
Chad didn’t bother to look up from his game. “Who’s turn?”
“Garrett’s. Where is the entitled douchebag?”
Phineas Troutt Series - Three Thriller Novels (Dead On My Feet #1, Dying Breath #2, Everybody Dies #3) Page 23
