And there was more than a single drop being sprayed into the air.
I looked at Pasha.
Even though she was unconscious, she’d begun to cry.
I was crying, too.
But it wasn’t normal crying. It was like my tear ducts had been opened up.
Then came the drool.
As everything got blurry, I realized Hugo had taken his foot off of my chest. I seized the opportunity, managing to get to my feet.
Once again, for probably the last time, I put up my fists to square off against my brother.
HARRY
I ran to the Corvette, so fast I probably broke land speed records.
This was it. My big moment. I could already picture the headlines.
HARRY MCGLADE SAVES THE CITY.
I just needed to find—
My cell rang. Jack.
“We’re in front of the theater. The doors are locked.”
“Nerve gas,” I told her. “Hugo has sarin. Enough to kill thousands.”
“Where are you?”
“The alley, half a block away. Entrance in back. Hugo has Phin and Pasha, and I’m about to make my move.”
I hung up, found my gas mask and my disposable hazmat suit, but still couldn’t find the thing I needed most. Phin had thrown my shit everywhere. The guy really had no respect for other people’s stuff.
I began to sort through everything. Duct tape. Tent pegs. Fishing tackle box. Trench shovel. Hand saw.
Where the hell was it? Big ass white box with a red—
“Cross,” I said.
My first aid kit.
I still couldn’t find my Magnum, but I’d run out of time. I needed to get the hazmat suit on. It was a big, yellow, thin, one-piece, chemical-proof, fabric jumpsuit with built-in booties, hood, and gloves.
It was state of the art. Top of the line. Best of the best.
It was also impossible to put on.
PHIN
It looked like Pasha had stopped breathing.
I wasn’t far behind.
Another punch, which hit with the force of a freight train, spinning me around, knocking me to my knees.
I heard my brother laugh, muffled through his gas mask.
Then I heard thousands of people cheer. The TV monitor, showing a full house, the audience applauding.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably, drool running down my chin. My eyes were so wet that everything was a blur.
I threw up.
My body was failing. Shutting down.
I was dying. Fast.
Everybody dies. It was inevitable.
But I wasn’t going to let Hugo win this time.
If I was dead, he was coming with me.
I advanced.
HUGO
Phin still wanted to fight? Didn’t he know it was over?
His little brother threw a punch, which Hugo deflected easily.
Sad.
But funny.
Hugo chanced a look at the monitors.
The egg scene was on the screen. Fog had filled the stage.
Hugo hit Phin, knocking him aside, then turned off the sarin valves so he didn’t waste more of it.
Time to kill six thousand people.
It would be fun to see if he could get away before the cops arrived. If he was caught, no big deal. Hugo liked prison. He’d be treated like a god.
But if he got away, it would be legendary. He’d be known as the biggest mass murderer in US history. There would be a nationwide—maybe even a worldwide—manhunt for him.
Hugo imagined a life on the run. So much excitement. So much brutality.
It beat the hell out of any dumb ass white supremacy agenda.
Hugo turned and began to reattach the tubes.
HARRY
The damn hazmat suit didn’t have an opening. No zipper. No Velcro. How the hell were you supposed to get into it? Climb in through the neck hole?
I squinted at the instructions.
You were supposed to climb in through the neck hole.
Apparently, the neck hole was elastic, and could stretch to fit over your legs.
“Huh. That’s pretty clever.”
I began to put it on.
Turned out it wasn’t clever at all.
It was a gigantic, impossible, pain in the ass.
PHIN
My whole body began to spasm. But my thoughts were surprisingly clear.
I realized something. Something obvious.
Nerve agents had antidotes.
If my hunch was right, I could save Pasha, and kill both Hugo and Earl in one bold move.
I stood once more, on wobbly legs, and ran at him. He turned, facing me, throwing a jab that I barely ducked.
Then I clung to my brother’s waist, and before he could peel me off I reached up—
—pulling off his gas mask.
And then I saw it. For the very first time in as long as I’d known him.
Fear.
Hugo was afraid.
HUGO
The Man With Seven Tears tore at the collar of his Tyvek suit, and found it surprisingly strong.
He dropped to his knees, searching the floor near the woman.
Göth. Where is—
There!
He snatched up the razor and slashed it across his hip, cutting the suit and his flesh. Ignoring the pain, he reached for his back pocket.
For the Mark 1 kit.
HARRY
Wow. That was a struggle.
When they did the made-for-TV movie based on this, I had to remember to tell the writer that the real fight wasn’t between Hugo and Phin, or what was happening inside the theater. All of the drama, pathos, conflict, and triumph, occurred in an alley, between one heroic man and a devious hazmat suit.
But once that fight was over—Harry McGlade Private Eye for the win—I located the first aid kit and got ready to spring into action.
Except that something caught my eye.
No, it wasn’t my Magnum. I’d given up hope of ever seeing my beloved .44 again. Phin, ever careless, had no doubt lost it somewhere.
But right in front of me, on the car seat, was a Taser gun.
“That might come in handy,” I said.
There was no one to hear it, but that would play awesome on TV.
PHIN
You had to give a tiny bit of credit to Nazis. They were pretty good at planning.
If you’re going to use a nerve agent, there needed to be safeguards. A gas mask and biohazard suit, obviously. But they couldn’t guarantee your safety.
So you have to have an antidote close by.
By taking Hugo’s mask, I’d made him show me where the antidote was.
I could still save Pasha.
Hugo would die. And I would die. But I’d take Earl with me, and it would be worth it never to hear his diseased voice in my head ever again.
I could win.
All I had to do was take the antidote from Hugo.
As he knelt there, fumbling with a plastic case, I did a spin kick aimed at his head.
My form was sloppy. I’d pissed myself.
But I connected, hard, and the son of a bitch went down, the antidote skidding across the floor.
We both scrambled for it.
I got there first.
Then my whole body seized. My muscles going rigid. My jaw locking shut. My diaphragm began to spasm, making it impossible to draw in a breath.
I watched, helpless, as my brother injected himself, twice, in the hip.
“Stay alive a little bit longer, Phineas. You can watch six thousand people die.”
Hugo limped over to the second canister and attached the hose, putting his hand on the valve. Then he turned to me and grinned his horrible, toothless grin.
“What did you think was going to happen, Phin? That you were going to win?”
“Of course we’re going to win, you giant sack of horse shit,” said Harry McGlade. “We’re the good guys.”
And
then he shot Hugo in the chest with a Taser.
My brother dropped like the giant sack of horse shit Harry said he was. McGlade left the switch on, letting Hugo do the million volt boogie, and then he knelt next to me and opened a med kit.
“Duodote,” he said, taking out an autoinjector. “It’s the antidote for nerve gas. I told you I prepared for everything.”
“P-p-p-pa—” I stammered.
“Pasha. I know. I’ve got two of them.”
Harry stabbed me with the pen, and then went to her.
Within ten seconds, I could breathe again.
Still cramping, I managed to turn over. I threw up once more, tried to get the shakes under control, and noticed the Dan Wesson .45, under a chair.
I dragged myself toward it.
“Pasha’s breathing. She’ll be okay.”
My shaky hand closed around the 1911. I pointed it at Hugo.
“Hiya, Jackie,” I heard McGlade say. “What took you so long?”
I looked.
Lieutenant Jack Daniels, in a full space suit, stood in the doorway.
Our eyes met.
Then she turned around.
I realized what Jack was doing.
My friend was turning a blind eye.
She wasn’t going to stop me.
“Do it,” Harry said. “You don’t want this asshole to come back again in fifteen years.”
I took careful aim.
“Hey,” I said to Hugo.
As his body shook with electricity, he managed to look at me.
“You lose,” I told him. “I win.”
Then I set the gun down, and passed out.
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 with one hand. The other was in a cast.
Pasha.
“Hi,” I said.
“You’re awake. I’ve been waiting a while.”
“You okay?”
“Bad break. Could have been worse. A lot worse.”
I reached out my hand for her.
She didn’t reach for mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For everything.”
“Me, too.” Pasha started to tear up. “Dammit. I’ve cried so much lately. I don’t want to cry anymore.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll make sure you never—”
She held up her good hand. “Phin. Stop. Just stop.”
Not a good sign.
“I can’t… I can’t be with you anymore, Phin. This isn’t the life I want.”
“I can change.”
“It’s not even that. I mean, it is that, but it’s also… when I look at you…”
“What.”
“I look at you. Your nose… your chin…”
I knew what she was trying to say. “You see him.”
Pasha nodded, tears forming. “I love you, Phin. I’ll always love you. But you and me, we’re not meant to end up together.”
“We love each other. Isn’t that enough?”
She shook her head. “No. You know, all the time he had me, I kept waiting for you to come in and rescue me. And you did. You rescued me. That’s the kind of man you are. There are women who dream about that, Phin. About a knight in shining armor, riding in to save them from the dragon. But… I’m not one of those women.”
That hurt deeper than any of my injuries. It even hurt worse than my cancer.
Pasha stood up and turned to leave. I thought about what I should do. What I should say.
But Pasha had been through enough.
If I really loved her, the most loving thing I could do was let her go.
“Have a beautiful life, Pasha.”
I meant it more than anything I’d ever said.
She nodded again.
And then she was gone.
“Bottom of the page,” McGlade said, tossing the newspaper on my hospital bed. “Column on the left.”
“Local Gym Teacher Killed in Gay Hate Crime,” I read.
I read further, and saw the deceased was named John Packer.
“I wouldn’t be part of any organization that wanted to beat me to death,” Harry said. “And I didn’t even release the really dirty pictures. Just the wholesome ones.”
I flipped to the front page. The headline was PRIVATE EYE SAVES THOUSANDS with an above-the-fold picture of a smiling Harry McGlade, giving a thumbs up.
“I was hoping for ‘Harry Mcglade Saves the City.’ But at least the photo is good.” He gave me a grin that matched his pic.
“Nice,” I told him.
“I’m gonna be on Oprah tomorrow.”
“Good for you, Harry.”
“Also, I found my Magnum. It was under the front seat. So you don’t owe me a new one.”
“Happy to hear it.”
“How’s Pasha doing?”
“She’ll be okay. She left me.”
Harry nodded. “That’s because you’re a prick. But don’t worry. She’ll find someone else.”
“Thanks.” Then I said it again. For real. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, you’re always thanking me. How about actually doing something for me?”
“Name it.”
McGlade reached into his pocket and held up two tickets.
“Next week. Aliens: The Musical. Front row seats.”
He looked so earnest, so hopeful, that I couldn’t help it.
“I’m in,” I said.
“The Caucasian Nation was going to blame it on minority groups.” Jack sat in the visitor’s chair, looking very much the professional in a blue pantsuit and boots. “We found letters. They thought it would start a race war.”
“Harry and I figured that out.”
“It’s amazing that not a single person died. Some army scientists tested the sarin. They said it had degraded, lost a lot of potency. But you and Harry still saved a whole lot of people. And if Hugo got away with it, who knows? Maybe it would have started a war.”
I looked away, staring at the ceiling.
“He’s never getting out of prison,” Jack said, reading my thoughts. “The list of charges against your brother is longer than the Chicago phone book.”
“Don’t lose him this time.”
“We won’t. Six armed guards, heavy duty shackles, the works.”
Both of us were quiet for a little bit. It was comfortable, rather than awkward.
“I heard Pasha dumped you.”
Well, that was awkward.
“Her loss,” Jack said. “You’re a pretty amazing guy, Phin.”
“You just catch me at the good times,” I said.
More silence. Eventually, Jack reached out, put her hand on mine. “Why didn’t you kill him?”
Why indeed?
“I keep thinking about that. Maybe I felt sorry for him. Maybe I was trying to be something that I’m not. Or maybe…” I stared at her. “Maybe I was trying to impress a girl.”
“Really?” Jack smiled. “Well, maybe she was impressed.”
She stood up, gave me a small kiss on the cheek, and then handed me an envelope she’d had in her blazer.
“See you around, Phineas Troutt.”
After she left, I opened it. The greeting card had Santa Claus on the front. Inside, Jack had written:
I think you’ll make it past Xmas, but I’m covering my bases.
My very first Christmas card.
And I had a newfound resolve to make sure it wouldn’t be my last.
HARRY
“Oprah, you look fab,” I told her. “Did you lose weight again?”
Hey! Don’t cut away! This is the best part of the—
PHIN
A day.
A week.
A month.
Many months.
And then the phone call.
&
nbsp; “Complete remission,” the doctor told me. “It’s one of the most dramatic turnarounds I’ve ever seen. Congratulations.”
I didn’t believe it.
But the pain had stopped.
Maybe that was all the proof I really needed.
“Complete remission,” I said to Earl. “What do you think about that, asshole?”
Earl, I’m pleased to report, wasn’t there to reply.
AUTHOR AFTERWORD
EVERYBODY DIES was written in 1996, four years after I’d graduated college. It was the third book in my Phineas Troutt trilogy, after DEAD ON MY FEET and DYING BREATH, and was never published. Six years later I took a different route and made Jack Daniels, one of the supporting characters, the lead in WHISKEY SOUR, which became my first published novel.
Those three Phin books were the only novels of mine that hadn’t ever been seen by fans. Family and friends read them and liked them, literary agents read them and didn’t like them. But readers 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 2018
JOE KONRATH’S
COMPLETE BIBLIOGRAPHY
JACK DANIELS THRILLERS
WHISKEY SOUR
BLOODY MARY
RUSTY NAIL
DIRTY MARTINI
FUZZY NAVEL
CHERRY BOMB
SHAKEN
STIRRED with Blake Crouch
RUM RUNNER
LAST CALL
SHOT OF TEQUILA
BANANA HAMMOCK
WHITE RUSSIAN
OLD FASHIONED
SERIAL KILLERS UNCUT with Blake Crouch
LADY 52 with Jude Hardin
65 PROOF short story collection
Phineas Troutt Series - Three Thriller Novels (Dead On My Feet #1, Dying Breath #2, Everybody Dies #3) Page 82
