Some day. When was it going to end? He was pretty sure the Berzerk had cleared his system, but his aches and pains seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Especially his head. He'd had the radio on earlier and some station had played "You Keep Me Hanging On." Now it kept droning through his frazzled brain, Diana Ross's voice like a power saw hitting a nail.
And worst of all, he saw a good chance this whole trip might be for nothing. Had no idea how often or how much a rakosh ate, but if it had fed on Bondy first, then Gleason, he might still have a chance of finding Nadia alive. A slim one, but he had to give it a shot. Might have a hard time living with himself if he didn't.
He'd figured a train of freak show trucks and trailers would be next to impossible to miss, but he damn near did. He was too intent on an all-news station's big breaking story as he flashed by the New Gretna rest area…
"… mass murder in midtown: gangland figure Milos Dragovic, known in many quarters as 'the Slippery Serb,' is dead, apparently of stab wounds, along with three top executives of a pharmaceutical firm. The four were found locked in a conference room in the GEM Pharma offices in midtown by a cleaning crew a short while ago. This is not Dragovic's first appearance in the news today. He was—"
Jack was a good hundred yards past the rest stop, congratulating himself on how well that stunt had worked, when something familiar about the motley assortment of vehicles clustered in the southern end of the parking lot registered in his consciousness.
He slowed, found an official use only cutoff, and made an illegal U-turn across the median onto the northbound lanes. Half a minute later he pulled into the rest area and found a parking spot near the Burger King/ Nathan's/TCBY sign where he had a good view of the freak show vehicles.
At this hour on a Wednesday morning in May, the rest area was fairly deserted. Except for a few couples straggling back from Atlantic City, Oz's folk had the lot pretty much to themselves. But why this rest area of all places? This was the only one Jack knew of that had a State Police barracks for a neighbor.
He slumped in the seat. Bad thought: if Oz was traveling with someone he'd abducted, this would be the last place he'd stop. Sick foreboding settled on Jack like a wet tarp.
But he'd come this far…
He scanned the area. No way to sneak up on them, so he settled for a direct approach. Of course the smart thing to do was to dime Oz out to the New Jersey State cops a couple hundred yards away, but that didn't sit right. Never would. And besides, if Nadia had become rakoshi chow, the state cops would find nothing. And the Scar-lip problem would remain.
Jack opened the trunk and stared at the gasoline can. His plan had been Scar-lip first, then Nadia. He'd have to reverse that now. Find Nadia if possible, then go for the rakosh. He pulled the silenced .22 from where he'd hidden it beneath the spare, stuck it in the waistband under his warm-up, walked toward the Oddity Emporium vehicles.
Counted two 18-wheelers and twenty or so trailers and motor homes of various shapes and sizes and states of repair. As he neared he heard hammering sounds; seemed to come from one of the semi trailers. Two of the dog-faced roustabouts stepped from behind a motor home as Jack reached the perimeter of the cluster. They growled a warning and pointed back toward the food court.
"I want to see Oz," Jack said.
More growls and more emphatic pointing.
"Look, he either gets a visit from me or I walk over to the State Police barracks there and have them pay him a visit."
The roustabouts didn't seem to feature that idea. Looked at each other, then one hurried away. A moment later he was back. Motioned Jack to follow him. Jack lowered the zipper on his warm-up top to give him quicker access to the P-98, then started moving.
One of the roustabouts stayed behind. As Jack followed the other on a winding course through the haphazardly parked vehicles, he saw a crew of workers trying to patch a hole in the flank of one of the semi trailers. He pulled up short when he saw the size of the hole: five or six feet high, a couple of feet wide. The edges of the metal skin were flared outward, as if a giant fist had punched through from within. And Jack was pretty sure that fist had belonged to something cobalt blue with yellow eyes.
Shit! He closed his eyes and slammed his fists against his thighs. He wanted to break something. What else could go wrong today?
But his spirits suddenly lifted as he realized Oz hadn't wanted to park his troupe near the police barracks—he'd had no choice. Maybe Nadia was still alive.
The roustabout had stopped ahead and was motioning him to hurry up. Jack did just that and soon came to the trailer he recognized as Oz's. The man himself was standing before it, watching the repair work on the truck.
"It got loose, didn't it?" Jack said as he came up beside him.
The taller man rotated the upper half of his body and looked at Jack. His expression was anything but welcoming.
"Oh, it's you. You do get around."
Took most of Jack's dwindling self-control to keep from taking a swing at Oz right then and there. He was bursting to ask about Nadia but forced himself to stick to the rakosh. That was old news between them; he'd cover that, then press on.
"Had to feed it, didn't you? Had to bring it up to full strength. Damn it, you knew the risk you were taking."
"It was caged with iron bars. I thought—"
"You thought wrong. I warned you. I've seen that thing at full strength. Iron or not, that cage wasn't going to hold it."
"I admire your talent for stating the obvious."
"Where is it?"
For the first time Jack detected a trace of fear in Oz's eyes.
"I don't know."
"Swell." He glanced around. "Where's that guy Hank?"
"Hank? What could you want with that imbecile?"
"Just wondering if he was bothering it again."
The boss slammed a bony fist into a palm. "I thought he'd learned his lesson. Well, he'll learn it now." He turned and called into the night. "Everyone—find Hank! Find him and bring him to me at once!"
They waited but no one brought Hank. Hank was nowhere to be found.
"It appears he's run off," Prather said.
"Or got carried off."
"We found no blood near the truck, so perhaps the young idiot is still alive."
"He is alive," said a woman's voice.
Jack turned and recognized the three-eyed fortuneteller from the show.
"What do you see, Carmella?" Oz said.
"He is in the woods. He stole one of the guns and he carries a spear. He is full of wine and hate. He is going to kill it."
"Oh, I doubt that," Oz said. "Going to get himself killed is more likely."
Jack understood taking a gun, but not the spear; then he remembered the pointed iron rod Hank and Bondy had used to torture it. Neither would do the job. If Hank ever caught up with the rakosh, he wouldn't last long.
He stared at the mass of trees rising on the far side of the parkway. "We've got to find it."
"Yes," Oz said. "Poor thing, alone out there in a strange environment, disoriented, lost, afraid."
Jack couldn't imagine Scar-lip afraid of anything, especially anything it might run across around here.
"On the subject of lost, alone, and afraid," Jack said, motioning Oz toward his trailer, "I need to ask you something."
Oz followed him until they were all but leaning on the battered wall of the old Airstream, out of earshot of the others.
"What?"
"Where's Nadia Radzminsky?"
Oz's eyes told him nothing, but the way his body tensed spoke volumes.
"Nadia… who?"
"The one Dr. Monnet paid you to eliminate. Where is she?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're—" Oz spotted the pistol Jack had pulled from his waistband.
"I have it straight from Dr. Monnet and his partners," Jack said softly as he began unscrewing the silencer. "They say they hired you to 'remove' Douglas Gleason and Nadia Radzminsky, so playing dumb won't cut
it." He lowered the barrel, pointing it at Oz's right knee. "Now, I'm going to ask you again, and if you give me any more bullshit, I'm going to shoot you. Nothing immediately fatal, but it's going to hurt like hell. And then I'm going to ask you again. And if I don't get the truth, I'll shoot you again, and so it will go."
Jack had to hand it to Oz—he was cool. He glanced at a pair of his doggie roustabouts—how many did he have?—who had noticed the pistol. Low growls rumbled in their throats as they edged closer.
"They'll tear you to pieces before you get off that second shot. Perhaps before you get off the first."
"Don't count on it." Jack leveled the barrel at Oz's midsection. "I can pull this trigger lots of times before I go down. Any idea what a hollowpoint round, even a twenty-two, can do once it breaks up inside you?"
Jack's pistol was loaded with FMJs, but no need to tell Oz that.
"And don't think the shots will go unnoticed over there." Jack cocked his head toward the State Police barracks. "So not only will you be dead, but a bunch of troopers will be treating this whole area as a crime scene. They'll go through it with a fine comb. What'll they find?"
Oz's expression fluctuated between fear and rage. Jack pressed on, heading for home.
"You've gathered a nice little family around you, Oz. What will happen to them when you're gone and they've been broken up and scattered because of certain crimes you've committed? All because you wouldn't answer a simple question."
Jack hoped the bluff would work. He knew he'd be beaten to a bloody pulp if he pulled the trigger, and even if he survived, he feared police scrutiny as much as Oz. More. But Oz couldn't know that.
"Let's suppose, just suppose," Oz said, "that they were here. What happens?"
They? Jack fought to keep from showing the relief surging within him.
"They leave with me and that's that."
"How do I know you won't stop at the first phone and report us?"
"You've got my word," Jack said. "I've got nothing against you, Oz. I have a business relationship with Nadia. If I get her out of this, you and me are even. I'm happy never to see or hear of you again, and I'm sure it's mutual."
"But what about them?"
"I think I can square it with them. Let's go ask."
Oz held back. "There's still the matter of Dr. Monnet. He—"
"He's dead."
The eyes narrowed. Oz wasn't buying. "Really." He drew out the word.
"Just turn on the radio. It's on all the news stations."
"You?"
"Never laid a finger on him. Dragovic, I'd guess."
"I see," Oz said, nodding. A small smile played about his lips. That obviously made sense to him.
"Monnet paid you to off them," Jack said, "but I assume you had other plans. Sushi for the rakosh, right?"
"The creature's eating habits appear to be similar to those of a big snake," Oz said, neither confirming nor denying. "It gorges itself, then doesn't eat again for days. I haven't had time yet to learn its cycle."
"And now that it's gone, you've got no use for the food you've stockpiled for it. Am I right?"
He nodded and sighed. "I suppose that settles it, then."
He led Jack toward the center of the vehicle cluster. Playing it safe, Jack followed close behind, his pistol trained on Oz's back. The roustabouts—three now—followed. Oz stopped before an exceptionally run-down red trailer.
Jack heard something thumping against the inner walls and faint cries for help. Oz pointed to the padlock on the door and one of the roustabouts unlocked it.
As the door swung open, Jack slid his pistol behind his thigh. An idea of how to make this a smooth extraction was forming, but it might not work with artillery on display.
The cries and pounding ceased. For a moment nothing happened; then a sandy-haired man poked his head out. He looked pale, haggard, uncertain, but Jack recognized him as Douglas Gleason from the photo Nadia had shown him. Then Nadia appeared beside him.
All right, Jack thought. All right. Now to get them out of here.
"Good evening, Dr. Radzminsky," he said.
Her head pivoted toward him and her eyes widened in recognition and relief.
"Jack!" she cried, her voice harsh and ragged from shouting for who knew how long. "Oh, Jack, it's you!"
"Jack? Who's Jack?" Gleason was saying, but Nadia shushed him.
"It's all right. He's a friend. Jack, how did you get here? How did you manage—?"
"Long story. Suffice for now that Monnet and his partners arranged for Mr. Prather here to kill you and your fiance."
"Oh, no!" she said with more despair than shock.
"Knew it!" Gleason said. "Had to be him!"
"But why?"
"He and Dragovic were making Berzerk, and you knew it. But Mr. Prather is not a murderer," Jack said, nodding toward Oz, whose eyes widened in surprise. "So he merely kept you out of sight and out of harm's way until he could find a solution for your, um, predicament."
Jack was winging this. He glanced at Oz for a little backup.
"Yes," Oz said, barely missing a beat. "Dr. Monnet was blackmailing me, so I couldn't go to the police. I didn't know what to do. But now that he's dead—"
"Dead?" Nadia said. She looked at Jack.
"Milos Dragovic killed him."
"With him gone," Oz said, "it's safe for me to release you."
Jack said, "But there's one matter we have to settle first: This never happened. Mr. Prather needs your word on that."
Gleason needed about a second before nodding. "I can handle that."
But Nadia hesitated, frowning, not onboard yet.
"Come on, Nadj," Gleason said, putting his arm around her. "We weren't harmed. They even fed us."
"I've never been so frightened in all my life!"
"Yeah, but it's better than being dead. He could've killed us—he was supposed to kill us, and it would have been easier, but he didn't. We owe him something, don't you think?"
Come on, Nadia, Jack thought, trying a little telepathy. Say yes and we're out of here.
Finally she shrugged. "I don't know about owing him," she said, glaring at Oz. "But I guess we can keep it to ourselves."
Jack repressed a sigh of relief. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Gleason.
"My Buick's in front of the Burger King sign. Wait for me there. I've got one more matter to settle with Mr. Prather."
After Nadia and her beau had hurried from the scene, Jack turned to Oz.
"Where'd the rakosh break out?"
"About a mile back. Right near mile marker fifty-one-point-three, to be exact. We stopped but could not stay parked on the shoulder—we'd have the police asking what happened—so we pulled in here."
"We've got to find it."
"Nothing I'd like better," said the boss, "although I have a feeling you'd prefer to see it dead."
"You've got that right."
"An interesting area here," Oz said. "Right on the edge of the Pine Barrens."
Jack cursed under his breath. The Barrens. Shit. How was he going to locate Scar-lip in there—if that was where it was? This whole area was like a time warp. Near the coast you had a nuclear power plant and determinedly quaint but unquestionably twentieth-century towns like Smithville and Leeds Point. West of the parkway was wilderness. The Barrens—a million or so unsettled acres of pine, scrub brush, vanished towns, hills, bogs, creeks, all pretty much unchanged in population and level of civilization from the time the Indians had the Americas to themselves. From the Revolutionary days on, it had served as a haven for people who didn't want to be found. Hessians, Tories, smugglers, Lenape Indians, heretical Amish, escaped cons—at one time or another, they'd all sought shelter in the Pine Barrens.
And now add a rakosh to its long list of fugitives.
"We're not too far from Leeds Point, you know," Prather said, an amused expression flitting across his sallow face. "The birthplace of the Jersey Devil."
"Save the hi
story lesson for later," Jack said. "Are you sending out a search party?"
"No. No one wants to go, and I can't say I blame them. But even if some were willing, we've got to be set up in Cape May for our show tonight. And frankly, without Dr. Monnet buying its blood, I can't justify the risk of going after it."
"That leaves me."
If Scar-lip got too much of a head start, he'd never find it which he could live with… unless the drive to kill Vicky was still fixed in its dim brain. Seemed unlikely, but Jack couldn't take the chance.
"You're not seriously thinking of going after it."
Jack shrugged. "Know somebody who'll do it for me?"
"May I ask why?" Oz said.
"Take too long to tell. Let's just leave it that Scar-lip and I go back a ways and we've got some unfinished business."
Oz stared at him a moment, then turned and began walking back toward his trailer.
"Come with me. Perhaps I can help."
Jack doubted that but followed and waited outside as Oz rummaged around within his trailer. Finally he emerged holding something that looked like a Game-boy. He tapped a series of buttons, eliciting a beep, then handed it to Jack.
"This will lead you to the rakosh."
Jack checked out the thing: it had a small screen with a blip of green light blinking slowly in one corner. He rotated his body and the blip moved.
"This is the rakosh?" Then he remembered the collar it had been wearing. "What'd you do—rig it with a LoJack?"
"In a way. I have electronic telltales on our animals. Occasionally one gets loose and I've found this to be an excellent way to track them. Most of them are irreplaceable."
"Yeah. Not too many two-headed goats wandering around."
"Correct. The range is only two miles, however. As you can see, the creature is still within range, but it may not be for long. Operation is simple: Your position is center screen; if the blip is left of center, the creature is to the left of you; below center, it's behind you; and so on. You track it by proceeding in whatever direction moves the blip closer to the center of the screen. When it reaches dead center, you'll have found your rakosh. Or rather, it will have found you."
Jack swiveled back and forth until the locator blip was at the top of the faintly glowing screen. He looked up and found himself facing the shadowy mass of trees west of the Parkway. Just as he'd feared. Scar-lip was in the pines.
All the Rage rj-4 Page 35
