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intoxicating, and I believe I actually swayed a little as I tasted it. Of course it was just a thought, and I
would certainly never do anything of the kind, would I? I mean, would I really? Dexter? Hello? Why
are you salivating, dear boy?
Certainly not, not me. Why, I was a moral beacon in the spiritual desert of South Florida. Most of the
time. I was upright, scrubbed clean, and mounted on a Dark Charger. Sir Dexter the Chaste to the
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rescue. Or at any rate, probably to the rescue. I mean, all things considered. I pulled open the screen
door and went in.
Immediately inside the door I flattened against the wall, just to be cautious, and felt for a light switch. I
found one right where it should be and flipped it up.
Like Danco s first den of iniquity, this one was sparsely furnished. Once again, the main feature of the
place was a large table in the center of the room. A mirror hung on the opposite wall. Off to the right a
doorway without a door led to what looked like the kitchen, and on the left a closed door, probably a
bedroom or bathroom. Directly across from where I stood was another screen door leading outside,
presumably the way Dr. Danco had made his escape.
And on the far side of the table, now thrashing more furiously than ever, was something dressed in a
pale orange coverall. It looked relatively human, even from across the room.  Over here, oh please,
help me, help me, it said, and I crossed the room and knelt beside it.
His arms and legs were bound with duct tape, naturally, the choice of every experienced, discriminating
monster. As I cut the tape I examined him, listening but not really hearing his constant blubbering of,
 Oh thank God, oh please, oh God, get me loose, buddy, hurry hurry for God s sake. Oh Christ, what
took you so long, Jesus, thank you, I knew you d come, or words to that effect. His skull was
completely shaved, even the eyebrows. But there was no mistaking the rugged manly chin and the scars
festooning his face. It was Kyle Chutsky.
Most of him, anyway.
As the tape came off and Chutsky was able to wiggle up to a sitting position, it became apparent that
he was missing his left arm up to the elbow and his right leg up to the knee. The stumps were wrapped
with clean white gauze, nothing leaking through; again, very nice work, although I did not think
Chutsky would appreciate the care Danco had used in taking his arm and leg. And how much of
Chutsky s mind was also missing was not yet clear, although his constant wet yammering did nothing
to convince me that he was ready to sit at the controls of a passenger jet.
 Oh, God, buddy, he said.  Oh Jesus. Oh thank God, you came, and he leaned his head onto my
shoulder and wept. Since I had some recent experience with this, I knew just what to do. I patted him
on the back and said,  There there. It was even more awkward than when I had done it with Deborah,
since the stump of his left arm kept thumping against me and that made it much harder to fake
sympathy.
But Chutsky s crying jag lasted only a few moments, and when he finally pulled away from me,
struggling to stay in an upright position, my beautiful Hawaiian shirt was soaked. He gave a huge
snuffle, a little too late for my shirt.  Where s Debbie? he said.
 She broke her collarbone, I told him.  She s in the hospital.
 Oh, he said, and he snuffled again, a long wet sound that seemed to echo somewhere inside him.
Then he glanced quickly behind him and tried to struggle to his feet.  We better get out of here. He
might come back.
It hadn t occurred to me that Danco might come back, but it was true. It s a time-honored predator s
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trick to run off and then circle back to see who s sniffing your spoor. If Dr. Danco did that, he would
find a couple of fairly easy targets.  All right, I said to Chutsky.  Let me have a quick look around.
He snaked a hand out his right hand, of course and grabbed my arm.  Please, he said.  Don t
leave me alone.
 I ll just be a second, I said and tried to pull away. But he tightened his grip, still surprisingly strong
considering what he had gone through.
 Please, he repeated.  At least leave me your gun.
 I don t have a gun, I said, and his eyes got much bigger.
 Oh, God, what the hell were you thinking? Christ, we ve got to get out of here. He sounded close to
panic, as though any second now he would begin to cry again.
 All right, I said.  Let s get you up on your, ah, foot. I hoped he didn t catch my glitch; I didn t
mean to sound insensitive, but this whole missing-limbs thing was going to require a bit of retooling in
the area of vocabulary. But Chutsky said nothing, just held out his arm. I helped him up, and he leaned
against the table.  Just give me a few seconds to check the other rooms, I said. He looked at me with
moist, begging eyes, but he didn t say anything and I hurried off through the little house.
In the main room, where Chutsky was, there was nothing to be seen beyond Dr. Danco s working
equipment. He had some very nice cutting instruments, and after carefully considering the ethical
implications, I took one of the nicest with me, a beautiful blade designed for cutting through the
stringiest flesh. There were several rows of drugs; the names meant very little to me, except for a few
bottles of barbiturates. I didn t find any clues at all, no crumpled matchbook covers with phone
numbers written in them, no dry-cleaning slips, nothing.
The kitchen was practically a duplicate of the kitchen at the first house. There was a small and battered
refrigerator, a hot plate, a card table with one folding chair, and that was it. Half a box of doughnuts
sat on the counter, with a very large roach munching on one of them. He looked at me as if he was
willing to fight for the doughnut, so I left him to it.
I came back in to the main room to find Chutsky still leaning on the table.  Hurry up, he said.  For
Christ s sake let s go.
 One more room, I said. I crossed the room and opened the door opposite the kitchen. As I had
expected, it was a bedroom. There was a cot in one corner, and on the cot lay a pile of clothing and a
cell phone. The shirt looked familiar, and I had a thought about where it might have come from. I
pulled out my own phone and dialed Sergeant Doakes s number. The phone on top of the clothing
began to ring.
 Oh, well, I said. I pushed disconnect and went to get Chutsky.
He was right where I had left him, although he looked like he would have run away if he could have.
 Come on, for Christ s sake, hurry up, he said.  Jesus, I can almost feel his breath on my neck. He
twisted his head to the back door and then over to the kitchen and, as I reached to support him, he
turned and his eyes snapped onto the mirror that hung on the wall.
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For a long moment he stared at his reflection and then he slumped as if all the bones had been pulled
out of him.  Jesus, he said, and he started to weep again.  Oh, Jesus.
 Come on, I said.  Let s get moving.
Chutsky shuddered and shook his head.  I couldn t even move, just lying there listening to what he
was doing to Frank. He sounded so happy  What s your guess? No? All right, then an arm. And
then the sound of the saw, and 
 Chutsky, I said.
 And then when he got me up there and he said,  Seven, and  What s your guess. And then 
It s always interesting to hear about someone else s technique, of course, but Chutsky seemed like he
was about to lose whatever control he had left, and I could not afford to let him snuffle all over the
other side of my shirt. So I stepped close and grabbed him by the good arm.  Chutsky. Come on. Let s
get out of here, I said.
He looked at me like he didn t know where he was, eyes as wide as they could go, and then turned [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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