Read Online Nightjack by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online Page B

his words. “We’d drink wine in the surf before making love in the sand bathed in blue moonlight.”
    “Is there a diner or a rest stop nearby?”
    Map couldn’t speak for a moment, hacking, keyed up with emotion. He hid his face in his scarred hands, then swallowed his anguish down. “Yes...gas and food, coming up on the left. Point eight miles.”
    Tears rolled down Dr. Brandt’s face. Was she crying for herself or for them? In the dim interior of the car, her tears appeared like black, disfiguring scratches on her cheeks. He was surprised that he wasn’t moved more, that such a lovely woman weeping beside him didn’t fill him with heartache. Pia held a clutch of tissues and Dr. Brandt took one and dabbed her eyes.
    “It’s my fault,” she said. “I knew this would happen. You’ve all relapsed. I should have been stronger and trusted the police.”
    “No, you shouldn’t have,” Pace said, thinking of the detectives who’d tried to crush his hand at the hospital. The cops who couldn’t catch Jack. “You made the right choice.”
    “We have to dump the car. It’s bugged.”
    “Are you certain?” Hayden asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Shouldn’t we have gotten rid of it sooner then? Why did we take it all the way out here?”
    “I want to keep Kaltzas close but not too close.”
    “Ah.”
    “Hey,” Pia cried. “I paid for this car. I love this car. This car is my best friend. Eight hundred smackers.”
    “How did you get the money?” Dr. Brandt asked.
    “I earned it.”
    “How?”
    “What do you care?”
    “Prostituting yourself?”
    Dr. Brandt put that tone right back in her voice. She really didn’t have a soft hand about these things.
    “Stop looking down on me, you bitch!” Pia shouted, hitting a high crazed note that hung in the car. Then, the way all the bipolars did, swinging the other way. “I’m hungry. There’s a sign over there that says they’ve got Double Cheesy Bacony Burgers here.”
    “Double Cheesy Bacony Burgers made your way!” Faust read. “Our father who art indigestion.”
    “I want one of those.”
    Pace circled the diner and parking area twice, then backed into a space near the dumpsters behind the kitchen. It afforded cover and provided a good vantage point to see anyone coming in off the highway.
    “We going to steal another car?” Hayden said. “Maybe one of these SUV’s?”
    “No,” Pace told him.
    “Then what?”
    “One will be along soon.”
    Hayden frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
    “Vindi. Or whoever Kaltzas has tracking us. We sit here long enough and they’ll worry, thinking we boosted another car. They’ll have to do a spot check in person. They’ll be showing up in the next hour.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “Either behind us a few miles or running parallel on one of the county roads.”
    “So what are we doing here?” Hayden asked.
    “Lingering.”
    “And getting me a burger?” Pia said.
    “And getting everybody some food. Is there a screwdriver in the glove box?”
    “Why would there be a screwdriver in there?”
    “Because old cars like this need a lot of fine-tuning. You use it to adjust the timing chain and carburetor, tighten the clamps on the air hoses which usually work loose after a couple thousand miles.”
    “No wonder this thing’s been running like a piece of shit.”
    Pace was about to tell them that Pacella’s father had a Chevy like this, but somehow, Pacella’s father was his own father. Sometimes William Pacella was somebody else entirely, and sometimes they shared the same background, like brothers. “My father owned a Chevy just like this. He taught me how to drive on it.”
    He reached across Dr. Brandt’s lap and opened the glove box, found a three-inch flathead and put it in his pocket.
    “I want a damn Double Cheesy Bacony Burger!”
    “Me too,” Hayden said.
    “We’re all hungry,” Dr. Brandt said. “We haven’t eaten all day.”
    “Go inside and order enough for everybody,” Pace