Read Online Red 1-2-3 by John Katzenbach - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Katzenbach
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savagely and stood framed in the space. Take your damn shot!
She closed her eyes. Waited.
Nothing.
She could feel the evening’s chill descending. It cooled her, and she realized that she was sweating, hot, as if she’d been exercising.
She blinked. Her street was as it always was. Quiet. Empty. She took a deep breath and stepped out. Maybe there’s a bomb attached to my car and when I start it up, it will explode just like in some Hollywood gangster movie.
She slid behind the wheel and, without hesitating, turned the key over.
The engine fired up and hummed like a cat being stroked.
Well, maybe the Big Bad Wolf will slam some truck into me, and I can die like Ted and Brittany did.
She steered the car into the street and stopped. Again she closed her eyes. Broadside. Forty, maybe fifty miles an hour. Just like the oil truck. Come on. I’m waiting. I’m ready.
Sarah’s eyes again were squeezed tight. Any second now, she thought.
The car horn seemed to blast inches away from her left ear. The sound sliced the air like an explosion. She gasped and involuntarily held up her 51
JOHN KATZENBACH
arm, as if to shield herself from impact. Her eyes flew open and she cried out some half-scream, half-sob.
The horn beeped again. Only this time, it seemed childlike, like a toy noise.
She half-turned in her seat, and saw that she was obstructing a couple in a small Japanese compact car. The man behind the wheel, who looked to be in his early sixties, and his wife, who was still dark-haired and appeared a little younger, were waving at her, but not in an impatient, unfriendly fashion. It was more like they were concerned and confused. Sarah stared at the couple, and then haphazardly pieced things together in her head.
I’m blocking the road. They want to get past me.
The woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window. From perhaps ten feet away, she called out in a questioning tone, “Is everything okay?”
Yes. No. Yes. No. Sarah didn’t respond other than to wave her hand as if to say Sorry without an explanation. She fumbled to get the car into forward gear. Then she quickly thrust her foot down on the accelerator and without looking back drove rapidly down the street. She did not know exactly where she was going, but wherever it was, she went in a hurry, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, like a swimmer preparing for a dive into uncertain waters or waiting for the starter’s gun to sound the start of a race.
“Odd,” said Mrs. Big Bad Wolf.
“Maybe the young lady got a cell phone call, or remembered that she’d forgotten something. But you shouldn’t just stop in the middle of the road,” the Big Bad Wolf replied. “That’s really dangerous.”
“It’s a good thing you were paying attention,” his wife said. “People just certainly are strange.”
“Indeed they are,” he answered as he drove slowly forward. “Don’t want to be late.” He smiled. “Shall we listen to the radio?” he asked, pleasantly enough, fiddling with the dial until he found the classical music station.
He hated classical music, although he had always told his wife he loved it.
Little dishonesties, he thought, were good practice for the necessary larger ones.
52
RED 1–2–3
* * *
Karen Jayson sat at her desk, an electronic medical notebook on the flat wooden surface in front of her, her head in her hands. The day was crawl-ing toward an end. It had been long, but not crazily so, and she should not have felt as exhausted as she did.
She was a woman accustomed to being if not exactly certain about matters, at least confident, and the letter from the Big Bad Wolf had scoured her emotions. After speaking with Detective Clark, she had set the letter aside and told herself, Forget it. Then she had picked it up again and told herself, You need to act. But precisely how eluded her. She had the sensation that she needed to be actively doing something but had very little idea what that something was. She had
She closed her eyes. Waited.
Nothing.
She could feel the evening’s chill descending. It cooled her, and she realized that she was sweating, hot, as if she’d been exercising.
She blinked. Her street was as it always was. Quiet. Empty. She took a deep breath and stepped out. Maybe there’s a bomb attached to my car and when I start it up, it will explode just like in some Hollywood gangster movie.
She slid behind the wheel and, without hesitating, turned the key over.
The engine fired up and hummed like a cat being stroked.
Well, maybe the Big Bad Wolf will slam some truck into me, and I can die like Ted and Brittany did.
She steered the car into the street and stopped. Again she closed her eyes. Broadside. Forty, maybe fifty miles an hour. Just like the oil truck. Come on. I’m waiting. I’m ready.
Sarah’s eyes again were squeezed tight. Any second now, she thought.
The car horn seemed to blast inches away from her left ear. The sound sliced the air like an explosion. She gasped and involuntarily held up her 51
JOHN KATZENBACH
arm, as if to shield herself from impact. Her eyes flew open and she cried out some half-scream, half-sob.
The horn beeped again. Only this time, it seemed childlike, like a toy noise.
She half-turned in her seat, and saw that she was obstructing a couple in a small Japanese compact car. The man behind the wheel, who looked to be in his early sixties, and his wife, who was still dark-haired and appeared a little younger, were waving at her, but not in an impatient, unfriendly fashion. It was more like they were concerned and confused. Sarah stared at the couple, and then haphazardly pieced things together in her head.
I’m blocking the road. They want to get past me.
The woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window. From perhaps ten feet away, she called out in a questioning tone, “Is everything okay?”
Yes. No. Yes. No. Sarah didn’t respond other than to wave her hand as if to say Sorry without an explanation. She fumbled to get the car into forward gear. Then she quickly thrust her foot down on the accelerator and without looking back drove rapidly down the street. She did not know exactly where she was going, but wherever it was, she went in a hurry, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, like a swimmer preparing for a dive into uncertain waters or waiting for the starter’s gun to sound the start of a race.
“Odd,” said Mrs. Big Bad Wolf.
“Maybe the young lady got a cell phone call, or remembered that she’d forgotten something. But you shouldn’t just stop in the middle of the road,” the Big Bad Wolf replied. “That’s really dangerous.”
“It’s a good thing you were paying attention,” his wife said. “People just certainly are strange.”
“Indeed they are,” he answered as he drove slowly forward. “Don’t want to be late.” He smiled. “Shall we listen to the radio?” he asked, pleasantly enough, fiddling with the dial until he found the classical music station.
He hated classical music, although he had always told his wife he loved it.
Little dishonesties, he thought, were good practice for the necessary larger ones.
52
RED 1–2–3
* * *
Karen Jayson sat at her desk, an electronic medical notebook on the flat wooden surface in front of her, her head in her hands. The day was crawl-ing toward an end. It had been long, but not crazily so, and she should not have felt as exhausted as she did.
She was a woman accustomed to being if not exactly certain about matters, at least confident, and the letter from the Big Bad Wolf had scoured her emotions. After speaking with Detective Clark, she had set the letter aside and told herself, Forget it. Then she had picked it up again and told herself, You need to act. But precisely how eluded her. She had the sensation that she needed to be actively doing something but had very little idea what that something was. She had
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