Read Online Repairman Jack [09]-Infernal by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

echoed through Jack’s skull.
    Music.
    Scotty’s head snapped back. Blood flowed from his flattened nose. But he didn’t let go of the gun. So Jack reeled him back in for another butt. Scotty tried to use his free hand to fend him off. Jack slapped it aside and butted him again. Harder this time.
    That did it. Scotty’s knees buckled, his grip loosened, and Jack had the pistol all to himself.
    But Scotty wasn’t finished. With the loss of his weapon he became a wobbly, panicked, fist-swinging dynamo. Must have thought Jack was going to shoot him. Not the plan. Too much noise.
    Ducked or blocked the fence’s wild swings until he had an opening, then slammed the pistol against the side of his skull. Opened a gash but he didn’t go down. Guy must have an iron skull. Leaped at Jack, slammed into him and got his arms around him. They went down, landing on the love doll. It popped and deflated with a loud hiss.
    Scotty took a wild swing at Jack. This one connected. The flash of pain through Jack’s chin released something within him. Dropped the gun. Grabbed one of the doll’s deflated legs. Wrapped it around Scotty’s throat and pulled. Felt a fierce joy, building toward exaltation, then rapture, finally exploding into a black consuming ecstasy as he tightened the plastic noose further and further—
    Until he heard a small, weak, strangled voice whimper, “Please… you’re killin’ me… please… killin’…”
    Jack stopped and saw Scotty’s face. Felt the dark joy boil away. Let go and backed off, scrabbling away on palms and heels. And sat and stared at what he’d done.
    A pressure built in his chest, then released. He heard a sound like a sob. And realized it had come from him.
    Jesus, what’s wrong with me?
    The fence opened his left eye—the right was swollen shut—and looked at Jack.
    “You crying?” he croaked. “You beat the shit outta me and almost choke me t’death and then you cry about it? Motherfuck, what’s wrong with you?”
    Jack wished he knew. He closed his eyes and felt tears squeeze between the lids.
    He opened them to find the fence sneaking a hand toward the pistol lying on the floor between them. Jack stomped on the hand with the heel of his boot and heard a bone snap. The fenced wailed as he snatched it back and cradled it on his chest.
    Jack sobbed again.

WEDNESDAY

    1

    The New York City Morgue… in the basement of Bellevue Hospital…
    I’m seeing far too much of this place, Jack thought.
    Just six weeks or so ago he’d walked this same hallway. The tiled walls and floor drains looked too familiar.
    He’d picked up Tom at the hotel and they cabbed over. Jack would have preferred walking. It would take longer. He wasn’t in any hurry to see his father’s corpse. Again.
    “That’s one hell of a welcome sign they’ve got back there,” Tom whispered as they followed an attendant. Something about this place made you whisper.
    “Welcome sign? Where?”
    Tom jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there. It says Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae .”
    “Which means?”
    “It’s Latin. ‘Here is where death delights to teach the living.’“
    “You know Latin?”
    “I’ve picked up some. Unavoidable in my profession. A dead language comes in handy when you want to confound and confuse the hoi polloi. Hence its use by lawyers and doctors.”
    Jack noticed that Tom’s ruddy complexion of yesterday and earlier this morning had faded to gray. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat that reflected the harsh overhead fluorescents.
    “You all right?”
    Tom nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” A heartbeat later he shook his head. “No. Not really. This has all been abstract until now. Surreal. Like a fever dream. Ever since you called I could almost pretend it hadn’t really happened. But after filling out those papers…”
    “Now it all becomes real.”
    It was already real for Jack. He’d seen Dad lying on the air terminal floor, seen the blood, his slack