Knorath, Joe - Jack Daniels 03 - Rusty Nail (37 page)
“Jack, this is dangerous. Don’t fight me on this.”
Without listening I pushed past McGlade and broke into a run. I stopped in a Weaver stance, legs two feet apart, both arms stretched out in front of me, steadying the gun—
—silhouetted by the street light behind me.
A perfect, easy target.
“Freeze! Police!”
The first shot caught me in the stomach, blood gushing out before me like a fountain.
I fell in slow motion, three more shots ripping into my chest and shoulders, spinning me around, painting the brick walls with blood before I hit the pavement.
I heard Harry yell, and watched him run out to me, firing into the alley as he ran, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out onto the sidewalk, leaving a smeared trail of red.
“Harry . . .”
“Shh. Jack, don’t talk.”
I looked down at the ruin that was my chest, blood pumping out in a ridiculous amount. McGlade tried to press down on some of the wounds. I cried out in pain.
“I’ve got to get help, Jack.”
He tried to stand up, but I stopped him, grabbing his hand.
“It’s . . . it’s too late, Harry . . . too late.”
“Hold on, Jack.”
A single tear rolled down my face. I put on a brave smile.
“You’ll get the guys. Right?”
“Of course I will, baby. Count on it.”
I blinked a few times.
“Everything’s getting dark, Harry.”
McGlade knelt down, propped my upper body onto his lap, and put his arms around me.
“I’m here, Jack.”
“Harry . . . I . . . I need to tell you something.” I was whispering. “Come close.”
“I’m all ears, Jackie.”
“All . . . all of these years . . .”
McGlade now had tears in his eyes too.
“I’m listening.”
“I . . . love . . . you . . . Harry . . . McGlade . . .”
Harry bent down, and his lips touched mine. When he pulled his head back, my eyes were wide and staring into space.
I was dead.
Harry cried out, lifted his head back, and screamed and screamed and screamed.
TO BE CONTINUED
. . . appeared at the bottom of the screen. Then the image froze and faded to black.
My mother clicked off the TV with the remote control, frowning at me.
“That was crap. Pure crap. You never would have gone into the alley like that.”
I shrugged. “At least I won’t be back next season. You want a beer?”
“A beer sounds wonderful. Let’s get good and plowed and order a pizza with extra everything.” She made a kissy sound, and Mr. Friskers bounded into her lap.
“You sure you want everything, Mom?”
Mom smiled, and it was beatific. “Absolutely. I’ve got a lot of eating to catch up on, Jacqueline. I’ve got a lot of life to catch up on.”
She reached for my hand and held it tight. I held it just as tight, never ever wanting to let go.
“You know what, Mom? That makes two of us.”
Every book, the list of people I need to thank gets longer . . .
To fellow scribes: Barbara D’Amato, James O. Born, Lee Child, Blake Crouch, Bill Fitzhugh, Jack Kerley, William Kent Krueger, David Morrell, PJ Parrish, and M.J. Rose, for their words, encouragement, and inspiration.
To those in the book biz: Robin Agnew, Augie Alesky, Lorri Amsden, Elizabeth Baldwin, Jim Berlage, Terri Bischoff, Jane Biro, Chris Bowman, Linda Brown, Bonnie Claeson, Diana Cohen, J.B. Dickey, Moni Draper, Tammy Domike, Judy Duhl, Luane Evans, Dorothy Evans, Bill Farley, Beth Fedyn, Dick File, Marilyn Fisher, Holly Frakes, Steven French, Fran Fuller, Sandy Goodrick, Diane Gressman, Maggie Griffin, Joe Guglielmelli, Maryelizabeth Hart, Patrick Heffernan, Jim Huang, Rick Jensen, Steve Jensen, Jen Johnson, Jon Jordan, Ruth Jordan, Steve Jurczyk, Bob Kadlec, Richard Katz, Edmund and Jeannie Kaufman, Carolyn Lane, Steve Lukac, Sheldon MacArthur, Bobby McCue, Dana Mee, Laurie Mountjoy, Jim Munchel, Karen Novak, Cynthia Nye, Otto Penzler, Henry “Hank” Perez, Barbara Peters, Sue Petersen, Sarah Pingry, Taryn Schau, Terri Schlichenmeyer, Matt Schwartz, Cindy Smith, Terri Smith, Kathy Sparks, Laura Stanz, Dave Strang, Jim & Gloria Tillez, Barbara Tom, Maria Tovar, Susan Tunis, Chris Van Such, Lauri Ver Schure, Linda Vetter, Janine Wilson, Chris Wolak, and the many others who have helped spread the word—if your name isn’t here, blame the typesetter!
To the publishing folks: Lauren Abramo, Ellen Archer, Alan Ayres, Michael Bourrett, Susie Breck, Anna Campbell, Regina Castillo, Jane Comins, Natalie Fedewa, Nicola Ferguson, Brad Foltz, Miriam Goderich, Jessica Goldman, Laura Grafton, Dick Hill, Amy Hosford, Eileen Hutton, Navorn Johnson, David Lott, Bob Miller, Phil Rose, Will Schwalbe, Michael Snodgrass, Abby Vinyard, Katie Wainwright, Miriam Wenger, Kimberly West, Westchester Book Composition, and Raynel White.
The amazing Leslie Wells.
Jane Dystel, who kicks major booty.
Barry Eisler and Jim Coursey, for their first draft insights.
Family and friends: Laura Konrath, Mike Konrath, Chris Konrath, John Konrath, Talon Konrath, Latham Conger III, George Dailey, Mariel Evans, and Jeff Evans.
And of course, Maria Konrath. I couldn’t write a word without her.
Copyright © 2006 Joe Konrath
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Publisher. For information address Hyperion, 77 West 66th Street, New York, New York 10023-6298.
ISBN 1-4013-8476-5
First eBook Edition: July 2006
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