Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (103 page)

Parker squirmed.

“So anyway, MacGreggor was just a bonus. When I took his dogs back to him after their rabies shots, he paid the fee with a hundred-dollar bill. Dr. White Cloud said he always did and that there was a rumor he had a fortune hidden away in his house. I had seen MacGreggor come up from the basement with the money when he paid me, so I knew pretty much where it was. That night, I sat in the clinic’s van outside his house and blew my little whistle. After twenty minutes or so, there hadn’t been any signs of problems, so I climbed his fence and entered the house through the big dog port in the back door.”

“At twelve thirty,” Parker interrupted.

“How’d you . . . ,” Truong began. “The clock. I pulled it off the wall as I searched in the dark for the doorway. Very good. You should be a detective. I hear there’s an opening.”

Parker glared as Truong continued.

“The male dog greeted me as one of his own and I went directly to the basement and got the old man’s money. Then, on my way out, I laid the scripture on his lap. Something to make it more interesting, to give you something to sweat over, knowing you were somehow involved. You see, a chaplain gave me a
Bible
when I was in your American hospital. You know, I felt a little sad when I choked him to death with his own rosary beads.

“Anyway, at MacGreggor’s I saw a letter opener that appealed to me and I took it along. Funny thing, the female, Jezebel, had run away. She was the most remarkable creature I had ever seen. Beautiful animal, and the smartest dog I’ve ever known. And she was so big. When we stood facing each other, we looked eye to eye. If there had been a way, I would have kept her for myself. She certainly served me well, though. The thought of a dog like her being loose and rabid made all of Wichita stay in at night and lock their doors and wonder why their incompetent animal-control director couldn’t catch her.

“Oh, and I must thank you for your humorous antics during my fun. Sunday, in the park. The potato salad and the baked beans. I thought I would die laughing. And the way you played with my dogs was very amusing. I only wish I could have been closer to hear better.” He chuckled. “There have been other amusing times: Nick in the playground and Julie on the jogging path. Your wife doesn’t know how lucky she was. But that
is
only temporary.

“You lousy son-of-a-bitch!” Parker exclaimed.

“I almost forgot about your Pastor Carl. He was too easy to be much fun. MacGreggor’s letter opener sliced through his old throat like butter. He is tougher than I thought, though, hanging on so long.

“Let’s see. Oh yes, you’ll love this about your friends in Sand Creek—but no, I think I’ll save that for the very last. Give you something to think about while your life is pulsing from your body, shooting out of your ripped-open carotid artery.

“Mrs. Taylor was next with her prize greyhounds. Unfortunate they didn’t kill her. But by then they made you look pretty bad. And her male dog has come in useful since then and was going to again tonight, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

“Then, there was Mrs. Nightingale. I got to her a little late, but it worked out for the better from what I heard from your dear friend Henry Haskins on Channel Two News.

“Roary Rapids’ dogs were the most enjoyable of all. It was perfect timing. I had hoped to set them off at a rock concert, but the way they tore through the Epic Center made up for that. Especially since they got Jack Simpson.”

Parker bolted hard enough to pop the joints in his wrist, but it was to no avail.

“You bastard!”

“Oh, but wait, there’s more. Then, when Dr. White Cloud came out late last night, I knew he was getting suspicious of me. I sneaked up to him and had the personal honor to slash his throat with my pretty, new letter opener. Then, I let the greyhound you brought in have him for a while. I put the dog back in his cage, and they blamed it on the only known loose dog, Jezebel. It worked so perfectly.”

This bastard killed Doc!
Parker’s face strained. The fever came back full strength. His joints stiffened and ached tremendously. He could feel the veins bulging on his temples. His wrists bled badly from trying to work out of the chains.

Truong went on. “Then, of course, we have this evening. I hadn’t planned on the interview, but again, it fit in perfectly. The preview nearly fouled things up, but it looks like everything is going to work out just fine. I’ve been listening to all the fun on the police scanner I keep in my locker.

“It was unfortunate that more damage wasn’t done at your house, however. Although—I do have some time before my midnight flight— I’ve chartered a private plane. I may have a little time—to kill.

“I hadn’t planned on Yankee attacking so early. As a matter of fact, I was just on my way over to visit you, to help you better understand the pain I suffered when my friends and loved ones were being killed. I was going to bring the greyhound and let him and Yankee play with you and your family.

“Oh, you son-of-a-bitch! Let me go! I’ll kill you!” Parker said, jerking and pulling at the chains.

“Sarah was a necessity,” Truong continued, unfazed. “I didn’t like the little bitch. She was snobby and always so sure of herself, and I knew you found her very attractive. I do hope Sheik did a good job.”

Parker wasn’t about to tell Truong that Hill had survived. He was insane enough to go after her and try again.

Truong said, “Oh, yes, in case you were wondering about the rabies tests….”

Truong stepped into his room and pulled out an ice chest. He dumped it, ice and all, on Parker’s lap. A German-shepherd head and the head of Beelzebub, Jezebel’s mate, rolled out wrapped in plastic. Parker looked down and bared his teeth.

Truong finished, “I never seemed to find the time to take these in. Oh, and I almost forgot, my most recent trophy. I know you’ll appreciate it.” He went into the next room again.

He came out a few seconds later, holding a blood-soaked pillowcase.

“I have someone here that would like to say good-bye to you,” Truong said, and dumped the contents of the pillowcase out on Parker’s lap, also.

The thing landed between his knees. It was large and round and seemed covered in long black hair matted with fresh-smelling blood. Nauseatingly fresh.

Parker looked at it, frowning, trying to make out what it was. A head? Whose?

“Say good-bye, Patsy. ‘Tony, oh, Tony,’” Truong mimicked.

Parker was overcome with an explosion of grief and pain.

He cried out, tears streaming down his face, “Ah, you dirty bastard!” Tears and saliva spat out as he yelled, voice cracking.

“Well, I’ve said all I would like to say, and I don’t see you apologizing or pleading, so it’s time for the grand finale,” Truong said very calmly. “I had planned on giving you to the greyhound, but I believe this occasion calls for something special. Yankee. Oh, and don’t worry. You won’t be alone. I’ll stay and watch.”

He took a step toward the door, but stopped and stared out.

“Oh, well, come in. We were just talking about you,” he said, with a big grin.

Parker was petrified with fear. He was going to die. It would be a horrible death. Now this, a visitor. The police, maybe? No. He dismissed the thought quickly. Truong would have reacted much differently. Yankee still barked in the truck. What sounded like the greyhound barked from the kennel outside. Who could it be, but — Jezebel.

C
HAPTER 52

P
arker saw a black muzzle appear well over halfway up in the doorway. It wasn’t growling nor did it even show a snarl. The giant dog continued to walk into the room, slowly, fluidly. Parker was in awe. The beautiful dog stood with the points of her ears at the same level as Truong’s. She was as black as a moonless night without a single hair of white. Nearly five feet tall from floor to ear tip. She looked a little thin and had dried scabs on her head, but otherwise, she was nature in perfection. Around her neck were her tags, the large diamond, sparkling.

She looked at Truong without blinking. He smiled back at her.

“This is indeed a great honor. How very good to see you.” Truong glanced at Parker, smiling. Jezebel looked, also. “Isn’t she a beauty?” Truong asked. To Jezebel, he said, “So it’s been you following and howling to me over the last few days. You’ve been wanting to join in the fun, haven’t you?”

“Maybe not, Truong,” Parker said. “Maybe she’s been tracking you down. Maybe she’s been trying to warn your victims and stop you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sergeant Parker. Jezebel is no longer leashed by any allegiance to man. She’s free and wild. And, I might add, she looks hungry. It does appear, however she’s lost her spark for killing. Probably due to that nasty injury on her head. I’m sure this will get her going again,” Truong said, raising the whistle to his lips, then bringing it down slightly. “Oh, and good-bye, Sergeant Parker. I do hope you’ve enjoyed this as much as I.”

He blew into the whistle. Two longs, two shorts and a long.

Parker braced himself for death. He was furious. He was petrified. He was in pain. Sweat rolled down his forehead. His wrists bled profusely.

Jezebel’s ferocity roared from her huge throat, starting as a rumbling growl and ending in four vicious, thundering barks.

Parker flinched.

She stepped to him and had to bend her big neck down to look at him face to face. She glanced to the plastic-covered head of her mate, Beelzebub, laying two feet from Parker’s leg. She sniffed at it briefly, then turned back to Parker.

She growled, showing her enormous canine incisors.

Parker leaned back as far as he could without falling backward. He held his eyes closed tight. Her warm saliva dripped on his chest. She licked her chops. She growled again, her hot breath blowing on his face.

“Don’t play with him too long, Jezebel,” Truong said. “We really must hurry.”

Parker knew within a few seconds he would be dead. The next growl was sure to end with her enormous mouth clamping onto his throat.

His head began spinning again. He shook convulsively. He thought of what Mrs. Crane had said about Jezebel. How big and beautiful she was and yet how gentle.

Parker opened his eyes and looked down her cavernous throat.

“No, Jezebel, no,” Parker said.

She responded with a less enthusiastic growl.

He remembered the most prominent comment about her, besides her size, was her intelligence. He remembered the nickname Mrs. Crane said MacGreggor called her.

“Jazbo, no. No, Jazbo!”

Jezebel closed her mouth. She looked into Parker’s eyes as if searching for something familiar. She blinked.

Truong became impatient and angered with Jezebel’s hesitation. He blew the whistle again. Two longs. . . .

Jezebel’s roaring bark interrupted, her head twisted back at Truong.

“No. Not me!” he cried.

Jezebel swung around and leaped at Truong.

He fired a wild shot and didn’t have time for another.

The huge dog’s enormous mouth grabbed Truong’s gun hand and tore the pistol, three fingers and the major portion of his hand away. He was left with only his thumb and forefinger and the two hand bones that joined them to his wrist, exposed and white. Blood immediately gushed from the ripped flesh. Truong stared at his devastated member in wide-eyed disbelief. It seemed the pain was yet to explode in his brain. He gaped at Jezebel. She dropped the gun to the floor then tongued the reluctant fingers from her mouth as if they were lodged chicken bones, and they fell beside the gun. Truong looked at the fingers, then gawked at his hand.

“
Uuuh, hu-uh-uh-uh
,” Truong whimpered, then wrenched his face at the huge monster before him.

Jezebel lunged again. This time she caught him by the neck and yanked him from his feet. She shook him like so many dirty rags.

Truong slipped from her mouth, tossed, arms flailing, across Parker’s lap. He started to get up, miraculously still alive, but Jezebel hulked over him again. She pushed him face to face against Parker, and Parker fell backward, flat on his back.

Truong’s eye patch had fallen off in the scuffle, and his left eye was open wide. No life existed in the eye. Just the opposite. Death. Evil. The pupil was dilated to the size of a dime and only a thin ring of an iris showed. It was wilted like a deflated balloon. The white of the eye was dark yellow and blood-shot. It was emotionless and fixed, unlike his right eye that was filled with terror. The left eye, the dead one, was dark, very dark and deep like a well. Parker knew the eye wasn’t human. It was a dog’s eye.

For a moment, he thought he could see a sparkle, or flashing, or maybe explosions, in the deep dark eye. Mortar rounds exploding. Napalm incinerating. Rifles shooting. Bayonets slashing. People running. People screaming and crying. People dying. Blood flowing.

They lay nose to nose, but Parker felt neither vengeance nor pity, only fear. Truong looked at him as if begging for help. Jezebel bit again. This time, one of her lower fangs grazed Parker’s throat before embedding itself into Truong’s.

“
Auh, glau-huuu!
” Truong’s scream muffled down to a hiss, then silenced.

There was an overshoe, mud-sucking-like sound as Truong’s throat crushed, and Parker felt the small man’s hot blood running down onto his neck. Something warm spilled onto his stomach and lower body. Truong had lost all muscle control and urinated.

The struggle lasted only a few brief seconds. Parker wondered if he would wet his pants when Jezebel finished him. Even if he didn’t, when they found him they’d think he had because of the water from the ice chest and because of Truong. It made him angry. A trivial thing to be concerned with at a time like this. Still, it made him angry.

With all his strength, he shoved with his shoulder and sat up. He’d managed to push Truong’s body back down to his legs.

Jezebel stood silently, still gripping Truong’s throat, ensuring his death. She glanced at Parker out of the corner of her eye. She looked back at Truong’s face then bent her head down, Truong’s neck still between her jaws, and looked over his body. Satisfied he was dead, she dropped him across Parker’s legs like a hunting dog obediently dropping a duck it had just retrieved at its master’s feet.

Parker sat watching her and she returned what seemed to be an anxious glare.

She moved closer.

He felt the fear come back full strength. It was now his turn to die.

“No, Jezebel,” he said softly.

No response.

“Jazbo, no!”

She roared as viciously as before.

The nickname seemed to make her angry. She was no longer under Truong’s spell. It was as if she were saying that Parker was not her master. Only her master called her that. No one else. She wouldn’t allow it. Her master was dead. No one would call her that again.

“Whoa, sorry,” Parker said softly. “Nice, Jezebel, good girl.”

She growled, sounding more like a loud purr, as she put her snout within three inches of Parker’s nose. She made the sound again.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Jezebel seemed to sense his pain. Parker understood hers and spoke easy.

“It’s okay now, Jezebel. It’s all over. There’ll be no more pain. No more hurting. No more death. It’s all over.”

Parker thought of Jack and Doc and Patsy and Sarah. He thought of his family: Audrey, Nick and Julie, and how much he loved them and wished he could hug them all right this minute. Tears came to his eyes.

Jezebel gave a long, sad whine and cocked her head to the side.

Parker smiled at her and chuckled lightly.

She brought her head closer and licked his face sympathetically.

Suddenly, from behind, a rifle.

“No! Don’t!” Parker yelled.

A shot rang out.

Jezebel staggered for a moment, looked at Parker, rolled her eyes and then collapsed.

Parker looked up. Tommy Chin stood in the doorway with a tranquilizer gun to his shoulder.