Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (104 page)

CHAPTER 53

A
s Tommy Chin helped Tony Parker get loose from the chains, headlights came up the drive. It was Julie in the minivan with a police car behind.

“Are you okay, Tony?” she cried, running to him.

They embraced. It was good to see Julie. Good to touch her. Good to hold her.

Two police officers ran in after her with their guns drawn.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“The kids are at Bill and Barbara’s. Sarah had a nurse call from the hospital. She said you needed me and to call the police. She said it was women’s intuition.”

Parker took Julie by the arms and led her away from the mess on the floor of the examination room before she had a chance to see. While explaining the situation to the officers, they covered the bodies and heads with blankets and stowed Jezebel safely away in Chin’s van.

It was now a few minutes after ten o’clock. There was little time left. They found the necessary files on Patsy’s desk and called in most of them to the dispatcher’s office. Tyrone told Parker that the police chief wasn’t too convinced by the story and only discussed it with the TV station. Channel Two wasn’t convinced either and decided to go ahead and air the interview. Now, maybe after what had happened, they could be convinced. But was there enough time? Tyrone would try.

Parker kept three dozen of the names, and he, Chin and Julie called them from the phones in Doc’s office, the examination room and Patsy’s desk in the front.

They viewed the Channel Two News on a small black-and-white TV that Patsy had kept in the reception area as Chin had the last dog owner on the phone.

*-*-*

At the Channel Two News Center, producer Mike Stilton had taken the call from Police Chief Baker but refused to kill the interview, influenced by Henry Haskins’ begging. The chief seemed confused and skeptical about the warning he’d received and wasn’t very persuasive.

Colleen Jones, the preppy-looking anchorwoman, introduced Haskins. She frowned as she looked to him, then looked off camera toward Stilton. The camera zoomed in. Haskins sat behind the anchor desk with his basset hound sitting on the desk beside him and did the intro for the interview.

“Earlier today, this reporter had the opportunity to interview Mr. Ho Truong, assistant to the well
-respected veterinarian Dr. Johnny White Cloud who was murdered outside his practice by the killer dog Jezebel, late last night. Mr. Truong had some things to say about the doctor, along with some training tips for your dog. I know Sirius, here, my
Dog Star
, is anxious to hear him.”

The interview began.

Stilton looked to the cameraman, scowling. “What does he think he’s doing?” Stilton asked. “Who told him he could bring his damn dog on the set, let alone on live TV? I’m the frickin’ producer here. He didn’t frickin’ ask me!”

The cameraman shrugged his shoulders as a young woman scurried up to Stilton.

“There’s a call from the Sedgwick County dispatcher for you. It’s urgent.”

Stilton started toward the front office, his eyes narrowed, glaring at Haskins.

The interview continued.

Haskins’ basset hound went nuts. He growled and grabbed Haskins by the throat. Haskins fell over backward, and they both disappeared behind the desk.

Stilton reached for the doorknob as the attack began. He stopped and watched, amazed.

“Aw, shit!” he exclaimed. He shook his head. “I’m firing the son
-of-a-bitch this time—if he lives.”

Colleen Jones stood up at the desk and began stomping. After half a dozen frantic kicks she quit, reached down, and pulled the basset hound up by the tail with both hands, holding it like a giant, dead mouse. She stepped back and slung it over the desk as if it were a hammer throw. Haskins’ ex best friend tumbled limply, then slid across the floor and into the base of the camera.

Anchorwoman Jones took two more enthusiastic stomps behind the desk, slapped her palms and walked away.

*-*-*

Chin insisted into the phone, “Yes sir, I said you must lock the dog in a vacant room or in the garage, now!” Chin looked at Parker and said to him with concern. “Uh-oh, there’s growling. It might be too late.”

A crack loud enough for all to hear came from the phone and Chin flinched. He jerked the phone back, and Parker could hear the man’s voice on the other end.

“Damn, Barney, what the hell’s the matter with you?” the man said away from the phone. Now, he spoke into it. “I had to hit the damn dog with the phone. Aw, shit, I think I killed him!”

Chin and Parker exchanged relieved smirk s, and Chin hung up the phone.

There were a total of five other attacks in Wichita that night, only one being serious, but not fatal. The police had done a good job of rounding up all of the animals, and the situation seemed under control.

Parker and Chin sedated Yankee and the greyhound, hoping that when they woke up, they would be all right again. Next, would come the problem of deprogramming all of the estimated two hundred dogs affected.

After checking on Hill’s condition, which was good, Parker went home and climbed into Nick’s bed with Julie and the kids.

His body ached. His head spun. He felt hot and feverish. Rabies symptoms, maybe, but just as likely from his numerous injuries. Parker convinced himself that it was only normal to feel like he did, considering what he’d been through. He doubted he’d had actual rabies symptoms. If he did have the disease, he’d surely feel much worse by now, possibly even comatose or dead. Just in case, he would not kiss them, not let his blood touch their skin, not breath into their faces.

It was good to be home. It was good to hold Julie. Julie held him back tightly. He knew it was okay, now. The terrible crisis was over.

C
HAPTER 54

D
awg scratched at the door again. The thin plywood panel in the middle flexed as he dug his terrible black claws relentlessly into the wood. It had been a long, long night and day since Tricia had attempted to leave her haven in the closet and stumbled into Dawg’s sleeping body. She had been lucky he was sleeping and not prepared for her. She had been lucky and bounced off his chest after falling onto him. She had been able to get back into the closet and slam the door before he’d realized what happened.

Dawg had scratched at the door off and on ever since. Tricia was scared. Not scared like before when she knew she must do something but didn’t know what. Now she was scared without hope. There was
nothing
she could do. No one would come to save her.

She was so very tired and hungry. She felt weak. Her mouth was dry. Her entire body trembled.

Soon Dawg would break through and get her. He would eat what he wanted of her and leave the rest to rot, and she would not be able to stop him.

Tricia stared into the darkness toward the door with her body drawn up against the corner. The time had come. A dim light showed through the door as one of Dawg’s claws poked through and was hung up there for a moment. The scratching stopped for an instant as Dawg yanked on his leg to free up the snared claw. He broke free and resumed pawing, this time even more feverishly.

It wouldn’t be long now. Tricia hugged herself, rubbing her arms. Her jaw trembled out of control. Suddenly, a large piece of the door panel ripped away, and Dawg’s snout came through.

Tricia shrieked and put her hands down to her sides to shove herself into the corner even more. Something sharp jabbed her hand and it hurt. She thought of what Grammy had told her as she ran through the yard with a sharp stick. “Don’t run with that stick in your hand. You might fall and poke your eye out,” she’d yelled.

That’s it!
She could take this stick she had just discovered, and when Dawg shoved his head all the way through, she’d poke
him
in the eye with it. She’d poke him in
both
eyes with it. Then, maybe he’d leave her alone.

Tricia picked the thing up as Dawg chewed viciously on the panel. It wasn’t a stick, but a wire coat hanger. That wouldn’t work. She couldn’t poke him in the eye with the curved wire end. She had to bend it straight, but she didn’t have the strength. She strained, pushing the end of the wire with one thumb on top of the other. Her skin was thin and soft, and it hurt to push so hard on the stiff, blunt end. But she had to straighten it. It
was
her only hope.

Dawg had his head halfway in now. He sniffed briefly, then looked to Tricia with a snarl that reminded her of a grin—a big grin like the wolf had before he ate Granny in her
Little Red Riding Hood
storybook.

Dawg jerked his head back and resumed chewing and scratching.

The wire hanger’s curved end wouldn’t budge, and when Tricia took her thumb off the end, she felt the deep indentation it caused on her tender flesh. She shook her hand and blew on it. Dawg saw the movement and gave a few snarling barks that startled Tricia. It made her mad, and she hit the door with the hanger twice. Dawg was undaunted. He continued frantically and broke loose another large chunk of door. He’d be through and at her throat within seconds.

The hanger was impossible for Tricia to bend with her fingers. How could she do it? She thought of Grandy and how he used to fix things. She remembered once when she helped him repair some rotten steps on the front porch, he bent a nail as he hammered it into a board. After scolding the nail with a few
grown up
words, he put the end of the
fricker-fracker
as he called it in the crack between two of the porch’s deck boards and bent it straight with his fingers. That would work, but where was a crack?

Dawg tore yet another large chunk out of the door panel and now lunged through the opening, coming in with his head and left foreleg. The opening was still not large enough to allow his entire body to pass, and he struggled to force himself in. Now Tricia could feel his hot rancid breath and see his savage amber eyes up close, real close. Those eyes, those terrible hungry eyes, glared at her. Soon she would poke them out with the wire hanger.

There was a crack that would work right in front of her, in the door. It was only inches from Dawg’s snarling snout, but it was her only hope. She forced the end of the hanger into the crack. A large string of Dawg’s drool flung from his angry mouth and slapped across Tricia’s hand, some of it splattering on Tricia’s cheek. Dawg bit at one end of the hanger and clamped down. Tricia jerked it and pulled the curved end straight, or straight enough. She pulled the hanger back, holding it in the middle, with the straightened end sticking out from between her index and middle finger. She jabbed it at Dawg’s eye.

“Take that, you
fricker-fracker
!” she yelled.

Dawg defended the attack opening his fierce jaws wide. Tricia missed and drove the wire into Dawg’s open mouth, stabbing his tongue. Dawg snapped down in reaction and had a firm and painful grip on Tricia’s hand.

Tricia screamed and hit Dawg on the end of his snout with the side of her other fist. After three punches, Dawg released his grip and reeled back, shaking his head. He seemed lodged in the hole in the door, unable to come in further or to back out.

Tricia didn’t take the time to look at the new injuries on her hand. She brought the hanger back, then again lunged at Dawg’s eye, putting all of her weight behind it. She missed again, but this time she buried it all the way to her knuckles in the beast’s right nostril. Blood spurted onto Tricia’s hand, and Dawg bolted backwards through the hole in the door.

*-*-*

Once more, Jezebel came to Tony Parker in his dreams. She marched down the street the same as before. She stopped in front of the Parker house as before. She walked up to the steps, just as before, only this time, she stepped over a shattered white porcelain
bugaku
mask. Once again, the door opened, and she walked in and up the stairs.

She entered Nick’s room and stood face to face with Tony.

Again, he could feel her hot breath blowing on his face. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. He trembled again. She licked his face, making it wet.

He felt her big front paws push down on the bed, and he felt her full weight leap up on it near the foot. He felt her body, warm and heavy, lay across his legs. She gave a deep, long sigh.

Parker finally pried his eyes open and woke up. He jerked his head up and looked down at his feet. Nick slept curled up across his legs. He’d disturbed Julie, and she yawned and sighed, her warm breath blowing on his wet face. His entire face was drenched with perspiration.

The clock on Nick’s dresser read two thirty a.m. He gazed down at Audrey, sleeping between him and Julie, and stroked her little back, chuckled to himself and went back to sleep.

CHAPTER 55

T
here was a party going on. Lots of laughing and talking—and barking. The TV blared, and
Lassie
was on. Voices commented on the show. “I wouldn’t take no shit from that boy if I was her,” one deep, gruff voice said. “And I’ll tell you what, if I would’ve pulled that stupid cat from the river, I would’ve had its ass,” a higher pitched voice said.

A tapestry hung crooked on the wall, depicting several
people
sitting around a card table, playing poker. It resembled the one Parker had seen at the Bumfields’, only theirs was of dogs.

Looking closer at the tapestry, the people all had familiar faces. On one side sat Alvin MacGreggor. Next to him were Sergeant Big Jim Morowsky and Officer Farley Cox, the two cops killed at MacGreggor’s house.

On the other side were Mrs. Nightingale and Gus Spillman, the guard at the Epic Center. Steven Johnson, the young blind man killed by his own sight dog, sat beside them wearing sunglasses. In the middle, Jack sat, smiling. Steven Johnson had just passed an ace of spades to him under the table with his toes. Pastor Carl Santini watched from the window, looking as if he wanted to come in and join the game.

Doc tended bar in the background of the tapestry, a couple of uniformed firefighters were sitting at the bar, and Patsy was stepping over a rug as she walked toward the table with drinks. The rug was like one of those bearskin kind, only this one wasn’t a bear. The head of Ho Truong, alias Ming—eye patch in place—stuck up from it. His body, lying deflated and clothed in black, made up the rug.

There was more laughter and loud talking and barking and even howling. The room was full of dogs, a couple dozen of them. They sat up on a sofa like people would, drinking beer out of cans. Some sat on the arms of the couch and in a couple of chairs. Two leaned against the sofa back. They all watched television. Laughing and “carrying on so,” as Mrs. Bumfield would have said.

On the floor, two naked people lay, curled up in balls like sleeping dogs.

A dog wearing a skirt and an apron, stepped into the room on her hind legs, carrying an hors d’oeuvre tray. The greedy TV watchers quickly snatched up the goodies. They snacked on the fingers and eyeballs and ears and noses from the tray. A large yellow and gray paw reached over to the middle and scooped up a pair of testicles. The tray was cleaned, except for a small, homemade Raggedy Ann doll that, although nearly shredded, seemed to be there just for decoration.

The dog in the dress turned and walked back out of the room to go get more.

A closer look at the people on the floor revealed that they had familiar faces, also. It was the Bumfields of Sand Creek, Kansas. They did not sleep. They were dead, throats torn.

In the middle of the couch, Dawg, the Bumfield’s big Heinz fifty-seven mutt, pulled a cigar from his mouth, got up, and walked on his hind legs to the large picture window. He looked out at a tree. On a limb in the tree clung the Bumfield’s kitten.

It pleaded with an insistent mew.

The big mutt burst out laughing, a loud vulgar guffaw, “
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
”

*-*-*

Parker’s eyes snapped open once again. Of all the nightmares he’d had over the past few days, this had been the strangest, but no less frightening. It was three thirty a.m.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Julie asked.

“Nothing. I can’t sleep. It’s all right,” he said remembering the Sand Creek files Doc had kept separate. The folks in Sand Creek had been overlooked.

Parker rolled out of the bed carefully, gently picking up arms and legs entangled around him and laying them back down with the love and care they deserved.

“Do you want some company? Do you want me to get up with you?”

“No, it’s all right, Julie. Go back to sleep. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, walking out quietly, then closing the door behind.

He grabbed some clothes from the master bedroom closet, took Jack’s .357 from a locked nightstand and walked quietly down the steps. He picked up the phone as he put on his shirt.

Truong had started to tell him about what he had done to the people in Sand Creek but never finished. Where had his head been? How could he have forgotten them?

“Tyrone. . . .  Busy night, huh…? Double shift…? You poor bastard! Well, it’s about to get busier. . . .  I need you to get a hold of the sheriff…. Yeah, the sheriff. . . .  Tell him to go out and set up roadblocks in every direction from Sand Creek. . . .  Tell him to not let anybody in or anything out. Next, I want you to call the highway patrol and tell them what we’ve got, and see if the city police won’t cooperate, too. . . .  If they won’t, see if the sheriff won’t get a hold of the National Guard. . . . Yeah, it’s happening again, we missed some of the dogs. . . .  Thirty or so. Their files were in another room. Have ambulances standing by. I’ll contact you from the truck.”

Parker hung up and tucked his shirt into his pants. He turned and saw Julie step out at the top of the stairs. He hid Jack’s gun under his belt, behind his back.

“What’s going on?” she asked impatiently.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said as he hurried to the door. “Go back to bed.”

“Tony!”

“Just a kitten stuck in a tree. Now, please, go back to bed. I’ll be right back. I promise.” He went through the door and closed it without looking back to Julie or giving her a chance for rebuttal.