Death Glitch (11 page)

“
Exactly.” He started to get up. “We need to go now.”

“
I can give you the secret.” Izzy motioned for Shaffer to sit back down. “You don’t need to run any tests. Let me go and it’s yours.”

“
I’m all ears.” Shaffer plopped back on the sofa.

“
It’s a drug.”

“
I don’t believe that.”

“
It attacks the DNA, makes it reverse itself. It takes about a week.” She didn’t have a clue how DNA worked, much less if it could be reversed, but she had to make him believe. “But you suffer through a few hours of horrible pain just before it kicks in, before the change happens.” She tried to look sincere. “I can only liken it to heroin withdrawal, only much worse.”

“
So you didn’t come up with this drug on your own?”

“
I didn’t come up with it at all.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I was just the human guinea pig. You know, since I was dying of cancer and all. Nothing to lose and everything to gain, but frankly, after I’d seen the pain it put the monkeys through, I expected the drug to kill me.”

“
So there’s a lab, with scientists?” Shaffer looked doubtful. She hadn’t sold him yet.

“
Of course, you didn’t really think I concocted this up in my kitchen? I’m a doctor, not a scientist.”

“
So where’s the lab?”

“
In El Segundo, but it doesn’t exist anymore. There was an accident. Actually not really an accident, but there was a fire. It was on the news.”

“
I don’t remember that.”

“
The one the PETA people started, because of the animal experiments.”

“
I remember something about that,” Ackerman said. Izzy didn’t know how, because she was making the whole thing up. Power of suggestion maybe.

“
The two principles, Doctors Johnson and Swift were killed. That’s a little tidbit they kept off the news.”

“
Yeah, I didn’t hear about that,” Ackerman said.

“
And you know this how?” Shaffer said.

“
Think about it,” Izzy said.

“
I’m at a loss,” Shaffer said.

“
You were there!” Ackerman said.

“
Maybe you’re not as stupid as you seem,” Izzy said, thinking the direct opposite.

“
You’re crusin’ for another brusin’,” Ackerman said.

“
So with Johnson and Swift dead,” Izzy said, ignoring him. “I’m the only one who can recreate the drug.”

“
How did you get out?” Shaffer said.

“
The fire started in the front, I went out the back.” She sighed. “Then I took off.”

“
Why did you run?” Shaffer said.

“
Because, I’d just taken the drug and I knew word would get out if it worked and I’d be in the same fix I’m in now. You want to lock me away, take my blood, do tests, figure out how to make the Fountain of Youth drug.” She shook her head, feeling her long hair as it swished about her shoulders.

“
So the research is destroyed?” Shaffer said.

“
Not all of it.” She smiled, looked Shaffer straight in the eyes. “I have the formula. It’s complicated and I can’t make heads or tails out of it, but someone could.”

“
And for it you want?”

“
Let me go. That’s all I want. You can have it, but I walk out of here, go far away and you never come looking and you never tell anyone.”

“
Deal.” He said it so fast his lying eyes almost didn’t have the time go give him away.

“
And you’ll keep your word?”

“
I’ll keep my word.”

“
You guys are witnesses,” she said to Ackerman and Lundgren, trying to broadcast sincerity. Trying to sound like a trusting airhead.

“
Where is the formula?”

“
In my wallet.” She reached her hand to her hip pocket as Shaffer leaned forward. She hoped that Ackerman behind her was as eager as Shaffer, because if he wasn’t, if he had the Glock trained on her, she was going to wind up dead.

“
Get it!” Shaffer said. “Let me see it!” Anxiety oozed out of his mouth.

“
Alright.” She arched her head back, locked eyes with Ackerman, standing behind and above her as she reached her left hand into her hip pocket, index finger finding the hole in the center of the wallet holster. She loosely wrapped it around the trigger and eased the holstered gun out of her pocket. Eyes still glued to Ackerman’s she brought the gun up fast. Shot him under the chin.

“
What!” Lundgren shouted, his voice almost as loud as the gunshot.

Shaffer lunged for her, but she was out of the chair in a flash, charging toward the small laundry room which opened to the garage. The garage had been converted to a library, with several rows of bookshelves. She ran through fiction A to E, found the electric meter, opened it and pulled down on the main breaker, shutting off the electricity to the house, turning everything dark.

“
Eric!” she heard Lundgren cry. “She killed him!” He was wailing like a man tormented. Somehow, she’d never thought of them being in love.

She also had never dreamed she’d be able to kill a man. She’d done it without thinking. She’d done it with eyes wide open. She’d seen the back of his head explode, seen the blood shoot toward the ceiling. It had happened in the blink of an eye. Then she moved, still without thinking, fearing the falling blood. She ran toward her books, instinctively shutting off the power to the house.

It had been a stupid move, because now she was trapped. She was as blind as her pursuers. She couldn’t even escape through the side door, because it was deadbolted shut. True, she had the keys, but how could she find the door, much less the lock, in this pitch black.

“
I’m coming for you!” Lundgren shouted. “I’ve got the gun.”

The Glock.

Shit.

She had to get out of here, but the only way out was that side door and even if she could find it now, Lundgren wouldn’t give her the time to open it. He’d do to her what she’d done to his lover and who’s to say she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t have to kill him.

Yes, she did. They were going to lock her away. There had been no other way.

Still, she’d killed him. Made him dead. He’d wanted to be young forever and now he was dead forever. She shivered. A gun made you a god. She didn’t like it, but she’d had no choice. Them or her. They’d made the rules, she was just playing the hand they’d dealt.

She heard the front door open, then close. Somebody had left, who? And more importantly, why? Had they gone for reinforcements? No. More than likely they were afraid the gunshot was going to draw the police. They’d left her with a body and the gun that had killed him. Young again only to spend her life behind bars. Somebody had gone out that door, both of them or only Shaffer?

As if to answer her question, she heard breathing.

It seemed to be coming from all around her. Someone was in here with her. Lundgren, had to be. Shaffer had cut and run, like the coward she knew him to be, but Lundgren had stayed to avenge Ackerman. In a way she couldn’t blame him. From what she’d known of them, neither Lundgren nor Ackerman had been too bright. Couldn’t even make the cops after all these years. Shaffer probably promised them eternal youth, riches, more. Now Ackerman was dead. Lundgren had lost not only his dreams, but his lover as well.

He wasn’t leaving, cops coming or no. He was going to see this through.

And he’d gotten in here without her hearing him. Maybe he wasn’t too bright, but he was stealthy. Plus, he had fourteen rounds to her seven. She had good bullets, but his were better. She had to end this quickly or she was going to be joining Ackerman in the hereafter.

“
Hey, bitch.” Lundgren was whispering and his voice seemed to be everywhere, like his breath. How come she couldn’t get a fix on it?

The bookcases were made out of solid oak. The were beautiful to behold and she was pretty sure they’d stop the Glock’s forty caliber slugs and she knew for certain they’d stop the little Rugar’s rounds.

She picked up a book. A thick one and tossed it toward the side wall, toward where she imagined her computer desk would be. It landed with a crash, followed by three quick gunshots which roared through the garage like a jet engine. If she hadn’t killed her iMac with that lucky throw, Lundgren just did.

Her eyes, bathed in pitch black, were light sensitive and she saw a red glow with each shot, but not the muzzle flash, because she’d been behind a bookcase. She grabbed another book, moved to another row. Tossed it.

He fired twice, lighting himself up with the muzzle flash.

She fired once, but not before the black reigned again. She dropped to the floor as a shot flew over her head, going through the garage door. She could just imagine it slamming into the house across the street.

He’d fired six rounds, leaving him eight. She’d fired once, leaving her six. She scooted back toward the breaker box, hugging the floor. He fired twice more, both shots missing by inches, both going through the garage door, shooting off into the night. The people across the street were not her favorite neighbors, but she didn’t want them hurt.

“
You’re dead, bitch!” He screamed it, a mournful wail that might not wake the dead, but the neighbors were getting an earful. Old Thelma Prescott, her nosey neighbor on the left, had surely called the police by now.

She reached into the bookcase, got another book, tossed it across the room. He didn’t fire.

“
Not gonna fool me again.” He had six rounds left, leaving them even. But his were deadlier. And if he wasn’t going to shoot off into the night anymore, she had a problem, because eventually, if he was any good at moving around in the dark, he was going to find her. And since he’d managed to get into the garage without making a sound, she’d have to assume he was good at it.

If she just knew where he was. She needed an edge, otherwise she was going to die in the dark. Then she had an idea. How to get her edge.

She felt for the wall behind her, then breathing quietly as possible, so that her breath was silent even to God’s ears, she inched her way up the wall, till she was standing next to the breaker box.

She steadied herself, back against the wall, reached to her side, felt the breaker box, eased her hand down to the main, took a deep breath, held it.

She flipped the switch.

And the garage filled with light.

Lundgren was facing away from her, but he was lizard quick in his reaction, turning fast. But she was already firing. One, two, three rounds into his side as he turned. Four, five and six, she stitched into his chest. Shock and horror filled his face as he glared at her for an instant, then fell forward.

Out of ammo, she shoved the wallet gun back into her pocket. She looked for the Glock, but he’d fallen on it. She was about to push the body aside and get it when she heard sirens off in the distance.

Time to go.

She started for the back, heard sirens in the park. She ran for the front door, grabbed a breath and stepped out into the cold.

“
Don’t move.” It was Shaffer and he had a gun stuck in her back. “This is a forty-five automatic. It may be World War II vintage, but it’s very deadly. So if you want to stay alive, we are going to calmly walk down to my car, you’re going to drive.”

“
No,” she said.

“
I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“
I don’t think—”

A roar that sounded like it came from the bowels of Hell filled the night and from out of nowhere Hunter sprang, grabbing Shaffer by the gun arm, pulling him down. Shaffer tried to fight him off, flaying at the dog with his other hand, but the dog was too strong.

The forty-five went flying, landing on the lawn. Izzy ran for it, grabbed it, then turned toward Shaffer, who was on his back, limp under the dog.

“
Let him go,” Izzy commanded.

Hunter released, growled, stepped back as Izzy went to her knees. Shaffer lay still, eyes wide. His face spoke of a torturous agony.

“
My heart,” he said. Then nothing.

Izzy checked the carotid. No pulse. He was gone.

“
Fuck.”

“
What’s going on?” It was Thelma Prescott, her noisy, old, drunken neighbor. “That man’s hurt!”

Sirens filled the night. Getting louder.

“
Time to go.” Izzy started for the end of the street at a run, the dog at her heels, when a squad car came screeching around the corner, siren blaring.

Izzy stopped, caught in the black and white’s headlight.

Two cops got out of the car, doors open, shielding them as they trained their guns at her.

“
Drop the gun! Drop the gun!” one of them shouted.

“
On the ground, on the ground!” the other one was shouting, too.

Then they vanished.

One second they were there, the next they were not.

“
Come on!” Izzy said to the dog and they took off at a dead run.

Lila Booth parked on Ralston, across the street from a two story yellow house. The university was a couple blocks away and most of the neighborhood looked like it housed students, but a few of the homes looked upscale and this was one of them. According to her tracker, Amy Eisenhower’s vintage Volkswagen was in the garage.