‘I’d like to cut your throat with this,’ Todd said grimly.
‘Yes, and then feed me to the pigs. I have no doubt of it’
Todd rinsed the knife, dried it, and put it away. He did the rest of the dishes quickly, let the water out, and rinsed the sink. He looked at the clock as he dried his hands and saw it was twenty past ten.
He went to the phone in the hallway, picked up the receiver, and looked at it thoughtfully. The idea that he had forgotten something — something as potentially damning as the wino’s shoe-nagged unpleasantly at his mind. What? He didn’t know. If not for the headache, he might be able to get it The triple-damned headache. It wasn’t like him to forget things, and it was scary.
He dialled 222 and after a single ring, a voice answered: This is Santa Donato MED-Q. Do you have a medical problem?’
‘My name is Todd Bowden. I’m at 963 Claremont Lane. I need an ambulance.’
‘What’s the problem, son?’
‘It’s my friend, Mr D-’ He bit down on his lip so hard that it squirted blood, and for a moment he was lost, drowning in the pulses of pain from his head. Dussander. He had almost given this anonymous MED-Q voice Dussander’s real name.
“Calm down, son,’ the voice said. Take it slow and you’ll be fine.’
‘My friend Mr Denker,’ Todd said. ‘I think he’s had a heart attack.’
‘His symptoms?’
Todd began to give them, but the receptionist had heard enough as soon as Todd described the chest pain that had migrated to the left arm. He told Todd the ambulance would arrive in ten to twenty minutes, depending on the traffic. Todd hung up and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
‘Did you get it?’ Dussander called weakly.
‘Yes!’ Todd screamed. ‘Yes, I got it! Yes goddammit yes! Yes yes yes! Just shut up?’
He pressed his hands even harder against his eyes, creating first senseless starflashes of light and then a bright field of red. Get hold of yourself, Toad-baby. Get down, get funky, get cool. Dig it.
He opened his eyes and picked up the telephone again. Now the hard part. Now it was time to call home.
‘Hello?’ Monica’s soft, cultured voice in his ear. For a moment — just a moment — he saw himself slamming the muzzle of the .30-.30 into her nose and pulling the trigger into the first flow of blood.
‘It’s Todd, mommy. Let me talk to dad, quick.’
He didn’t call her mommy anymore. He knew she would get that signal quicker than anything else, and she did. ‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong, Todd?’
‘Just let me talk to him!’
‘But what—’
The phone rattled and clinked. He heard his mother saying something to his father. Todd got ready.
Todd? What’s the problem?’
‘It’s Mr Denker, daddy. He… it’s a heart attack, I think. I’m pretty sure it is.’
‘Jesus!’ His father’s voice lagged away for a moment and Todd heard him repeating the information to his wife. Then he was back. ‘He’s still alive? As far as you can tell?’
‘He’s alive. Conscious.’
‘All right, thank God for that Call an ambulance.’
‘I just did.’
‘222?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good boy. How bad is he, can you tell?’
(not fucking bad enough!)
‘I don’t know, dad. They said the ambulance would be here soon, but… I’m sorta scared. Can you come over and wait with me?’
‘You bet Give me four minutes.’
Todd could hear his mother saying something else as his father hung up, breaking the connection. Todd replaced the receiver on his end.
Four minutes.
Four minutes to do anything that had been left undone. Four minutes to remember whatever it was that had been forgotten. Or had he forgotten anything? Maybe it was just nerves. God, he wished he hadn’t had to call his father. But it was the natural thing to do, wasn’t it? Sure. Was there some natural thing that he hadn ’t done? Something -?
‘Oh, you shit-for-brains!’ he suddenly moaned, and bolted back into the kitchen. Dussander’s head lay on the table, his eyes half-open, sluggish.