Driven (23 page)

O
ne word, you said.‘I just want to say one word.’What was that word?” Katz yelled, shifting a bag of frozen peas from his swollen
left eye to the back of his head. Gavin ignored the question as he placed a package of frozen blueberries on the back of Steinman’s
neck. He didn’t want a psychological explanation to what had just happened; he wanted to talk to Buck. He reached for his
cell phone before he remembered he had left it charging at home. He quickly looked around the room.

“Where’s the phone in this place?” he said. The bruised and confused psychologist pointed to the kitchen.

With the receiver of the wall phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder Gavin searched his pockets and then his wallet
for Buck’s phone number, to no avail. “Great, Pierce,” he said sarcastically. “No cell phone, no number. Can you at least
remember the freaking city and state?”

The information operator gave him the number for Samantha’s Dairy Farm. He dialed. One ring… two rings… the answering machine.
He cursed. “Buck! Buck, are you there,” he yelled into the receiver, hoping the preacher would pick up.

After a moment of silence the machine beeped and disconnected. Gavin redialed, going through the machine process again.

“Just like you to know while you’re enjoying your country retirement, all hell’s breaking loose down here—literally. Why did
you even mention not saying ‘Sabah’? You knew I would!”

He slammed the receiver again. Even if he had reached Buck
there probably wasn’t anything the ex-preacher could do over the phone except remind Gavin he had told him not to call Sabah
by name in the first place. Now what was he going to have to do? Have Katz keep Karianne unconscious until he could drive
all the way to the Catskills, kidnap Buck, and drive back? He’d probably strangle Buck first. But what other preacher would
know what Buck knew? Maybe they all did. Maybe none did. How could he find out—look up
Demonology
in the Yellow Pages? He went back to the living room.

“You okay?” he said to Steinman, who was sitting on one of the dining room chairs, his elbows on his knees and his face in
his hands.

“A little dizzy, but I’ll be all right,” he said.

Gavin looked at Karianne, who was now back on the couch as if nothing had ever happened. He was a little concerned about the
broken leg she had been standing on, but much more nervous about who or what would wake up when the drug wore off. And what
could Buck do even if he
was
here—cast the demon out of her so it could find another host and come back to get them? Wonderful, he thought. Now
he
was calling it a demon.

Gavin needed time to gather his thoughts. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe Karianne had some kind of mutant, metaphysical,
psychosomatic thing going on and maybe Katz could eventually figure it out. Yeah, right. And maybe he had not really woken
up this morning and this was all a nightmare. The thought actually made him wonder.

“How long can you keep her out?” he asked Katz as he uprighted a lamp table. The lamp was broken in half, but Gavin put it
on the table anyway.

“Why do you want me to keep her under?” Katz said. “Are you afraid she’ll still—”

“How do I know what she’ll do? The only thing I know is she didn’t pay much attention to your shortcut.”

“What does it mean?”

“What?”

“The word you said to her, Pierce. What do you think I’m talking about?” Katz replied in exasperation.

Gavin was wondering what to tell him when his beeper went off. He recognized the number at police headquarters. On a Sunday?
He went back to the kitchen for the phone, hoping he hadn’t broken it.

“Homicide. Sergeant Maloney,” said a voice through the receiver.

“Sarge, Gavin Pierce,” he said, then winced as he touched his left cheekbone. “You page me?”

“Yeah. Sorry to disturb your Sunday, but the lieutenant thought you might want to know there’s been another crash and it looks
like your boy. He fits all the physical descriptions, a dead ringer for the sketch, drunk as a skunk, and was driving the
passenger’s car. The only difference is he didn’t get away. Fingerprints and hair samples are still pending, of course. Again,
I know it’s Sunday, but the lieutenant figured you might want to identify him.”

Gavin was stunned speechless. He knew, of course, the possibility had always existed that Krogan would be caught this way,
but somehow he’d thought…

“Hello? Pierce. Are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, it’s extremely important he be put on a suicide watch.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s dead. Killed in the crash.”

“He’s dead?” Gavin squeezed the phone so hard he heard the plastic creaking. “What kind of crash was he in?”

“He drove into the broadside of a bus with a big pickup—hard.
Sent it into a deli. Fortunately there were only two passengers and the deli was closed. He put the bus driver and the two
passengers in the hospital, but nothing serious.”

Nothing serious? “Are you sure it’s him?”

“Well, we couldn’t find any ID, so we won’t know for certain until the prints come in.”

“No ID? Does he have a tattoo?”

“Hmm. Don’t know that.”

“Can you ask someone?”

“Hold on.”

Gavin held for what seemed like an eternity. Another pickup truck, he thought. Hitting the side of the bus also reminded him
of Garrity’s crash.

Maloney finally returned. “Nobody remembers seeing anything, but they weren’t looking.”

Gavin cursed. “Where is he?”

“The morgue.”

“Okay, call the F.M.I. and get him to tell whoever’s down there I’m coming in for an ID.”

“Now?”

“I’m on my way,” Gavin said and hung up.

Back in the living room, Katz had found the overstuffed chair.

“What’s going on, Pierce? And don’t tell me you don’t know,” he said.

“Later, Katz. That was headquarters. They’ve got Krogan.”

“Seriously?” Katz said.

“He’s dead.”

Katz paused. “Well, what else is new? He’s been doing that for over five thousand years.”

“You have no idea, Katz. I’ll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, keep her out.”

F
oregoing the formalities of the front entrance, Gavin hurried down the vehicle ramp to the lower level of the Nassau County
Medical Examiners building. As expected, the large steel door was open, a parked ambulance van in its bay.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked an attendant who intercepted Gavin as he rounded the van. The lanky man wore green sanitaries
and had his reddish-brown hair tied back in a ponytail.

Gavin showed his shield. “Detective Pierce. I’m here about the vehicular homicide that arrived this morning. A big guy?”

The attendant nodded. “That was fast. I just got the call you were coming. He’s still on the gurney. Follow me.”

Gavin followed the young man into the building. He had seen about every violent act and consequence there was to see on the
street and had no problem digesting his food after a particularly gruesome day. But the clinical atmosphere of this place
and the people who worked here was something he had never gotten used to. The attendants did nothing to help that perception,
even purposely enhanced it with what Gavin perceived as an exaggerated nonchalance whenever visitors like himself toured.

The attendant pushed open a glass door marked “Autopsy.” Once inside, Gavin’s eyes were immediately drawn to a white sheet
covering a large mass that was still on the ambulance gurney, just as the attendant had said.

“Any tattoos?” Gavin asked, as the attendant circled to the other side of the dead body.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I remember seeing something on one of his shoulders.”

Gavin’s heart raced as the attendant peeled the sheet completely off. The forehead had a deep, open gash that ran diagonally
from left eyeball to blond hairline. The face looked similar enough to the sketch to work, and his size fit the testimony
of the bartender from the Seahorse Tavern.

“The tattoo?” Gavin asked.

“Right here,” the attendant said.

Gavin hurried around the table. Ever since he had heard Krogan’s name he had wanted to see it attached to a dead man. Now,
after the impossible reaction Karianne had had to the name Sabah, he didn’t know what he wanted.

“I’ve seen better,” the attendant said as they stared at a snarling tiger head with blood on its teeth. Compared to the tattoo
Gavin had expected to see, this one looked like a harmless kitten with milk on its whiskers. He wasn’t sure of much these
days, but he was sure of one thing: this wasn’t Krogan.

G
AVIN WAS ONLY TWO MILES
from Karianne’s when his beeper sounded again. Of all days to have forgotten his cell phone. He thought of waiting to use
the phone back at Karianne’s—until he saw the number. He recognized it as the hospital’s, although he didn’t know the extension
after the number. Maybe Amy needed him. He needed a phone and he needed it now.

At the next intersection he saw a pay phone at the corner gas station. He drove in and jumped out of the car, ramming a quarter
into the machine and dialing.

“Community Hospital.”

“Extension two-five-seven.”

“Thank you.”

“Hello?” said a voice Gavin recognized.

“Chris?”

“Gav! You owe me ten bucks. I called your house and no answer. I knew you couldn’t do it.”

Gavin sighed in relief to hear Chris’s voice. “I’ll give you twenty. I thought you were going home to watch the game.”

“Ah, they said I need a couple more days. At least I get to see the game here. It’s a great game, too. It’s halftime and the
Bears are up ten to three. Boy, I’d give anything to be there right now.”

“You sound like Karianne,” Gavin said, more relaxed. “She had a ticket and lost it in the crash somehow. I think it was right
on the fifty, too.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, Krogan probably stole it. He’s probably enjoying himself at the game right now. The camera will catch
him and the creep will wave to us on TV.”

Gavin didn’t laugh. He mind was turning over a sudden, horrible thought: Krogan would look at football as a human demolition
derby. Karianne had not been able to find her ticket. She thought she might have lost it at the Seahorse, and the bartender
had said she offered it to him, but he never took it. She would have been too drunk to realize or remember if Krogan took
it.

A moment later Gavin was screeching out of the gas station, the phone receiver left dangling from the cord, Chris still talking.

G
avin had the gas pedal crushed and a small red flasher blazing on his dashboard. Top speed in the Tiger was around 140, but
the stock brakes were undersized and would fail at that speed, so he tried to keep it under 120.

Everything he had picked up over the last couple of days with Katz and Buck told him Krogan was at the game. He had to get
there before the game ended. Chris said it was halftime. Giants Stadium was an hour away in New Jersey. The game would be
over in about an hour and a half. He wanted to call for backup, but he couldn’t chance Krogan being shot. He wasn’t sure how
he would handle him, either, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He turned the radio on to the game, noting in frustration that the Bears had scored another touchdown. Unlike Chris, he didn’t
care which team won the game; he just didn’t want the game to be a blowout. If Krogan got bored with a lopsided rout, he might
leave—or try to create a little excitement on his own.

A
S GAVIN APPROACHED
the parking area to Giants Stadium, he pulled the plug on the flasher, fearful the Goodyear blimp would spot him and televise
his approach. The thought was highly unlikely, but he didn’t care. He had never been to the stadium before and was not about
to get sloppy now if he could help it.

He was surprised at the number of people still in the parking
lot. The game was inside, yet the parking lot was full of tailgate parties with televisions and radios tuned in to the game.

He was about to turn the flasher back on when he considered that might draw the crowd rather than disperse it. Instead, he
shifted into reverse so hard the gears ground, then floored the gas. The Tiger raced backward with a high-pitched whine. He
spun the steering wheel and bumped onto a sidewalk, then screeched to a stop.

In an instant, he was dashing across the spacious parking lot, threading through tailgate parties and impromptu touch-football
games. And barbecue smoke; there seemed to be enough rising into the air to whet the appetites of the blimp crew. Open coolers
filled with ice and beer became hurdles for him as he searched for the straightest line to the entrance.

At the entrance gate he waved his shield to the confused but obliging faces of the stadium staff. Taking the steps two and
three at a time, he headed for the second level by the fifty yard line where Karianne had said her seat was. As he ran through
the concession corridor he saw the passageways to seating were listed by sections, not yard lines. Which one should he take?
He ran through one of them.

All at once he was one of eighty thousand people. The game was in progress and he was even with the twenty. He approximated
the distance to the fifty, then disappeared back into the corridor, his navy blue T-shirt soaked with sweat.

The next time he emerged into the sunlight, he was at the fifty. Gasping for air, he leaned over with his hands on his thighs
and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. When he straightened up he saw nothing but the back of heads. He hoped Krogan’s
big, blond hairdo would stand out among the crowd.

He made several sweeping scans before looking at the scoreboard to see how much time was left. The fourth quarter had just
started. The Bears were still two touchdowns ahead, but the Giants had the ball. From the sound of the crowd, they weren’t
having much success moving it.

Where was he? Someone Krogan’s size shouldn’t be too hard to find, even in a crowd like this. Gavin started slowly down the
center aisle, looking more carefully at each row. How could he not be here? He felt like arresting everyone for
not
being Krogan.

He walked down a little farther, then turned his back to the game. Maybe he would see the face in the sketch—the face he imagined
even in his sleep, often riddled with bullet holes.

“Excuse me,” said a husky voice from behind.

Gavin spun quickly.

“Easy,” said a heavy, balding man with a black beard.

Gavin sighed and stepped aside. He walked the rest of the way down to the balcony railing, turning to pan slowly across the
heads below him in the first tier, although he knew that wasn’t where Karianne’s seat was. An out-of-bounds tackle at the
fifty caught his attention. An official threw a flag and several cameramen were helped off the ground. A penalty was announced
for unnecessary roughness and another official marched off the damage against the Giants. The football players scrambled back
into their respective huddles near midfield. On the other side of the field, the Bears’ coaches were applauding the call.

The other side… Gavin suddenly flushed hotly with adrenaline. He was an idiot. His eyes immediately scanned the second level,
but it was too far away. He was turning to run up the aisle when he noticed a nearby woman with stadium binoculars.

“Miss,” he yelled as he pulled his shield from his back pocket and held it out. “I need those binoculars. Seriously! It’s
urgent.”

At first she looked at him like he had to be kidding, but apparently thought better of it and passed them over. Without a
thank you, he grabbed the glasses up and shot his gaze back to the other
side, traveling quickly from one face to another. Right to left, bottom to top, one row, then another, then another.

He got to the top of the section, moved to the other side of the center aisle, and started again at the bottom. No… no…
no… no… Wait! Go back! He froze in place, unable to blink, as blood rushed into his face. It was him.
It was him!
The object of his rage was sitting stoically in sharp contrast to the smaller, more animated, fans surrounding him—the sketch
come to life. He looked as big as anyone on the field.

“Here,” Gavin said, handing off the binoculars, then sprinted up the steep center aisle and into the curved corridor. He had
him. He definitely had him.

“Hey, there’s no running in here,” a security cop yelled as Gavin flew by. “I said stop!”

Gavin couldn’t have slowed even if he wanted to. The adrenaline flowing through his veins was more than he had ever experienced.
He expected the guard, who was still yelling, would radio his troops and try to intercept him. Good. The more help the better.
Besides, Gavin didn’t have any handcuffs with him, and they probably did.

He was amazed at Krogan’s gall. To steal Karianne’s ticket and then show up in her seat. He must have thought she’d died in
the crash. Or was it possible he just didn’t care? Whatever, Gavin would show him just how big a mistake he had made.

Ahead, two security guards stepped into the corridor. Calling his name to warn them, Gavin reached into his back pocket and
pulled out his shield. Seeing it, they made no move to resist him.

“Come on,” he yelled, waving them to follow. He called over his shoulder for one of them to radio the police and tell them
the Ghost Driver was at Giants Stadium. One guard dropped back. Gavin suddenly wanted all the help he could get. And in a
place like this, he wasn’t afraid of armed help. He figured the chances of a fellow
cop actually firing a shot off in Giants Stadium with seventy or eighty thousand people around was slim. He would finally
have Krogan, and he would have him alive.

By the time he got to the other side of the fifty yard line six more guards had joined him. He was breathing so hard he could
speak to them only between gasps.

“The Ghost Driver,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “You know who I’m talking about?”

They all affirmed with nods.

“He’s down in the first row.” Gavin reached down to his ankle holster and pulled out his gun, then stuffed it into the front
of his jeans and let his T-shirt fall over it. “I’m going down to introduce myself. I want half of you to go down the next
aisle so he can’t run. The other half of you can follow me. Wait until I’m halfway there.”

Gavin was glad they all agreed because he was going with or without them. He hurried halfway down, then slowed himself. The
killer was easy to see as long as the fans around him stayed in their seats. He stepped into the second row and politely excused
his way through, hoping nobody would complain and draw attention to his location.

Krogan was so close he could practically smell him. The big man wore an olive-drab tank top, and Gavin’s racing heart picked
up when he saw the lettering tattooed across the back of the man’s shoulders. The shirt covered half the height of the lettering,
but there was no mistaking the word it spelled: Krogan.

Moving slowly up behind him, Gavin touched the gun barrel to the back of Krogan’s head, to the sudden consternation of those
around him, and spoke the words he’d longed to say: “The game’s over, Krogan, or whatever your real name is. You’re under
arrest.”

Fans quickly exited from the first three rows and the guards rushed to fill the vacuum, surrounding Gavin and Krogan but allowing
Gavin to make all the moves.

Surprisingly calm, Krogan looked over his shoulder. Gavin stared in the deep, freaky, empty gaze. Was he even human? Gavin
didn’t care. Whoever or whatever he had, he had him.

“Turn your ugly face back around and stay where you are or I’ll take your head off,” Gavin said, then motioned with his left
hand to one of the guards for his handcuffs. His need was quickly satisfied as cold steel slapped into his palm.

“Hit him!” Krogan yelled toward the field. “Take him down.”

Gavin couldn’t believe it. Krogan was being arrested for multiple murders and he was more concerned with the Giants’ inability
to cope with the Bears’ running game.

“Okay, Krogan. Real slow, put your left hand behind your head,” Gavin said, pressing the gun harder against his neck.

“Here,” Krogan said, raising his right hand. “I’d rather wear them on this hand. The nice watch that electric man gave me
is on my left.”

Gavin remembered the tanned outline he had seen on the dead utility man’s wrist. Krogan’s arrogance was astounding.

“You unbelievable scum,” Gavin said, snapping a cuff on his right hand.

“Now I’ll miss the end of the game,” Krogan growled.

“Shut up and put your other hand behind your head or you’ll miss the rest of your life!”

Krogan suddenly stood up and turned around. Gavin followed him up with the gun, for the first time looking his foe full in
the face. Krogan’s defiant smile was eerily reminiscent of Karianne’s smile before she collapsed. The similarity was chilling.

“I’ll tell you when to get up. Turn back around and put your hands behind your back.”

“You’re the detective that newsboy said to get in touch with, aren’t you?” Krogan said, his smile widening. He snatched the
handcuff away from Gavin’s hand and closed it on his own right wrist,
next to the other circlet. “I always wanted a bracelet like this,” he said in mock admiration.

Gavin wished he had real cops with him. He couldn’t expect these stadium employees to do anything more than look threatening.
And Krogan was acting anything but threatened.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, not really knowing what else to say.

“You mean now I’m in more trouble?” Krogan laughed. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” He laughed louder. “Go ahead— shoot.”

Gavin felt helpless. He finally had Krogan trapped, but he could do little more. He wanted to shoot him, at least in the leg
to force cooperation, but to discharge a firearm in a stadium full of people was something he would save for a last resort.
Besides, he couldn’t get out of his mind what Buck had told him. After what had happened earlier with Karianne, he was now
confused. Could it be possible the one he was after was really inside this giant? Was that why Krogan was so at ease with
a gun staring him in the face? Gavin had never seen anything like it.

Just then, the radio on a security guard’s belt came on, announcing the police had arrived at the gate. Thank God, Gavin thought.
“Looks like I won’t have to shoot you after all.”

“Your friends have come to play?” Krogan mocked. “Good.”

“You won’t be wearing that smirk for long. Today’s payday, Krogan. And you’ve run up quite a tab,” Gavin said. Spontaneously,
he added, “And we’ve got just the cell for you. One you’ll be in for the rest of your life. And I’ll make sure it’s a long,
safe, lonely life. Compliments of Sabah.”

The smile that so confidently decorated Krogan’s face vanished. He obviously recognized the name. In fact, Gavin actually
thought he caught a tinge of concern in the killer’s expression. He stared straight into Gavin’s eyes. Gavin stared back,
but didn’t feel as confident
as he would have liked. He blamed Buck—it was the preacher’s fault he was now thinking he might be facing a demon, not a man.
“A demon other demons envy for his power,” Buck had said. It made Gavin edgy when he most needed to be in control.

“They’re here,” said one of the security guards.

Now it was Gavin’s turn to smile, as he heard the sound of feet hastening toward him and knew Krogan saw his end approaching.

It was in the split second Gavin glanced in the direction of his rescuers that Krogan made his move. Before Gavin could respond,
Krogan spun around, hurdled the railing, and was gone. Gavin sprang to the barrier. The drop was over twenty feet to the field-level
seating. To his surprise, Krogan wasn’t sprawled out on the ground. He had pulled himself up to his feet and taken off down
the aisle toward the field. Below, where he had landed, a small crowd was circling around the two people who had apparently
broken his fall.

Gavin heard the men behind him radioing what had happened and the perpetrator’s new position. Radioing to whom? Stadium guards?
The real police, who had responded to the call, were all up here with him.

“Agghhh,” Gavin screamed. He grabbed hold of the rail, his knuckles turning white. His only real chance of getting Krogan
now was to jump after him. Desperate, he blew out three times in rapid succession, closed his eyes, and threw himself over
the metal bar. Just as his hands released, he felt arms grabbing and pulling him back.

“Are all you Nassau County guys crazy or just you?” said one of the New Jersey police. “You trying to kill yourself or just
whoever you land on?”