SUMMATION (10 page)

           The man outside now stepped inside, giving Frank
a shove forward before closing the door behind him.

           "Good evening, Frank." The smaller,
seated one smiled.

           The other one didn't.

           Oh, shit.
"Who
are you? What do you want?" He looked around, wide eyed. He'd never had
anything like this happen before.

           "
I
haven't got anything.  Look around - there's nothing here." He reached
into his pocket, pulling out the few bills he had left.

          
He wished
he had bought another drink with those bills before leaving, seeing as he was
going to lose them anyway. Reluctantly, he held the bills out to the seated
man.

           "Here, take it. That's it. That's all I've
got. Look around. I haven't got anything."

           It was true. In the hour they had had to kill
waiting for him, they had looked around, checking things out, looking for
weapons. He was right. There wasn't anything here of value. He obviously lived
alone.

           There was a wedding picture, clearly from long
before. Certainly that hadn't worked out either, but no ring in the dresser. Probably
hocked, by the look of the place. Both of the uninvited guests had been
surprised at the squalor that passed for his apartment. They knew he was
employed - several pay stubs were stuffed into the pencil drawer of the small
desk. At least
that
drawer worked.

           Of the three drawers in the pedestal of the
desk, one had the guide bar snapped off, jamming it shut, and the other two
were filled with an eclectic mix of old bills, overdue notices, pictures from
long ago, and an occasional candy wrapper. Empty bottles and wrappers from
carry out filled two separate trash cans, and one bag of trash sat near the
door, tied up, ready to go. However, by the odor, it must have been waiting to
go for a while.

           The television, though not new, was adequate. The
screen had even been wiped down in the recent past. A stack of lottery tickets,
all losers like the owner, were stacked on top of it.

           The men didn't move. The smaller one continued
the same smile, although no one would have confused it with a
happy
smile.
In fact, it was a rather
disturbing
smile.

           As intended.

           "Frank, we're here about that lock box. Where
is it?"

           Frank just stared at him.

           "The lockbox, Frank."

           He almost choked.
You have got to be kidding
.
He stared at them.
How could they know? And even if they did, why would they
possibly give a shit? He had just found out about it himself, how could they? In
a couple of hours? For a box with rocks?  Even if, as some speculated, there
was a meteorite or fragment in there, so what? They were found all the time.

           He literally did not know how to respond.

           "Frank? Did you hear me?"  The voice
was so reasonable, as if this was an everyday occurrence, like shopping at the
mall, or asking for a pack of cigarettes at a gas station.

           "Frank, the chest, if you please."

           Manny continued smiling. His friend continued
not.

           Still puzzled, still concerned, especially about
the non-smiling man (which was intentional, of course) positioned between him
and the door, Frankie finally found his voice.

           "I, I don't have it. It's, it's, it's not
here. It's still at work. I never took it."

           The two visitors looked at each other. The
seated one continued sitting, and nodded at the other one standing by the door,
who took a step toward Frank.

           "Seriously. I don't have it." He
looked around desperately, as if help would be available. "You have to
believe me. If I did, you could have it. It's just a box of rocks. A box of
rocks! What would I want with it?  Why would I try to keep it away from you?
I
sure don't want it."

           The larger man stepped toward Frank, two short,
measured steps.

           He was good.

           The man knew from experience that the
anticipation, the fear that built slowly, inexorably, starting in the back of
their mind, then rising from their stomach would create a deeper fear than the
threat of physical violence itself. That self-created fear was much more
effective.  Another step or two by him in this manner, and people would be
beginning to taste their own bile, the literal
taste
of fear.

           "Really, I can get it, but not right this
minute. I work tomorrow. I can get it for you. Honest." He kept glancing
back and forth between the two men, unsure of where the greater danger lay.

           "It's in a storage area at work. Come on,
honest. I'm not messing with you. I can get it. I will
get
it. Please!"

           Manny didn't say anything, but he believed him. He
obviously wasn't the sort to try to fight back. As he had said, what's in it
for him? It was very clear he would have just as soon gone back and had another
drink.  This was going to be easy, for a change.

           The other took one more step toward him, just
for effect. He enjoyed the look people gave him, the look of helpless
resignation, when they know they have given up
everything
, and they are
still
going to get a beating.

           That, and the smell. There was also the literal smell
of fear, to go with the taste. The sudden perspiration, the wiping of the hands
on their pants. In some, the wetting
of
the pants.
This
was what
he enjoyed. And he really did enjoy it.

           Of course, the pay was good, too.

           Manny held up his hand. "Relax, Mr. Notini.
We're not here to hurt you. Not at all. Sit down, please. I have an offer for
you. One I think you're going to like."

           Frankie slowly sat down. Mr. Notini?
Mr
. Notini?

* * *

           A few minutes later, the men left. Frankie sat
there, stunned. He couldn't believe it. They hadn't kicked his ass.

           They hadn't even threatened him

           Well, not directly. They hadn't needed to, but
he knew, of course, if they
had
needed to...

* * *

           And Manny had told him true. It was a good
offer. A
very
good offer. And he had called him
Mr
. Notini. That's
right,
Mr
. Notini. He stood, alone in his apartment once again, looking
around at his imaginary audience, glaring at each imaginary person, each one a
tormenter from his past.

           "That's
Mister
Frank
fucking
Notini
to you, pal. That's right,
Mister
to you."

           Yes, he was very happy indeed with the offer.

     M
ike LaHoya looked up at the
clock. A bead of perspiration, lying in wait for just this moment, fell off his
eyebrow, onto the glass, timed perfectly to blur his view, forcing him to stop,
clean his glasses, and take a break.

           Just
as well, he was ready for one. Or two.

           He had
just been getting off duty when Mount Auto exploded out on 1-90 at the
Illinois-Wisconsin border. As the mountain was dismantled, and bodies freed
from the wreckage, the victims were brought, one or two at a time, to the
basement of the Public Safety Building where each would be examined. Not that
there was much question as to cause of death, but that's the way it's done, so
that's the way Mike did it.

           Each
body was photographed as it came in, then stripped, cleansed, and photographed
again. External examination was performed first, documenting identifying
features, birthmarks, scars, tattoos, and then revealing, as would be obvious,
the massive blunt trauma and crushing injuries. X-Rays were also taken,
showing, surprise surprise, multiple fractures, crushed hips, backs, and chest
cavities, along with dozens of pieces of automobile, now residing within their
owners.

           After
opening the body and skull, tissue samples would be taken from the major organs
and samples of fluids drawn. Finally, the incisions would be closed and the
remains sent to the receiving mortuary or burial facility to be disposed of
according to the wishes of the next of kin. Most would at least temporarily be
held here while families chose a funeral home to which their relatives could be
sent.

           Not
many open caskets after this one, he thought.

           He had
done pretty well, working steadily through, one victim at a time. Like all
medical and emergency people, he had developed a detachment from his work. Not
that he didn't feel for the families of each one, or sympathize with the pain
some had gone through, and wonder at the unfairness of children taken away so
early and so violently.

           But that
pain would be felt later.

           Mike
had developed the detachment necessary to do the job without the emotional load
slowly leading you to a breakdown. Still, the combination of hours and hours of
back-breaking, mind-numbing work bent over the table, the nightmarish condition
of each of the bodies, and finally, the sight of the entire Foster family, laid
out side by side on a conference table (they had run out of gurneys hours
earlier) about did it. He was just plain exhausted, mentally and physically.

           He
heard the swinging door open, and he looked up, expecting another body to be
wheeled in. Instead, a familiar face.

           "Sue
- what the hell are you doing here? I thought - I just talked to you. You
better not have cut that trip short."

           "Just
shut up and say thank you." Sue grabbed the clipboard with all the info
sheets of the incoming, then looked up at the corner of the ceiling, thinking
for a moment. "I guess that didn't make much sense." She looked up at
him. "I mean the shut up and say thank you."

           "No,
that wouldn't make much sense. But no more than you coming back down here.  What'd
I tell you? I still run this show, you know. You aren't indispensable. We can
get by just fine without you. Get your ass out of my building and go back
north. You're supposed to be taking time off."

           "Okay,
Mike scratch the 'just say thank you' part, but keep the 'shut up' part. I'm
here to help, and then I'm gone. Believe me, I'm not giving up my time off."
She looked straight at him.

           "So,
whatcha got?"

           Mike
caught his glasses, slipping off the end of his nose, then found a clean
section of sleeve and wiped his face.

           "Alright,
alright. You never listen anyway." He shook his head and gave her a
crooked smile.

           "And
thanks. God knows I can use the help. I guess I owe you."

           "Big
time. So what's new?" She looked around. "Who should I start on?"

           Mike
pointed to a row of tables by the wall. "Those are the Fosters. The entire
family. Wiped out. This has just been unbelievable. If you could start there..."

           "No
problem. I'll just change and be right back."

           "...
and we'll finish them up in the morning." But she was already gone.

           Mike
was just getting started on his next one. This one was a little different. Although
photos had been taken, and samples taken by needle, no autopsy had been
performed, nor would one be done. The German embassy had called and been
emphatic about that, as had the representative of the U.S. State Department that
had been on the phone with him. It seemed the family did not want the body
desecrated. The matter would be handled at home. Mike had had no problem with
this. No criminal matter was involved, and he wouldn't have to deal with all
the international bullshit, so he was more than happy to go along with the
request. Only physical exams, photographs, X-Rays, and fingerprints would be
taken. So far, everything had been normal on this one as well, as expected.

           Normal,
that is, for someone crushed by a falling truck.

           X-Rays
would have to be retaken, though - the head area was fogged on the film. Either
the head had moved
hold your breath until I say breathe, please
, light
had leaked in during development, or perhaps it was just a bad piece of film.
Anyway, everything else was fine, and as soon as he had the new films, he would
return the body to storage, and Mike himself would become a corpse himself at home,
in his own bed. At least for a few hours. The rest could wait until morning.

           "Dr.
LaHoya?" It was Jenny VanKelp, the X-Ray tech. She only worked part time,
though she'd been on since yesterday as well. "I've got those new films,
but I've got the same problem. I did it a third time, and it's the same thing.
I don't know what's going on."