The List (24 page)

Bert fought back the tears. “You’re insane.”

“
You’re insane
.” Jack laughed. “Of course I’m insane. I’m Jack the Ripper. The original serial killer. The most famous psychopath in history. But I’m not entirely bad. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll give you a phone call. You can call anyone you want.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
To say good-bye, of course.” Jack unclipped the cell phone from his belt and held it out. “Give me a number. I’ll dial for you.”

Bert trembled with fear, anger, helplessness. He was going to die.

The realization staggered him. It was too soon—there was so much he wanted to do, so much he hadn’t yet done. This was supposed to happen when he was old. Not now, not this way, at the hands of a monster who fed on his pain. He wanted to spit in the man’s face, but he held it back for the moment. There was a call he wanted to make.

Bert told Jack a number. Jack repeated it back, naturally.

“It’s ringing.” He put it to Bert’s ear.

“Hello?”

When Bert heard the voice he wasn’t sure if he could keep it together. “Mom? It’s me.”

“Albert! How are you? Where have you been hiding? I called the apartment three times, you haven’t answered.”

“Been busy lately.”

“Too busy to call your mother?”

“Look, Mom, this is important.”

“What is it, Albert?”

Bert’s eyes teared up. “I want to say... I want to say thank you.

Thank you for my life. For raising me.” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice conversational. “You’ve been the best mother anyone could ask for. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, son. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Is, uh, Dad there?”

“Albert... I don’t know if he wants to talk to you.”

“Please. Make him get on the phone. There’s something I have to tell him.”

Jack took the phone away and put his hand over the mouthpiece.

“I just have to tell you, Albert. This is really touching. Really.”

“Can you give me the phone back?”

Jack placed it next to Bert’s ear.

“Yes?” His father’s voice. Curt. Impatient.

“Hi, Dad. Look—I know we haven’t seen eye to eye lately, but I wanted to say something.”

“I’m not sending you any more money.”

“Dammit, Dad, just listen to me. This isn’t about money. It isn’t about graduate school, or physics, or the stock market. This is about you and me. A long time ago, there was a man who told me I could do anything in life. The sky was the limit. He taught me to believe in myself.”

Jack took the phone away again. “This is great stuff, Albert.

Should I get some tissue?”

“Can I finish?”

“
Can I finish?
Sure.” He held the phone out again.

Bert tried to gather his thoughts. “You were there for me, Dad. All throughout my life. You helped make me a man. I know I never lived up to your expectations as a son, but you lived up to all of mine as a father, and then some. I just wanted to thank you, for everything you’ve done. I love you.”

There was a long pause.

“Did he say it back?” Jack asked.

Bert averted his eyes.

“You know, son, you haven’t been by the house in a while. Your mother would love it if you came over, stayed for a few days. I’ve got these Nets tickets—they’re having a great season so far. Heading for the playoffs for sure. Do you remember the first time I took you to see the Nets?”

“Like it was yesterday. They played the Bulls. Jordan scored 43

points.”

“So you’ll come out? They’re playing on Thursday. I don’t know what your schedule is like...”

Bert bit his lower lip. “I don’t think I can make that game, Dad.

But thanks.”

“Well, another time then. Bert?”

“Dad?”

“I know...” He cleared his throat. “I know I haven’t been the most affectionate father. That was always your mother’s department. Hugs and kisses and birthday cards. But, I’m glad you called.”

“I’m glad too.”

“I love you, son.”

“Thanks, Dad. Love you too. Bye-bye.”

Jack took back the phone and pretended to wipe away tears. “I’m all choked up, here. Really. That was touching. The old man actually said he loved you?”

Bert refused to look at him.

“My dad loved me, too. It was a different kind of love, though. He had some—issues. Well, let’s be honest. He got off on hurting me. But behind every attack, there was love. I’ve missed him every day since I killed him.”

“You sick bastard.”

“
You sick bastard.
That’s all you can say? Well, maybe the insults will get more creative as the night drags on. I’ll warn you, though. Try to get them all in early. Because later, instead of calling me names you’ll be telling me you love me just to make the pain stop.”

Bert took a deep breath, searched deep within himself, and found a little reserve of courage. He met Jack’s stare head on.

“I’m a big, stupid, mama’s boy.”

Jack didn’t even pause. “
I’m a big, stupid, mama’s boy.
”

“And I play with dolls.”

“
And I play with dolls
.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing here.”

“I have to repeat everything because I’m a moron.”

“
I have to repeat everything because I’m a moron
. Stop it. Now.”

Bert racked his brain for more insults. He could remember a show he saw on cable about serial killers. Many of them killed animals, started fires, wet the bed...

“I wet the bed until I was twenty.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, and his head began to shake. “
I... wet the bed
until I was twenty
.”

Bert raised his eyebrows. “Hey, I think we hit a nerve. I’m a bed-wetting little psycho and nobody loves me.”

Jack slapped Bert across the face. The blow sent him swinging.

“
I’m... a... bed-wetting...”

“Little psycho and nobody loves me.”

“
Little psycho and nobody loves me
. You’re going to wish you hadn’t done this.”

Jack hurried down the ladder. Bert watched him scamper to the shelving unit, where the rope was anchored. The thought of being dropped on that stake made Bert want to gag. His mind raced. Was there any possible way to get out of this alive? He didn’t see any.

Roy—poor Roy— was dead. Bert had only known him a few days, but he considered him a friend. Tom was in LA, and probably wouldn’t find out about their deaths for a few days. No rescue, no escape. All the future held was a long, awful death.

Bert looked down, between his legs. He was still reeling from Jack’s slap, and the stake swayed back and forth beneath him.

Maybe he couldn’t stop death, but he could delay it for a little while. Bert kicked his legs out and began to swing.

“Stop that!”

Bert stretched out his leg, trying to reach the ladder. Maybe, just maybe, he could get onto it...

The rope went slack and Bert fell.

He stopped abruptly. At first, he thought he’d landed on the ladder and everything was okay. Then the pain hit. His left buttock. White hot, searing pain. Right to the bone.

“No!” Jack screamed. He grabbed the rope and held it tight. “Look what you did! It’s supposed to go between your legs!”

Bert felt himself jerked upwards, being pulled off the stake. He looked down, saw the blood on the tip, felt his left leg go numb.

“If it hit an artery, you’ll bleed to death!”

Good,
Bert thought.

Jack tied the rope back to the shelves and climbed up the ladder.

He spun Bert around and clucked to himself, inspecting the wound in a frantic, worried manner.

“I think it’s okay. I think it’s okay.”

Bert blinked back the pain.

“I wear diapers.”

“
I wear diapers!”
Jack grabbed Bert’s shirt and pulled him close.

“Do you want to play? We’ll do it this way, then!”

Jack went to the top of the ladder and leaned on Bert’s shoulder so he couldn’t swing. Bert watched him take a long knife out of a sheath on his belt.

“This time, the stake won’t miss.”

Jack reached up to saw away at the rope. Bert closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. He couldn’t swing. He couldn’t get away. The stake was going to find its mark, and his terrible death would soon begin. Though not a practicing Jew, Bert’s lips silently formed the only Hebrew words he knew.
Baruch atah Adonai.
Praise the Lord.

Then, suddenly, Jack cried out and there was no more pressure on his shoulder. Bert looked and saw the ladder tumbling over, Jack falling to the ground. And standing there, bare-chested...

“Roy!”

“Damn straight.”

Jack hit the floor rolling. He came up in a crouch, still gripping the knife. His face registered surprise, and when he saw Roy it burned red with rage. He pointed the knife at him, shaking.

“You! I killed you!”

Roy had something big in his hands. It was a black garbage bag—

one of the bags from Abe’s car that had been filled with cans. Roy held it at his side.

“What’s this I hear about diapers?”

“
What’s this... I hear... about diapers!
”

Jack lunged, thrusting at Roy’s stomach with the knife. Roy danced away from the blade and swung the garbage bag like a baseball bat, smacking Jack in the face and chest with a hard, solid blow.

It wasn’t filled with cans. When the bag burst open on impact, it covered Jack with a tangled mass of fishing lures. Hundreds of them.

Jack wailed and pitched to the floor. He rolled around, thrashing and kicking. Hooks were stuck in his clothes, his head, his neck. One hand was hooked to his chest, and the other was tugging at a bright orange object stuck in his eye.

The smart thing would have been to just stop moving and wait for help. But Jack became more and more hysterical. He somehow got to his feet, screaming like a little girl, and sprinted away from Roy, tearing off in the opposite direction.

Straight at Abe.

“Holy shit!” Abe took three steps back and raised something in his right hand. A tire iron.

“Get the hell away from me!”

Jack continued to race forward, gaining speed, blood spraying off him as he ran. Abe was backed up against the shelves and had no place to go.

Bert was transfixed, unable to turn away. Jack had so many lures stuck on him he looked like a decorated Christmas tree. He was four steps away from Abe... three... two...

Abe yelped and brought the weapon down, cracking it hard against the side of Jack’s head. Jack flopped to the ground like a fish. He twitched twice, and then was still. Abe dropped the tire iron and staggered away.

“I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Lincoln took three more steps and then fell to his knees. His hand clutched his chest, and his face was scrunched up in pain.

“Abe!” Roy hurried to him, grabbed his arm.

“Chest pains. Bad. That guy... Jesus.”

“Stay calm. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“Wait... wait... wait...”

Abe opened his mouth and let out an incredibly long belch.

“I’m okay. It was the francheesie.”

Roy left him to his heartburn. He went to the fallen ladder and set it up under Bert.

“I got you, buddy.”

“Hi, Roy. I thought you were dead.”

“Naw. Just went for a brisk swim.” Roy helped Bert get his feet onto the rungs. “Hey, Abe. Cut that rope.”

Abe was smacking his lips. “That sure didn’t taste too good the second time. Just a sec.”

“My ass. It’s killing me.”

“Mine, too. We’ll buy a couple of donuts. Try to stand up.”

Bert stared into Roy’s eyes. He saw deep concern. “You saved me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome? You hit him with my entire life savings. You couldn’t find a brick, or a board or something?”

“Maybe I should leave you hanging there.”

The rope was severed and Bert’s arms came down. His legs were shaking, and Roy assisted him to the ground.

Abe came over with the knife and cut the rope tying Bert’s hands.

There were bloody ligature marks around his wrists, but that paled next to the pain of his circulation returning. It was as if Bert had stuck both hands in a barbecue grill. He moaned.

“Are you okay?”

“Half a million dollars.” Bert looked around the warehouse, lures scattered all over.

Abe held up the knife. “We could, uh, get them back if you want.”

Bert winced at the thought. His eyes fanned over to Jack’s body.

Moments ago, he didn’t think there was any worse way to die than being impaled. Jack just proved him wrong. A horrible death, for a horrible man.

“Leave them. I just lost my stomach for the lure business.”

“Well, your ass doesn’t look too bad.”

“Thanks, Roy. You’ve got a cute ass yourself.”

“I meant, I don’t think you’re gonna bleed to death.”

Bert laughed. “And just two minutes ago, I was hoping I’d bleed to death.”

Roy eyed the stake. “I bet. Nasty.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Tom. The transmitter. Shit, I should call him back. He doesn’t have our number. Abe, gimme your phone.”

Abe was squatting on the ground, picking up lures. “These things are really worth that much money?”

“The phone, Abe.”

Abe pulled the cell out of his pocket and tossed it to Roy. Roy pressed a few buttons. “It doesn’t work.”

“Hit it.”

Roy smacked it a few times. “Was that supposed to help?”

“Naw. Battery is dead. But don’t you feel better?”

Bert made himself look at Jack again. He felt many things—fear, revulsion, anger, even sympathy. He focused his eyes on the phone clipped to his belt.

“Jack’s got a phone.”

No one made any move to retrieve it.

“We should search him, anyway.” Roy scratched his chin.

“Abe, you’re closest. Grab his phone.”

“No way. I saw this movie before. I go near him, he comes back to life and grabs me.”

Bert made the decision. “I’ll do it.”

Roy shook his head. “No need, Bert. I got this one.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to spend the next thirty years in therapy, whining about my fear. I’d rather face it now.”