Blown Away Read Free Page B

be charged with anything.”
    Silence. “Now that’s interesting,” he said. “Tell me more.”
    â€œYou release Timothy without further harm. In return, we give you a get-out-of-jail card that exempts you from all prosecution in this matter. The chief of police has already confirmed it with the governor, and the feds are on board.” Trout Lips rolled his eyes. She shrugged.
    Doe laughed. “No prosecution? After I tortured a cop?”
    â€œWe want Timothy alive more than we need you in jail.”
    â€œHuh. Might be worth considering at that. I did prove my point.”
    She gripped her chair. “Yes, you did. So get out. Now. Caller ID will be fixed any minute, and the first copper that finds you will—”
    â€œShoot first and ask questions later?”
    â€œYou bet! When the Staties arrive, you’ll be shot 3,000 times for resisting arrest!” Bertha barked. “So escape while you can! Timothy has those two darling babies, and he’s never done you any harm—”
    â€œPay attention when I talk!” Doe interrupted angrily. “I told you I’ve never met the man.”
    â€œThen why do this?” Bertha asked. “Why torture this innocent—”
    Doe’s chuckle was so low and evil, she knew he’d never intended to stop. This entire conversation had been an amusement for him. “It’s simple, Bo-Bertha,” he said brightly. “Practice makes perfect.”
    â€œPlease, John, don’t. I’m begging you.”
    â€œIt’s unfortunate your trooper has to die, because I honestly have nothing against him,” he said. “But I need to know. For her. Anything less than perfection isn’t worthy of her.”
    â€œHer?” Bertha said. “Her who?” But John Doe was away from the phone. Tools clanged. Handcuffs ratcheted. Timothy whimpered. John sang.
    Then he was back.
    â€œThere’s nothing you could have said to stop what’s happening,” he said. “I called you because I wanted a live audience for this dress rehearsal. The only phone answered twenty-four hours a day is 911.” His laugh slashed like broken glass. “You’re a nice lady, Bertha. Clever. If anybody could have convinced me to stop, it would have been you. But it wasn’t in the cards. Sorry you got stuck.”
    â€œI don’t feel stuck, John, not at all. I just want you to stop. Please stop. I’ll conference in the chief right now, John. Please, I’m begging you. Listen, here, here, my last name is Pruitt—”
    â€œThere’s no way you could have known about the false-number generator I attached to my cell phone to scramble your caller ID. Or the digital voice changer that lets me sound like anyone I want. For all you know, I could be a woman.” She heard a hand slap flesh. “Oops! There go my trade secrets! You wormed it out of me, Bertha. Hope your chief gives you a nice raise—”
    â€œPruitt, Bertha Pruitt, born right here in Boston as Bertha Bridget—”
    â€œAnd last but not least, because you finally told me your name, I’ll let you be Timothy’s escort to the hangman. Just like I’ll be hers.” He cackled. “Merry Christmas, Bo-Bertha.”
    Frantic screaming assaulted Bertha’s ears. “He’s slicing me!” Timothy cried. “With the scalpel! Cutting my chest…Please, Bertha, help….” The heavy whine of a power tool kicked in. “Oh my Christ it’s a circular saw! Don’t do this, mister. My wife, my sweet precious babies…”
    The whirling steel hit home, and Timothy’s hideous shriek couldn’t mask the industrial butchering of muscle and bone. Bertha smashed the blinking computer display with her soda can till both broke, then collapsed in her chair, head exploding. “Sweet Jesus, he’s sawing out my heart!” Timothy gurgled, to the room’s