J.A.KONRATH
AUTHORINTRODUCTION
MynameisJoeKonrath,andIwritethrillers.
ThisparticularstoryismentionedinmytenthJackDanielsnovel, LASTCALL. One of the villains in
thatbookhasreadthestory,andtrieswhatisdescribed.
Awordofwarning:thisisameanone.
CONTENTS
BeginreadingTHEAGREEMENT
AnExcerptFromLASTCALL,AJackDanielsThriller
OtherRecommendedTitles
JoeKonrath’sCompleteBibliography
Copyright
I wrote this in college, and never tried to publish it because I considered it too violent. But after selling several
storiestoElleryQueen,Istillcouldn’tcrackitssisterpublication,AlfredHitchcock.Afterahandfulofrejections,I
sentthemthis,andtheyboughtit.IlikedthelastlinesomuchI’vereuseditafewtimesinotherstories.
Hutsonclosedhiseyesandswallowedhard,tryingtostopsweating.Onthetable,inthepot,thirty
thousanddollarsworthofchipsformedahaphazardpyramid.Halfofthosechipswerehis.Theother
halfbelongedtothequirkylittlemobsterinthepinksuitthatsatacrossfromhim.
“I’llseeit.”
Themobsterpushedmorechipsintothepile.HewentbythestreetnickLittleLouie.Hutsondidn’t
knowhislastname,andhadnorealdesiretolearnit.Theonlythinghecaredaboutwaswinningthis
hand.Hecaredaboutitagreatdeal,becauseBernardHutsondidnothavethemoneytocoverthebet.
Sevenhoursagohewasupeighteengrand,butsincethenhe’dbeensteadilylosingandextendinghis
creditandlosingandextendinghiscredit.Ifhewonthispot,he’dbreakeven.
Ifhedidn’t,heowedthirtythousanddollarsthathedidn’thavetoamanwhohadzerotolerancefor
welchers.
LittleLouiealwaysbroughttwolargebodyguardswithhimwhenhegambled.Thesebodyguards
workedaccordingtoauniquepaymentplan.Theywouldhurtawelcherinrelationtowhatheowed.
Anunpaiddebtofonehundreddollarswouldbreakafinger.Athousandwouldbreakaleg.
Thirtythousanddefiedtheimagination.
Hutsonwipedhisforeheadonhissleeveandstaredathishand,prayingitwouldbegoodenough.
Little Louie dealt them each one more card. When the game began, all six chairs had been full.
Now,atalmostfiveinthemorning,theonlytwocombatantsleftwereHutsonandthemobster.Both
stankofsweatandcigarettes.Theysatatagreasywoodencardtableinsomebody’skitchen,cramped
andred-eyedandexhausted.
OneofLouie’sthugssatonachairinthecorner,snoringwithadeepbumble-beebuzz.Theother
waslookingoutofthegrimyeighthstorywindow,thefireescapeblockinghisviewofthecity.Each
menhadmorescarsontheirknucklesthanHutsonhadonhisentirebody.
Scaryguys.
Hutsonpickedupthecardandsaidasilentprayerbeforelookingatit.
Afive.
Thatgavehimafullhouse,fivesoverthrees.Agoodhand.Averygoodhand.
“Yourbet,”LittleLouiebarked.Themaninthepinksuitboastedtiny,cherubicfeaturesandblack
rateyes.Hedidn’tstandoverfivefour,andapatheticlittleblondemustachesatonhisupperliplikea
bug. Hutson had joined the game on suggestion of his friend Ray. Ray had left hours ago, when
Hutson was still ahead. Hutson should have left with him. He hadn’t. And now, he found himself
throwinghislasttwohundreddollarsworthofchipsintothepile,hopingLittleLouiewouldn’traise
him.
LittleLouieraisedhim.
“I’moutofchips,”Hutsonsaid.
“Butyou’regoodforit,right?Youaregoodforit?”
Thequestionwasmoot.Themobsterhadmadecrystalclear,whenheextendedthefirstloan,thatif
Hutsoncouldn’tpayitback,hewouldhurthim.
“I’mveryparticularwhenitcomestodebts.Whenthegameends,Iwantalldebtspaidwithinan
hour. In cash. If not, my boys will have to damage you according to what you owe. That’s the
agreement,andyou’reobligedtofollowit,totheletter.”
“I’mgoodforit.”
Hutsonborrowedanotherfivehundredandaskedforthecardstobeshown.
LittleLouiehadfoursevens.Thatbeatafullhouse.
Hutsonthrewuponthetable.
“ItakeitIwon,”grinnedLittleLouie,hischeeksbrighteninglikeamaniacalelf.
Hutsonwipedhismouthandstaredofftotheleftoftheroom,avoidingLittleLouie’sgaze.
“I’llgetthemoney,”Hutsonmumbled,knowingfullwellthathecouldn’t.
“Goaheadandmakeyourcall.”LittleLouiestoodup,stretched.“Rocko,bringthismanaphone.”
Rockoliftedhissnoringheadinamomentofconfusion.“Whatboss?”
“Bringthisguyaphone,sohecangetthemoneyheowesme.”
Rocko heaved himself out of his chair and went to the kitchen counter, grabbing Little Louie’s
cellularandbringingittoHutson.
HutsonlookedoveratLittleLouie,thenatRocko,thenatLittleLouieagain.
“Whatdoyoumean?”hefinallyasked.
“Whatdoyoumean?”mimickedLittleLouieinahigh,whinyvoice.BothRockoandtheotherthug
brokeupatthis,gigglinglikeschoolgirls.“Youdon’tthinkI’mgoingtoletyouwalkoutofhere,do
you?”
“Yousaid…”
“Isaidyouhaveanhourtogetthemoney.Ididn’tsayyoucouldleavetogetit.I’mstillfollowing
theagreementtotheletter.Socallsomebodyupandgetthemtobringithere.”
Hutsonfeltsickagain.
“Youdon’tlooksogood.”LittleLouiefurrowedhisbrowinmock-concern.“Wantanantacid?”
Thethugsgiggledagain.
“I…Idon’thaveanyoneIcancall,”Hutsonstammered.
“Callyourbuddy,Ray.Ormaybeyourmommycanbringthemoney.”
“Mommy.”Rockosnickered.“Yououghttobeacomedian,boss.You’dkill’em.”
LittleLouiepuffedouthisfatlittlechestandbelched.
“Bettergettoit,Mr.Hutson.Youonlyhavefifty-fiveminutesleft.”
Hutsontookthephoneinatremblinghand,andcalledRay.Itrangfifteentimes,twenty,twenty-five.
LittleLouiewalkedover,pattedHutson’sshoulder.“Idon’tthinkthey’rehome.Maybeyoushould
trysomeoneelse.”
Hutson fought nausea, wiped the sweat off of his neck, and dialed another number. His exgirlfriend,Dolores.Theybrokeuplastmonth.Badly.
Amananswered.
“CanIspeaktoDolores?”
“Whothehellisthis?”
“It’sHutson.”
“Whatthehelldoyouwant?”
“PleaseletmespeaktoDolores,it’srealimportant.”
LittleLouiewatched,apparentlydrinkinginthescene.Hutsonhadafeelingthemobsterdidn’tcare
aboutthemoney,thathe’dratherwatchhismeninflictsomemajorpain.
“Dolores,thisisHutson.”
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Ineedsomemoney.Ioweagamblingdebtand…”
Shehunguponhimbeforehegotanyfarther.
Hutsonsqueezedhiseyesshut.Thirtythousanddollarsworthofpain.Whatwouldtheystartwith?
Hisknees?Histeeth?Jesus,hiseyes?
Hutsontriedhisparents.Theypickeduponthesixthring.
“Mom?”Thisbroughtuncontrollablelaughterfromthetrio.“Ineedsomemoney,fast.Agambling
debt.They’regoingtohurtme.”
“Howmuchmoney?”
“Thirtygrand.Anditneeditinforty-fiveminutes.”
Therewasalengthypause.
“Whenareyougoingtogrowup,Bernard?”
“Mom…”
“Youcan’tkeepexpectingmeandyourfathertopickupafteryouallthetime.You’reagrownman
Bernard.”
Hutsonmoppedhisforeheadwithhissleeve.
“Mom,I’llpayyouback,IsweartoGod.I’llnevergambleagain.”
Aneternityofsilencepassed.
“Maybe you’ll learn a lesson from this, son. A lesson your father and I obviously never taught
you.”
“Mom,forGod’ssake!They’regoingtohurtme!”
“I’msorry.Yougotyourselfintothis,you’llhavetogetyourselfout.”
“Mom!Please!”
Thephonewentdead.
“Yeah, parents can be tough.” Little Louie rolled his head around on his chubby neck, making a
soundlikeacracklingcellophanebag.“That’swhyIkilledmine.”
Hutsoncradledhisfaceinhishandsandtriedtofightbackasob.Helost.Hewasgoingtobehurt.
Hewasgoingtobeverybadlyhurt,overalongperiodoftime.Andnoonewasgoingtohelphim.
“Please,”hesaid,inavoicehedidn’trecognize.“Justgivemeadayortwo.I’llgetthemoney.”
LittleLouieshookhishead.“Thatain’tthedeal.Youagreedtotheterms,andthosetermswereto
theletter.Youstillhavehalfanhour.Seewhoelseyoucancall.”
Hutsonbrushedawayhistearsandstaredatthephone,prayingforamiracle.Thenhehadanidea.
Hecalledthepolice.
He dialed 911, then four more numbers so it looked like it was a normal call. A female officer
answered.
“ChicagoPoliceDepartment.”
“This is Hutson. This is a matter of life and death. Bring 30,000 dollars over to 1357 Ontario,
apartment506.”
“Sir,crankcallsontheemergencynumberisacrime,punishablebyafineoffivehundreddollars
anduptothirtydaysinprison.”
“Listentome.Please.Theywanttokillme.”
“Whodoes,sir?”
“Theseguys.It’sagamblingdebt.They’regoingtohurtme.Getoverhere.”
“Sir,havingalreadyexplainedthepenaltyforcrankcalls…”
ThephonewasrippedfromHutson’shandsbyRockoandhandedtoLittleLouie.
“I’msorry.Itwon’thappenagain.”LittleLouiehungupandwaggledafingeratHutson.“I’mvery
disappointedinyou,Mr.Hutson.Afterall,youhadagreedtomyterms.”
Hutson began to cry. He cried like a first grader with a skinned knee. He cried for a long time,
beforefinallygettinghimselfundercontrol.
“It’stime.”LittleLouieglancedathiswatchandsmiled.“Startwithhisfingers.”
“Pleasedon’thurtme…”
Rocko and the other thug moved in. Hutson dodged them and got on his knees in front of Little
Louie.
“I’lldoanything,”hepleaded.“Anythingatall.Nameit.Justnameit.Butpleasedon’thurtme.”
“Holditboys.”LittleLouieraisedhispalm.“Ihaveanidea.”
AsmallrayofhopepenetratedHutson.
“Anything.I’lldoanything.”
LittleLouietookoutalong,thincigarilloandnippedofftheend,swallowingit.
“Therewasaguy,aboutsixyearsago,whowasinthesamesituationyou’reinnow.”
Heputtheendofthecigarinhismouthandrolleditaroundonhisfat,graytongue.
“Thisguyalsosaidhewoulddoanything,justsoIdidn’thurthim.Rememberthatfellas?”
Bothbodyguardsnodded.
“Hefinallysaid,whathewoulddo,isputhishandonastoveburnerfortenseconds.Hesaidhe
wouldholdhisownhandontheburner,fortenwholeseconds.”
LittleLouieproducedagoldDunhillandlitthecigar,rollingitbetweenhischubbyfingerswhile
drawinghard.
“Heonlylastedseven,andwehadtohurthimanyway.”LittleLouiesuckedonthestogie,andblew
outaperfectsmokering.“ButIamcurioustoseeifitcouldbedone.Thewholetenseconds.”
LittleLouielookedatHutson,whowasstillkneelingbeforehim.
“Ifyoucanholdyourrighthandonastoveburnerfortenseconds,Mr.Hutson,I’llrelieveyouof
yourdebtandyoucanleavewithoutanyonehurtingyou.”
Hutsonblinkedseveraltimes.Howhotdidastoveburnerget?Howseriouslywouldhebehurt?
Notnearlyasmuchashavingthirtythousanddollarsworthofdamageinflicteduponhim.
Butastoveburner?Couldheforcehimselftokeephishandonitforthatlong?
Didhehaveanyotherchoice?
“I’lldoit.”
LittleLouiesmiledheldoutahandtohelpHutsontohisfeet.
“Ofcourse,ifyoudon’tdoit,theboyswillstillhavetoworkyouover.Youunderstand.”
Hutsonnodded,allowinghimselftobeledintothekitchen.
Thestovewasoff-white,agreasyKenmore,withfourelectricburners.Theheatingelementswere
eachsixinchesindiameter,coiledintospiralslikeawhirlpoolswirl.Theywereblack,butHutson
knewwhenheturnedoneonitwouldgloworange.
LittleLouieandhisbodyguardssteppedbehindhimtogetabetterlook.
“It’selectric,”notedRocko.
LittleLouiefrowned.“Theotherguyusedagasstove.Hissleevecaughtonfire.Rememberthat?”
Thethugsgiggled.Hutsonpickedthelowerlefthandburnerandturneditonthelowestsetting.
LittleLouiewasn’timpressed.
“Hey,switchituphigherthanthat.”
“Youdidn’tsayhowhighithadtobewhenwemadetheagreement.”Hutsonspokefast,relyingon
themobster ’swarpedsenseoffairness.“JustthatIhadtokeepitonfortenseconds.”
“Itwasinferreditwouldbeonthehottest.”
“Icanputitonlowandstillfollowthedealtotheletter.”
LittleLouieconsideredthis,thennodded.
“You’reright.You’restillfollowingittotheletter.Leaveitonlowthen.”
Itdidn’tmatter,becausealreadytheburnerwasfireyorange.Rockoleanedoverandspatonit,and
thesalivadidn’tevenhaveachancetodripthroughthecoilsbeforesizzlingawayandevaporating.
“Itthinkit’shot,”Rockosaid.
Hutsonstaredattheglowingburner.Heheldhistremblinghandtwoinchesaboveit.Theheatwas
excruciating.Hutson’spalmbegantosweatandthehairabovehisknucklescurledandhefoughtthe
littlevoiceinhisbrainthatscreamedgetyourhandaway!
“Well, go ahead.” Little Louie held up a gold pocket watch. “I’ll start when you do. Ten whole
seconds.”
“SweetJesusinheavenhelpme,”thoughtHutson.
Hebithislipandslappedhishanddownontotheburner.
There was an immediate frying sound, like bacon in a pan. The pain was instant and searing.
Hutsonscreamedandscreamed,thecoilsburningawaytheskinonhispalm,burningintotheflesh,
blisteringandbubbling,meltingthemuscleandfat,Hutsonscreamingloudernow,smokestartingto
rise, Little Louie sounding off the seconds, a smell like pork chops filling Hutson’s nostrils, pain
beyondintense,screamingsohightherewasn’tanysound,can’tkeepitthereanymore,jesusnomore
nomoreand…
Hutson yanked his hand from the burner, trembling, feeling faint, clutching his right hand at the
wristandstumblingtothesink,turningonthecoldwater,puttinghischarredhandunderit,losing
consciousness,everythinggoingblack.
Hewokeuplyingonthefloor,thepaininhishandalivingthing,hismouthbleedingfrombiting
hislowerlip.Hisfacecontortedandheyelledfromtheanguish.
LittleLouiestoodoverhim,holdingthepocketwatch.“Thatwasonlysevenseconds.”
Hutson’s scream could have woken the dead. It was full of heart-wrenching agony and fear and
disgustandpity.ItwasthescreamofthemanbeinginterrogatedbytheGestapo.Thescreamofthe
woman having a Caesarean without anesthetic. The scream of a father in a burning, wrecked car
turningtoseehisbabyonfire.
Thescreamofamanwithouthope.
“Don’tgetupset.”LittleLouieofferedhimabiggrin.“I’llletyoutryitagain.”
ThethugshauledHutsontohisfeet,andhewhimperedandpassedout.Hewokeuponthefloor
again,choking.Waterhadbeenthrowninhisface.
LittleLouieshookhishead,sadly.“ComeonMr.Hutson.Ihaven’tgotallday.I’mabusyman.If
youwanttobackout,theboyscandotheirjob.Iwanttowarnyouthough,athirtygrandjobmeans
we’ll put your face on one of these burners, and that would just be the beginning. Make your
decision.”
Hutsongottohisfeet,kneesbarelyabletosupporthim,breathshallow,handhurtingworsethan
anypainhehadeverfelt.Hedidn’twanttolookatit,foundhimselfdoingitanyway,andstaredatthe
black,inflamedfleshinacircularpatternonhispalm.Hardlyanyblood.Justraw,exposed,gooey
cookedmusclewheretheskinhadfriedaway.
Hutsonbentoverandthrewup.
“Come on, Mr. Hutson. You can do it. You came so close, I’d hate to have to cripple you
permanently.”
Hutsontriedtostaggertothedoortogetaway,butwasheldbackbeforehetooktwosteps.
“Thestoveisoverhere,Mr.Hutson.”LittleLouie’sblackrateyessparkledlikepolishedonyx.
Rocko steered Hutson back to the stove. Hutson stared down at the orange glowing burner,
blackened in several places where parts of his palm had stuck and cooked to cinder. The pain was
pounding.Hewasdazedandonthevergeofpassingoutagain.Heliftedhislefthandovertheburner.
“Nope.SorryMr.Hutson.Ispecificallysaidithadtobeyourrighthand.Youhavetouseyourright
hand,please.”
Could he put his right hand on that burner again? Hutson didn’t think he could, in his muddied,
agony-spiked brain. He was sweating and cold at the same time, and the air swam around him. His
bodyshookandtrembled.Ifhewerefamiliarwiththesymptoms,Hutsonmighthaveknownhewas
goingintoshock.Buthewasn’tadoctor,andhecouldn’tthinkstraightanyway,andthepain,ohjesus,
theawfulpain,andherememberedbeingfiveyearsoldandafraidofdogs,andhisgrandfatherhada
dogandmadehimpetit,andhewasscared,soscaredthatitwouldbite,andhisgrandfathergrabbed
hishandandputittowardthedog’shead…
Hutsonputhishandbackontheburner.
“One……………two……………”
Hutsonscreamedagain,searingpainbringinghimoutofshock.Hishandreflexivelygrabbedthe
burner, pushing down harder, muscles squeezing, the old burns set aflame again, blistering,
popping…
“……………three……………”
Takeitoff!Takeitoff!Screaming,eyessqueezedtight,shakinghisheadlikeahoundwithafoxin
histeeth,soundsofcrackingskinandsizzlingmeat…
“……………four……………five……………”
Blacksmoke,rising,aburningsmell,that’smecooking,musclemeltingandsearingaway,nerves
exposed,screamingevenlouder,pullitaway!,usingtheotherhandtoholditdown…
“……………six……………seven……………”
Agonysoexquisite,soabsolute,unending,entirearmshaking,fallingtoknees,keepinghandon
burner, opening eyes and seeing it sear at eye level, turning grey like a well-done steak, meat
charring…
“Smellsprettygood,”saysoneofthethugs.
“Likeahamburger.”
“Ahand-burger.”
Laughter.
“……………eight……………nine……………”
Nofleshleft,orangeburnersearingbone,scorching,bloodpumpingontoheatingcoils,beading
andevaporatinglikefatonagriddle,veinsandarteriessearing…
“……………ten!”
Takeitoff!Takeitoff!
It’sstuck.
“Lookboss,he’sstuck!”
Air whistled out of Hutson’s lungs like a horse whimpering. His hand continued to fry away. He
pulledfeebly,painatapeak,allnervesexposed–pulldammit!–blackingout,everythingfading…
Hutsonawokeonthefloor,shaking,withmorewaterinhisface.
“NicejobMr.Hutson.”LittleLouiestareddownathim.“Youfollowedtheagreement.Totheletter.
You’reoffthehook.”
Hutsonsquintedupatthemobster.Thelittlemanseemedveryfaraway.
“Since you’ve been such a sport, I’ve even called an ambulance for you. They’re on their way.
Unfortunately,theboysandIwon’tbeherewhenitarrives.”
Hutsontriedtosaysomething.Hismouthwouldn’tformwords.
“I hope we can gamble again soon, Mr. Hutson. Maybe we could play a hand or two. Get it? A
hand?”
Thethugstittered.LittleLouiebentdown,closeenoughforHutsontosmellhiscigarbreath.
“Oh,there’sonemorething,Mr.Hutson.Lookingbackonouragreement,Isaidyouhadtohold
yourrighthandontheburnerfortenseconds.Isaidyouhadtofollowthatrequesttotheletter.But,
youknowwhat?Ijustrealizedsomethingprettyfunny.Ineversaidyouhadtoturntheburneron.”
LittleLouieleft,followedbyhisbodyguards,andBernardHutsonscreamedandscreamedandjust
couldn’tstop.
Thefollowingisanexcerptfrom
LASTCALL–AJackDanielsThriller
SOMEWHEREINMEXICO
LUCY
H
ecalleditthethroneroom.
The walls were stone. K had wanted gray, like a medieval castle, but nothing in this country
wasgray.He’dsettledforlightbrownadobe,withasloppycoatoflightcharcoalpaintthecartelhad
splashedaroundwiththefinesseofmenwhosolddrugsforaliving.
There was a single window, squarish and barely big enough to stick your head through,
overlooking the fighting arena two floors below. At night, the only light came courtesy greasy oil
lampshangingfromchains,yellowandsicklyandnotmuchbrighterthancandles.Electriclightwas
impossible;whenKconvertedtheroomhe’dbrickedovertheelectricaloutletsandfixtures.Every
timeLucyenteredtheroomittookafewsecondsforhereyetoadjusttothedarkness.
Kpreferreddarkness.Hewrappedhimselfinitlikeavampireinacape.
Lucydidn’tknockbeforeenteringthethroneroom;shecouldn’tbecausetherewasnodoor,only
anarchedentryway.ShewastheonlyoneKallowedinside,andeverysingletimeshefoundhimin
the same position. Seated at a ratty, stained, purple throne leftover from some second-rate, 1970s
theater production of King Lear. It was a huge, with a high back, and K was always slumped in it,
perfectlystill,lookingsmall,eyeswideandstaringatnothing,hislabored,keeningwheezetheonly
proofhewasstillalive.
ThecartelcalledhimElRey.LucyhadtakentocallinghimK,andhehadn’tobjected.
OthersknewhimasLutherKite.
She walked up the scrap of maroon runner to the foot of his throne, bowed as deeply as her
wreckedbackcouldbend,andthensearchedhiseyestoseeifhe’dnoticedherarrival.
His gaze remained vacant. Lucy couldn’t tell if it was the Tussin, or something else. K’s pale
countenance hadn’t darkened a bit in the Mexicali weather; if anything it had become more
translucent.Thehairhehadleftwaspatchy,graying.Lookingathim,Lucysometimesfeltlikeshe
wasstaringatanoldblackandwhitefilm.
“I’vebeenthinking,”hesaid,surprisingher.“Aboutpain.”
Itwasasubjecttheybothknewintimatelywell.Onthegivingend,andascaptiverecipients.
“Whataboutit,K?”
Sheleanedin,smellinglemoncandyonhisbreath;ahabithe’dbeenunabletobreakeventhough
thepartofhistonguethattastedsourhadbeenlongagoslicedoff.
“Theendtoourpainiscoming,Lucy.Soon.”
“How?”
“Whynotdeathratherthanlivingtorment?”
Lucyhatedwhenhetalkedlikethat.Quotingold,crypticshit.
“Death?That’stheendofourpain?”
“Deathistheendofeverything.Anditclosesinonus.”
“Areyouill,K?”
K’s eyes snapped into focus and pinned her. “No more than usual. He’s mad that trusts in the
tamenessofawolf.”
Lucysighed,overlydramatic.“MoreShakespeare?Ihatethatguy.”
“WhenIwascaptive,sometimesheletmeread.Shakespeare.Oldmysterymagazines,withpages
ripped out so I never knew how the stories ended. Once, because it amused him, an Italian crime
novel.Thatwasmysoleentertainmentforanentireyear.Ican’tspeakItalian,butIreadeveryword.I
readtheShakespeare,too.ItmadeaboutasmuchsensethantheItalian.Butsometimes,thosewretched
linesgetstuck.”Hepokedaboneyfingerathistemple.“TheBardisluckyhediedfourhundredyears
ago,becauseIwouldlovetocuthimintotinybitsandmakehimeathimself,piecebypiece.”
Lucyallowedtheimagetowormitselfintoherbrain.Whattocutfirst.Howbigtheslicesshould
be.“Soundsfun.Weshouldtrysomethinglikethat.”
“Maybe.Ihaveanotheridea.FromsomethingIread.”
Thewarmthshewasfeelingdissipated,andLucysuppressedagroan.“Letmeguess.Shakespeare.”
“No.Hitchcock.Let’sgototheplayroom.”
“Nowyou’retalkin’,K.”
Kpulledhimselfuptohisfeet,usinghisscepterasacane.Theskullatopthestaffwasn’treal;a
tourist souvenir, made of ceramic to sell on Día de Muertos. The gold shaft was also fake, the
metallicpaintflakingoff,thecoloredjewelsadorningthecolormadeofglass.Butthehairatopthe
skull,darkandmattedandgluedtherelikeafrightwig,wasarealhumanscalp.
Lucyknewitwasreal,becausesheandKhadtakenitfromitspreviousownerashebeggedfor
mercytheydidn’thave.
The duo walked into the hallway, and the faux castle motif continued, albeit sloppily. The walls
weren’t actually adobe, but rather stucco painted to look like stone. There were electric lights,
hangingonthelowceiling—originalfixturesdatingfromwhenthebuildinghadbeenconvertedinto
ahotelinthe1950s.Khadreplacedthebulbswiththekindthatflickeredlikeorangecandles.
Theytookthestairsslow,usingtherailings.Lucyhatedstairs.Itwaspainfulenoughgettingaround
on level surfaces, but something about up-and-down movement ignited her raw nerve endings like
cattle-prodshockstoherspine.Sheclenchedtheteethshehadleftandweatheredthepain.Whenthey
reached the bottom, some cartel asshole was sitting on the last three steps, smoking a cigarette, his
earbudsspittingouttinnyrancheromusic.Hedidn’tnoticetheywereabovehimuntilKpokedhim
withhisscepter.
The chollo turned, his expression morphing from irritated to spooked in half a heartbeat. It
remindedLucyofacartooncharacter,eyespoppingoutinsurprise.
“Losiento,ElRey,”hesputtered,quicklygettingoutofthewayandhurryingdownthecorridor.
On the first floor, the décor was no longer Halloween/medieval, and instead reflected what the
building actually was; a renovated mission, built in the 1800s. K stopped at his room, and like the
majorityofroomsinthecrumblinghotelitwascramped,hot,andstankofage.PerchedonK’sbed
wasamedium-sizedcardboardbox.HehandedLucyhisscepterandpickeditup.
“Droppedoffthismorning,”Ksaid.“Anewtoytoplaywith.”
LucynotedthattheboxwaslabeledAmazon,andherhopesdimmed.EventhoughAmazonclaimed
to be The Everything Store, she doubted they sold torture paraphernalia, rare weapons, or
interrogationequipment.WhateverKhadplannedfortheplayroomwasprobablygoingtobelame.
Aswithanyotheraddiction,itwaspossibletodevelopatolerancetosadism.WhenLucyhadfirst
met K, she’d been a teenager and had just killed her first man. At the time, K collected antique
surgical tools, and each terrible instrument they’d tried upped the level of excitement. Lithotomes,
scarificators, tonsil guillotines. Artificial leeches. A vintage speculum made of wrought iron that
couldbeheatedonastovetopuntilitglowed.Artificialleeches.
Togetthesamehighastheolddays,Lucyneededthingstobeuglier.Messier.Moreextreme.
ButwhatwastheworstthingthatcouldbeinanAmazonbox?Someoverpricedhardcoverbooks
andalintroller?
Sheeyedthepackageagain.Nobiggerthanabreadbox.
Shit,maybeitwasabreadbox.Lucywouldn’tbesurprised.Lately,Khadbeen…
Slippingwasthewrongword.Fading?Losinginterest?
Goingmad?
Whenthey’dfirstarrivedatthecompound,overayearago,Lucyhadfeltlikeadysfunctionalkid
inacandystore.She’dalwaysbeenanomad,andtookherfixontheroadwhenshecouldfindit.That
meantpassingupalotofpotentialopportunitiesforsafety’ssake.Killinginpublicrequiredacertain
situationalawareness.Shecouldnevertrulyloseherselfinamessydeathwhileworryingifthecops
were around the next corner. And in a day and age where everyone had a cell phone with a high
resolution camera, it had become almost impossible to indulge in her particular tastes while
remaininginvisible.
South of Mexicali, there had been no such worries. Lucy could take her time, really enjoy the
moment.Notonlyweretheysafe,buttheywerebeingprotectedandgettingpaidfortheirskills.
Thoseearlytimesinthecompoundhadbeenfun.SheandKhaddoneeverything—imaginableand
unimaginable—tocausehumanbeingspain.Highlightsincluded:
Buildingaworkingironmaiden.
Fryingamother,father,andtheirtwochildreninagiantpotoflard.
LingChi,alsoknownasthedeathofathousandcuts(actually,ittookathousandtwohundredand
four.)
Apairofironbootsthatcouldbelockedontofeet,withholesformoltenleadtobepouredinside.
Strappado, mazzatello, flaying, even a blood eagle (the back slashed open, ribs broken off the
spine,andthelungspulledouttoresemblebirdwings.)
Andherall-timefavorite;theblowtorchtoilet,whichworkedprettymuchlikeitsounded.
Those were in the playroom. In the arena, they’d come up with many other wicked forms of
executionthatpayingspectatorscouldwageron.
Drawnandquarteredbycars,bettingonwhichlimbwoulddetachfirst.
Crucifixions.
Impalingsonlong,steelrods.
Thelivingnecklace(fourmenwithathickropethreadedthroughtheirbellies,playingtugofwar.)
Anakedfootraceoverhotcoals.
Ithadbeenglorious.
Lately,thingshadn’tbeensoglorious.K’slastattemptataspectaculardeathwasamanlockedina
cagewithahundredrats.Inthatcase,thecrowdhadalmostdied…ofboredom.Theratshadignored
theman,andheeventuallydiedofexposureorthirstorsomethingequallyboring.
AndK’scurrentmethodofpunishingthecartel’senemieswasaSiciliannecktie;slittingthethroat
andpullingthetongueoutofthehole.Notverybloody,notverypainful,andovermuchtooquickly.
LutherKiteusedtoterrifyLucy,withhisnatureandwithhislegend.
ButthemanshecalledK…
Kwasacrippled,paleimageofhisformerself.
Wherewasthebloodlust?Wherewasthecreativity?
LucyrememberedwhenD…
D.
Donaldson.
Therewasaserialmurdererwhodiedatthetopofhisgame.Akiller ’skiller.Dkepthisedgetothe
veryend.
Lucyhadbeenbornwithouttheabilitytocareaboutanythingotherthanherself.Butsometimesshe
found herself missing the old fella. They’d been through a lot together. And they’d shared a bond
closerthananythingshe’deversharedwithLuther.
Lucycouldhearsomeonewailinginpain;theywerenearingtheplayroom.Butitdidn’texciteher
likeitshouldhave.
ShewastoobustthinkingaboutD.Maybe,someday,she’dseehimagain.
Butonlyifhellreallyexisted.
BuyLASTCALLbyJ.A.Konrath
LASTCALL
Aretiredcoppastherprime…
Akidnappedbankrobberfightingforhislife…
Aformermobenforcerwithablooddebt…
Agovernmentassassinontherun…
Awisecrackingprivateeyewithonlyonehand…
Ahomicidesergeantwithoneweekleftonthejob…
Andthreeoftheworstserialkillers,ever.
This is where it all ends. An epic showdown in the desert, where good and evil will clash one last
time.
HisnameisLutherKite,andhisspecialtyismurderingpeopleinwaystoohorribletoimagine.He’s
gonesouth,wherehe’sfoundanew,spectacularwaytokill.Andifyouhaveenoughmoney,youcan
betonwhodiesfirst.
Legendary Chicago cop Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels has retired. She’s no longer chasing bad guys,
contenttostayoutofthepubliceyeandraisehernewdaughter.Butwhenherdaughter ’sfather,Phin
Troutt,iskidnapped,she’sforcedtostraponhergunonelasttime.
Sincebeingseparatedfromhispsychoticsoulmate,theprolificserialkillerknownasDonaldsonhas
beendesperatelysearchingforher.Nowhethinkshe’sfoundoutwherehisbeloved,insaneLucyhas
beenhiding.He’sgoingtofindher,nomatterhowmanypeopleareslaughteredintheprocess.
All three will converge in same place. La Juntita, Mexico. Where a bloodthirsty cartel is enslaving
peopleandforcingthemtofighttothedeathininsane,gladiator-stylegames.
Join Jack and Phin, Donaldson and Lucy, and Luther, for the very last act in their twisted, perverse
saga.
AlongfortherideareJack’sfriends;HarryandHerb,aswellasamobenforcernamedTequila,and
acovertoperativenamedChandler.
Therewillbeblood.Anddeath.Somuchdeath…
LASTCALLbyJ.A.Konrath
TheconclusiontotheJackDaniels/LutherKiteepic
RUMRUNNER
Twentyyearsago,ayoungcopnamedJacqueline“Jack”Danielsarrestedone
ofthemostsadistickillersshe’deverencountered.Shehassinceretiredfrom
theChicagoPoliceDepartmentinordertoraisehertoddlerdaughter.
WhileonvacationintheWisconsinnorthwoods,Jacklearns—toolate—that
her old adversary is out of prison. He has revenge on his mind. And he’s
bringinganarmywithhim.
Outnumbered,outgunned,andcutofffromtheoutsideworld,JackDanielsis
abouttolearnthemeaningoflaststand.
Thisisthe9thJackDanielsnovel,after STIRRED.Morethan1millionJackDanielsnovelshavebeen
soldworldwide.
RUMRUNNERbyJ.A.Konrath
Thatwhichdoesnotkillyou,keepstrying…
WEBCAM
Someoneisstalkingwebcammodels.
Helurksintheuntouchablerecessesoftheblackweb.
He’swatchingyou.Rightnow.
Whenwatchingisnolongerenough,hecomescalling.
He’sthelastthingyou’lleverseebeforethebloodgetsinyoureyes.
ChicagoHomicideDetectiveTomMankowski(THELIST,HAUNTEDHOUSE)isnostrangertohomicidal
maniacs. But this one is the worst he’s ever chased, with an agenda that will make even the most
diehard horror reader turn on all their lights, and switch off all Internet, WiFi, computers, and
electronicdevices.
JackKilbornreachesdownintothedepthsofdepravityanddragstheterrornovelkickingandcyberscreamingintothe21stcentury.
WEBCAM
I’mtextingyoufrominsideyourcloset.Wannaplay?:-)
JOEKONRATH’S
COMPLETEBIBLIOGRAPHY
Foramorein-depthbibliography,pleasedownloadtheebookTHEJ.A.KONRATHCHECKLISTfor
freeonAmazonathttp://getBook.at/jakonrathbooksinorderebook.
JACKDANIELSTHRILLERS
WHISKEYSOUR
BLOODYMARY
RUSTYNAIL
DIRTYMARTINI
FUZZYNAVEL
CHERRYBOMB
SHAKEN
STIRREDwithBlakeCrouch
RUMRUNNER
LASTCALL
SHOTOFTEQUILA
SERIALKILLERSUNCUTwithBlakeCrouch
LADY52 withJudeHardin
65PROOFshortstorycollection
FLOATERSshortwithHenryPerez
BURNERSshortwithHenryPerez
SUCKERSshortwithJeffStrand
JACKEDUP!shortwithTracySharp
STRAIGHTUP shortwithIainRobWright
CHEESEWRESTLINGshortwithBernardSchaffer
ABDUCTIONSshortwithGarthPerry
BEATDOWN shortwithGarthPerry
BABYSITTINGMONEYshortwithKenLindsey
OCTOBERDARKshortwithJoshuaSimcox
RACKEDshortwithJudeHardin
BABEONBOARDshortwithAnnVossPeterson
WATCHEDTOOLONGshortwithAnnVossPeterson
BANANAHAMMOCK
CODENAME:CHANDLERSERIES
EXPOSEDwithAnnVossPeterson
HITwithAnnVossPeterson
NAUGHTYwithAnnVossPeterson
FLEEwithAnnVossPeterson
SPREEwithAnnVossPeterson
THREEwithAnnVossPeterson
FIXwithF.PaulWilsonandAnnVossPeterson
RESCUE
THEKONRATH/KILBORNHORRORCOLLECTIVE
ORIGIN
THELIST
DISTURB
AFRAID
TRAPPED
ENDURANCE
HAUNTEDHOUSE
WEBCAM
DRACULASwithBlakeCrouch,JeffStrand,andF.PaulWilson
HOLESINTHEGROUNDwithIainRobWright
THEGREYS
SECONDCOMING
THENINE
GRANDMA? withTalonKonrath
WILDNIGHTISCALLINGshortwithAnnVossPeterson
TIMECASTERSERIES
TIMECASTER
TIMECASTERSUPERSYMMETRY
TIMECASTERSTEAMPUNK
BYTER
EROTICA
(WRITINGASMELINDADUCHAMP)
FIFTYSHADESOFALICEINWONDERLAND
FIFTYSHADESOFALICETHROUGHTHELOOKINGGLASS
FIFTYSHADESOFALICEATTHEHELLFIRECLUB
WANTITBAD
FIFTYSHADESOFJEZEBELANDTHEBEANSTALK
FIFTYSHADESOFPUSSINBOOTS
FIFTYSHADESOFGOLDILOCKS
THESEXPERTS–FIFTYGRADESOFSHAY
THESEXPERTS–THEGIRLWITHTHEPEARLNECKLACE
THESEXPERTS–LOVINGTHEALIEN
THEAGREEMENT
Copyright©2016byJoeKonrath
Coverandartcopyright©2016byCarlGraves
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorusedfictitiously.
Anyresemblancetoactualevents,locales,orpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthis
publicationcanbereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,withoutpermissioninwritingfrom
theauthors.
May2016