Chapter Forty-three

He dreamed he was with some friends at a party, a beautiful party in the desert. There were cacti, and armadillos, and cowboys with Spanish guitars. And hanging from the starry sky was the moon. It was bright and yellow and seemed to bask them all in romance. Some of the girls, Mexican girls with beautiful eyes, were starting to dance. And Oscar was there, too, wearing a festive sombrero and two antique pistols in his red satin sash.

It was all just great, except for one thing. Jack was bending over a trough, where the burros were tied up, and he was throwing up some stuff that looked like magma. It was red hot, and as it poured out of his stomach sparks shot from it, molten sparks that shot back up into his face and singed his skin.

He heard the guitars playing a rancho song, and he saw people dancing in the moonlight, and he kept throwing up this red-hot lava, and even after getting rid of a ton of it, his stomach still killed him.

It was no use. He was going to die from this red-hot pain in his gut. Even though he kept vomiting, there was always more.

And the screaming pain only got worse.

Jack opened his eyes and saw someone looking down at him. She was a crazy quilt of patterns. At first she seemed to have one eye, then two, then three. And he knew her name, knew it like he knew his own, only right now he couldn't recall either of them.

Then he felt a cool thrill in his stomach, which for a second stopped the horrible pain.

“Michelle,” he said, blinking.

“Wrong sister, Jack,” the voice answered.

Jack blinked again. It wasn't Michelle, it was her sister, her sister whose name was . . .

“Jennifer,” she said.

“Jennifer,” Jack echoed. “Of course.”

“You gave me quite a scare,” she said.

“Me, too,” said another voice. Jack looked up and saw a broad, kind face. He felt a flood of warmth.

“Oscar.”

“Jackie,” Oscar said, and took his hand in his own.

“How you doing, Jackie?”

“Aside from this inferno in my gut, really great,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Jennifer said. “But the good news is you're going to get better. They got to you just in time.”

Now Jack blinked and it all came back to him. Kim stabbing him, his Glock going off, her body hurtling back. The blood. The sound of the documentary. The oh-so-happy mouse.

“But how did you find me, Oscar?” Jack asked.

“It wasn't me, amigo,” Oscar said.

Jack turned to Jennifer.

“You?”

“No,” she said. “I came here after I got a phone call.”

There was something in her voice. An insinuation.

“Michelle?” Jack asked.

“Michelle,” Jennifer confirmed.

“But how?”

“Luck?” Jennifer wondered.

“Fate?” Oscar threw in.

“I don't understand.”

Jennifer looked at him and shook her head.

“She said she had come around to see you. To explain why we got caught.”

“Yeah?”

“The reason was that we went back. Michelle insisted on it. She wanted the serum. She knew it worked and she knew which refrigerator they kept it locked in. And she knew there was no lock she couldn't pick. So we went back to get it.”

“And?”

“And we got it. We picked the lock and we were on our way back out with it when two guards saw us, overpowered us, and brought us back inside.”

Jack looked at Oscar, who said, “Fucking Michelle.”

Jack laughed and nodded. “Fucking Michelle.”

“The guards didn't really see us in the lab. They caught us in the hall and had no idea why we were there. So they just brought us in to join the party.”

Jack felt his stomach spasm and gasped.

“We better go,” Jennifer said. “You need your rest.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “You haven't told me how Michelle . . .”

“She said she just happened to come around when she heard shots. She broke in and found Kim Walker dead, and you almost dead. She called 911 and came with you to the hospital. Then she called Oscar and me on her way out.”

Jack nodded. “Out to where?”

Jennifer smiled. “I have no idea, Jack.”

Oscar looked at her in disbelief.

“No idea?” Jack asked.

“None,” she said. “But she did say she'd get in touch with you when you get well. She loves you, you know.”

Jack looked down and shook his head. “Oh, man,” he said.

“Get well, Jack. You'll hear from her again. And thanks. I owe you.” She lightly touched Jack's hand and walked out of the room.

Jack looked up at his partner. “Son of a bitch, Oscar,” he said.

Oscar smiled. “Son of a bitch, Jackie,” he said. “Michelle. She's like a bad dream, bro.”

“Yeah, bro,” Jack said. “But let's face it. She's my best bad dream.”

Oscar smiled and squeezed Jack's hand tightly as he fell asleep.