First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [144]
"Your term stretches back far longer than eight years."
"All the more reason for it to come to an end." Brady leaned over, reached for the neck of a bottle of liquor, which he lifted into the light so Jack would be reassured. "Polish vodka. The real thing, not the watered-down crap you get here. Care to join me?"
Jack shook his head.
Brady shrugged. "Your loss." Hoisting the bottle, he took a long swig, then smacked his lips.
"Okay." Jack rose, gestured with the Glock. "Time to go."
"And where would you be taking me? Not to the police and certainly not to the feds." He possessed a crooked grin that gave him the aspect of a crocodile. There was something primeval about him, immutable, like a force of nature. This elemental quality was the source of his power. "You're the one they'll lock up, Jack, not me."
Jack stood, the Glock pointing at the floor. "Why did you kill Gus?"
"No questions, remember? Not that it matters—you already know the answer to that one. Gus wasn't going to give up looking for me. That idiot detective, Stanz, would have finally let it go, but not Gus." Brady lazily tilted his head to one side. "But that isn't the question you really want to ask, is it?"
An icy ball formed in the pit of Jack's stomach. "What d'you mean?"
"C'mon, Jack. I killed Gus inside his house. You were asleep down the hall. You want to know why I left you alive."
Jack, realizing he was right, said nothing.
"It's a mystery, Jack, like many others in this life destined to remain unsolved."
Jack aimed the Glock at him. "You will tell me."
"Are you going to shoot me? That would be a blessing. My term would end in a blaze of glory because my bosses would lock you up and throw away the key. Lawyer, what lawyer? You wouldn't even get a phone call. No, they'll stick you in solitary in a federal high-security penitentiary." He gestured with his gun, careful not to point it at Jack. "So sit back down, have a drink."
Jack stood where he was.
"Suit yourself." Brady sighed deeply. "We're both orphans, in our own ways. I murdered my parents, as you should have."
"If you're trying to say we're alike—"
"I must say you made up for it, though, when you killed that street thug, Andre." Brady chuckled. "In a library yet. Brilliant." He took another hit of the Polish vodka. "I'm going to tell you a secret, Jack. I have not one grain of faith in me. Early in life I wanted to get past all of life's tricks, small and large, to get to the heart of things." His eyes lit up. They were the eyes of Ron Kray, Charles Whitman, Ian Brady. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it, Jack? That's your search, too." He nodded. "Instead, what have I become? Life's ultimate trickster. You see, there's nothing left of me but tricks. That's because I discovered that there is no heart of things. I think there used to be, but that was a long time ago. Life's hollow, like a tree full of burrowing insects. That's what humans are, Jack. They've burrowed into life with their frenzied civilization, their running after wealth and fame, their attempts to deny the body's decay. They're all insane. What else could they be, making such an unholy mess of things? They've hollowed life out, Jack, till there's nothing left but the shell, the illusion of happiness."
"I don't believe you."
"Ah, but it's true, and your daughter knew it. Emma heard what I had to say, and it drew her like a moth to a flame. Too bad she died so young—I had big plans for her. Aside from killing, mentoring's what I do best. Emma had real potential, Jack. She could have become my most ardent pupil."
With a savage cry, Jack launched himself at Brady, crashed into him with his leading shoulder. The chair tipped backwards, and they both tumbled head over heels in a tangle of arms and legs, fetched up against the wall under the rear window. Jack punched Brady in the nose, heard with satisfaction the cartilage fracture. Blood spouted out, covering them both. At almost the same