Busted Flush

Stuntman broke the silence with a snicker.

Justice reddened again. “Their breakout was well planned—and they had help.”

Ray looked thoughtful. “Oh, that’s right. Genetrix had her three kids. How old were they? Three days? Four?”

Stuntman’s snicker threatened to turn into a guffaw.

“Let me see her cell,” Ray said.

“Why—,” Pendergast began.

“Because I want to,” he said, interrupting.

Pendergast sighed, then stood. “All right. This way.”

“She had more help than her current brood, sir,” Justice said as they walked down the depressingly appointed corridor to an even more depressingly appointed room block that still showed signs of the recent ferocious struggle. “There were twenty-seven escapees, including nine from the high-security wing. We recaptured most before they got half a mile away—”

“Casualties?” Ray asked.

“Four dead. Two security techs. One orderly. One patient.”

“Who’s still on the loose?” Ray looked at Pendergast.

“Well,” the director said, “as you said, Drake and Genetrix. And also Sharky, Deadhead, the Racist, Covert, the Whisperer, and the Atomic Mummy.”

Ray nodded, looking grimmer at each name mentioned.

“Here we are.”

They stopped before one room in a row of rooms. Ray looked inside. Cheery. The only personal touch was the dozens of portraits of kids set on wall shelves. Some looked normal. Some looked like nightmares. Most were somewhere in between. Frowning, Ray stepped inside the tiny room and picked up a framed autographed photo. Actually, it was two photos, side by side in a frame. In one the subject was model slim and beautiful. In the other she’d ballooned to elephant size. Ray got out his cell and hit the speed dial.

“Ink,” he said. “Oh, fine. Just great. Listen, get ahold of that fat chick from American Hero. The one that’s on the Committee. Tell her that her number-one fan has just escaped from a federal detention center and is traveling with an extremely dangerous killer ace. If Bubbles hears from her, we need to know about it, at once. Right. See you.” He turned off his phone, and looked thoughtful. “Whatever happened to Genetrix’s last generation of kids?”

Pendergast hesitated a moment. “Deceased,” he finally said. “Old age—”

“Old age, hell,” Justice broke in. “Two escaped with her. I told you the one we captured wouldn’t stand up to the grilling you put her through—”

“We had to find Drake quickly—,” Pendergast interrupted.

“And did you?” Ray asked.

“No,” Pendergast said quietly.

“Interesting,” Ray said. “Not only are you incompetent fuckwits. You’re also sadistic incompetent fuckwits.” He turned to Justice. “I want your report on these interrogations ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” Justice said stonily.

Life flared on Pendergast’s face with a furious blush. “No one talks to me like that!”

“I’m not no one,” Ray said conversationally. “I’m Billy Ray. I was spilling my blood in service before you tortured your first rat in Psych 101. I’ve encountered plenty of assholes like you over the years, Doc. Let me clue you in. Chumps like you are tolerated as long as you deliver the goods. When you fuck up, the politicians higher up the food chain will throw you to the wolves to cover their asses and find another white coat to run the rats through their mazes. Count on it. I don’t know what kind of snake pit you’re running here, but this breakout was engineered by desperate people. How’d Genetrix get so desperate, Doc?”

Pendergast’s face had taken on the hue of someone who’d bitten into bad sushi. He was about to reply, but was interrupted when his cell phone tootled. He grabbed it, held it up to his ear. “Yes,” he said, and as he listened his face became even queasier. He hung up.

“What?” Ray asked.

“Four dead state troopers have been found on Interstate 70 outside Alamogordo. They were pretty badly mangled. One seemed partially eaten.”

“Sharky,” Justice said quietly as Norwood grimaced in disgust.

Ray nodded. “Sounds like a clue to me. Where, exactly?”

“I’ve got the map reference,” Pendergast said, noting some figures down on a notepad, which he handed to Ray. Ray accepted the pad with one hand while hitting his cell phone’s speed dial with the other. He knew that they needed to run this down fast and he knew who to contact for help. Lady Black was in charge of the team securing the blast site down in Texas, and she had a bunch of aces with her.

“Ray,” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Ray.”

“Since when have I been ‘Mr. Ray’ to you, Joann?” he asked.

“Since you got to be the Man, Mr. Ray.”

“Let’s have this pissing contest later,” Ray said. “I’m at BICC right now, but we’re headed for Alamogordo. We’re going to need Moon. Can you spare her, and someone to bring her?”

“Are you asking or ordering? Sir?”

Restraining himself, Ray answered, “Asking.”

There was a short silence. “I suppose.”

“Fine,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Sir.”