Bad Moon Rising by Jonathan Maberry Read Free Book Online Page A

Eddie could feel his heart break bit by bit. All through the long, long night he had alternately prayed and pleaded, and then as dawn broke over his house and the interior shadows shifted from black to a muddy gray, Eddie’s heartache and shame had boiled up from his gut to his brain and he had gone berserk, screaming, raging up and down the stairs, smashing everything that would break, punching holes through plaster, crushing, all the time crying out to his Father for some answer.
    When the volcano of fury burned down, the hours of sleeplessness, the aches in his body, and the weight of his grief collapsed him down to his knees amid the debris. He had nothing left, he was nothing. Tears streaked his face, drool hung from his rubbery lips. In his ears he could hear the pounding of his heart—it sounded like someone hitting a bass drum with a fist wrapped in gauze.
    “I’m sorry,” he blubbered, hanging his head. “I’m so sorry.”
    The Bone Man lingered in the shadows of the destroyed living room. He’d enjoyed Eddie’s frustrated rage. Such a damn shame it stopped short of the big man just plain killing himself. He pretended to sigh.
    “That’s one round to us,” he said, though his voice was as soundless as he was invisible.
    Even so, Tow-Truck Eddie’s head jerked up as if he had heard those words. The Bone Man froze, afraid to even move as Eddie looked around in confusion, pawing tears from his eyes, brow knitted. It was a long minute before Eddie’s scowl faltered and his eyes lost their hawklike intensity. He bent again to his prayers and his pleas, and the Bone Man backed carefully out through the wall.
    (5)

    Crow slipped away when Sarah’s sister Rose arrived from Brooklyn. He drifted to the nurse’s station and begged for information, but instead of a doctor Jim Polk came smirking out of the ER.
    Polk said, “You’re going to have to stop harassing the nurses, pal.”
    Startled, Crow said, “What the hell are you talking about? Val’s my—”
    “Val’s a material witness is a murder case. Once the doctors are done with her we have to take her statement. Until we do no one gets to see her.”
    Polk wasn’t a big man, but he was taller and heavier than Crow, and he wore a hyena smile as he spoke, slowly chewing a wad of pink gum. His teeth were wet and his eyes looked piggish. Crow wanted to stuff him into a laundry chute.
    “Look, Jim,” he began, trying to be reasonable, “it’s not like I don’t know the drill here. How about a little professional courtesy?”
    “You’re not a cop anymore.”
    “Actually, I think I am. Terry swore me back onto the department during the Ruger manhunt. He never swore me out again, so technically—”
    Polk took a half step closer and lowered his voice. “Terry Wolfe is a hophead schizo who didn’t have enough brains to even commit suicide. Who the hell cares what he did or didn’t do?”
    Polk’s words stunned Crow. “Hey, Jim, let’s dial it down here.”
    Polk tapped Crow’s chest with a stiffened index finger. “Dial your own shit down, Crow. You’re not a cop in this town, and your butt-buddy Terry Wolfe isn’t around to hold your hand. Right now all you are is a pain in the ass and a potential nuisance to a police investigation. You got no rights and you got no say. Are we clear on that?” With every other word he jabbed Crow in the chest.
    With each tap more of the shock drained out of Crow as cold fury took its place. He looked down at the finger pressing against his chest and then slowly raised his eyes to meet Polk’s. For a few seconds he said nothing, just letting the hardness of his stare work on Polk, and Crow could see the tough-guy façade lose some of its fastenings. Very softly he said, “Jim…I don’t know what bug crawled up your ass, but I’m going to tell you only once to move that finger before I break it off. Maybe you opened a box of Cracker Jacks and the toy surprise was a new set of balls, but believe me when