Mad Dogs by James Grady Read Free Book Online Page A

about garroting the Serb Colonel and the nurse came in pushing the metal medicine cart, her hair pinned in a bun.
    Dr. Friedman had been right. We’d been in the Castle too long. We’d gotten too sane to recognize what we were seeing.
    Now we were out. Seeing the night highway illuminated by our headlights as the road rushed towards the windshield of our stolen car. I drove, Zane beside me in the passenger seat, navigating from a rental car map, from memories of what Dr. F had told us. The rear view mirror showed me Russell in the back seat by one door. Hailey sat on his lap, not Eric’s—Eric knew enough about torture. Dr. F rode in the middle of the back seat. He was the only one wearing a seat belt.
    Zane said: “Any second now. Should be… There!”
    A clapboard roadside motel with a red neon sign flowed towards us. The full moon glistened on the tall chain link fence surrounding the motel’s empty swimming pool. Our silver machine skidded to a stop on the motel’s asphalt parking lot. Car doors flew open. Zane, Russell and I fanned out in a skirmish line marching towards the only cabin where lights glowed. This was the town’s lone motel, the place Castle short-time staffers like Dr. F called their home away from home. Hailey ran to the bungalow where a sign read OFFICE. Eric and Dr. F stayed with our vehicle.
    â€œTake it smart!” said Zane as Russell surged ahead of us. “Smooth!”
    Russell kicked in the motel room door.
    She wore a white bra and panties. Looked lovely and lost. Stood in the doorway of the bathroom, backlit by its flickering light. Brown hair hung past her pale shoulders.
    Russell was three steps from grabbing her when he froze.
    Crowding in the motel room after him, Zane and I saw Russell freeze. Stare at her, through her, past her. Our advantage of surprise vaporized. She blinked—dove past Russell to grab her purse off the bed, rolled behind the bed out of sight.
    She popped up on the far side of the bed and blasted a bullet from a black pistol.
    Zane slammed to the floor.
    I leapt for the open bathroom—knocked Russell out of the way.
    The gun roared. Splinters exploded off the bathroom door jam beside me.
    Zane pulled the bed over on top of her. Crashed beside her bare heels as she struggled under the crushing bed. Zane caught her ankles—and pulled.
    Nurse Death slid from under the rubble of her bed, bare arms trailing behind her like a joy rider reaching for the sky on a rushing roller coaster. The bed scraped the white bra off her breasts. Zane sprawled flat on his back, clinging to her ankles by his ears, her white-pantied hips pressing on his loins as her hands cleared the bedding heap. She jackknifed to a sitting position and stabbed the pistol at the man beneath her.
    I dove towards them from the bathroom.
    Saw Zane’s head rise off the floor between her ankles he trapped in his fists.
    Saw the black automatic pistol stab towards Zane’s white maned face.
    Saw her finger curl as Zane kicked her forearm/knocked her hand back. The pistol muzzle clunked her forehead as the gun roared and an explosion of blood splattered the tossed bed mountain.
    My dive crashed me face down on the two of them.
    â€œWow!” Russell’s voice floated as I stared at the cheap carpet . “That was so weird! I’ve never done that before.”
    â€œDamn it!” said Zane. “Now we can’t get any answers from her!”
    â€œHey, I’m a door kicker, rock ’n’ roll guy,” said Russell. “But this… Now…”
    â€œClimb off, Victor.”
    I crawled off the dead woman. Off Zane. Turned to see Hailey appear in the kicked-open door and say: “Office sign reads Gone For Dinner, and it’s true.”
    Russell sighed: “Gotta say I’m sorry, guys. Especially to you, Victor.”
    â€œVic,” said Zane, “look at this.”
    Zane sat on the motel room floor, the