it over.â
âThereâs nothing to think over,â Monks said. âHe needs to get to a hospital, now.â
âWhy should I believe you?â
âWhat would I have to gain by lying?â
âMaybe youâre trying to fuck with our heads.â
âOh, for Christâs sake.â Monks turned away in disgust.
âSo, weâll just try some of that insulin for a few days,â Freeboot said. âIf it helps, maybe Iâll start listening to you.â
He turned his gaze on the others, imperious now, and spoke with the clipped efficiency of having made a decision.
âTaxman, Shrinkwrap, weâve got to talk. Youââhe pointed at Captain Americaââtake your bride. Hammerhead, you stay here.â
Marguerite flashed a bruised glance at Freeboot, then stepped out into the night. Captain America followed, closing the door behind them.
Hammerhead watched them with flat, unblinking eyes.
Freeboot swung to face Monks. âYou go on back with Mandrake.â
There was no point in arguing further. Monks did as he was told.
When he stepped into the bedroom, Motherlode was sitting on the edge of Mandrakeâs bed, petting him and whispering to himâfinally acting like a mother, if a stoned and disheveled one. She was wearing a rumpled flannel nightgown, her breasts loose and sagging beneath it.
âIs he going to get better?â she asked Monks.
âIf we get him proper treatment, he will,â Monks said, making another bid for an ally.
âThatâs why I wanted a doctor.â
Thatâs not enough , Monks was about to say, but it was another pointless argument. Whether Freeboot had ground her down to this state or she had found her own way to it, there was no help here. On the one hand, it was hard to feel sympathy for a mother who could fall into a self-induced stupor beside her sick child. On the other, Monks pitied anyone that desperate. She seemed bewildered, more than anythingâincapable of dealing with this crisis.
She stood up, opened a dresser drawer, and took out a bottle of Percocets.
âWill you take care of him now?â she asked.
Monks looked at the fearful, uncomprehending little boy, in the hands of his addict mother and berserk father.
âIâll do what I can,â he said.
She murmured thanks, and with a suddenly furtive airâclutching the pills, avoiding Monksâs gaze, and not looking back at Mandrakeâshe edged out of the room.
A moment later, the blanket in the doorway shifted aside, and Hammerhead came in. He dropped something on the floor that clanked when it hit.
Monks realized, with numb amazement, that it was a pair of handcuffs.
âPut them on,â Hammerhead said.
âYou canât be serious.â
âYou seem to have a little attitude problem. Weâre going to have to work on that.â
Monks stared at him, looking for some sign of sarcasmâthe recognition that he was parroting Taxmanâs words about himself, from just a few minutes earlier. But his face showed nothing except barely controlled anger. It hit Monks that this was really about Marguerite, whom he clearly was sweet on, walking off with the handsome Captain America. He was shifting the blame, projecting his rage onto a safe target. It was akin to Glennâs claim that Monks had this coming because he âowes me bigtime,â and Freebootâs blaming Monks for his own maltreatment, because he couldnât be trusted.
This was a trait that Monks associated with children and with psychopaths, and a memory flashed through his mind of a court defense that he had once heard from a bank robber who had gunned down a young female teller: her death was her own fault, because she had pressed the alarm button.
âDo you have any idea of the consequences of kidnapingme?â Monks said. âIn the eyes of the real world? Youâre looking at prison.â
Hammerhead raised his
Learning to Kill: Stories