Hank ranted on. “And if he don’t come back, I’ll getcha myself. And that Sharkman too!”

No you won’t. Because I’m going to get it first.

Jack kept walking, moving as fast as he could back to town. When he reached Memison’s he saw no sign of Abe’s truck so he stepped inside.

“We’re closed for lunch and we don’t start serving dinner till five,” said someone who looked like a maitre d’.

“Just want to check the menu.”

Taking in the sodden, ill-fitting clothes and muddy shoes, he gave Jack a please-don’t-even-think-about-eating-here look as he handed him the laminated card.

Jack kept one eye on the street while he pretended to read about Memison’s “Famous Fish Dinners.” He saw a black-and-white unit roll by, the cop inside eye-balling everyone on the sidewalk. About ten minutes later Abe’s battered panel truck of indeterminate hue pulled into the curb.

“Maybe some other time,” Jack said to maitre d’ and handed back the menu.

The relief on the man’s face said that Jack had made his day. Always nice to bring joy into someone’s life.

Outside, Jack darted across the sidewalk and into Abe’s truck.

“Gevalt!” Abe said when he saw him. “Look at you! What happened?”

“Long story.” Jack slumped in the seat and pulled the cap low over his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Jeez, it felt good to sit. “Tell you on the way. Right now just get me the hell outta this place.”

For the first time since coming to in the hospital he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be spending the next thirty or forty years in jail, and for the first time since that cup of coffee this morning he could sit and think. His thoughts were a mess. Aftereffects of the Berzerk maybe. His mind seemed to be lurching in all directions, emotions a roiling cauldron.

What had happened this morning?

He vaguely remembered racking up three cars, killing two men, but none of that bothered him. The events were dancing shadows in his brain. What he did remember, what kept looping in clear wide-screen surroundsound detail, was how close he’d come to slapping Vicky, how he’d wanted to punch Gia.

And that… that was unbearable… knowing he’d been this far from hurting them…

Without the slightest inkling it was going to happen, he burst into tears.

“Jack!” Abe cried, swerving as he drove. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m all right,” he said, reining in his penduluming emotions. “It’s this damn drug… It’s still screwing with me. Did you call Gia?”

“Of course. A happy woman she’s not.”

“Where’s your phone?”

Abe fished a StarTac out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. Before dialing, Jack funneled his thoughts ahead, forced his mind toward where to go from here.

First thing to do when he got back to the city was call Nadia and tell her to be careful what she ate or drank. Someone—Monnet most likely—was trying to drug her. Next he’d return here to take care of Scar-lip. After that, he’d have to make up for his behavior this morning with Gia and Vicky.