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See Jack Die (PART 2)


CHAPTER 12
JACK'S APARTMENT.
FRIDAY MORNING, EARLY . . .
Bang, bang, bang!
I heard the pounding, and at first I wasn't sure if it was inside of me, or actually the front door. Then
I heard Ricky's muffled voice talking to somebody outside the door. I almost fell on my face twice on
my way to the door. My balance wasn't up and running, yet.
I pulled open the door and Ricky walked in, talking to somebody on his cell phone.
“ . . . we'll be there as fast as we can. Thanks, Rupert.” He disconnected the call and took a quick
look at me, “You look like hammered dog shit.”
Thanks. It's always nice to have friends.
“Come on,” he pressed me as he headed to my mini-refrigerator, opening it up and rifling through it
for anything tasty; which there wasn't. “ . . . Rupert just said that he had a hit on the book. Says it's
important that we go see him . . . eeeee-mediately! His words.”
I told him I needed to take a shower and brush my teeth. He tossed me a half-wrinkled shirt and
told me that we were going . . . now. I acquiesced. What the hell, maybe old Rupert had figured
something out.
Hopefully he tells us the book is a scam.
Or even better, that it's some useless old gardening book.
A how-to, maybe, about building grass huts.
Renaissance Kama-sutra.
Something I can use to narrow down the list of my possible neuroses. Anything that proves to me
that I'm not seeing the spooks. Give me tumors. Give me stagnating neurons. I'd even take a double
shot of paranoid schizophrenia.
I'll be the mad scientist, with a smile on my face from ear-to-ear.
DALLAS PUBLIC LIBRARY . . .
37 MINUTES LATER . . .
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