Infernal

14

-11:08

Tom couldn't sit still.

Twenty seconds after he'd settled himself on the couch he'd be up and pacing until he perched on the edge of a chair, only to be up and moving about half a minute later. He tried watching television—no good.

Wherever he went, Gia's voice followed him.

Do you have any idea what you've done to our lives? Not just Jack's but to Vicky's and mine?

He remembered the light in her eyes, the look on her face on the way home from the opera when she'd talked about Jack being a rock in her life. And Tom wondered… had anyone ever looked like that when they'd spoken of him? Had he ever been a rock in anyone's life?

Who was he kidding? No need to wonder. The answer was no.

He needed something to settle his nerves.

Jack didn't seem to drink anything but beer, and that wouldn't do it. So he hunted through the kitchen cabinets until he came upon a bottle of amber liquid.

Hey. Old Pulteney eighteen-year-old single malt. He'd have preferred vodka—ideally Grey Goose or Level—but this was all right. More than all right. When it came to scotch, Jack stocked the good stuff.

Tom poured a couple of fingers' worth into a tumbler and tossed it down. After savoring the burn, he poured himself a second dose. This he drank slowly, sipping and thinking about his life and the mess he'd made of it. He ranged over possible ways to turn things around and extricate himself, but came up empty.

By the time he'd finished his second glass he knew scotch wasn't going to do the trick. Not even close.

He needed something more potent. A lot more potent.

He dug out his wallet and found Kamal's phone number. Time for another run uptown.

Before leaving he took a peek into Jack's room.

"Oh, shit."

The Lilitongue was gone.