Free 5 Bad Moon by Anthony Bruno Page B

Almighty, he could’ve killed the guy and fucked himself royally. He needed Emerick. Emerick had to take the rap for killing Mistretta, Bartolo, Juicy, and Tozzi. That’s why they were bringing Emerick along on the hits, to make him leave his fingerprints. Emerick was Sal’s made-to-order psycho. If they asked, Sal was gonna say Emerick got the idea when they were on the ward together. Emerick heard him mumbling about things and took over his personality, flew the coop, and killed all Sal’s enemies. That’s exactly what Sal was gonna have his old shrink say when the cops came around asking why this nut Emerick did Sal’s dirty work for him. But Christ Almighty, Sal couldn’t believe he could be so stupid. He almost killed his baby here, his ticket to freedom, to power. He swallowed on a dry throat as he struggled to keep Emerick down, trying not to hurt him. He needed Emerick, but he needed him under control, and not next year. Sal had to finish off his hit list this week, especially Juicy and Bartolo, before their hit man found him first.
    “Give him the goddamn pill, Charles. Hurry up.”
    Emerick was struggling, screaming like he was being raped. Charles was sitting on his thighs. He reached over and tried to figure out how to get the pill down Emerick’s throat, but his teeth were clenched on the hammer handle.
    “Whattaya waiting for? Just stick it down the side.”
    “That won’t do no good. He won’t swallow it.”
    “We’ll hold him here till it melts in his mouth.”
    “Can’t wait that long. People be calling the cops pretty soon. Think we killing some girl in here.”
    “Shit.” Sal gritted his teeth. Then something caught his eye on the wall. With one hand holding the hammer steady in Emerick’s mouth, he reached over and pulled the aluminum turkey baster out of the vice president’s wife’s head. He shook out the plaster dust, then worked the small end into Emerick’s mouth between the hammer and his lower teeth, prying his jaw open.
    “C’mon, Donnie. Open up. Be a good boy now.”
    Emerick fought him, his eyes squeezed tight, but Sal put his knee to the skinny nut’s face and managed to pin his head against the back of the couch. Sal worked the metal tube in little by little, getting it down farther and farther until Emerick started to gag.
    “Okay, drop the pill in. Hurry up.”
    Charles dropped the capsule into the wide end of the turkey baster, then he reached around and clamped Emerick’s nose closed. “Swallow, you goddamn little freak. Swallow it.”
    Emerick stopped struggling and started gurgling and grunting. They couldn’t tell if he had swallowed the pill or not.
    “Blow on it,” Sal said.
    “Wha’?”
    “I said blow on it. Like a blowgun.”
    Charles made a face. “Man, what if he got AIDS? What if he blow back and spit in my mouth?”
    Sal growled in his face. “Hurry up and blow that goddamn pill down his throat or you’re gonna fucking wish you had AIDS.”
    “Aw, man … ” Charles complained, but he did what he was told, bending forward and blowing on the wide end of the tube.
    “Did he get it?”
    “I dunno. What you want me to do? Stick my finger down there?”
    Emerick was bucking and choking, his face turning blue. Sal pulled out the baster, afraid that he was gonna choke to death and ruin everything. He dropped the baster but kept the hammer in place, still afraid that Emerick might bite.
    After a few minutes, Emerick stopped bucking. His body relaxed and his eyes gradually glazed over. When his lips were wet and loose on the wooden handle, Sal removed the hammer.
    Sal’s heart started to pound. Jesus Christ! He’s dead!
    He leapt off Emerick’s chest and reached into the guy’s shirt to feel for a heartbeat, but when the little nut blinked and looked up at him, Sal nearly had a heart attack.
    “Jesus! I thought he was dead.”
    Charles got off Emerick’s legs. “Three hundred milligrams of Thorazine? Man, you might as well be