Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Some of the man’s swagger drains away as he considers this. But the reaction my attention is drawn to is that of the one called Mr. Secretary. There’s a sudden smile on his face as his imagination runs wild. Conaty has pressed all the right buttons with this asshole, clearly.

The sound of squeaky wheels outside grows, but no one’s paying attention to it.

“You guys are idiots if you think that’s her plan,” I say to them. “I saw them putting that shit in the water supply. One of her companies is a pharmaceutical manufacturer, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t going to stop at a fucking board of directors or whatever.”

The room goes stone quiet.

Save for Mrs. Conaty, who is tsking me.

“Bless your heart” she says. “See what I mean? Conspiracy theories, already. Hon, I can barely manage a rabble of this size. What would I need with an entire population? That would be tedious in the extreme, and entirely unnecessary.”

Her words are not for me, I realize, but the two VIPs. Her customers.

“Control the head of the snake and the body will follow.” This from Mr. Secretary, who is rubbing his chin, deep in thought, his smile still there. Then a dark look passes across his features. An evil look. He’s practically salivating at what Conaty is proposing.

Sandra Conaty sees it, too, and gives the satisfied nod of a salesperson who knows when her client cannot say no. “What I’m offering you is not blind obedience, gentlemen. It’s absolute confidence. A lever you can pull, whenever you need to make sure your orders are carried out to the letter.”

“Prove it,” Mr. Secretary says. “These people could be acting, for all I know.”

“Of course. Why do you think I brought you along?” She turns to me. “Greg? Step forward and shoot Mary Whittaker in the head.”

Greg turns to me again. The blank expression on his face leaves. Replaced with utter sadness. He steps out from the group, in front of them, between them and me.

His arm comes up. His pistol is in his hand. Standard police issue, black and shiny. His face contorts and tears begin to fall. “Mary, I can’t stop. Mary, oh God, I’m sorry…”

“I hid Dr. Ryan’s notes,” I blurt out, playing for time. “Kill me and you’ll never find them.”

It’s the second-to-last card I have, and it’s a dud.

Conaty smiles at this, amused. “Stop there, Greg.”

He stops. Relief washes over him, if only for a moment.

Before continuing, Conaty grins slyly at her power over Greg. Then she turns and speaks directly to me. “Yes, the notes. The thing is, dear, we don’t need them now. That phase of the project has concluded. We just don’t want anyone else to get their hands on them. They’d be evidence, which I assume is why you took them. Evidence is what Gregory here had when he nearly destroyed my company.”

I swallow, waiting. She goes on.

“The notes are here in town somewhere, that much we can take for granted. I’m also sure a veteran sleuth like Greg Gorman can find them. And if not, well, by morning all of Silvertown will be under my control. A rabble, I know, but it’s necessary now thanks to you, Mary. This commotion won’t go unnoticed, so I’ll need to ensure the town is on the same page when some actual law enforcement arrives to investigate. And in the meantime, the townsfolks’ first task can be finding Dr. Ryan’s notes.”

I level my gaze on her, trying to force myself to look tough.

“Nihil hic actu operatur,” I say.

For a moment her cool facade falters. She blinks in confused annoyance. “Meaning?”

“ ‘Nothing here actually works.’ ” This I say not to Conaty, but to the two men with her. A desperate ploy to buy myself more time. I point at my broken nose. “Her drug doesn’t work. Didn’t work on me. She’s a fraud, and you two are being played.”

Conaty’s smile only widens, though. “How delightful! An attempt to turn the tables. The thing is, Officer, I’ve already explained to them the recent improvements in the product. It’s regrettable that you somehow slipped under Doc’s radar, but then so did the Rogers boy. Regrettable, but of course not an issue anywhere else other than this mountain.”

Her smile vanishes.

“Continue, Greg. Shoot Mary Whittaker.”

Greg’s hand had been halfway aimed at me as if frozen in place. It rises the rest of the distance now.

From the sidewalk outside, the squeaking wheels abruptly stop, right in front of the station.

Time to play my last card.

“NOW!” I shout.

At the same instant I draw the fake knife over Doc’s throat. He makes a mewling squeal as chocolate syrup erupts from the blade and runs down his neck.

There’s a gasp of surprise from the onlookers. I release Doc’s forehead and kick him, sending him into Greg just as Greg pulls the trigger.

His shot zips past my ear, clanging off one of the cell bars behind me. Doc falls against him, but Greg’s too fast. He sidesteps and renews his aim before I’ve even had a chance to figure out where to run. Not that it matters. There’s nowhere to run.

I breathe out through my broken nose, and hold my hands out, placating. The gesture makes no difference. Greg sights down the barrel and…

His face scrunches up. Everyone’s does.

A sonic assault pulsates through the room, so loud and grating it makes my stomach heave.

The barrage of noise comes from two places. At the front door, blaring some death metal, is the massive speaker from Kyle’s pub, which he’s spent the last few minutes trying to wheel across the street without earning anyone’s attention.

And from the rear of the building, booming from an inherited amplifier once used by Quiet Riot, plugged into Kyle’s Jeep, is the horrid wailing bombardment of Clara and her electric guitar.

She was right. She’s terrible at the guitar.

It’s fucking perfect.

Everyone reacts in the same way. Hands over ears, doubled at the waist. It’s so loud in the room I can’t hear myself think.