The Inn - James Patterson Page 0,16
of yourself!”
Nick and I went in to pull Mayburn back but we were stopped by the thick arm of one of the men in the group; it came down in front of us like a tollbooth barrier. Someone shoved Mayburn in the back, almost toppling him, but he got his balance and flailed around with the knife, inches from bewildered faces.
“What you gonna do, you old prick?”
“Go for it, bitch. Let’s see what you’ve got!”
The men had the knife out of Mayburn’s withered grip before he even realized it. They started pushing him around like a child. Nick glanced at me, and I could almost feel his body engage, harden, go into fight mode. A switch flipped, and the machine was unleashed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NICK GRABBED THE arm blocking him and yanked it down, then used the momentum to drag the big guy to the floor and sink a knee into his ribs as he went. I heard bones crunch. I thought about the gun in my pocket but grabbed the wrist of the guy with the knife instead and palmed him in the face with my other hand; the shock of the blow caused him to drop the knife. I slid it to the side with my foot, pushed Mayburn out of harm’s way, grabbed one of the losers by his flannel shirt, and threw him into the bar, knocking stools over. Nick and I backed the remaining trio into the corner by the men’s room.
“He came at us, the asshole!” The shrimpy guy gestured at Mayburn while keeping an eye on Nick, who stepped over the big guy he’d winded like he was a deer shot down in the woods. “We’re just trying to have a party here!”
“The party’s moving on.” I pointed to the doors to the parking lot. “Better catch the bus before it leaves.”
The little guy had a chest full of swirly tattoos peeking through his sweat-stained shirt. There were rosy red sores around his throat from a cheap razor. His friends seemed happy to leave, edging toward the door, but it was the shrimp’s party and he wasn’t giving up without a tantrum. He grabbed a glass from the table behind him and threw it at me.
I wasn’t ready for that and I flinched, but Nick caught the glass an inch from my nose and then smashed it on the countertop, leaving a jagged edge to fight with. I imagined myself doing the same thing but ending up with a fistful of useless shards. Nick didn’t even have to brandish the weapon. The big guy dragged himself up, and the party of losers walked out. There was a promise in the shrimp’s eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder at Mayburn.
The doctor was clutching his chest and gasping as he went to the bar. I helped him onto a stool while Nick went to smooth things over with the bartender before she called the cops.
Mayburn was not a fighting man. His face and neck were flushed, and his hands were shaking. I felt him examining my face.
“Don’t I know you?” Mayburn asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I think I’d remember a crazy old-timer who goes around waving knives at punks in bars,” I said. I took the stool beside him, showing him only my profile. “You know that guy, do you?”
“That small one. That’s Rick Craft.”
“Who’s Rick Craft?”
“Google it,” he said, too tired to explain.
I took out my phone as Mayburn recovered. The story I read from the Gloucester Chronicle, the newspaper Susan worked for, made the hairs on my neck stand up.
“‘Two girls, ages three and five, were taken to Lawrence General Hospital in North Andover for suspected poisoning,’” I read. “‘They were pronounced dead on arrival.’”
“They weren’t poisoned,” Mayburn said. “They were Craft’s kids. He’s a long-term addict. Rick and his wife got high and passed out. Left a bunch of pills on the table. The girls took one each, thinking they were candy.”
Nick returned to my side as Mayburn collected himself.
“I’m the medical examiner at Lawrence,” Mayburn said, something I knew but Nick didn’t. “I was there when the girls were brought in. The pills they took were loaded with fentanyl. It’s fifty times more potent than heroin. They never had a chance.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“That bastard”—Mayburn jerked a thumb at the door through which Craft and his cronies had left—“did just ninety days in prison. Pleaded to child endangerment. Ninety days. Can you believe that? I saw the pictures from his house. There were