"John, just tell him!" Grogan shouted. "Please. It's not worth it. Please."
"It's not worth it, John," Russell said. "Do you know what's going to happen when I pull the trigger?"
"Don't," Danziger whispered. "Please. I'll tell you everything I know about the duress code. Anything you want to-"
"It's not pretty," Russell went on. "It's not like on TV. A nine-millimeter bullet has a muzzle velocity of, like, a thousand feet per second. First thing it does is punch out a round piece of skull, see. Drives the bone fragments right into your brain, okay? Then, at the same time it opens up a nice big cavity in your brain. Like a cave. Builds up pressure inside there. Your brain actually explodes, John."
"Russell," Grogan said, coming closer, "you don't have to do this. He'll tell you everything you want to know, and so will I. No one's going to use any duress code, I promise you. That was just an idea, we talked about it, but it's not going to happen!"
But Russell would not stop his sadistic monologue. "Where I'm aiming, see, the bullet's going to travel right through the brain stem. Kill you instantly. For you, it's lights out. But for everyone else, it's grisly, I gotta tell ya."
Danziger was talking, trying to talk over him. "The duress code is nothing more than a couple of numbers," he said. "You type in a nine before the-"
"They're gonna see blood and tissue," Russell went on, "little gobs of gray matter, spurt out the exit wound. Might even see something called backspatter, contact wound like this. The gray matter shoots out the entrance wound, too. It's not pleasant. Not for me, anyway. I might get some of your brain tissue on my clothes."
Danziger was shaking, sobbing silently. Tears were streaming down his face. Sweat had soaked most of his light blue shirt.
"Stop!" he shouted. "I'm telling you! Please!"
"Russell," Cheryl called out, her voice trembling, "do not do this. You do not want to face murder charges. There's no reason to do this. No one's going to try to stop the wire transfer. You're going to get everything you want."
"He's telling you!" cried Grogan. "Listen to him. What else do you want?" He, too, was weeping now.
"Alan, I want you to stay right where you are," Russell said. "Don't come any closer."
"Russell, please listen to me." It was Bo Lampack. He struggled to rise, fell to his knees, then rolled upright. "Help me help you." He stood tentatively, walked toward Russell. "I'm Bo," he said.
"Sit down, Bo," Russell said.
Yet Bo kept approaching. "I want you to know that we're all on the same page. All of us. We all want to resolve this. We all want to give you what you want."
"Don't come any closer, Bo," Russell said, staring him down.
"I'm just saying," Bo went on, coming still closer, "that you should understand that you're completely in control. And we, all of us, have the deepest respect for you. We understand completely that you're a human being with needs just like all of us-"
Russell swiveled, slammed his pistol against Bo's face. Bo screamed and fell over backwards, his face bloodied.
Then Russell placed the Glock back behind Danziger's right ear. "Do you want to tell me what happens after you type in that duress code?" Russell said very softly.
Danziger closed his eyes. "It triggers a silent alarm," he said, his voice trembling. "It tells the bank that the transfer request is being made under compulsion."
"Okay, good," said Russell. "Now, John, tell me something. Is there any other duress code? Besides the nine, I mean."
Danziger mouthed the word No but no sound came out.
"I can't hear you," said Russell.
"No," Danziger gasped.
"No other way for someone to sneak in a duress code?"
"No. Nothing else."
"That's it? No other tricks that you know of? Nothing else your buddies might try to screw this up?" Russell twisted the Glock, swiveling the muzzle on that same spot behind Danziger's right ear.
Danziger's face was contorted and dark red. "I-can't think of anything else," he whispered.
"You'd be the guy who'd know, isn't that right?"
"Yes," Danziger said. "There's no one else who…" His voice was choked by sobs.
"Who what?"
"Who knows the-the systems-"
"So that's it, then?" Russell said. "No other tricks?"
"Nothing. I swear to you."
"Thank you, John," Russell said. "You've been very cooperative."
Danziger gasped for air, nodded. He closed his eyes, looked drained.
"Thank you," he whispered.
You could almost feel everyone breathe a collective sigh of relief. Russell was a sadist, but not a murderer. He had tortured the information he wanted out of Danziger, so there was no need to kill him.
"Oh, thank God," breathed Grogan. Tears were streaming down his face as well.
"No," Russell said softly, "thank you. Good-bye, John."
He squeezed the trigger and the gun jumped in his hand and filled the room with a deafening explosion.
Danziger slumped to one side.
The gunshot seemed to echo for an instant, though it was merely an auditory illusion: My ears rang with a high-pitched, wavering tone. I stared, unable to fully comprehend what I'd just seen.
Then the silence was broken as someone let out a gasp.
People began to scream, others to cry.
Someone vomited.
A large chunk of the right side of Danziger's head was missing.
Russell wiped his left hand over his face to smear off the red spatter. Verne let out a loud whoop and pumped his fist.
"Yeah!" he shouted. "You see that?"
A number of people dove to the floor. Some tried to cover their eyes with their forearms, ducked their heads. Ali buried her head between her legs.
I wanted to shout, but I couldn't. My throat seemed to have closed.
Russell stood up, lowered the Glock to his side, backed up a few steps. Travis stared furiously at his brother.
Over the cacophony, the shouts and the keening, I heard Russell tell his brother, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
Hank Bodine bellowed, "Goddamn you!"
In all the chaos, my eyes were drawn to Grogan. He was on his feet, stumbling forward to Danziger's body. His face was red and crumpled, and he was crying, his head shaking. He knelt next to Danziger's body, reached with his unsteady fettered hands to lift his friend's ruined head, trying to cradle it.
His mouth was moving as if to speak, but no words came out, just deep gasps, like hiccups. Blood oozed between his fingers.
A slick of blood and something viscous had pooled on the floor next to Danziger.
Then Grogan leaned over and kissed the dead man's lips, and suddenly everybody understood.
I couldn't see Grogan's face. I could only see his shoulders heaving.
He lowered Danziger's head gently to the floor and knelt there for several seconds as if praying. Slowly he rose to his feet as a terrible anguished scream welled up from his throat, and he staggered toward Russell, his face contorted with rage and grief.
"You goddamned son of a bitch!" he shouted, spittle flying.
He lunged at Russell, jabbing his tethered hands at Russell's face as if to throttle him. "God damn you to hell, you goddamned son of a bitch!"
"Alan?" Russell said in a matter-of-fact voice as he stepped to one side, out of the way.
"Why?" Grogan gasped. "Why in God's name-?"
"You, too," Russell said, and he fired one more time.
PART THREE
49
Pee Wee Farrentino's delicate, feminine face had become monstrous: a welter of angry red cross-hatched scars. Ugly, just the way he wanted.
But it hadn't stopped Glover's midnight visits. Neither had my meeting with Dr. Jerome Marcus, the Assistant Clinical Director of Glenview, who'd followed the bureaucratic imperative not to rock the boat. He buried his report. He wanted a larger office.
Pee Wee's eyes had gone dead. He'd given up.
One morning, he wasn't at inspection. The morning guard, Caffrey, went to his room and found him.