The Steel Kiss

The carpenter disappeared downstairs. The lights in the theater came back on. And the man returned. She learned his name was Joe Heady. She asked if he’d seen anybody in or near the theater resembling the unsub.

He thought for a moment. Then: “No, never, ma’am. What’s this all about?”

“There’s a killer, somebody who’s using products to kill people. He’s sabotaged an escalator—”

“That story on TV?” asked the carpenter.

“That’s right. A stove too. Caused a gas leak and then ignited it.”

“Right. I heard about that. Oh, man.”

“He’s found a way to hack into smart controllers and take over the product. He was in the construction site, looking down at you. He was going to turn the saw back on while you were holding it, I think.”

Heady closed his eyes briefly. “That thing had started and my hand was on the blade? Jesus. Two thousand RPM. It cuts through wood like butter. I’d’ve lost the limb. Probably bled to death. This’s all very fucked up, pardon my French.”

“Sure is,” said Sachs.

As she was jotting notes, her phone rang once more. It was Pulaski. She said to Heady, “Excuse me, have to take this.” He nodded and walked to the kitchen area of the workshop. She watched him set a packet of instant Starbucks coffee on the counter and heat a mug of water in the microwave. His hands quivered as he performed these simple tasks. She could hardly blame him.

Pulaski said, “Lost him, Amelia. We’ve expanded the search up to Five-Two and down to Three-Four. Not a bite so far.”

She sighed. “Keep me posted.”

“Sure, Amelia. K.”

She disconnected and Heady turned to her. “But why me? I mean, is it a labor thing? I was in the Auto Workers, Detroit, for years and I’m union here. But nobody busts unions anymore.”

“It’s not you personally. He’s a kind of domestic terrorist. He’s injuring people who own or’re using fancy products to make a statement. He says we’re too reliant on them, spending too much money. That’s his message. Here? Who knows? Maybe all the self-indulgence of entertainment in Times Square.” She gave a faint smile. “Maybe price of Broadway tickets.”

“Did I say fucked up?” Heady looked at the timer of the microwave counting down. He turned back to Sachs.

“One thing?”

“Yes?”

He glanced at the saw. “You said he hacked into this controller or something?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, the thing is, with the saw, there’s just an on/off switch. You can’t operate it remotely.”

“But you can upload data for diagnostics, right?”

“No. There’s a chip in it to remember cutting specs. That’s all.”

The microwave dinged and Heady walked toward it, reaching for the door lever.

Sachs frowned.

No!

As he opened the microwave’s door, she dove forward and tackled him hard. They tumbled to the workshop’s concrete floor as the ceramic cup inside the microwave exploded, sending a hundred pieces of shrapnel flying outward amid a searing cloud of steam.

CHAPTER 34

You all right, man?” Freddy Caruthers was asking.

Nick returned to the couch after letting the little guy inside. Looking particularly toady at the moment.

Judge Judy was on the screen. Nick said, “Wouldn’t think I’d watch this, right? But I’m loving all the shows. Discovery Channel, A and E. I went in, there were fifty channels. Now, seven hundred.”

“Only ten’re any good. ESPN and HBO. All I watch. Big Bang Theory too. It’s funny.”

Nick shook his head. “Don’t know it.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Answer you?”

“You all right?”

“Good days, shitty days. Everything in between. This’s a less-shitty-than-others one.”

“That’d be a good self-help book. The Less-Shitty-Day-Than-Others Guide to Life.”

Nick laughed hard. And let the subject go. He didn’t explain that the shittiest days were the ones when he couldn’t let go of the fact that life screwed him over; none of the shit that happened was his fault. Unfair. That was something he’d talked to the prison therapist about a lot. Dr. Sharana. “Life’s unfair.”

“Yeah, it can be. Let’s talk about how you can deal with it, though.”

He now explained to Freddy, “You never did time. It, what it does, is it resets you. Like you’ve got a clock in your gut or brain or somewhere and it turns a dial and life stops moving. Then you get out and, man, it’s chaos. The traffic, the people moving.” He nodded. “Just the TV programs. All those channels, I was saying. Everything. It can be too much. Like a mixture that’s too rich in the carb.”

But this gave him a moment’s pause, since it put in mind Amelia Sachs, who was an expert at setting carburetors and getting even the most troublesome choke to do what she wanted.

“A book I read when I was a kid,” Freddy was saying.

“A book?”