False Witness Read Online Free PDF Page A

based on his recollection of the photos. The nose was flatter and the right ear seemed deformed, another feature not shown in the photographs.
    Clark felt the hair on his arms bristle, his instincts flashing red. He retrieved his gun from the small holster attached to the top of his left boot. He prepared to check the room’s small bathroom, swinging his gun in front of him, like a police officer checking out a perp’s vacant apartment.
    But a grunt from the patient startled him. “Can you get me some water?” the man asked, his voice hoarse and dry. His eyelids cracked open ever so slightly, revealing bloodshot eyes and a vacant stare. Clark checked the bathroom first. Clear. He kept the gun in his right hand as he approached the bed and handed the patient a plastic mug of water from the tray table.
    The man’s eyes fluttered open again as he sipped the water and muttered, “Thanks.” Standing over the patient, Clark noticed a small tattoo on the left side of the man’s neck, a coiled snake ready to strike, as though at any moment it might lash out and sink its fangs into the man’s left ear. It was a metaphor for Clark’s own nerves, coiled tighter than a spring, warning Clark to abort the mission.
    The patient stopped drinking and looked at Clark through bleary eyes. Abruptly, the eyes popped open with a glint of excitement just as Clark felt a sharp stab in his neck, right above the left shoulder blade. He pivoted quickly, bringing his elbow up and back, hoping to connect with the facial bone of his attacker, but it felt like he was moving through oatmeal.
    A spiderweb of pain followed by paralysis spread quickly across his body and down his arms. A faded image of a maniacal smile flashed through Clark’s mind as he stood face-to-face for a fleeting moment with the man who had slipped into the room and stabbed Clark in the neck . . . and then the fog engulfed Clark’s brain. Before he could launch another blow, his entire world went black.

3
    Clark regained consciousness propped up in the driver’s seat of his Taurus, his head feeling like it might explode at any moment. He grimaced and tried to focus, but his thoughts collided with each other like a pileup at the NASCAR tracks. Where am I? What time is it? What happened?
    He blinked twice, sat up a little straighter, and herded a few stray thoughts into formation while an invisible jackhammer pounded his skull. He was in a parking garage, alone in his car, sweating profusely in the stifling heat. The windows had been cracked to keep him from suffocating.
    Vegas. Dr. Silvoso. Johnny Chin. Events came rushing back to him: time and place, Silvoso’s double cross, the strange man in the outpatient prep room, the elusive Johnny Chin. Clark rubbed his neck where the tranquilizer had entered. It felt like he had been stuck with an elephant dart.
    He noticed a yellow sticky taped to the steering wheel. Use the cell phone on the seat. Speed dial 1. He picked up the phone but paused as a little more fog lifted from his brain. What if dialing the number triggers an explosive device? But then again, if they wanted him dead, why was he still alive now?
    He put the phone down and stared at it for a long moment. He started the car and cranked the AC to full blast. The outdoor temperature readout said ninety-eight degrees. He convinced himself the phone was safe, his curiosity beating back his survival instincts. He held his breath and speed-dialed 1.
    No explosion. Clark exhaled, listening as the phone rang twice before somebody answered.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Shealy,” a man’s voice said. It had a slight Asian lilt, though the man had obviously worked hard at his diction. “I trust you had a peaceful nap.”
    â€œWho is this?”
    â€œWhy don’t you leave the questions to me?” the voice said. He was calm. Frustratingly calm.
    â€œWhy don’t you tell me why you drugged me?”