The Thirteenth Skull Read Online Free PDF Page A

a strategy for getting me out of this, right?”
    â€œWell, the very first thing I’m going to do is find you a good attorney.”
    I stared at him. “I thought you were my attorney.”
    â€œTechnically, I’m the attorney for your father’s estate. And you wouldn’t want me for an attorney, Alfred.”
    â€œWhy? Do you suck?”
    â€œOh, no, I don’t suck. I’m quite good at what I do, but unfortunately, I don’t do criminal law.”
    He patted my knee.
    â€œDon’t pat my knee,” I said.
    He stopped patting my knee. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
    â€œLike crap. My nose is broke. I’ve got fifty-nine million stitches in my arm and four thousand bruises all over my body and they think my butt might be cracked.”
    He frowned. “Aren’t all butts?”
    â€œI’m not kidding. I need you to call Abigail Smith for me. I used up my phone call on you.”
    â€œWho is Abigail Smith?”
    â€œThe director of OIPEP.” I handed him her card.
    â€œOIPEP,” he murmured, staring at the card.
    â€œYou remember.”
    â€œUnfortunately, I do.”
    â€œTell her I want a meeting. Today. Even if that means she meets me in the psycho ward.”
    â€œDo you think her agency had something to do with this?”
    â€œOh, you bet they’re near the top of my list.”
    I pushed the ring into his pudgy hand.
    â€œAnd I want you to keep this.”
    â€œThis? Alfred, isn’t this ... ?”
    â€œThe Seal of Solomon. Put it somewhere safe and don’t tell anyone where you’ve put it. Nobody, understand?”
    â€œEven you?”
    â€œEspecially me.”
    He nodded. His fingers were shaking as he slipped the ring into his pocket.
    â€œHe tried to warn me,” I said.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œSamuel. He said they could be ruthless.”
    â€œApparently so.”
    â€œUnless it wasn’t them. But if it wasn’t them, who was it?”
    â€œAlfred, if I may offer some advice. Perhaps, given what happened today, you should give Ms. Smith and her associates what they want.”
    â€œThey had their chance,” I said. “But I’ll think about it.”
    â€œIt might be the price you have to pay.”
    â€œThe price for what?”
    â€œFor staying alive.”

13:12:08:40
    A cruiser took me to St. Mary’s Hospital on Broadway, where I was escorted to the psych floor and put in a room with a door that locked from the outside. There wasn’t even a handle on the inside part of the door.
    There was no phone in the room, no TV, and everything was padded—the bed, the small dresser, even the corners of the windowsills. No sharp corners anywhere.
    I sat in a chair and played with this little metal ring that hung from the side of the bed. Another ring was at the foot, and two more on the opposite side. I realized the rings were for the straps they used to tie you down.
    A nurse’s aide came in with a tray and hung by the door while I ate. I told her I’d rather eat alone—it kind of creeped me out, her standing there—but she said that was against the rules. She avoided making eye contact with me.
    â€œWhen are they coming?” I asked.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe experts who decide if I’m nuts or not.”
    â€œI don’t know,” she answered. “I just bring the food.”
    â€œWhere’s ICU?”
    She didn’t say anything for a second. “Second floor.”
    She knocked on the door. It was opened by a huge orderly with a smushed-in face, like a bulldog. They left me alone. I crawled into bed. I was very tired. She had brought me a pain pill with the food and, though I really thought I shouldn’t, I took the pill.
    I closed my eyes. I tried to sleep and couldn’t. How was I getting out of a room with a door that had no handle, locked from the outside, and a huge orderly with a face like a bulldog