Madhouse (Cal Leandros, #3)(63)

"Robin, we need to speak with you. Pay attention." Niko, playing part bodyguard, part nurse, removed the remote and tossed it with brisk force over his shoulder to me. Fortunately, I both expected and caught it or I would've choked on it. Not one moment of one day could I hope not to be tested at my brother's slightest whim. It was second nature to us both, but it didn't stop me from tossing it back. Niko ducked gracefully and it bopped Robin in the forehead.

"Charon's pasty white balls." Robin glared and rubbed a faint red spot above his eyebrow, but turned the television off. "Nothing happened in some forsaken sand-ridden land, and I have no idea who might want to kill me. Well…" His eyebrows twitched. "Let's embrace reality. I have no idea who might want to kill me as a concerted plot. How about that?"

"You're lying," said Niko. There wasn't a single doubt to be heard in his voice.

"And how do you know?" The head tilted, chin lifted, eyes narrowed—all in challenge.

"Because you always lie," Nik said with dark exasperation. "Why would that possibly change now?"

"Ah." Robin slid down a little on the couch and folded his arms. "Good point."

"Then stop being an * and tell us already," I demanded.

"Or what?" he asked mockingly. "You'll hug me?"

"You son of a bitch," I growled. Niko caught me as I lunged, still cursing, toward the couch.

Cunning fox eyes grinned at me, but the actual curve of his mouth was uncertain, as if that half-assed hug was so far outside his world that he barely recognized it for what it was. Yeah, you and me both, pal, I thought as I glared at him over Nik's shoulder. Learning how to be a friend was a bitch and a half.

"Robin, just tell us. If you tell us, we can help stop this. I would think you would want that." Niko pushed me back with a warning glare of his own. His glare was more of an implication … a level glance, but I knew it for what it was.

"No."

Niko turned back to Goodfellow at the puck's response. "No? You…no?" I hadn't seen my brother at a loss for words often. If not for the situation, it would've been entertaining. "No, you won't tell us," he went on, "or no, you don't want the attempts to cease?"

"The first." Robin aimed the remote and turned the television back on and the sound up. "Now, why don't you run along and find your Scottish pal? While you're wasting time here, he's probably scarfing up a busload of kiddies as we speak."

It was a low blow, and it was meant to be.

"Robin," I growled.

"No."

"Goodfellow…," my brother insisted.

"No."

"You tiny-dicked piece of shit." I curled my fingers into a fist.

"Not very inventive, proven false, and no."

"This is a serious matter." That was Nik again with the calm reason.

"No."

"Loman."

He looked at me, but he didn't say no this time. He didn't say anything at all. There was nothing but silence from him until we gave up and left. From a puck…silence.

Which meant, for now, we were shit out of luck.





17




After a few hours of needed unconsciousness, I woke that evening, took a shower, and went where Niko was sitting on the couch looking at the paper spread out on our battle-scarred coffee table. He must've gone out to buy one, because he didn't tend to swipe the one from that * downstairs like I did. Always bitching to the manager about the noise, and I had to admit when you hit the floor after being thrown over your brother's shoulder, that does make some noise. So I played loud music when we sparred to cover up the floor pounding, lamps breaking, and tables overturning, but apparently he wasn't a fan of alternative music either. The manager came by and squawked at us once a week or so and the * under us lost a paper or three. Niko didn't approve but as Thou Shall Not Steal wasn't kissing cousins with Thou Shall Not Kick Your Brother's Ass in Sparring, I ignored him.

"What's up?" I asked. "You looking for 'Ninja needed, soy-eating, anal-retentive required' in the classifieds?"

"No." He didn't raise his eyes from the paper. "It seems Sawney finally received some publicity after all."

I sat beside him and took a look for myself. The picture wasn't so bad. Just a gurney and a full body bag. That's a helluva life to lead, isn't it, when a body bag is just one of those things? No big deal. The headline made up for it, though: eight slaughtered AT MANHATTAN PSYCHIATRIC CENTER…"Oh,…shit,"…I murmured.

It seemed two security guards and six of the mental patients had been killed. Two more patients were missing. Four were decapitated and the other four had their throats slit. All were sliced to hell and back. "Hell, we knew the son of a bitch does have a taste for the psychiatrically challenged." And for me. I read the rest of the article. The two missing patients were assumed to be responsible for the deaths…with what? Their damn fingernails? Those poor bastards had been taken away either dead to be eaten later or alive for Sawney's fun and games. I hoped for their sakes they were dead. "Want I should take a smell around?" I didn't see we could do anything else except make sure it was Sawney.