Hard Target by Jacobson Alan

Author:Jacobson, Alan [Jacobson, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Premier Digital Publishing
Published: 2012-03-15T06:00:00+00:00

DAY SIX

6:00 AM

80 hours remaining

Uzi toweled off as he walked toward the living room, leaving Leila to finish showering. The sun was beginning to wake up along with the rest of the district. The evening was past him, the guilt simmering beneath the surface, new fodder for internal conflict. What had been a wonderful night with Leila had turned into “buyer’s remorse” in the morning.

He lifted the phone and dialed Rudnick’s home number. He kept his request short: he needed to talk. With the op scheduled for this evening, he needed to get this off his chest so he could be fully focused on the mission. In the past, he would’ve pushed it out of his mind and stuck it in his emotional closet, shoved back behind boxes and old memories. But if there was one thing his sessions with Rudnick had taught him, it was better to deal with such issues sooner, rather than later, before they morphed into painful, longlasting complications. He thought of the old computer monitors, and how images would get burned into the screen if left there indefinitely. He needed to avoid the burn-in factor.

As he hung up, he became aware of Leila standing behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands reaching down through the towel that draped across his front.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “An appointment.”

She groaned disappointment, but withdrew her hands without protest.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, then moved into the bedroom to dress.

UZI ARRIVED AT Rudnick’s office, his thoughts in greater disarray than his rumpled clothes. He waited outside the doctor’s main entrance, pacing back and forth, absently running both hands through his damp hair. Back doors, secret entrances were no longer a concern.

He was making his third pass when Rudnick exited the elevator, moving as fast as his short legs and arthritic knees would permit. Rudnick cancelled the alarm, then nudged his patient through the door. He flicked on the fluorescent lights and they hummed loudly, as if complaining because they had been called into work earlier than usual.

Rudnick disappeared into a narrow anteroom beside the reception area. “Coffee or tea?”

“Absolution. Got any of that in there?”

Rudnick poked his head out the door. “Got some in here,” he said, an index finger pointing to his temple.

“I sure could use some,” Uzi mumbled. He walked into Rudnick’s treatment room, turned on the doctor’s desk lamp, and studied the books on the shelf: Caring for the Mind; Psychoneuroses; Handbook of Dissociative Disorders; Relationship Issues; The Psychology of Living— Uzi stopped on the last one and was tempted to page through it when Rudnick walked in, a steaming coffee mug in hand.

“If this gets any earlier, I’m going to have to buy a futon to keep in my office.”

“Sorry,” Uzi said. “I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind and I’ve felt things I haven’t felt in years. Maybe never. I don’t know what to make of it, how to handle it. And I’ve got this important...mission tonight, and I—”

“How about taking a seat.

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