Abel Baker Charley
ABEL BAKER
CHARLEY
BY
JOHN R.
MAXIM
The first beast was like a lion, and the second
beast like a calf, and the third beast had a face as
a man . . . and they were full of eyes within; and they rest not day and night.
beast like a calf, and the third beast had a face as
a man . . . and they were full of eyes within; and they rest not day and night.
REVELATION 4.7-8
1
The tall man walked more slowly now, avoiding streetlights
where he could, merging with the night shadows that lined
the park wall. He was listening ... feeling.
where he could, merging with the night shadows that lined
the park wall. He was listening ... feeling.
Fifth Avenue was dark and all but lifeless. No cabs had
appeared in the fifteen minutes since he'd turned back to his
hotel. A fine mist of rain seemed to hover more than fall, daubing a soft haze across his tinted aviator glasses. He
stopped beneath a single low sycamore and wiped them dry against the suede of his jacket. Through flat green eyes that
had a sadness about them he scanned the street he'd come
down, probing one block at a time as he followed the reced
ing wink of traffic lights.
appeared in the fifteen minutes since he'd turned back to his
hotel. A fine mist of rain seemed to hover more than fall, daubing a soft haze across his tinted aviator glasses. He
stopped beneath a single low sycamore and wiped them dry against the suede of his jacket. Through flat green eyes that
had a sadness about them he scanned the street he'd come
down, probing one block at a time as he followed the reced
ing wink of traffic lights.
There was nothing. Only the pull of the park, and it was
getting stronger. The man who'd been following him, the
young man in the gray raincoat, was gone. At least Baker
could not feel him. He must have gone ahead, Baker de
cided, to where gray raincoat's partner waited. Back to the
hotel where Baker had left one suitcase as an animal leaves
its scent. Baker would not return there.
getting stronger. The man who'd been following him, the
young man in the gray raincoat, was gone. At least Baker
could not feel him. He must have gone ahead, Baker de
cided, to where gray raincoat's partner waited. Back to the
hotel where Baker had left one suitcase as an animal leaves
its scent. Baker would not return there.
He turned south once more. Ahead of him by several yards was Seventy-second Street. There, the black maw of the park entrance opened wider as he approached. And he felt the pull. He thought he felt it. Slowing again, he weaved across the sidewalk and back, probing, like a dowser searching for a hidden spring. Although he felt no pain yet, he was almost sure. The thing inside him was hunting again.
“What's in the park, Abel?”
He asked the question in his mind.
He asked the question in his mind.
“safety”
“Central Park is not safe. Not at night”
Even his inner voice was tired.
Even his inner voice was tired.
“safe for you. trust me
,
baker.”
,
baker.”
Trust me! Three times now he'd heard it. Three times he'd
heard Abel's warning, if that's what it was, since the airport
taxi took him to that first hotel. Leave this place, it said then.
Someone will hurt you here. Someone is saying your name
here. Leave your smaller bag and go. No, Baker. Not through
the lobby. Through the kitchen. Go. Trust me, Baker.
heard Abel's warning, if that's what it was, since the airport
taxi took him to that first hotel. Leave this place, it said then.
Someone will hurt you here. Someone is saying your name
here. Leave your smaller bag and go. No, Baker. Not through
the lobby. Through the kitchen. Go. Trust me, Baker.
And then once more at the second hotel, where he'd
given a new name. There the voice tugged at him as he sat
at the bar nursing the single drink that he'd allowed himself.
There'd been a woman sitting there alone. She'd looked at
him twice since he entered and each time lowered her eyes to the near-empty glass in front of her. Baker almost spoke
to her. He wanted to. She might have taken the edge off his
loneliness. They might even have spent the night together.
Baker knew that he was not good at that sort of thing. But it does happen. And it might have been nice. Not so much for the sex especially, but to feel the warmth of another human
body where no one could find him.
given a new name. There the voice tugged at him as he sat
at the bar nursing the single drink that he'd allowed himself.
There'd been a woman sitting there alone. She'd looked at
him twice since he entered and each time lowered her eyes to the near-empty glass in front of her. Baker almost spoke
to her. He wanted to. She might have taken the edge off his
loneliness. They might even have spent the night together.
Baker knew that he was not good at that sort of thing. But it does happen. And it might have been nice. Not so much for the sex especially, but to feel the warmth of another human
body where no one could find him.
Baker sighed. It was wishful thinking. He knew that he
was so out of touch with single women that he would prob
ably stammer like a schoolboy and make an ass of himself.
Then there was the problem of keeping Abel leashed and
quiet. Abel didn't like him getting close to people. Not even
his own daughter. Well, you can go to hell, Abel. That's
where the line gets drawn.
was so out of touch with single women that he would prob
ably stammer like a schoolboy and make an ass of himself.
Then there was the problem of keeping Abel leashed and
quiet. Abel didn't like him getting close to people. Not even
his own daughter. Well, you can go to hell, Abel. That's
where the line gets drawn.
But he did leave the bar because Abel had said trust me.
Walk awhile, Abel said, through the quiet streets so that I
can listen. And now here he was. Standing outside Central
Park on a damp night listening to another trust me. Closer to
an obey me, which it damn well better not be.
Walk awhile, Abel said, through the quiet streets so that I
can listen. And now here he was. Standing outside Central
Park on a damp night listening to another trust me. Closer to
an obey me, which it damn well better not be.
“Abel?”
“the park.”
“Who's in there, Abel? Who will I find in there?”
”
I’
ve kept you safe .
. .
the park is safe
. . .
the park is
darker.”
I’
ve kept you safe .
. .
the park is safe
. . .
the park is
darker.”
Yes, Abel. You've kept me safe, for what that's worth. For
what any of this is worth. But you're not worth it, Abel. Not
you or Charley either. Not if the two of you are all I have.
what any of this is worth. But you're not worth it, Abel. Not
you or Charley either. Not if the two of you are all I have.
“go into the park, baker, safe”
For now, Abel, we'll do it your way. This close, we'll do
it your way.
it your way.
A tiny pressure behind his right eye, barely there and not
yet building into pain, relaxed abruptly. Baker jerked his
head to shake off the thread that remained. Then, with a
grunt of disgust, he passed between the stone pillars into the
park.
yet building into pain, relaxed abruptly. Baker jerked his
head to shake off the thread that remained. Then, with a
grunt of disgust, he passed between the stone pillars into the
park.
A city block to the east, the man in the gray raincoat
breathed heavily into the mouthpiece of a sidewalk tele
phone. “Come on,” he urged as he counted the number of
rings. They stopped at eleven.
breathed heavily into the mouthpiece of a sidewalk tele
phone. “Come on,” he urged as he counted the number of
rings. They stopped at eleven.
“Sir?” he inquired of the silence at the other end. “This is
Michael, sir. Do you know my voice?”
Michael, sir. Do you know my voice?”
“May I hope that your telephone is secure?” It was a low,
rich voice that hinted at a lifetime of privilege.
rich voice that hinted at a lifetime of privilege.
“It's an open pay phone on Madison Avenue, sir. It
doesn't figure to be dirty, and anyway this is the only time I
could have called you.”
doesn't figure to be dirty, and anyway this is the only time I
could have called you.”
“Madison Avenue in New York City?”
“Yes sir. He's here. Jared Baker is here.”
There was a long silence on the distant end. Michael Biaggi could hear the older man swallowing.
“Jared Baker is where, exactly?” the voice asked finally.
“Right now he's taking a slow walk down Fifth Avenue.
Mr. Harrigan is covering his hotel from the street and Kate Mulgrew is inside. She tried to pick him up in the bar but he
didn't bite.”
Mr. Harrigan is covering his hotel from the street and Kate Mulgrew is inside. She tried to pick him up in the bar but he
didn't bite.”
“Which hotel?”
“The St. Moritz, for now,” Biaggi answered. “He checked into the Warwick first but that was a dodge. The name he's using is Harold Mailander.”
“Humph!” The voice sounded approving. From his Vir
ginia bedroom he could almost hear Marcus Sonnenberg's
voice instructing Baker on the choice of assumed names. Pick a name that is easily mispronounced or forgotten. No
names that reflect self-image, no names that are easily re
tained, such as Jared Baker, and no names matching your
initials. Jewish and foreign names serve well unless you
happen to be in a place where there are few Jews or for
eigners. Harold Mailander. A good name. For the St. Moritz,
a very good name. “Is there any sign of Dr. Sonnenberg, by the way?”
ginia bedroom he could almost hear Marcus Sonnenberg's
voice instructing Baker on the choice of assumed names. Pick a name that is easily mispronounced or forgotten. No
names that reflect self-image, no names that are easily re
tained, such as Jared Baker, and no names matching your
initials. Jewish and foreign names serve well unless you
happen to be in a place where there are few Jews or for
eigners. Harold Mailander. A good name. For the St. Moritz,
a very good name. “Is there any sign of Dr. Sonnenberg, by the way?”
“Not so far, sir. Mr. Harrigan thinks he'll turn up, but I'm
not sure Baker's even here to see Sonnenberg. Baker could
have gone straight up to Westchester in the time it took him to get to midtown Manhattan.”
not sure Baker's even here to see Sonnenberg. Baker could
have gone straight up to Westchester in the time it took him to get to midtown Manhattan.”
“He'll see Sonnenberg. To Midtown from where, inci
dentally?”
dentally?”
“He came into Kennedy on a flight from O'Hare. Harri
gan seemed to know that.”
gan seemed to know that.”
“And chose not to report it,” the other man added icily.
“You may assume the Chicago origin is another piece of misdirection. You may also begin to see, young man, why
this arrangement between us was thought necessary.”
“You may assume the Chicago origin is another piece of misdirection. You may also begin to see, young man, why
this arrangement between us was thought necessary.”
“Yes sir.” Biaggi hesitated.
“You are troubled, Michael?”
“Sir, it's Mr. Harrigan. He'd kill me if he knew. And there
are times when I almost think he does.”
are times when I almost think he does.”
“You've been listening to too many Connor Harrigan leg
ends, Michael. Legends he does nothing to discourage. The
man is hardly psychic. What he is is an extraordinarily per
ceptive man and a tenacious one. His perceptiveness should move you to caution but not to paranoia.”
ends, Michael. Legends he does nothing to discourage. The
man is hardly psychic. What he is is an extraordinarily per
ceptive man and a tenacious one. His perceptiveness should move you to caution but not to paranoia.”
“Yes sir.”
“Consider our relationship inviolate, Michael. Before long,
you may find your position in life greatly improved. And I
want to know of any unusual developments regardless of the
hour.”
you may find your position in life greatly improved. And I
want to know of any unusual developments regardless of the
hour.”
“There might be one now, sir. Mr. Harrison spotted some
of Domenic Tortora's muscle hanging around the Warwick.
It might be coincidence ...”
of Domenic Tortora's muscle hanging around the Warwick.
It might be coincidence ...”
“Or it might be disaster. Baker cannot fall into anyone's
hands but mine, Michael. He is the most dangerous of Son
nenberg's experiments, and more than that, he has become
Sonnenberg's right hand. I want him alive, Michael. Inca
pacitated, if necessary, but alive. No one must interfere with
that. Do you get my meaning, Michael, in the event a quick decision must be made?”
hands but mine, Michael. He is the most dangerous of Son
nenberg's experiments, and more than that, he has become
Sonnenberg's right hand. I want him alive, Michael. Inca
pacitated, if necessary, but alive. No one must interfere with
that. Do you get my meaning, Michael, in the event a quick decision must be made?”
“Even Harrigan, sir?”
“Anyone, Michael ”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you have doubts, Michael, whether you are up to this
task?”
task?”
“No sir,” Biaggi answered quickly. “It's just—just that I
have to get back on him. I had to let Baker out of my sight
to find a phone.”
have to get back on him. I had to let Baker out of my sight
to find a phone.”
“You had to— Then fly, young man. Fly after him. Re
assure me at your first opportunity.”
assure me at your first opportunity.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
Michael Biaggi slammed the phone clumsily onto its
hook, in the same motion bursting into a run toward Fifth
Avenue. The receiver rocked and dislodged as he hit his
stride. He heard it clatter against the cupola but he did not look back.
hook, in the same motion bursting into a run toward Fifth
Avenue. The receiver rocked and dislodged as he hit his
stride. He heard it clatter against the cupola but he did not look back.
In a small study off the bedroom of his home in Alexan
dria, Virginia, Duncan Peck listened to the clap of receding
footsteps and the sway of the dangling phone against its stanchion. It reminded him of a hanging man.
dria, Virginia, Duncan Peck listened to the clap of receding
footsteps and the sway of the dangling phone against its stanchion. It reminded him of a hanging man.
“Welcome home, Jared Baker,” he murmured. He broke
the connection and began to dial another number.
the connection and began to dial another number.
A hundred yards into the park, Baker stopped and turned. He
saw that the thick trees of late summer had closed in behind
him. It was only an illusion, he knew. A trick of the curving road. But it seemed that the park had sealed him in.
saw that the thick trees of late summer had closed in behind
him. It was only an illusion, he knew. A trick of the curving road. But it seemed that the park had sealed him in.
Oddly, the notion did not unnerve him. It intrigued him mildly that he felt no urge to flee a place where no prudent
man would walk after dusk, but on the other hand Baker had
always been comfortable here. He knew the park. Often,
when his office was quiet, Baker would spend the noon hour
here with his sketchpad. Up ahead was a favorite spot, a
knoll popular among artists and especially among photogra
phers of liquor and fashion advertisements. From it he could
look out over the famous pond and footbridge and see the
Plaza Hotel framed against the sky. Every issue of
The New Yorker
seemed to carry an ad with a model using that scene
as background. That, or the Wollman skating rink, off to the
right. Or the Central Park Zoo down to the left. There the
models were usually children in jeans and jumpers. Tina had
posed once. A photographer picked her out of the crowd one
Sunday morning and gave her twenty dollars to be in a
Buster Brown clothing ad. Tina was so proud. She was so
tiny then.
man would walk after dusk, but on the other hand Baker had
always been comfortable here. He knew the park. Often,
when his office was quiet, Baker would spend the noon hour
here with his sketchpad. Up ahead was a favorite spot, a
knoll popular among artists and especially among photogra
phers of liquor and fashion advertisements. From it he could
look out over the famous pond and footbridge and see the
Plaza Hotel framed against the sky. Every issue of
The New Yorker
seemed to carry an ad with a model using that scene
as background. That, or the Wollman skating rink, off to the
right. Or the Central Park Zoo down to the left. There the
models were usually children in jeans and jumpers. Tina had
posed once. A photographer picked her out of the crowd one
Sunday morning and gave her twenty dollars to be in a
Buster Brown clothing ad. Tina was so proud. She was so
tiny then.
That might have been the last time he was here with her,
Baker realized. It was the year before she was to start
school. Sarah had looked at the city through new eyes and
saw that a place that had seemed exciting up to now had be
come dangerous and dirty. At least for Tina. Sarah found a house, their first house, in what she hoped would be the gen
tler surroundings of Connecticut. Baker shook away the
thought.
Baker realized. It was the year before she was to start
school. Sarah had looked at the city through new eyes and
saw that a place that had seemed exciting up to now had be
come dangerous and dirty. At least for Tina. Sarah found a house, their first house, in what she hoped would be the gen
tler surroundings of Connecticut. Baker shook away the
thought.
He stepped off the main road, which snaked like a moon
lit jungle river through the darkness. There was a footpath.
He knew it would pass close by the zoo.
lit jungle river through the darkness. There was a footpath.
He knew it would pass close by the zoo.
Comfortable! He chewed upon the word. He wondered
how comfortable he would have felt a year or so ago.
Strolling through this park after midnight. Not comfortable at
all. A year ago, he'd have been hearing footsteps by now.
He'd be sweating and struggling against an urge to run, look
ing for the shortest route to where there were lights and peo
ple. A year ago, he'd never have entered the park at night.
And that woman at the St. Moritz. A year ago he'd never have given her a second look, nor would he have been in a
bar drinking alone. It would have been too soon after Sarah.
But then, a year ago he wasn't Baker either. Not exactly.
how comfortable he would have felt a year or so ago.
Strolling through this park after midnight. Not comfortable at
all. A year ago, he'd have been hearing footsteps by now.
He'd be sweating and struggling against an urge to run, look
ing for the shortest route to where there were lights and peo
ple. A year ago, he'd never have entered the park at night.
And that woman at the St. Moritz. A year ago he'd never have given her a second look, nor would he have been in a
bar drinking alone. It would have been too soon after Sarah.
But then, a year ago he wasn't Baker either. Not exactly.
Baker moved off the rutted pavement and onto the grass,
then on toward the red glow to the south. The grass was
more silent and the foliage there kept him in deeper shad
ows. There was no reason for doing this that Baker knew.
then on toward the red glow to the south. The grass was
more silent and the foliage there kept him in deeper shad
ows. There was no reason for doing this that Baker knew.
“Abel?”
He called the name in his mind.
“Why the
sneaking around, Abel? Do you hear something?
...
Abel?”
There was no answer.
He called the name in his mind.
“Why the
sneaking around, Abel? Do you hear something?
...
Abel?”
There was no answer.
A quarter-mile farther, Baker knew by the scents in the air that he was passing the zoo. He would hear the animal
sounds in a minute. That would put him only six blocks
from his hotel.
sounds in a minute. That would put him only six blocks
from his hotel.
“Charley? What about you? What am I going to do about
the one sitting outside the St. Mor
i
tz? Do I ignore him until
morning? Do I spend the night on a bench? Come on,
Charley. If you can receive, you can also send. Why don't you
call ahead and see if the Essex House has an empty room?”
the one sitting outside the St. Mor
i
tz? Do I ignore him until
morning? Do I spend the night on a bench? Come on,
Charley. If you can receive, you can also send. Why don't you
call ahead and see if the Essex House has an empty room?”
Still no answer.
The hell with it, he thought. Maybe that woman is still in
the bar. Except something about her bothered him.
the bar. Except something about her bothered him.
The sounds came. They were grunting guttural sounds
that he supposed were the equivalent of a man snoring. He
heard a single heavy splash that might have been a sea lion falling out of bed. The splash was answered by the peevish
chatter of a tropical bird and then a squealing sound that
ended in a cough.
that he supposed were the equivalent of a man snoring. He
heard a single heavy splash that might have been a sea lion falling out of bed. The splash was answered by the peevish
chatter of a tropical bird and then a squealing sound that
ended in a cough.
Baker froze.
The squeal had not risen from the zoo. It had come down,
down the steep slope ahead of him and to his right. He
cocked his head and waited. Nothing. Only the whisper of leaves and the roar of a bus on a distant street. He had just leaned into a step when it came again. There was a thrash
ing of branches and then a sharp slap that could only have been flesh against flesh. A gasping sound.
down the steep slope ahead of him and to his right. He
cocked his head and waited. Nothing. Only the whisper of leaves and the roar of a bus on a distant street. He had just leaned into a step when it came again. There was a thrash
ing of branches and then a sharp slap that could only have been flesh against flesh. A gasping sound.
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