Icarus. (22 page)

"You're completely out of your mind."

"When are you gonna learn to trust me?"

"I trust you."

"You don't." Kid's voice had no anger in it now, just a quiet determination that was as strong as the day he'd shown up in the living room and challenged Jack to get well, challenged him to fight back against the pain. "I'm serious. How can you not believe me when I say you're going to do something? How can you not trust me after all this?"

Jack took a long time before saying, "Kid, to be perfectly honest, I think I had all my trust shot and cut out of me."

Jack could see the hurt on his face. But Kid just nodded and said, "Okay, will you at least try the treadmill? I promise we'll go slow. All you have to do is say when it hurts and I'll stop."

Jack didn't say anything. But he stepped onto the treadmill and, as Kid pressed the start button, he began walking, gradually picking up speed, then a bit more, and then more until he was moving at a light jogging pace. He waited for the pain to come crashing into his hip but it didn't. It was there, but not a crash, more of a wave, and for a moment he broke stride. But he saw Kid watching him and he thought he could run through this particular pain. He knew he'd ache like hell the next day and the one after that. But it was okay. He could do this. He was running. It was the slowest damn run in history but he was running.

"I met someone," Kid said quietly. "It's been pretty intense."

"A new Destination?"

"It's the perfect nickname for her," Kid said. "In every possible way."

"Congratulations."

"Except… There are things about her… I don't know how to put it."

"She's another one who scares you?"

Kid did his best to smile but he only managed a glum shrug. "Jack," he said, "everyone I know right now scares me. This one, the new Destination… I don't think she's what I thought she was."

"Do you want to tell me what's going on," Jack asked, "or are we just going to keep talking in riddles?"

"I do." Kid nodded, as if making a decision. "And I will. Soon. There's a lot I understand now, but I just have to figure a few more things out. Then I'll tell you everything."

"Well, in the meantime, can I stop running? I think I'm going to pass out."

"Lemme tell you a story," Kid said as Jack moved at his easy pace. Kid's voice was calm now, and soft. Jack knew that tone was as close as he'd get to an apology for Kid's unwillingness to bring him into his personal life. "When I was playing football, in high school, we were playing this huge team. I'm talkin' huge; their line averaged two hundred and eighty pounds and ours was maybe two-twenty-five, two-thirty. We thought we were gonna get slaughtered. But our coach said we could win. He said if we could keep it close till the fourth quarter, our aerobic training would kick in. We were in much better shape, he said, and they'd get tired and, even as big as they were, once they were tired, we'd be able to outmuscle them. And you know what? He was right. We beat 'em. And in the fourth quarter, we stomped all over those big fuckers."

"That's good to know. Maybe I'll re-enroll in high school and try out for the football team."

"I'm just saying that running's important. You never know what you're going to come up against out there, Jack." Kid's voice got even quieter, seemed to come from someplace far away. "You just never know," he said, "what kind of huge fuckers you're going to come up against."

There she was, totally unsuspecting.

You didn't have to know her, just by looking at her you could tell she was a nice woman. There was something so warm and pleasant about her. So likeable. She was clearly a very loving and caring person. It was all over her face, in the way she walked, as if she were hugging the whole world in her bony arms. It was nice to see. It was comforting in a way.

And that must be her husband. He looked like a nice guy, too. He was using a cane to help him walk. Wonder what happened to him? An accident, maybe. Maybe even Nam. He was limping pretty badly. Husky. That couldn't help his leg. Probably went two-ten, two-twenty. Maybe five-nine. He could lose a few pounds, sure, but he looked pretty happy so maybe he was one of those guys who didn't mind what he looked like or that he had to struggle along with a limp.

She looked happy too. Why shouldn't she? It was a beautiful day, cold and crisp and clear, and she had a nice husband who picked her up at the bus stop on her way back from work and walked her home, even with his bad leg. You didn't see too many couples like that anymore, did you? No, you definitely didn't. People just weren't that considerate anymore. People didn't do things like they used to, like they were supposed to.

It didn't seem right what had to be done. But it was necessary. Why should this nice couple be the only happy ones? Didn't they deserve their own happiness, too? You better believe it. And wasn't everyone else trying to steal their happiness right away from them? They damn sure were. Well, maybe not everybody. Maybe that was an exaggeration. There was no way to be positive about everybody. But better safe than sorry.

That was a good slogan, wasn't it? No, not a slogan. What was it called? A saying? Maybe. No, a motto! That's what it was. A really good motto: Better safe than sorry.

The black couple passed an older black woman coming out of a building. The older woman said, "I was just knockin' on your door, Mathilda." Mathilda was so nice, she looked unhappy that she wasn't there for this woman when she knocked. And she said, "Well, we're home for the night now so you can knock any time you like." The older woman said she would and then the black couple climbed up the three thick, concrete stairs that led to a pretty nice building, red brick, maybe twelve stories, two houses off Lenox Avenue.

That's where she lived.

Oh, this was easy.

It really was easy.

It was easy to park the black Pathfinder on Lenox Avenue at six o'clock the next morning – early, sure, but better safe than sorry.

It was easy to spot Mathilda and her husband when they emerged at 7:30, it was easy to follow them as they walked three blocks to the bus stop, and it was easy to watch as they kissed good-bye and then the husky husband headed back home.

It was easy to follow the bus down Fifth Avenue and then to jump ahead of it because there was no question where she was headed. There was no need to even double-park. Amazing. A car parked on Madison pulled away and the spot was just big enough for the Pathfinder to pull in. There was even twenty minutes left on the meter.

It was easy to wait on the corner for exactly eight minutes until the right bus arrived and it was easy to step up behind Mathilda and guide her, well, force her, okay, into Central Park, just steps away from the bus stop.

No one paid any attention at all, so it was very easy to push her behind the bushes and cut her throat before she even knew what was happening.

It was easy to take the money that was in her wallet. And not only easy, smart, because it made it look like a robbery.

But best of all, it was easy to go through her purse and find exactly what was needed.

Well, to be honest, that might be an exaggeration. It might not even be needed.

But let's face it. It probably would.

And, besides, it was always good to have another magic invitation. Another way to make absolutely sure their dream would come true.

Better safe than sorry, right?

That sure was a good motto.

That's funny," Jack said. And when Kid looked at him curiously, Jack asked, "What time is it?"

"A couple of minutes after nine. Damn, I gotta get going. I got a session at Hanson's."

"What's Hanson's?"

"A gym down in SoHo. I train people there sometimes. Good facility." He swept his hand over Jack's home gym. "Not everyone's got the setup you've got here, you know."

"I'm worried. It's not like Mattie to be late."

"Maybe she's sick."

"She'd call."

Kid shrugged. "Traffic, maybe."

At ten, really worried now, Jack pulled out his Palm Pilot and used the stylus to click on the name Mattie Strickland. He dialed the number on his cordless phone and when a woman's voice answered, he said, "Mattie?"

The woman on the other end of the phone was crying and he couldn't understand what she was saying.

"Is Mattie there? This is Jack Keller. She was supposed to be…"

And now the woman started crying even harder. "Oh, Mr. Keller," the woman said. "Mattie was always goin on with the nicest things about you…"

"What's going on?" Jack said. "Is her husband there? Could I speak to him?"

"He's here," the woman answered, still sobbing. "But he can't come to the phone. He can't talk now. I'm their neighbor," she said. "I'm not talkin' too good myself but I'm answerin' the phone for a while. Until the children can get here."

"Please tell me what's going on. Is Mattie okay?"

"Mattie's dead. Killed," the woman cried. "Mugged right on her way to work. They took the money in her purse and killed her…"

The woman went on, giving as many details as she could, but Jack barely heard another word. He was only vaguely aware of saying good-bye, saying that he'd be in touch and would do whatever he could to help. And when he hung up, dizzy from the news about the woman who'd been so kind to him and had cared for him for so long, the only thing he could think about was how many dangerous people there were out there in the world, how many Slashes desperate to take whatever they needed.

Whatever they wanted.

By the middle of April, Mattie's funeral had come and gone and, as always, with time, a sense of order had reasserted itself into daily life.

Jack, Dom, and Kid had all gone to the service, where Jack had spoken to Mattie's husband. "I know this doesn't begin to ease what you're going through," he said, "but I want you to know that Mattie's salary will be paid every week for the rest of your life."

"Thank you, sir," he said to Jack.

"If there's anything I can do. Anything at all…"

"Thank you, sir," he said again, "thank you," and grabbed Jack's hand, squeezing it hard. Jack recognized the sound in the man's voice. He knew it from his own voice: it was the sound of indescribable and unsharable loss.

Jack found that his therapy with Kid, the sheer physicality of it, was of enormous help in coping with this latest tragedy. He could concentrate on his body for hours at a time without having to worry about his heart.

On April twelfth, the thermometer reached seventy-two degrees. After running a thirteen-minute mile, Jack, sore as hell, stepped off the treadmill and Kid said, "We've got a little treat today."

With that, Kid walked Jack out to the balcony, where he'd set up the barbells and dumbbells they were going to use that day. "I figure for the summer we can move the whole gym out here, the machines and everything. The awning'll cover the stuff in case it rains, but you can run and lift and bike outside. It'll be nice sweating in real air instead of air-conditioning. For now, we might as well use it for free weights."

The day was spectacular and Jack breathed in the city air and surveyed the enveloping green view, a green that was now dotted with color from the first planting of tulips and the crush of pedestrians happy to be outside strolling and jogging and even dozing on benches.

The workout was a pleasure. Invigorating. Jack did little but concentrate on what he was doing. He was relatively free of any contemplative thoughts, instead just enjoying the warmth of the sun hitting him and the ease of his movements. He vaguely noticed that Kid seemed restless. He was pacing. And while Jack did his biceps curls, Kid was furiously pumping heavy iron. He wasn't paying full attention to Jack, which was rare. He was straining, forcing himself to bench four hundred pounds, hurling heavy grunts and muscling aching moans into the air; then he grabbed a barbell, put it behind his neck with two hundred pounds of weight attached, and rapidly squatted out fifteen reps. Even that didn't quite do it. As Jack finished up the last of his exercises, Kid still looked like a coiled spring waiting to explode.

"What's up with you?" Jack finally asked. He was down from the high of his own workout, the world was back in normal focus, and now he saw that there was indeed something troubling Kid. This was not just restless energy he was seeing.

"Things are comin' down."

"The Team?"

"A little bit. Maybe."

"The Mistake."

"Jesus, you don't forget anything, do you? Yeah, it's gotten even weirder. The more I find out…" Kid's voice trailed off.

"What else?" Jack asked.

"A whole bunch of things."

"Like what?"

"School. Finals. I'm training a lot of people. And… and I want to bring you something, something I want to show you. I mentioned it before. The MBA, my idea…"

"Whenever you want."

Kid was nervous. His words were coming out faster than usual. And Jack thought that the sweat on his forehead was from more than his quick and brutal workout. "I'm working up a plan. I'll put it down on paper. You don't have to like it or anything. I mean, you can be honest, but I really want you to like it. Or at least take it seriously, okay? It's really important to me that you take it seriously."

"Kid, when did I ever not take you seriously?"

Kid let some air whoosh out of him. Jack's words seemed to relax him. "Never, I guess." He chewed on his lip, thinking. "It's gonna take me a little while to get it right. A few weeks at least, maybe a month."

"Bring it to me whenever you're ready. Whenever you think it's right. I'll take it seriously and I'll be honest and I'll be blunt. How's that?"

"That's good," Kid said. "That's real good." He hesitated. "And, look, it's not just me. It involves my buddy Bryan. You remember Bryan? From when we were kids?"