Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts (47 page)

The Savior shrugged. "Figured that would happen. His cult buddies alibied him, right?"

"Right." He explained his dilemma about not being allowed to use the cult angle. "I mentioned that Terrence Holdstock was questioned, then released, but couldn't go beyond that."

The Savior said, "You've got to. There's a big story there."

"Yeah but I can't squeeze more ink out of it without an angle."

"Fielding was strangled. Can you imagine what that's like? Eyes bugging out, head feeling like it's going to explode. Nasty way to go. I think hunting his killer should be angle enough."

Sandy had to smile. "Do you know my girlfriend?"

"Should I?" he said, doing another body-twisting scan.

"Something wrong?

"You sure you weren't followed?"

"Absolutely." Well, not absolutely, but he was reasonably sure. "Why?"

"Got this
watched
feeling."

"Yeah?" Sandy glanced around. He saw a few people strolling above on Riverside Drive, but none of them appeared particularly interested in what was going on down here. "I don't."

"Had it since I left home, but I haven't been able to spot anybody. Maybe it's because I'm still not feeling right."

Or maybe you're scared, Sandy thought. I'd sure as hell be if I'd been poisoned.

"Worried they'll make another try on you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

Sandy wondered if hanging around this guy might be hazardous to his health. He glanced at his watch and rose.

"I've got a meeting with the DA about you."

The Savior's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Sure. Your amnesty."

"Forget that. Holdstock and his cult are the real story. You can bring in a murderer."

"And I can bring in a hero, too, if I can get you amnesty."

The Savior shook his head. "Holdstock. Not me. Holdstock."

"Don't worry. I'm on him right after I write up my DA tête-à-tête."

Sandy waved and strolled away, leaving the Savior on the bench, rubbing his temples again.

He started thinking about his meeting with the DA. First off, just being able to book such a meeting was a jaw dropper; he'd called at eight and they'd penciled him in for 11:30. A week ago he'd still be waiting for the call-back that would never come. Sandy expected no promise of amnesty, but no outright refusal either. A carefully clipped hedge. Fine. That would be a battle call Sandy could use to rally the troops and circle the wagons around the Savior.

While simultaneously trying to expose a murder cult.

It ain't easy being me.

He was going to need some fancy footwork to keep all these balls in the air, but he was up to it.

3

And now Kate, in a middle-aged woman's body, is moving down a grassy slope toward Jack. The younger man he was talking to has moved away, and that seems to have set the woman in motion. Jack's back is to her as he slouches on the bench.

Turn around
! she screams.

But no cry is heard as she moves silently forward.

A dozen feet from Jack and picking up speed, the woman's right hand pulls a long, slim knife from her pocketbook.

Get up, Jack! Move! Get up and go! Anything but sit there!

But to her horror Kate senses another part of her urging the woman on, glorying in the imminent demise of a threat to the Unity.

No! That's not me! It can't be! I won't let it be!

The woman holds the blade low, pointed toward the left side of Jack's mid-dorsal region, ready to slip between the wooden slats of the bench and the bony slats of his ribs and into the posterior wall of his heart. She's almost to him now, the arm swinging back, preparing to thrust—

Jackieeeeee!

"Look out!"

A cry from somewhere behind, a man's voice, faint, distant, but enough to alert Jack. He leaps up from the bench and whirls just as the woman strikes, but her thrust stabs only air, and her momentum carries her forward, bending her over the back of the bench as Jack's foot lashes out, catching her under the chin.

A deafening
crunch
! and a blaze of pain in her throat and then Kate is unable to breathe. It's as if someone has clamped a vise on her trachea—no air moves either way. She sees Jack moving away as an impossible pressure builds in her chest and black and purple splotches swell and coalesce in her vision, and then she's falling backward and she wants to call out to Jack because she is dying… dying…

4

Jack hurried away down the path. Wanted to run but that would only draw attention. Not many people around on this dreary Monday morning but only a matter of short time before someone spotted the woman and dropped an emergency dime.

Glanced over his shoulder. Saw she'd finally stopped kicking and writhing. She lay flat on her back now, one knee bent over the other, the knife at her side, her clawed hands frozen at her throat. Never seen her before but he could guess who sent her.

Glanced up and saw Palmer at the railing overlooking the park, moving toward the stairs that Jack would take up to the street. Must have been him who shouted the warning. Now we're even, kid.

As Jack rounded a clump of shrubbery, he shot one last look at the supine woman. A couple coming up the downtown side of the path had stopped and were pointing at her.

He shook his head as he increased his pace toward the steps. How had he let her get so close? Must be this headache. Like a hammer and chisel chipping away at the inner surface of his skull.

He'd reacted instinctively when he'd seen the knife. Hadn't been aiming for her throat. Had intended a head kick but caught her as she was bending forward. Just as well, he thought, but Kate's words trailed him up the steps…

…
the individuals are innocent. They didn't ask to be infected
…

Yeah, well, that may be so, but it didn't make their knives any less sharp. If Palmer hadn't yelled, it would be Jack be on the ground back there and the woman walking away.

The Unity had just attempted Pearl Harbor. Jack was not going to give them a second chance.

At the top of the steps he found Palmer waiting, face white, eyes wild.

"I saw her! She climbed over the railing and jumped down to the slope!"

Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "Keep moving."

"I recognized her! I saw her at Holdstock's last night! She's one of them!"

"Believe me now about Holdstock's cult?"

"Absolutely! But you… you hit her once and she died."

"Just lucky. Look, I don't know the lady's name but if you check her background I guarantee you'll find she was also one of Fielding's patients."

Palmer clapped his hands. Jack noticed his color had returned and his shock seemed to be fading into glee.

"This is perfect! Just what I need! This brings back the whole murder cult angle! Holdstock's already been linked to Fielding and placed in the house… I can link this woman to Holdstock… and now she's been killed while trying to commit murder—"

"Whoa! Murder who?"

"You."

"Uh-uh. I wasn't even here. I don't exist. Forget what she tried to do. Go with the fact that she's been killed. First Fielding, now one of his patients, all in less than forty-eight hours. And what do they have in common? Holdstock."

That should give the cops reason enough to haul him in again, Jack thought. Keep the Unity away from Kate.

Palmer skidded to a halt. "Right… right. Look, I've got to go back. I want to be there when the cops come. If we're in the right precinct, there's a good chance the detective on the case will be someone I know. I can put a bug in his ear."

"And maybe get an eyewitness slant on the story as well?"

Palmer grinned. "Damn right!"

"Go for it. But I'm telling you, if the cops don't pick up Holdstock, I'll be paying him a visit myself."

Palmer waved and trotted back toward the park. Jack headed east, thinking, You just might make it as big as you hope, kid—if you don't get killed trying.

Back at his apartment he found Kate standing in the middle of the front room, waiting for him. She looked frazzled, her clothes wrinkled, as if she'd slept in them. And then he realized that that was just what she'd been doing. Not as if she had a choice. The only clothes she had were what she'd worn over here.

"Someone just tried to kill me," he said, watching her closely for her reaction.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, dear Lord! Who?"

"Someone from the Unity ladies auxiliary."

"What happened to her?"

"I canceled her membership."

Something not right here. Kate hadn't asked if he was okay, and didn't want him to explain his last remark. But then, all she had to do was look at him to know he was unhurt.

Still…

God damn this! He was afraid to turn his back on his own sister!

Headed for the kitchen, mainly to busy himself in case his expression revealed his doubts, but he was hungry as well. Not much in the fridge except some wilted veggies left over from a ready-made salad he'd picked up at a take-out deli the other night. He grabbed a couple of carrot sticks.

"What are you going to do?" Kate said. She'd followed him in.

Munching on a carrot, he turned to her. "Of course, you realize this means war."

"What? I don't—"

"I'm not talking to you, Kate. I'm talking to the thing inside you. The Unity's in there listening, right?"

She looked flustered. "I… I don't know. They haven't been bothering me today. Maybe they were too busy attacking you."

"So you're still in control?"

"Of course."

As much as Jack wanted to, he wasn't buying. But he'd play it like he was.

"Great. But when you hear from them again, tell them they just made a big mistake. Massive retaliation coming their way. Not sometime in the future—today. Soon as I catch a few Z's."

Shoving the rest of the carrots into his mouth, Jack headed back to the front room where he settled into the recliner, leaned it back, and closed his eyes.

But not all the way. He kept the lids parted a hairbreadth, just enough to catch any movement in the room.

Definitely something different about Kate. She'd given him a full-fledged big sister lecture last time when he'd simply hinted that he might take direct action. This time, despite his issuing an outright death warrant, nothing. The attempt on his life could have changed her mind, but she hadn't offered even a token peep.

So he'd tossed down the gauntlet. If they used Kate to respond, he'd know.

Jack slowed and deepened his breathing, pretending to sleep. After a while he felt his muscles begin to relax, his thoughts drift, his eyes close all the way. Had to be careful here. The bad thing about pretending to sleep was sometimes it developed into the real thing.

But the chair was comfortable, and since his illness he never felt as if he'd had enough sleep…

And then Jack was bounding up from the chair and not sure why, but his nerve ends were tingling, his heart hammering. He blinked, looked, and shrank back when he saw Kate on the far side of the chair, his big meat-carving knife raised high in her trembling fist, her face impassive but dripping sweat. He glanced down and saw a glistening droplet on his left forearm. Must have dozed off… and that little bit of moisture alerted him.

"Kate?" His voice quavered with shock and dismay.

No answer, nothing in her eyes, but that raised arm looked as if it was at war with itself. They had her. The goddamn bastard Unity had her.

Quickly he stepped around the chair and grabbed her arm. He pried the knife from her fingers, then tossed it across the room.

"Come with me."

Her legs were stiff as he guided her into the kitchen. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before.

Keeping a tight grip on her with his left hand, he slammed the heel of his right palm against the door of his microwave once, twice, spider-webbing the glass.

Now Kate began to struggle, trying to pull away, crying, "No, Jack! Please don't do that!"

But he held her fast as he punched in a string of nines and hit the start button. As soon as the oven began humming, Kate stiffened, then collapsed against him.

"Thank God, Jack! Thank God!"

And then she began to cry, shuddering against him. He held her close as deep moaning sobs wracked her body. The sound, so full of fear and anguish, like the sole survivor of a train wreck that had taken the lives of all her family and friends, tore at his heart.

What was he going to do? How was he going to fix this?

5

It took Kate a while but eventually she managed to regain her composure. The sudden removal of the Unity's influence—like emerging from the deepest, darkest oubliette into sunlight and fresh air—had released a flood of emotion.