Repairman Jack [09]-Infernal (42 page)

Jack winked at Vicky. “You up for a little side trip, Vicks?”

She did her best to wink back. “Oh, yes!”

Jack swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. How was he going to tell her that after tonight she’d never see him again?

3

-16:35

Tom walked back toward Jack’s place at an easy pace. He felt better now that he had some food under his belt. Barbecued spareribs and seafood salad from the buffet in a Korean eat-in deli. Only in New York.

Not much sleep last night. The E had kept him up into the early hours. He’d forced himself out of bed around one and it was after two by the time he’d showered and gone looking for someplace to eat.

What could he call the meal he’d just had? Breakfast? Brunch? A late dinner? An early supper? His clock was all screwed up.

The sight of men and women hurrying by with shopping bags full of wrapped gifts reminded him of how crummy the past few Christmases had been. Buying gifts, especially for the kids, was such a hassle. He didn’t live with any of them and seldom saw them, so he never knew what to get them. Two years ago he’d given up and settled on gift certificates from Amazon. Let them buy whatever they wanted. Not like they appreciated anything he did for them anyway.

He hated to say it but he dreaded the occasions when he got saddled with all three kids at once. Little Tom and Nicole—offspring of Skank from Hell Number One—absolutely hated Donald, their half-brother via Skank from Hell Number Two, and Donald reciprocated with interest. What a nightmare.

Well, this Christmas they’d get nothing-nada-zip from Dear Old Dad. No Amazon certificate. Not even coal in their stockings.

Then what would the ungrateful little—

He turned onto Jack’s block then and stopped as he saw the man himself trot down the steps of his brownstone. He wore a gray coverall under a brown leather jacket and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked like a mechanic on his way to work.

Work…

Jack hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about his work. Here was a chance to maybe get a clue as to what this repairman stuff was all about.

Wait. If what the
Compendium
said about the Lilitongue was correct, then Jack had less than a day left to him. Seemed unlikely he’d visit Gia dressed like that.

So what would be important enough to take him away from Gia at a time like this?

Good question. One Tom might have a chance to answer.

Well, why not? Not as if he had anything better to do with his time.

Jack hit the sidewalk and headed away from Tom. Toward Central Park.

Tom followed.

When Jack reached Central Park West he hailed a cab. As soon as one stopped, Tom hurried up to the curb to hail one of his own, all the while keeping an eye on Jack’s. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw it stop at a red light two blocks down.

A cab screeched to a halt in front of him. He jumped in and said, “See that cab up there—the one with the plate that ends in seventy-two?”

“Yes,” said the dark-skinned driver in a thickly accented voice. “You wish me to follow?”

“I wish.”

“Then this is what I shall do.”

And follow he did. Jack’s cab picked up Broadway at Columbus Circle and followed that until it reached 42nd Street. It turned east. Jack got out where 42nd T-boned the United Nations. He stayed on the curb, looking as if he was waiting for someone.

“Hold it here,” Tom told the driver.

A few minutes later an old Grand Am pulled into the curb and Jack got in. Tom had a quick look at the driver and thought he looked familiar. Who—?

Then he remembered. Jack’s scam artist friend from the morgue. Joey something.

“Okay,” Tom said as the Grand Am bolted from the curb. “Now we follow
that
car.”

4

-16:14

“Man, do you look beat,” Joey said as Jack settled into the passenger seat. “Whatcha do, pull an all-nighter?”

“Feels like it.”

Jack had retrieved his Crown Vic from the garage and driven Gia and Vicky downtown to a spot in the East Village—a former vacant lot now full of bundled trees. Pickings were slim this late in the game, but they’d found a decent one and tied it to the roof of the car.

Gia had stayed with the car while Jack took Vicky into an art supply store where she bought her mom a new set of pigment tubes.

Then it had been back to Sutton Square to put up the tree and decorate it. Jack had held Vicky up to place the star on top before hurrying back to his apartment.

The good news was that Tom hadn’t been in.

Jack had donned a dark gray twill coverall, then pulled on his leather driving gloves and a navy blue knit watch cap; he packed up his Glock plus an extra set of jeans and a flannel shirt, then put on his flight jacket and headed down to the UN.

Joey said, “Decided to bring your own hardware after all?”

He was pointing to the backpack Jack had placed on the floor between his feet.

Along with his extra clothes he had a Tupperware container of the
Compendium
recipe. But how was he going to explain the gunk to Joey?

Simple: lie.

“Some extra clothes and—”

“Clothes? What for?”

“Bloodstains. This could get wet.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of that. What else you got?”

“A kind of truth serum I want to try on one of these guys.”

“What for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. See if they’re the whole deal or if there’s something bigger behind them.”

“You mean see if they’re the shooters or the handlers. That’s cool.” Joey smiled. “And if they’re being handled, we work our way up the chain, right?”

“Right.”

“Only thing I haven’t figured out is how we make sure El-Kabong is in there.”

“Easy,” Jack said. “We call.”

Jack used his Tracfone to call information, then he punched in the number.

An accented male voice answered on the third ring. “Center for Islamic Charities.”

Jack tried to imitate his accent. “Yes, is Hamad Al-Kabeer there?”

“Who’s calling?”

“He does not know me, but he was recommended as someone who would see to it that a charitable donation would find its way into the right hands.”

“Who was it who recommended him?”

“I’d rather say so in person, if you understand.”

“I understand. You are arriving here?”

“Yes, I will be in your area later today and thought I might stop in to see Mr. Kabeer.”

“He’ll be here, Mr…?”

“I prefer to introduce myself personally, if you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Good! Then I shall see you soon.”

Jack cut the connection.

“He’s there.”

“Awright! Time to kick some burnoosed butt!”

5

-15:59

No one had answered the first ring, so Tom pushed Gia’s doorbell again.

He was pissed. It had taken that damn stupid cabby all of five minutes to lose the Grand Am. When he’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d never catch up to Jack, Tom had told the cabby to drop him at Eight Sutton Square. The guy had known Sutton Place but had no idea of how to find Sutton Square. So Tom had had to direct him.

Idiot.

Tom wasn’t sure why he’d given in to the impulse to come here. Best guess was that he wanted to smooth things over with Gia. He knew she was upset with him—she couldn’t be anything else—and that was a weight on him. He had to make her understand.

He caught a flash of movement in the sidelight—Gia peeking to see who it was. She opened the door.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, her tone as flat as her expression.

Well, no reason to have expected a big welcome.

“Hi, Gia. Since I was in the area I—”

“Jack’s not here.”

I know, he thought. That’s why I am.

“That’s okay. I really wanted to speak to you.” He shivered in a gust of cold wind off the river. “Can I come in? Just for a minute?”

She said nothing as she stepped back and held the door open. As soon as it closed behind him, Tom turned and reached for Gia’s hands.

She slipped them behind her back.

“What do you want, Tom?”

“I want to apologize for everything that’s happened. I had no idea—”

“You did! That’s why you went looking for it.” Her eyes blazed, her words strained through clenched teeth. “Why couldn’t you have left that thing where you found it?”

“If I’d known it would come to this, don’t you think I would have?”

“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do!”

“Aw, Gia, you can’t believe—”

Tears rimmed her eyes. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to our lives? Not just Jack’s but to Vicky’s and mine?”

This was heading in the wrong direction.

“I know I—”

“You
know
? You don’t have a clue! I told you that Jack is our rock! But some time around eight o’clock tomorrow morning he’ll be gone!”

Her features hardened again as she jabbed her index finger against Tom’s chest.

“Can you understand that? Our rock will be
gone
. And all because of
you
!”

Each poke against his chest was like a knife thrust.

“Gia—”

“I don’t think I have anything more to say to you, Tom. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but in the end it all comes back to you. You’re responsible.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?”

She opened the door.

Tom walked out.

The frigid air on her front step felt balmy compared to the chill in Gia’s foyer.

6

-15:35

They made good time to Paterson. When they reached the city limits Jack climbed into the backseat and opened the duffel Joey had brought. He gaped at the two sawed-off Browning 10-gauge pumps and suppressor-fitted 9mm Tokarevs. He ejected a cartridge from the shotgun and checked it: double-ought buck.

“Jeez, Joey! You planning on taking on an army?”

“Ya never know, Jack. I got the silencers figuring maybe we can do our work and get out without raising too much ruckus.”

Were Abe here he’d be telling Joey there was no such thing as a silencer, only a suppressor. But Jack didn’t correct him.

“The shotguns will sort of put a crimp in that.”

“Yeah, well, they’re for backup—in case we have to clear the room, y’know?”

Jack knew.

“Since you’re right-handed, Joey—”

“How’d you know that?”

Jack had to think about that. He sized up a person’s handedness without thinking. It had become instinct.

“I noticed. I’m right-handed too, so why don’t we do it this way: I go in with a nine in my right and a shotgun in my left. You go in with a nine in your belt and a Browning at the ready.”

Joey shook his head. “Uh-uh. I want the nine out—I don’t get the answers I’m looking for real quick, I’m gonna spend a round or two on persuasion.”

“Okay. But just stay cool.”

Cool… Jack was anything but. He could feel his guts knotting. This headlong rush was not the way he did things. Had he the time—Christ, something like sixteen hours left, maybe less—he’d have spent days working up to this, knowing all the exits, watching the place all day so he’d know exactly how many people he’d find when he went through the door.

If they were stepping into an armed camp or, worse yet, a trap, where the Lilitongue was going to take him might be the least of his worries.

“I’m cool. But I hold the nine, okay?”

Jack repressed a sigh. This was Joey’s show. He’d located these guys, set up everything. Jack had to play backup.

“Okay.” He hoped he wouldn’t regret it. “But remember, even if it gets ugly, I need one of them alive… just one.”

“What—? Oh yeah. Your truth serum.”

As they waited for the sun to set they cruised the area—with the windows cracked to let out Joey’s smoke—and discussed some strategy: who’d go in first, the sequence of events as they wanted them to go down, things they’d say, questions they’d ask.

“Let me do the talking,” Joey said. “At least most of it. I got things to say to these shits. I got a
lot
to say. And hey, I know you run a game now and then, but for me it’s in the blood. I come from a family of talkers. We can talk our way into a gal’s bed as fast as we can talk our way into a guy’s bank account. I can get ‘em saying what we need to know.”