Runaway Heart (28 page)

     
"That's silly."

     
Jack didn't have time to discuss it, so he turned and pulled the
confused Dr. Zimbaldi out of the apartment and into the corridor.

     
"Where's the service elevator?"

     
"There isn't one."

     
Just then the doorway to the staircase flew open and two men in
jeans, combat boots, and windbreakers appeared. Both were holding guns that
were unlike anything Jack had ever seen—long elliptical shapes with narrow
frames and breeches, laser sights, and banana grips—deadly looking two-handed
ordnance.

     
Jack jumped back inside the apartment, pulling Zimmy with him just
as the men fired. Two laser beams of light zapped ominously, ripping holes into
the door frame.

     
He slammed the door shut. "Is there a back way outta
here?"

     
"This way." The doctor led Jack into the bedroom. Zimmy
dug under the bed and came out with a rope ladder. "Fire ladder," he
explained.

     
They opened a window, hooking the rope ladder to the sill, then
throwing it down. Jack helped Dr. Zimbaldi out, then climbed after him. In
seconds they were standing in the carport.

     
"You got a car?" Jack asked urgently. "Yeah, the
white Nissan." Zimmy pointed to it. A Nissan Sentra.
Shit,
Jack
thought.
A roller skate with seat belts.

     
"Okay, I'm going across the street," Jack told him.
"Hopefully, Herman and his daughter are in a silver Mercedes over there.
After I leave, count to ten and get moving. We're using your wheels. Pick us
up. You with me?"

     
"Yeah."

     
Jack ran to the corner and looked across the street. He could see
Herman and Susan, but they had ignored his instructions and gotten out of the
car. They stood looking right at the apartment building across the street, like
gawk-ers in Times Square. They might as well have been holding a neon sign over
their heads with an arrow pointing down. Jack crossed Montrose Boulevard,
threading his way through traffic, and as soon as he got to the car he grabbed
Susan's arm.

     
"You're both leaving in a white Nissan. Here it comes now.
Leave the rear, right side door open for me. Go."

     
A gray sedan Jack had never seen before skidded around the corner
at the other end of the street. There were four men inside.

     
Jack pushed Herman and Susan toward the Nissan, shouting at them
to get in. Then he jumped behind the wheel of Barbra's Mercedes, gunned it, and
shot backwards out of the driveway, right into the path of the fast-approaching
government sedan.

     
A symphony of tortured rubber, crashing metal, and broken glass
filled his ears as the sedan plowed right into the driver's side, knocking
Barbra's little silver jewel halfway
up the block, and Jack halfway down into the knee well. He
didn't have time to worry about whiplash.

     
Jack rolled out of the passenger side and started sprinting. He
ran straight at the Sentra, then dove headfirst through the open rear door into
the backseat, landing right in Susan's lap. "Go, go, go, go!" he
yelled.

     
Zimmy floored it, but not much happened. The car choked and
wheezed, whirred, and woofed, and then, as fast as you could say, "This
car really sucks," they were slowly moving up the street.

     
"Can't it go any faster?" Susan yelled in dismay. And
then it finally picked up speed. Jack sat up and looked out the back window.
Montrose Boulevard was a mess. The government sedan and the silver Mercedes
were crumpled up in the middle of the street, twisted together and blocking
both lanes. Traffic art. Other cars had skidded to a halt behind, completing
the ugly sculpture.

     
"My God, what the hell will I tell Barbra?" Herman said,
looking back at the wrecked Mercedes as the Nissan rounded a corner and took
the horrible vision away.

     
"Tell her the airbags didn't deploy," Jack answered.

W
hen Jack called Miro, Jackson
Mississippi answered: "Reflections. We mirror your fantasies." So
that's
what it meant. "It's Jack."

     
"Jack with the nipple pierce, or Jack with the fox
terriers?"

     
"Jack with the gun."

     
"Oh. Hi." Not too enthusiastic about it either.

     
"Is Miro around?" Jack said.

     
"Uh . . . yes."

  
   
"Could I speak to him?"

     
"Uh . . . I guess." Then Jack was put on hold.

     
Barry Manilow was halfway through "I Write the Songs"
before Miro picked up. "Hi, big guy. How's my trifle who's an
eyeful?"

     
Jack let it go. "Miro, look, I got a little problem and I
need a quiet place to hang for a while. I pissed some guys off and I can't go
home, can't go to my office. I was wondering if we could use the little side
office you rent, the one next door to mine?"

     
"The Lipstick Lounge?" Miro said.

     
"The what?"

     
"We have a few cross-dressers."

     
"Great," Jack sighed. "Can I borrow it for an
hour?"

     
"Bring it on, sugar."

     
"And Miro? Don't send anybody down to answer my phone. My
office isn't safe."

     
"Don't worry. You cured us of that. Come ahead."

     
Jack had Zimmy drop him on the corner, then jogged
past another
fishing party while he scoped out the building. He was looking for a gray sedan
with four guys with muscles and crewcuts. Of course, everybody looked like that
in Boys' Town, but there were always the telltale jump boots.

     
The building lobby looked clean so he went upstairs and checked
his office. He hoped nobody had kicked the door this time, but the lock was
still busted, so it was moot. If these guys from Montrose were the same ones
who broke in earlier, they'd be showing up soon. By using the office next door
Jack hoped he could get a visual ID when they rolled in. It's always nice to be
able to recognize the assholes who are trying to kill you.

     
He went back downstairs and waited while Zimmy parked the Sentra,
then led the three of them up the stairs toward Reflections. He heard some male
giggling in the escort service waiting room. As soon as Jack opened the door
the laughing stopped.

     
Sprawled on a couch across from a desk were four young men.
"Meet Chip and Jeff, Steven and Mark," Miro announced to Jack,
pointing a ringed index finger at each one as he ticked off their names. The
escorts all smiled and gave Jack a quick visual frisk.

     
"Come on." Miro picked up a ring of keys and led the
fugitives up the hall and opened the door to the office that adjoined Jack's.
It was empty, but there was a wall-to-ceiling mirror, a sofa, a folding clothes
rack with gowns, Spandex dresses, and hats. A shelf on one wall contained boxes
for wigs and a huge shoe rack filled with stiletto heels and clear plastic
mules in large sizes.

     
Miro didn't seem to want to leave, so Jack did the introductions:
"Casimiro Roca, this is Herman Strockmire. You met Susan, I think, and
this is Dr. Gino Zimbaldi."

     
Miro lowered his eyes demurely and extended his hand palm down to
each of them.

     
Jack said, "We're being chased by thugs and I don't want
something ugly to happen. You'd be much safer in your office down the
hall."

     
"Don't worry about Miro. Miro has his green belt in tae
kwan do and a
certificate from the Royal Academy of Dance. The boy can kick ass," he
replied. "And after all, this is Miro's office and Miro's dying to know
what private eyes do when they're not drinking coffee and taking infrared
pictures."

     
Jack looked at the others for approval. They all shrugged.

     
"Okay, but it's gotta stay between us."

     
"Stop teasing," Miro gushed.

     
Jack smiled in spite of himself, then turned to the Strockmires.
"Herm, we've gotta go over some things. We need to figure this out fast,
because I think we have some big gaps in logic that need to be discussed before
we make a mistake that kills us."

     
"I agree," Herman said as Miro sat.

     
"How did these guys know we were following Paul Nichols in
Malibu? We weren't on that baseball diamond three minutes and in comes the . .
. whatever."

     
"The Whispership."

     
Miro said, "Sounds naughty."

     
Jack turned to Miro. "You can listen, but be a bud and stay
out of this, okay?"

     
"Okay."

     
"I don't know how they knew we were there," Herman said.
"You're right, it's pretty damn strange. The helicopter . . . the ground
troops. They got there seconds after we did."

     
"As far as I can see, only one or two things could be
responsible for that, and both of them are bad."

     
"Like what?" Susan asked.

     
"They could have had some way of picking off my cell phone
transmission when I was giving Herman directions, which means they know a lot
more about what we're up to than we thought, because we've been discussing
everything on the phone. Or somebody could have hung a bug on Herman's car,
which makes me wonder how long they've been tracking us."

     
"The government has a spy network that reads computer or cell
transmissions from outer space," Herman said. "It's a computer lab
called Echelon. Maybe that's what Octopus
is, a new, more accurate version of Echelon."

     
"I have a stupendous idea," Miro interjected.

     
They all looked over at him. "Go ahead," Jack said.
"We can use the help."

     
"We have finger foods next door. If anybody is hungry, Miro
could go get them."

     
Stunned silence, then: "Great. Good idea," Jack said.
Miro jumped up and hurried out of the room.

     
"But we didn't use the cell phone before we went to Gino's
wife's apartment in Montrose," Susan said after he left. "So how did
they know to go there? How did they find that apartment seconds after we
did?"

     
"The Mercedes has to be bugged," Herman pondered aloud.

     
"I don't like this, Dad." Susan took her father's hand.

     
"I don't like it either," Jack acknowledged. "I
don't like that computer lab at Pepperdine, and I don't like guys shooting at
us with weapons that look like they belong on the set of
Star Trek."

     
"Those guns sound like PB ordnance," Herman said.
"That's a particle beam weapon. Gil and Tom told me they were developing
something like that at Area Fifty-one."

     
"Great," Zimmy groused.

     
Jack turned to Herman. "I know what happened to me, but
explain again what happened to you while we were out there at the military
base. Give it to us point by point."

     
"Not much, other than what I already told you." Herman
took them through it again, up to where the doctor discovered his arrhythmia
and said, "That won't work," and left. Then he got the injection and
had the dream.

     
"The doc said what?" Jack interrupted.

     
The door opened and Miro returned with some finger sandwiches on a
tray. He passed them around.

     
"He said, 'That won't work,' " Herman repeated.

     
"What won't work?"

     
"My heart being in arrhythmia, I guess."

     
"Okay, so then they fixed it, right?" Jack said.

     
"Well, it feels like they did."

     
"But that doesn't make sense, Dad. They follow you, kidnap
you, debrief you under drugs, then fix your heart condition? Why would they do
that?"