Two Jakes (70 page)

CHAPTER
35 – PATRIOT’S GAME

The
scream, more like a screech, woke up residents on the 15
^th
, 11
^th
and 7
^th
floors as he passed by their windows. It was New York, so
they all went back to sleep. From his vantage point Sobok followed the plummet
all the way to the ground. Even at his height he could hear the
crump
.

“I
would have expected a splat,” Sobok said, picking up a nearby vase. He pulled
out the flowers and poured the water over Scarne, who sputtered awake. “Come
on, we have to get you and the woman out of here.”

It
took a moment for Scarne to get himself together. When he did, Sobok was
pointing the silenced pistol at him.

“Just
a precaution Mr. Scarne. Believe it or not, we are on the same side now. Will
you behave?”

“Where
is Arachne?”

“Making
a puddle down on the sidewalk.”

Scarne
staggered over to the rail and looked down. A woman was screaming. He could see
other people converging on the scene as the building’s doorman nonsensically
blew his whistle. Arachne didn’t need a cab, he needed a morgue wagon. He
turned to Sobok.

“You
killed him.”

“Apparent
suicide. At least that’s how it will hopefully read.”

“He
might have landed on someone.”

“I
looked before he leaped.”

The
first sirens began warbling. Sobok unscrewed the silencer and put it and the
gun away. He motioned to Scarne.

“Try
to rouse Miss Shields. We can take the rear elevator. Now, quickly. I want to
clean up the drinks he spiked.”

He
walked away. Emma was still out like a light, but stirring. Scarne raised one
of her eyelids and she tried to swat his hand. He pinched her ear, hard.

“Owwww!

Sobok
was back.

“Arachne
left nothing to chance. They had margaritas, which would have masked the
chloral hydrate’s salty taste. He undoubtedly had long experience doing this.”

They
pulled Emma off the lounge and dragged her toward the front door. One of her
high-heel shoes fell off and Sobok picked it up. He also took off the other
one.

“I’ll
never understand how can they wear these damn things,” he said.

Scarne
was almost all the way back.

“What
about fingerprints, DNA? Security cameras?”

“You
and the woman have been here recently, along with half the political bigwigs in
the city, not to mention the household help.” Sobok smiled. “And I’m not
worried about my fingerprints or DNA, even if they eliminated the other
thousand people. I’m not on file anywhere. There are no cameras in the garage
proper and none in Arachne’s private elevator. I presume he didn’t want a
record of his trysts, especially if he planned rape. Did anyone see you come
in?”

“Just
a chauffeur. He probably saw Emma, as well.”

“Perhaps.
But if asked, she will claim she left hours ago, after she told him they were
through. News that must have pushed him over the edge, to use his phrase.”

Sobok
didn’t seem particularly worried about the chauffeur, Scarne noted as they had
reached the rear elevator bank. Emma was starting to come to. Sobok entered the
code and the doors slid open.

“How
do you know she will say that?”

“She
is not a stupid woman. And you will explain the situation to her.”

They
walked Emma into the elevator and Sobok pushed a button. The elevator began
descending, fast.

“High
speed,” Sobok commented. “But I think Arachne would have preferred it.”

“Where
am I?”

It
was Emma. She lurched and Sobok caught her just as the elevator reached the
ground floor. When the door opened, he transferred her to Scarne, handing him
her shoes.

“Follow
behind. I’ll see if the coast is clear.”

The
strange little procession is sure to alarm Arachne’s driver, Scarne realized.
He was about to warn the other man when he noticed that the chauffeur was still
staring out the window. And hadn’t moved an inch. On closer observation he
spotted the strange bend in the driver’s neck.

Sobok
was returning. Emma watched the tall man approach and then screwed up her eyes
to focus on Scarne

“Jake,
what .…”

“Be
quiet, honey. I’ll explain later.”

“There’s
nobody around,” Sobok said. “I’ve flagged a cab. Here, let me help you with the
lady.”

“I
presume that’s the late Cong Bao in the Rolls over there.”

“Yes.
A pity. I rather liked him.”

“You
never planned to go along with killing us,” Scarne said as the walked through
the garage, Emma between them.

“Arachne
was a lunatic,” Sobok said. “I would never have taken on the assignment had I
known what he had done on Staten Island. Initially I thought he was merely
punishing some thugs for overstepping their assignments. I could live with
that. Even killing you made sense.”

“A
lot of people would agree,” Scarne said.

“But
then Bimm, in his final moments, told me the whole story. It was he and Arachne
all along.”

Scarne
could imagine what Bimm’s ‘final moments’ were like.

“Arachne
was becoming increasingly erratic,” Sobok continued. “The Three Stooges could
have worked up a better plan than the one upstairs.” They had reached the
street. “Now, let’s act inebriated and silly. All the activity is in the front
of the building. With luck, nobody will connect three drunks around the corner
with a dead body.”

“Who
died?” Emma was slurring her words. She’d easily pass for a drunk. “Anyone I
know.”

“Osama
bin Laden,” Scarne said.

Sobok
liked that. When they got to the street there was a cab idling. The driver was
wearing a turban. Once inside the taxi, Scarne acted the drunk by singing “The
Patriot’s Game,” the Irish lament that Dudley Mack had tortured him with for
years. Sobok looked over at him.

“I’m
beginning to regret not shooting you.”

Emma
tapped the glass partition. The driver turned.

“Yes,
miss?

“Osama
bin Laden is dead,” she told the cabbie. “The bastard.”

“I’m
Sikh,” the man replied, nettled.

“I’m
feeling a bit woozy myself,” Emma replied, lurching back.

The
driver looked back quickly.

“Do
not throw up in my cab!”

Sobok
leaned forward.

“Just
drive.”

He
rattled off the address of Scarne’s apartment. Scarne looked at him.
“Research,” Sobok said, shrugging. “Better not take her home until she gets her
story straight. Now, while we have a moment, tell me how you tracked down
Banaszak.”

Scarne
gave him the short version.

“Priceless,”
Sobok said. “A priest. So that is why you mentioned the sanctity of the
confessional in the hospital parking lot. I wondered about that. But you still
had virtually nothing to go on. I am impressed. It is what your Edgar Allen Poe
would say is a wonderful example of deductive ratiocination.”

“You
were always one step ahead of me.”

“Yes,
but I had a crib.”

“Where
are my Fuck Me’s?”

It
was Emma again. Sobok glanced at Scarne, perplexed.

“Her
shoes,” Scarne said, struggling to put one of them on a foot she now playfully
waved in his face. “That’s what women call them.”

“Americans,”
Sobok said, shaking his head. “Give me the other one.” He grabbed her other
foot, which she wiggled. “Now, behave yourself Ms. Shields.”

“Oh,
suck farts,” she said, but then was mercifully silent for the rest of the ride,
as the cab swept through Manhattan’s mostly silent streets, mowing down the
spectral steam rising from dozens of manholes on their way to Greenwich
Village. Scarne thought of the famous scene in
Taxi Driver
, with Robert
DeNiro’s crazed Travis Bickle behind the wheel of a different cab. Bickle would
appear sane beside some of the characters in our drama, he thought, rubbing the
back of his neck, which was throbbing.

“Put
some ice on it when you get the chance,” Sobok said.

“Why
knock me out when you were going to kill Arachne?”

“Habit.
Besides, you were on the verge of doing something rash. By the way, here’s your
gun. I prefer the Beretta myself.”

“You’re
making a habit of cold-cocking me,” Scarne said, pocketing his weapon.

“It
does save ammunition.”

They
both laughed.

“What’s
so damn funny?”

It
was Emma. She had regained enough of her faculties to look questioningly at the
two men. As the cab pulled up to his apartment Scarne put his fingers to his
lips and she took the hint. Sobok helped Scarne get her out of the cab. The
doorman came over and Scarne was preparing a lie when a hearse pulled up and
two men jumped out. Sobok’s hand went inside his jacket and Scarne quickly
said, “It’s OK. I know them.”

“We’ve
got it pal,” Dudley Mack said and the doorman immediately went back to his post
as Bobo Sambuca put his massive arms around Emma.

“You
a good guy or a bad guy,” Emma said happily.

“It
depends, miss,” Bobo laughed. “But tonight I’m being good.”

“Take
her upstairs and put on a pot of coffee, will you Bobo,” Scarne said, handing
him keys. “I’ll be up shortly.” He wasn’t worried about what the doorman or
concierge might think. It was New York.

The
three men watched the huge man gently pick up Emma and carry her into the
building. She was singing “The Patriots Game.” Then Scarne made the
introductions and gave Mack a brief rundown of the evening’s events.

When
he finished Mack said, “Roddenberry?”

“Actually,
it’s Sobok.”

“Sure
it is,” Mack said.

“You
come prepared, Mr. Mack,” Sobok said, gesturing toward the hearse.

Mack
laughed.

“We
were in a hurry. Got to Arachne’s building and saw the commotion out front.
Thought it might be you lying there, Jake. Once I found out whose body it was I
figured you wouldn’t stick around. We were getting some stares, what with the
Johnny-on-the-spot hearse and all, so we headed here.”

“Bimm
is dead, too,” Scarne said.

Mack
looked at Sobok, who merely smiled.

“You
must be racking up frequent flyer miles,” Mack said.

“Anyone
know a good screenwriter,” Scarne said. “This has HBO movie written all over
it.”

“You
were on a list of people Arachne gave me, Mr. Mack.” Sobok said. “He said you
might have to be dealt with. Considering your refrigerator of a bodyguard, I’m
glad I don’t have to go up against you.”

“Sallie
Mae Lacuna wasn’t much of a problem for you.”

Sobok
smiled.

“He
was not cautious. You don’t have the look of a man who is easily taken
unawares.”

“Who
else was on that list,” Scarne said.

“Half
of New York,” Sobok said. “That’s when I decided to end this farce and see if
Mr. Arachne could fly.”

“Why
did you do it,” Mack asked.

“Arachne
is – was – a pig and a fool. He threatened me. And he was thinking irrationally.
The police would have found chloral hydrate in the woman’s blood. His story
would have fallen apart. Once caught, he would probably implicate me. I am hard
to find, to be sure, but with him alive, it would not be an impossibility. I
have one strict rule. I never let a man who has endangered my livelihood
continue breathing.”

“And
I’m not a threat,” Scarne interjected.

“Not
anymore, at least to me.”

“Why
didn’t you kill me in Florida?”

“As
I said, I didn’t know about you then. You were merely an annoyance. If I killed
everyone that aggravated me, I’d never get any serious work done.”

Scarne
and Mack looked at each other. The logic was inescapable.

“You
tried to kill me on the racetrack.”

Sobok
smiled.

“By
then you had graduated into being a threat. You’ve since been demoted back to
annoyance, and as it turned out, a helpful one. I’m not sure I could have
handled Miss Shields alone tonight.”

“You
might have killed the race driver.”

“Please,
Mr. Scarne. I didn’t say I was a saint. There is occasionally some breakage in
my business.” He looked at Mack, who nodded. “But I had no part in murdering
that poor girl on Staten Island. Nor would I do something like that. You are on
the verge of being ungrateful.”

“I
suppose you think I should thank you.”

“It
might be nice. I don’t get a lot of that.”