Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (12 page)

“Yes!  This man’s death will shake the Zionist world.  Tell me what you need me to do and it will be done.”

Sayyid turned to Tachus, but Tachus raised his hands and backed away.  “I want to know nothing of this.  We have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to help jihad as never before, and you want to risk it like this?  You are insane.  Worse, you are traitors to jihad!”

He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sayyid and Mahmoud turned to Kadir.

“And you?” Sayyid said.  “Will you stand with us, or run like that jackrabbit, Tachus?”

Kadir tried to calm his whirling thoughts.  If Sayyid was caught, the trail would lead directly to the Al-Kifah Center.  The enemies of Islam would converge here and the man from Qatar might change his mind as to whom to trust with his scheme.

  “How can you hesitate?” Mahmoud cried.  “The Zionists have occupied your homeland since before you were born!  The boots of Israeli soldiers trample Palestine soil every minute of every hour of every day!  Here is a chance to strike back!  You cannot refuse!”

They were right.  He could not refuse.  Kadir had to be part of this.

5

After reluctantly dropping the matter of paying protection, Jack had another beer and then left The Spot.  Being shut out of the details still stung, but he’d have to live with that. 

He turned downtown on Columbus Avenue which would morph into Ninth below 59
Street.  He’d gone maybe a block when he stopped in shock at the sight of a guy with a familiar face – at least he thought it looked familiar – strolling out from a side street.  The bright brown eyes and the scraggly cheeks belonged to Tony from North Carolina, but he was dressed in a frock coat and sealskin hat and had those weird Hasidic curls dangling in front of his ears.  Jack knew all Hasids were orthodox but not all orthodox were Hasids.  Beyond that, they were men in black.  Either way, this couldn’t be Tony. 

Jack watched the guy wave for a cab.  When one stopped he flashed a big, bright, chicklet-tooth smile that banished all doubt.

Tony… dressed as an orthodox Jew.  Why?  Halloween was over.  And Tony was supposed to be in NC.

As he watched Tony slide into the rear of the cab, Jack made a snap decision.  Nothing else going on, and he wasn’t all that tired, so why not?

He stepped off the curb and flagged down a taxi of his own.  As he slammed the door he said, “Follow that cab.”

The bearded, turbaned driver gave him a look.  “You are serious?” he said in accented English.

Telling a “Mohammedan” to follow a guy dressed as an orthodox Jew.  Was that… kosher?

I don’t believe I just thought that.

Then he recognized the distinct peaked wrap of the turban – the driver was a Sikh, not a Mohammedan.  Jack hadn’t lived in New York six months yet but his time here had schooled him in cultural diversity.

“Very serious,” Jack told him.

The driver shrugged and hit the gas. 

Not a long drive.  Over to Central Park West, down through Columbus Circle to 57
, east to Park Avenue, then downtown some more.  The leading cab pulled to the curb near the Pan Am Building.

“Pull over here,” Jack told his driver and they stopped half a block behind.

Tony – or his Hasidic identical twin – hopped out and started walking back uptown, heading toward Jack’s cab. 

Shit.  Had he spotted him?

He turned in the seat, angling his back toward the window.  He saw $3.20 on the meter, so he threw a five onto the front seat.

“Keep it.  I’ll just wait here half a minute.”

No confrontation on Tony’s mind.  Jack watched out of the corner of his eye as he strode past, oblivious.  He did a slow count of five, thanked the cabby, then stepped out and followed.  

Tony moved like a man with a mission.  He crossed Park at the first light and then continued uptown another two blocks.  Looked like he was heading for the brightly lit Waldorf-Astoria, but before he reached it he turned east onto 49
.  A block later he crossed Lexington and angled toward the Marriott East Side.  Before Tony entered, Jack noticed him tugging the brim of his hat lower over his face and ducking his head.

Interesting.

Jack stopped by the knot of hotel guests waiting for cabs and checked out the ornate, pillared entrance.  Pretty posh for a Marriott.  It didn’t take long for him to spot the security cameras in each corner of the wide entrance, aimed at the comers and goers.  He realized another cam somewhere above was probably focused on him right now.  And he didn’t exactly blend in with this crowd. 

He couldn’t help feeling Tony was up to no good.  Why leave his cab blocks away from his destination?  So he could show up on foot with no cab to identify on the security tapes?  He wondered if Bertel was behind it.  He and Tony appeared tight, so it seemed a real possibility.  And if Bertel was up to something funkier than smuggling ciggies, Jack figured he should know about it. 

Dismaying thought: If Tony caused a stir, the security tapes would be fine-combed, and sure as hell someone would see Jack and ask,
Who’s that guy just standing there and why’s he staring at the security cams?
  

If he were smart he’d keep walking. 

He knew that.  And he knew something else: No way he was moving on.

Jack kept his head down as he entered.  Tony’s black hat and frock coat were easy to spot amid the brighter clothes in the lobby.  He hurried to get closer, but as he neared he noticed something different.  This man was heavier and didn’t have those curls in front of his ears.  Oh, crap, his beard was thick and graying. Unless Tony had stepped through some sort of time-warp wormhole here in the Marriott’s lobby, this was someone else. 

He looked around and saw another orthodox type, this one with the curls but no way was he Tony.  Then he saw a third non-Tony orthodox – this one with a black fedora.  Were they having a convention or something? 

Where the hell was–?

“Jack?” said a woman’s voice from somewhere behind him.

He froze.  He didn’t recognize the voice and she could be a complete stranger, but she sounded young and the way she’d said his name… like the Jack she was calling to was the last person in the world she expected to find in the lobby of a New York hotel.

Which certainly fit him.

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw a young, good-looking brunette, dressed to the nines, beaming at him.  Had to be mistaken.  He didn’t know her.

As he turned away, he heard, “Jack from Johnson?  Is that really you?”

Oh, Christ.  Who was she?

He chanced another look and it came to him.

Cristin!  Cristin from-high-school.  Cristin best-friend-of-Karina.  He was blanking on her last name.  Didn’t matter.  He couldn’t talk to her.  Couldn’t confirm that the guy she thought she saw was really him.

He saw the three orthodoxers filing into the same open elevator.  He sprinted for it.

“Hold that, please?”

He squeezed between the doors just before they closed and made it a foursome.  He moved straight to a rear corner out of Cristin’s line of sight.  He noticed the second floor button was lit as he listened to the orthodox guys speak in low tones.

“You’re going to see the rebbe?” one said to another.

A nod.  “Morgan D, yes?”

“So I was told.”

The doors parted and they stepped out.  Jack followed, looking for Tony.  His three elevator companions checked the directions plaque on the wall, then streamed in the same direction as others of their kind.  Tony was nowhere in sight. 

Jack held back a bit, then followed.  Sounded as if they were going to hear some rabbi speak.  Why would Tony want to be part of that?  He wasn’t even Jewish as far as Jack knew, and those ear curls sure as hell weren’t his own hair.  None of this made any sense. 

The trio disappeared through doors labeled
Morgan D
.  Jack approached the doorway and saw a room full of Hasidic types, all seated before an empty podium.  Yeah, that had to be it: Some rabbi was going to lecture or pray or whatever they did.  He searched the crowd for Tony but quickly realized the futility of trying to locate him from the doorway.  Why did they all have to look so damn much alike?  He’d have to go row to row, searching each face, and he wasn’t about to do that.  He doubted he’d be allowed.

Next best thing was to hang around until the show was over, catch Tony on the way out, and get in his face.  Ask him point blank what he was doing playing Hasidic dress-up.

Why the hell do I care? he wondered.

Good question.  He didn’t have a clear answer.  Maybe because he’d seen something he couldn’t explain.  A guy he was dealing with a few times a week was playing Hasidic dress-up.  Why?

The ideal place to wait would be in the lobby, but Cristin might still be there.

Her last name came to him then: Ott. 

Karina Haddon’s best friend.  At least she had been.  Most likely still was.

Karina… his first girlfriend, big-time high school crush… she left for college in California.  They reconnected when she returned on her freshman Christmas break, but he never saw… her again after that.  She simply and completely excised herself from his life.  Leaving him with another kind of crush – the hurting kind.  He’d got over it.  But now her good buddy shows up in the same hotel, a hundred miles from home.

Wait… he remembered something Karina had said about Cristin going to school in the city.  FIT?  Or was it NYU?  Not that it mattered.  She’d be almost halfway through her senior year now, looking to graduate come June.  But she hadn’t been dressed like a college student.  She’d looked kind of hot.  And he’d never thought of Cristin as hot.  She’d simply been Karina’s friend.

So maybe she’d gone to FIT after all.  Maybe the Fashion Institute of Technology had taught her how to put herself together for maximum effect.

Whatever.  He just hoped she wrote off the sighting as a case of mistaken identity and didn’t go back to Burlington County blabbing that she’d seen Karina’s old boyfriend.  Not that it would ever reach Jack’s family.  She lived in Tabernacle and he knew of no common contacts.  But still, he didn’t want anyone anywhere talking about him at any time.  He wanted to be
gone
.

He found a stairway and eased down toward the lobby.  He stopped where he had a view and saw Cristin standing off to the side.  She seemed to be waiting for someone.  A well-dressed middle-age couple approached, spoke to her.  She nodded, handed them a card, and they all shook hands.  With smiles all around, they disappeared into an elevator.

Great.  All he had to do was buy a paper, find a chair, and pretend to read while he watched these stairs and the elevator bank.  It would also offer something to hide behind if Cristin reappeared.

6

Kadir crouched in the front passenger seat as Mahmoud angled his cab to the curb near the entrance of the Marriott. 

Sayyid leaned forward in the rear seat and whispered, “
Allāhu Akbar
.”

“
Allāhu Akbar
,” Mahmoud and Kadir repeated. 

Mahmoud pointed to a spot a couple of car lengths head. “We’ll be waiting right there.”

Sayyid jumped out and turned to face them for a moment.  With his beard, black suit, and black yarmulke, he made a disturbingly authentic orthodox Jew.  He nodded, then hurried into the hotel.

Watching him go, Mahmoud said, “After tonight, the name of El Sayyid Nosair shall be written on the walls of heaven.”

“I pray for his success,” Kadir said.

Mahmoud pulled past the entrance and parked with the engine running.  The plan was to wait here for Sayyid who, after slaying the rabbi, would run out through the entrance and jump into the cab.  Mahmoud would drive him to a safe place.  If questioned later by the police he would say he dropped the fare off at a synagogue near Gramercy Park.

He laughed.  “Imagine the confusion!  They’ll keep asking themselves, why would a Jew kill a Jew?”

Kadir grinned and nodded, but inside he was terrified.  It had all seemed so easy and simple back in the refugee center.  But here in Manhattan, the plan seemed full of risks and holes.

He jumped and almost cried out as someone banged on one of the cab’s windows.  A liveried doorman from the hotel was motioning them to move on.  Mahmoud got out and spoke to him over the roof.

“I am waiting for a fare.”

“Can’t wait here.”

“But–”

“Move it!”

“But my fare!”

“Want me to call a cop?  Move your ass out of here!”

As Mahmoud slipped back behind the wheel, Kadir said, “What do we do?”

Mahmoud thought for a second, then turned to him.  “I’ll pull around the corner and wait.  You get out here and watch for Sayyid.  When he appears, bring him to me and we’ll be on our way.”

Kadir didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the cab but had no choice.  Mahmoud had the taxi license.  He got out and moved toward the busy hotel entrance as Mahmoud pulled away.  He felt terribly exposed and obvious out here.  Everyone entering and leaving seemed so much better dressed than he.  He shivered, but not with the cold.  Why, oh why, had he agreed to be part of this?

He straightened his spine and focused on the entrance. 

Stop worrying about yourself.  Sayyid is inside doing a hero’s work. He might end up a martyr tonight.  Be alert.  He will be out soon.

7

Jack checked the clock over the registration desk: pushing toward nine o’clock.  He’d covered the
Daily News
from front page to back.  He now knew far, far more about the current doings of Cuomo and Dinkins and the Jets’ trouncing of the Cowboys yesterday and the Giants’ anticipated victory in Indianapolis tonight than he wanted or cared to. 

But no black-frocked horde had emerged from the elevators. 

Bad. 

No sign of Cristin either. 

Good.

He yawned.  Besides this afternoon’s abbreviated nap, he hadn’t had much sleep in the last thirty-six or so hours.  Was this really worth it?

All right, he’d take another look, see what they were up to.  He didn’t know what was going on up there, so he had no idea what to expect.  Maybe some religious thing that went on half the night.  Then again, maybe he’d get lucky and spot Tony.  Because he was only assuming Tony was there.  He hadn’t seen him enter the room.  This could be a total waste of time.