Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (20 page)

“Better not be.”

The kid
is already a problem, Jack thought.  Ask Moose.

But the implication was chilling.

He heard the door rattle as one of them tested it to double check it was locked.

“Speaking of Moose,” the new guy said, “where is that fucker?”

“Oh, uh, tying up some last-minute business.”

“How soon before you put this show on the road?”

“I’m guessing half an hour or less.”

“Shit.  You
guess
?  Listen, we've traveled over two thousand miles with those little bitches and–”

“You started with thirty, right?”

“Yeah.  And delivered twenty-eight.”

“Just two lost?  Not bad.”

Just
two lost
? 
Not bad
?  Jack’s blood began to boil.

“Yeah, well, always some spoilage with any cargo.  One got hurt bad in a fall trying to sneak out of the hold, and the other came down with a bad case of some kinda dysentery.  Had to toss them.”

Toss them
… Jesus.  Those poor kids.

“Anyway, what I’m getting at, Reggie my man, is me and my crew ferried the product over two thousand miles and we want our cut.”

“You get paid when we get paid,” Reggie said.  “Same as always.”

“Yeah, but the longer you dick around here, the longer till payday.”

“Shit, Tim.  Half an hour ain’t gonna make no difference.”

“Just load ’em up and roll ’em out, okay?  The sooner me and the boys are back beyond the twelve-mile limit, the better.”

They walked off, back toward the side of the house, bickering as they went.  Jack waited till they made the turn, then followed.  He peeked around the corner as they reached the porch and went inside.  Good thing he’d closed his window behind him.  Now, all he had to do was slip back inside, put on his sneakers, and play dumb.  Reggie would never–

Shit!  The tire iron.  He’d left it by Moose.

Instead of sneaking up the stairs to the porch, he raced over the dune to where Moose lay.  The tire iron jutted from the sand next to him.  Jack grabbed it and was swinging around for a run back to the parking lot when he noticed that Moose seemed to be lying awfully still.  Like not-breathing still.  He bent and gingerly touched him.

Cold.

Aw, no.

Not that he felt bad for Moose.  He felt nothing for him, especially not remorse.  Nothing too bad could happen to a guy who’d rape a little girl.  But this complicated things up the wazoo.  No big thing for this crew to have to deal with a banged-up member, but a dead one… a corpse was a major liability.  They’d have to figure out how to dispose of it.

Only one way out: Hide Moose.

He grabbed an arm and dragged him into the shadow of the steep slope of one of the bigger dunes.  Using his feet, he collapsed the dune onto the body.  He used his hands to finish the cover-up, then stepped back for a look. 

Not bad.  A good flashlight might pick out the disturbed sand, and no way that lump would look natural in daylight, but all things considered… as good as he was going to get. 

Now for the tire iron.  Jack didn’t want to risk another trip to the parking area.  He grabbed it from the sand, ran down to the water’s edge, and reared back to toss it as far as he could.  In the unlikely event anyone ever found it – no worry about it floating ashore – surf and salt water would take care of the blood and fingerprints. 

But he stopped.  If they found Moose, they might guess he’d been done in by a tire iron.  Unlikely for Reggie to glom onto that, but Tim might.  And it wouldn’t do for Jack’s truck to be missing a tire iron.

He wiped the iron in the wet sand to remove any bloodstains or bits of hair, then raced back around his truck.  He restored it to its place with the tire and jack, then climbed onto the porch and eased back through the window into the room.  As he was pulling on his socks he realized he was covered with sand – not just his feet but his clothes as well.  Burying Moose had been messier than he’d realized. 

He didn’t know how much time he had, so he stepped to the center of the throw rug and gave himself a frantic brush down. When he’d got himself as clean as he could, he slid the rug with its tell-tale pile of sand under the bed.

With his socks and sneakers back on his feet, he rose and took a breath.  Now what?  Voices rose beyond his door.  He stepped closer and listened at the crack.

Tim’s voice was the louder of the two.

“–told me he was ‘tying up some business.’  Well, where is he and what’s this business he’s tying up?”

“Hey, it’s okay–”

“No, it’s not fucking okay.  We’ve never had this much product.  If one of them, just
one
of them gets away, we’re screwed.”  His voice rose to a shout.  “
WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?
”

A pause, then, “He’s out on the beach with one of the girls.”

“
WHAT?
”

“Hey, he does it with every shipment.  Calls it ‘sampling the product.’  He–”

“Are you shitting me?  You fucking asshole! They’re supposed to be virgins!  That’s why we get primo dinero for them!”

“Hey, don’t get on me.  Not my idea.”

“Listen to me, you dumbass.  I don’t know what he’s doing on the beach, but he ain’t with one of our girls.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just did a head count and there’s twenty-eight downstairs.”

“Naw.  You’re sure?”

“Course I’m sure.”

“But then…?”

“Yeah.  Where’s Moose?  Where the fuck is Moose?”

Jack had known this moment would come.  Still, it tied a knot in his gut.  The next step was to go looking for him.  He heard footsteps pounding his way so he jumped back on the bed.  The door swung open.

“You seen Moose?” Reggie said.

“Yeah, he’s under the bed.”

“Don’t be a wise ass.”

Reggie flipped the wall switch and the ceiling light came on.  He stepped over to the closet and pulled open the doors.  Empty.  Jack saw him glance at the foot of the bed – no room for Reggie under there, let alone Moose.

“You’re not serious,” Jack said.

He hoped to hell not.  If Reggie looked he might get curious as to why the rug was there.

“Deadly.”  He pulled a pistol and pointed it at Jack, his eyes cold.  “I’m asking you again: You seen Moose?”

“En-oh.”

Reggie slammed the door on his way out, and Jack leaped back to the crack.

“Maybe he’s asleep in one of the rooms,” Reggie said.

Tim made a noise like a growl.  “Goddamn better be.  You search the house.  I’m checking out the beach.”

Jack moved to the window and felt his palms grow sweaty as he watched Tim head for the dunes.

5

“I don’t fucking believe this!” Tim raged.  “We’re fucked-fucked-fucked!”

Jack stood in the house’s great room with Reggie and a couple of guys from the trawler who had been ferried in to help find Moose.  No luck in the house and none out there on the dunes – much to Jack’s relief.  He’d been pulled from his room and now he and the others stood in a semicircle and watched Tim rant.  This was his first good look at him: barrel-chested with a bushy beard.  And red-faced with anger.

“Hey no, we ain’t,” Reggie said.  “We got two trucks and two drivers.”  He jerked a thumb at Jack.  “Archie here can take the first, I’ll take the second.  We can deliver on time if we leave now.”

Tim shook his head.  “That means I’ve got to stay here with what’s his name.”

Reggie nodded.  “Yeah.  Lucky you.  That’s the easy job.  No one’s gonna bother you here.  You just gotta cool your jets till I get back with your cut.”

“This ain’t how it’s supposed to be.”

“But it’s how it is.  And hey, if Moose shows up, you bust his face for me, okay?”

“With pleasure.”

Tim started barking orders, and within fifteen minutes Jack was behind the wheel of his truck, heading for the mainland.  They’d kept him upstairs while they were loading the girls.  He didn’t know how many he had on board.  Half?  That meant fourteen.

I will save you.

His promise to Bonita.  How was he going to keep it? 

He could save the ones in his truck simply by driving to a police station.  But that would mean a death sentence for Tony.  Plus, he had no way of knowing if Bonita was even on board.  She could be in Reggie’s truck.  And who knew how crazy-desperate Reggie would become if Jack pulled a stunt like that?

I will save you all.

Had he really said that?  What had he been thinking?  Where had his head been to let him think he could pull
that
off?

He didn’t see any options except to stick to their plan for now.  That meant Jack in the lead, Reggie behind, watching Jack’s every move, calling in every twenty minutes or so with the code word that would keep Tony alive. 

But would anything keep Tony alive?  Or Jack?  The conversation he’d heard between Reggie and Tim in the parking area made it pretty clear that Jack and Tony were expendable.  Jack was a “loose end,” and if he didn’t join up after this run, the plan had been to have Moose “handle” him. 

One way or another, the kid won’t be a problem.

Well, Jack was pretty well set on being a problem, and with no Moose around to “handle” him, maybe he could find a way to become a big problem.  

Maybe when they reached Staten Island and the girls were being transferred to their new owner… maybe then he could make a move.

Maybe.

This was all new to him.  He needed a plan, but he had no idea where the transfer would take place, so he’d have to play the whole damn thing by ear.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d have to do
something
, because Bertel’s words kept echoing back to him.

There are certain things I will not abide in my sight.

FRIDAY

1

Ghost time.

Neil Zalesky’s intestines were complaining as he crouched in the dark on Rosa’s roof and tied the rope around the chimney.  Seemed his gut wanted to know what he was up to.  Well, it would find out soon enough. 

He’d called the bitch’s floor at Downstate where she worked as a ward clerk.  He’d recognized her voice when she answered, so he’d asked in a singsong voice if Dr. So-and-so was there.  He wasn’t, of course, so he’d thanked her and hung up.

She worked the eleven-to-seven shift on the orthopedic floor, so she’d be there all night.  Her job was half her life.  The other half was school.  Gonna be a nurse.  That was what broke them up.  All about her – always all about her.  What about him?  Where did he fit in?  He brought home enough for both of them, set them up in a nice apartment, and in a much better neighborhood than this crap hole.  Longwood?  Really?  She couldn’t do better than that?

Some bitches never knew how good they had it.  Especially this one.  Little Miss Overachiever had to have her own thing.  And then when he got all blabby once and told her all he had to go through to bring home the good ol’ bacon, did she thank him?  Hell, no.  She got on her high horse and things went steadily downhill from there. 

He’d gotten a little frustrated, lost his temper a few times – all her doing – and she walked out.  He still couldn’t believe it.  The bitch walked out.  Got a fucking restraining order on him.  He still couldn’t believe it.

Well, no restraining order could stop the Ghost.

He double-tied the knots on the half-inch cord, then tested them: solid.  He carried the rest to the edge of the roof and dropped it over.  He had this down to a science by now – the rope all measured out with knots at twelve-inch intervals and an extra big one at the end.  He pulled on a pair of gloves and lowered himself over the edge. 

An easy drop down the brick wall to her third-floor window over the alley.  He lifted the sash, and eased himself in.  Her brother had nailed down the windows that opened onto the fire escape – all sorts of code violations there, but Neil wasn’t about to say anything.  He wasn’t supposed to know about it.  He was never here, so how could he?  But her devoted brother had never bothered with the alley window.  After all, it was three stories up, with no way to move a ladder in and out without making a huge racket and attracting all sorts of attention.  Too bad the greasy little spic never considered the possibility of the Ghost climbing
down
to the window.

But Neil had.  Neil knew all the angles.  That was why he brought home those stacks of cash and never paid a dime in taxes.

Once inside, he pulled out a flashlight.  He didn’t need it to get around – the place was small and he had the floor plan down cold by now – but he had to be on the lookout for booby traps.  Could be something as elaborate as a trip wire to trigger an alarm, or as crude – and effective – as a bear trap sitting in the middle of the hallway. 

He took his time and found nothing.  No surprises.

Well, she’d added a bar to her apartment door – a steel rod, hooked under the knob and wedged against the floor.  He checked the lock on the door and smiled.  Yeah, she’d had a new one installed – again.  Stupid cow thought he was getting in through the door.  Since he wanted her to go on thinking that, he threw the bar on the floor and unlocked the door.

His unhappy gut growled, telling him it was time.

No need to argue.  He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket as he trekked to her bedroom.  He opened it and flattened it on the nightstand.  Too dark to see what was written, but he didn’t have to see.

a gift from the Ghost

Then he pulled down her covers and stood on the mattress.  He dropped trou, then squatted over her pillow and let loose a major loaf. 

When he was done, he used her sheet to wipe, then fled the stench.  He’d been holding that all day and it was wicked.  He closed her bedroom door behind him to lock in the stink.  He grinned, imagining her face as she opened the door and the smell slammed her nose.

He returned to the window, slipped through, and took hold of the rope.  He swung out, got his feet on the sill, and pushed the sash down.  When it was fully closed, he began the climb back up to the roof.