Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (26 page)

“That window’s dirty as all get-out!” a voice shouted.  “Needs a good cleanin’!”

One of the dreaded squeegee men.  A lot of them worked by intimidation.  They’d clean your windshield without asking, then demand payment.  Some of them got real nasty if you refused.  This one was bearded and could have been forty or seventy.  Jack pulled a single out of his wallet and rolled down the window.

“Thanks,” he said, holding out the bill.  “It really needed that.”

“Pleased to be of service,” the guy said with a toothless grin.

“You gotta be kidding,” Black said as the light changed and they rolled on.  “These guys are a fucking plague.  You don’t encourage them!”

“The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to the truck.  Well worth a buck to make him go away.”

“Well, in that case, okay.”  Black pointed ahead and to the right as they crossed the Deuce.  “There’s rock bottom.”

Skinny women, mostly various shades of brown, with a few whites sprinkled among them, stood along the curb under the overpass and hailed the passing cars headed for the Lincoln Tunnel or farther downtown.   Their eyes were glazed and they looked unsteady on their feet.

“Under the overpass – a favorite site for the crack whores.  Doesn’t matter if it’s raining or snowing, they stay dry.”

As Black slowed to give Jack a better look, one of them waved and pulled up her top to reveal saggy breasts. The one next to her did the same.

“Know why they’re doing that?”

Jack shook his head.  “Well, if they think it’s enticing, they need to think again.”

“It’s to show they’re female.”  He barked a laugh.  “Because some of those gals on the curb there ain’t gals at all.”

“What’s to keep the ones who aren’t from getting implants?”

“Can’t afford it.  In their world, all your income either goes into your arm or up your nose.”

They speeded up, continuing downtown.

“That’s where your little girls – the ones who somehow survived years of sex slavery and enforced drug addiction – would eventually wind up.  We prevented that.  And that’s a good day’s work, as far as I’m concerned.”

Jack thought of little Bonita out there.  It made him ill.  Yeah, it had been a good day’s work.

Black turned east on 34
, then headed back uptown on Eighth Avenue.  He pulled into a loading zone near the Port Authority bus terminal. 

“We split here.  You’re on your own.”  He thrust out his hand.  “You’re good people, Archie.  You’ve got a lot to learn, but you’re gutsy and your head’s in the right place.  Keep that compass pointing north.”

They shook.

Jack still hadn’t got a grip on Black and his brother.  What was going on in their heads?  Was this anti-pedophile “operation” as they called it a sideline or their life’s work?

“Well,” Jack said, for lack of anything better, “it’s been interesting.  Hardly a dull moment.”

Black opened the driver door and slid out.

“You hear or see anything you think might interest us, tell Abe to give us a holler.  He knows how to reach us.”

Abe seemed to know everybody, and everybody seemed to know – and trust – Abe.

“And listen,” Black added, “my brother and I were talking.  We like the way you handle yourself.  Sometimes we need an extra hand along.  You up for that?”

What to say?  These guys seemed on the up-and-up, but they had a lot of cowboy in them.

Jack shrugged.  “Depends on what’s involved.  I’m not much of a shooter.”

He smiled.  “You can leave that to us.  That’s our favorite part.”

“I’m low on ammo anyway.”

He laughed.  “Abe vouches for you and you’re low on ammo?  That’s rich.”

Whatever that meant.  Figuring turnaround was fair play, he said, “Call Abe if you need me.”  He glanced over at the Port Authority.  “Taking a bus somewhere?”

Hard to believe he lived in Jersey.

“Nah.  Gonna walk up the Strip, see if that chicken’s still there.”

“And if he is?”

“I’ll see if I can scope out who’s running him.”

“And if you do?”

“Watch him, find out where he hangs, where he lives, who he associates with, how many kids he’s running, who else is in with him.”

“And then what?”

He shrugged.  “People go missing all the time in this city.”

The casualness of the remark sent a chill through Jack.

“You two ever take a day off?”

“My brother and me, we’re like rust.”

Jack caught the reference.  “A Neil Young fan?”

Black winked.  “We never sleep.”

He slammed the door and walked around the front of the truck as Jack slid into the driver seat.  He put it in gear and headed uptown, tooting as he passed.  Black waved.  In the side-view mirror, Jack watched him start walking up Eighth Avenue with his hands thrust into his jeans pockets, looking like just another New Yorker ambling along the West Side. 

No hint that he was a predator hunting other predators.

16

On the upside, the car was warm inside and the head Arab spoke English pretty well.  When he heard Reggie’s voice, he had his driver run into a 7-Eleven and get some water.  It wasn’t kindness.  It enabled Reggie to talk.

On the downside, he wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“Our young friend here says he’s seen you before,” said the trim, well-dressed bearded guy who was obviously in charge.  “I think you know where.”

They’d positioned him on the backseat with his legs straight out on the cushions.  His knees wouldn’t bend so they didn’t have much choice.  A beefy guy was hunched behind the wheel, and a young, skinny, and scared looking Arab sat at the end of the rear seat by Reggie’s feet.  The leader guy was twisted around in the front passenger seat to face him.

No use in playing games.

“I don’t remember him, but I know whereof you speak.”

“Good.  Then you know that our money is missing.  We want it back.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“I will ask the questions.  The money?”

Reggie sipped the Poland Spring.  “Wish I knew.  A couple of guys mowed down your people and–”

“
Not
my people, I assure you.  Describe these… guys.”

The scene was etched on Reggie’s brain.  “Two guys in ski masks with submachine guns came out of nowhere and started shooting.  I was in Archie’s truck at the moment–”

“Archie?”

“The new guy – that’s what we called him.  They started shooting at us so we took off.”

The boss man looked at the young Arab by Reggie’s feet.  “Your stories agree.  That is fortunate for you.  And it gives us a start.”  He turned back to Reggie.  “How did you wind up at the side of the road with broken knees?”

“Ain’t rightly sure of that.  Me and Archie had a fallin’ out.  Motherfucker left me for dead.”

“Do you have a last name for this Archie?”  

Reggie thought about that.  Tony had introduced – shit, Tony.  He wondered if Tim had offed him as threatened.  Probably.  Tim didn’t like loose ends.  Too bad.  Reggie had met Tony only a couple of times and he wasn’t a bad guy.  But hey, he’d walked into the middle of a big omelet and got his shell broke. 

Shit happened.

Did it ever.  Look what had happened so far on this run, and Reggie had a feeling he’d only seen the tip of this stinking turd.

But what had Tony called the new guy when he’d brought him in?  Larry?  No, Lonnie.  That was it.

“Archie’s not his real name.  We just called him that.  Real name’s Lonnie.  But that’s all I got.  No last name.”

“What was the nature of this falling out?”

What had it been?  What had set him off?  Oh, yeah.  Archie – Lonnie – had kinda lost it when Reggie suggested sinking the truck with the girls on board.  Pussy.

“We disagreed on what to do with the product.”

“Where do you think he took the truck and its cargo?”

“Don’t rightly know.  But I’d like to catch up with that boy.  We’ve got some settling up to do.”

“That is your affair.  We are interested in him only so far as he can lead us to these masked men.  Do you think he was part of the plot?”

Plot
…listen to this dune monkey.

Reggie was about to give him a hard
No
, but bit it back.  This deserved a little thought.

Lonnie’s reaction when the two masked guys started shooting had been pure shock.  He hadn’t been prepared for anything like that.  But if Reggie said that to these Arab boys, they’d have no use for him.  Might dump him in the harbor just to see how long he could stay afloat with two bum legs. 

Probably a good idea to keep them interested in Lonnie. 

Especially because Reggie was interested in Lonnie too.  He craved a little face time with that boy – more like removing his face, or pounding it to a pulp.  Yeah, they had a score to settle.  Reggie was due some major payback.

He had an idea where he might find Lonnie, but he had to play this real careful.  If he said Lonnie was part of the heist, and getting a share of the three mil, they wouldn’t look for him where Reggie figured he’d be.

“No,” he said finally.  “Lonnie was just as scared as I was when those guys were chasin’ us, but shortly before we had our falling out, I think he got a look at them.”

The boss was instantly interested.  “You are sure?”

“Well, yeah.  Pretty sure.  They took off their ski masks when they started chasing us.  I guess they didn’t intend to leave us alive to talk.  I was on the wrong side of the cab, otherwise I woulda seen them.”

“Do you think he could identify them?”

“Don’t see why not.  And I can identify Lonnie.  I’m kinda anxious to find that boy myself.”

“We seem to have a convergence of purposes.”

Reggie had been counting on him seeing it that way.

“If I help you find him, you’ll allow me a little alone time with him when you’re done with him?”

“That depends on how cooperative he is.”

Reggie allowed himself a smile.  Poor ol’ Lonnie wasn’t going to be cooperative at all.  Couldn’t be.  He hadn’t seen any more than Reggie had.

Reggie wanted to be there when all this went down.

“I’ll tell you how I think we can find him…”

17

Jack parked in the space Bertel rented for the trucks.  He’d backed out of this same spot a little over three days ago.  The damnedest seventy-two hours of his life.

He’d have preferred that the trip had gone down as just another cigarette run, but he couldn’t deny that it had been – to quote Black from just a little while ago–”a good day’s work.”  He was glad he’d interrupted Moose’s assault on Bonita, even if it had meant killing Moose.  Couldn’t dredge up any regret for Moose – the human gene pool was better off with him in the skimmer.  He’d spared Reggie’s life at the cost of his knees.  The pool would have been cleaner without Reggie as well, but Jack’s blood simply wasn’t that cold. 

No question about being glad he’d saved those girls from brutalized futures. 

The only part he regretted was Tony.  He was probably – okay, most likely – dead.  If Jack believed prayer worked, he would have prayed for his safety, but…

He’d liked Tony.  Another guy living on the fringe.  He’d been at it a lot longer than Jack and would still be at it if only they’d picked a different place to crash on Wednesday.

What strange turns his life had taken since that fight with Rico.

With the truck secure now, his next step was to find a phone and call Bertel.  He’d probably been ringing the phone in Jack’s hallway off the wall. 

As he did a last-minute search of the truck’s cab before getting out – didn’t want to leave anything of his or Reggie’s behind – he found a plastic shopping bag shoved between the driver and passenger cushions.  Didn’t remember seeing that before.  He pulled it out and looked inside.

Money.  Three banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills, each showing bullet damage.  And a note:

If 10% is too much, how about 1%?

Deacon Blue

The bands on the stacks were each labeled
$10,000
… thirty thousand dollars.

Christ!

Only a small fraction of what they’d wanted to give him but still more money than he’d ever seen in his life.

Well, he didn’t need to risk his freedom driving for Bertel anymore, but he owed him an explanation.

He went in search of that phone.

18

Bertel didn’t want to discuss anything on the phone so they arranged to meet at The Spot.

Jack arrived first and found the usually cheerful Julio in a frowning funk, short with the patrons, slamming things around.  The place was half empty – not a good sign on a Friday night – and although Julio couldn’t be happy about that, the low turnout didn’t seem to be what was bothering him. Without saying what was in it, Jack asked him to stow the shopping bag with the money behind the bar for safekeeping.

Jack worked on a pint of Rock near Barney and Lou, ensconced in their usual spots with their shots, drafts, and ashtrays arrayed before them on the bar.  Smoke from their cigarettes blunted whatever stinky cologne Julio had splashed on tonight.  He wondered if their butts came from packs he’d smuggled out of NC.

When Julio went out on the floor to take table orders, Jack leaned toward Lou.

“What’s eating Julio?”

Lou, the closer of the two, shook his head.  “Lotta shit comin’ down.”

Barney raked his long, greasy hair back with nicotine-stained fingers.  “
Lotta
shit. You don’t wanna know.”

I don’t? Jack thought.  Yeah, probably not.  Then again…

“Maybe I do,” he said.  “Try me.”

Barney and Lou appeared to be asexual, and they lived in different neighborhoods, but as Jack had got to know them, they struck him as an old married couple.  They’d been drinking together so long they could finish each others sentences – and often did.

Lou leaned closer and lowered his voice.  “Well, he’s getting pounded on multiple fronts.”

Barney leaned around Lou’s shoulder.  “Yeah.  First off–”  He glanced up and over Jack’s shoulder.  “Later.  Here’s your buddy.”

Jack turned and saw Bertel pushing though the door.  He looked tight, tense, haggard, and years older.  He pointed to a table toward the rear of the room.