Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (39 page)

When Jack returned from his next trip to North Carolina, Ernie would have a New York State driver’s license, a Social Security card, and a Visa card with a modest credit history ready for him.  The Jeff Cusic they purported to identify was not fictitious.  He’d died at age two. But his name lived on.

Jack tried to shake off the morbid feeling of assuming a dead kid’s identity, but it followed him through a nearby Gristedes, where he picked up an eight-pack of Entenmann’s crumb donuts, and from there as he hopped on his Harley and rode to the Isher Sports Shop.

Abe was delighted with the offering and immediately dug in.

“Nu,” he said, biting the crumbs off first and littering the counter with donut debris, “your tryst with the girl from home went well?”

Jack gave a casual shrug – at least he hoped it looked casual as Cristin’s voice echoed through his brain saying,
Now, let’s fuck
. 

“Yeah, pretty well.”

“And she won’t be talking about you next time she visits home?”

Damn, he’d never got around to discussing that with her.  He’d brought it up at their lunch but he’d wanted to reinforce it.  Somehow the subject never came up.  Funny thing about that…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Like bunnies.

Next time…next time he’d bring it up.

“Not a word.”

“Good.  And Ernie – he treated you right?”

Jack nodded.  “You weren’t kidding about him being expensive.”

“Quality costs.  When a member of officialdom is inspecting your license and calling the DMV to see if you’ve got any outstanding violations, you don’t want the DMV saying, ‘Never heard of the schmuck.’  For peace of mind, you should expect to pay extra.” 

“If he’s that good, then it’s worth every penny.  By the way, how’s that list coming?”

“Of the strong-arm types?”  He reached under the counter.  “Half a dozen I’ve got.”

“Any background?”

“Some.  You want to know about John Gotti, you look in the
Post
.  You want to know about these guys, not so easy.  But I put down what I could.”

He passed Jack two handwritten sheets of yellow paper.  Jack glanced at them, then folded them.

“I’ll study these later.”

“You should maybe think twice before getting involved with these golems.”

“Golems?”  Jack remembered seeing the Paul Wegener silent film.  “Wasn’t the golem made of clay or stone?”  

“These are men of stone.  Be very careful in your dealings with the likes of them.  Like the golem, they have no souls.”

Jack slipped the papers into a back pocket. 

“I’m counting on that.”

2

Jack Harleyed over to The Spot to meet Dane Bertel.  He’d called the old guy first thing this morning and learned he wanted a meeting ASAP.  So Jack suggested The Spot.

Bertel seemed grumpier than usual and Jack had a pretty good idea of the who and the why. 

“You’re really screwing me up, Jack.  You know that, don’t you?”

Yep.  Jack was the reason.

“I’m sure there’s no shortage of drivers,” Jack said, sipping coffee as they sat in the deserted bar.  Not even Lou and Barney yet.  “There’s a recession going on.”

“I can find a driver in a minute, but not one I can be sure won’t take off with the shipment and try to sell it on his own.”

“Sorry.”

“I hope it’s not because you blame me for what happened on the Outer Banks.”

Well, Tony was Bertel’s guy and he led Jack to that beach house, so yeah, indirectly Bertel had to take some responsibility.  But Jack had made the decision to follow Tony instead of heading straight back, so he wasn’t about to point a finger.

“I don’t.”

“So what is it then?  You want to squeeze me?  Okay.  Three Gs per run.”

“That’s not–”

“All right, damn it – four.”

“It’s not the money,” Jack said.  “My… situation has changed.”

“How?”

No way Jack was going to tell him about his double windfall.  How could he put this?

“I need to stay around town more.”

“What?  You’ve suddenly got a wife and kids who don’t want you on the road?”

Jack had to laugh at that.  “Hardly.  But I have some opportunities that need watching.”

Bertel shook his head, his mouth twisting in distaste.  “ ‘Opportunities’… Well, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on any ‘opportunities.’”  He pulled a folded sheet from the pocket of his coat and slid it across the table.  “New meeting spot.  New guy to meet you.  And a change in schedule.”

“Change how?” Jack said, unfolding the sheet.

“The Mummy wants the shipment first thing tomorrow morning.”

Jack hadn’t been expecting that.

“That means I’ll have to leave soon.”

“And haul ass on the way down.  The Mummy is desperate for product and pissed off at me for the hiccup in his supply stream.”

“ ‘Hiccup’?  Your operation was busted and Tony’s dead.”

“You and I may care, but he doesn’t.  All he cares about is product.  If he can take delivery on the butts in the morning, he can have them all stamped and distributed by nightfall.  Can you get it done?”

That meant driving all day and all night.  What the hell… the only other thing he had going was the Zalesky fix, and that wasn’t on a timetable.

“Yeah.  No problem.”

Bertel shook his head again.  “See?  That’s what I need.  A guy who says, ‘No problem.’”

“Gotta be a lot of them around.”

“You’d be surprised.” Bertel rose and threw a ten on the table.  “Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

As Bertel left, Julio approached with his coffeepot. 

“You want another?”

“Sure.  A quick one.”  He was going to need all the stimulant he could stomach. 

He pulled out an envelope containing four hundred-dollar bills.  “Vinny Donuts is due today.  Here’s Zalesky’s contribution.”

“Zalesky.” Julio’s voice sounded strangled. 

Jack glanced up at him.  He’d thought he’d noticed a grim cast to his expression before.  A closer look now left no doubt.

“What’s up?”

Julio dropped into the chair Bertel had vacated.  “Nita called last night.”

“Who’s Nita?”

“Harry’s ex.  Harry owned the place and–”

“Right-right.  Left it to his son – who wants to sell it.”

“That’s it.  She said Darren got an offer on the place.”

“Crap.  Well, my offer still stands.”

Maybe the Mikulskis could help him find a way to launder the money.  But Julio was shaking his head.

“It’s worse than that.  She didn’t call me out of the goodness of her heart.  She call because the seller want her to.  He also want her to tell me his name.”

Jack remembered the
hijo de puta
’s parting words just twenty-four hours ago.

“Aw, no.  Zalesky?”

Julio nodded.  “I gotta do him, Jack.”

“Don’t be a dummy. Julio.  It’s not a done deal yet, right?”

“Darren’s got leave comin’ up.  Nita wants to get rid of the place but Darren don’t want to do nothin’ till he comes home.”

“When’s that?”

“A few months.”

“Then we’ve got time to put together a counteroffer.”

“I gotta do him.  It solve two problems at once.”

“And you wind up in the joint for life?  He’s not worth it.”

“I do it so no one knows.”

“He’s your ex-brother-in-law with a restraining order on him from your sister and he’s made an offer to buy your workplace.  Who’s gonna be suspect numero uno?”

“Don’t care.  I do it so no one can prove it.”

Jack doubted that.  Julio had a big-time emotional stake in all this and Jack suspected he’d wind up with a plan as subtle as a front-end loader.

“Let me handle it, Julio.”

Another shake of the head.  “You not the killing type, Jack.”

A guy named Ed and a guy named Moose might disagree…

“I’m not talking about–”

“But I am, meng.  This is double personal now.  Not right I let somebody else solve my problem.”

Just then the door opened and a burly guy in a dark suit stepped inside. 

Vinny Donuts.

Jack pushed the envelope toward Julio and whispered, “Let Zalesky pay him.”

Julio hesitated and Jack could tell it was eating Julio to give this creep a single cent, no matter whose money it was.  But he took it, handed it to Vinny without a word, then returned to the table as if he’d ceased to exist.

Vinny tucked the envelope inside his coat pocket and left.

Jack jumped to his feet.  “Look.  I’ve got a run to make, and I can’t put it off.  When I get back, we’ll work this out.”

Julio shook his head.  “I dunno–”

“Julio, promise me.  We’ll work this out so you don’t get caught.  Promise me you’ll sit tight until I get back.  It’s an overnight run.  We’ll talk tomorrow. I won’t let you down.”

“No, I–”

“One fucking day, Julio.  Okay?”

A long pause, then, “Okay.  But you ain’t gonna change my mind.”

Jack knew he had to, but had no idea how.  Worry about that later.

Right now he had to follow Vinny Donuts.

3

Jack kept plenty of distance between himself and the big black Crown Victoria.  Vinny was driving.  The same guy with the porkpie hat sat in front in the passenger seat.  A third sat in the back.  Jack had seen Vinny hand Julio’s envelope to the third guy. 

He followed them deep into Queens to a store – Elite Discount Appliances – on Liberty Avenue.  The two passengers got out and went inside, the Crown Vic took off.

Jack stayed with the Vic which turned around and started heading southwest, leading him into Brooklyn.  In a warehouse section of Canarsie, the Vic pulled into a car salvage place on Preston Court.  Vinny got out and disappeared into a trailer that seemed to serve as an office.  Rusted cars littered the large lot, side-by-side in the front, piled atop each other in the back.  Jack spotted a few steel cubes that used to be cars.  Must be a compactor somewhere on the lot.

Jack didn’t know how long Vinny would be there, and didn’t have any more time to waste.  But he made a note of the sign – Preston Salvage – and filed it away. 

Elite Discount Appliances and Preston Salvage… data to add to the bank.  He didn’t know what he’d do with the information, but bits and pieces might adhere and come in handy someday.

He headed back to Manhattan to collect Bertel’s truck and start the long haul south.

TUESDAY

1

The Suburban’s dashboard clock was closing in on one a.m. as Reggie adjusted his screaming legs on the backseat of the car.

What a clusterfuck.

At least he was still alive.  Unlike Tony and Moose. 

The Arab, the one they called al-Thani, had grilled him about the Duck house.  Told him a guy had been killed execution style in the house – that would be Tony.  At first Reggie figured Moose for it, but then learned that someone had crushed Moose’s skull out on the dunes.  Probably Tim.  He’d been royally pissed at Moose for disappearing.  And then Tim, who didn’t like loose ends, had done Tony.  Or maybe Tony first and then Moose, didn’t matter.  He’d cleaned up and headed back to his boat to wait for his money.

Son of a bitch had a long fucking wait ahead of him.

Reggie couldn’t see a reason not to be straight with al-Thani about the Duck house.  He seemed to know a lot already, and Reggie didn’t want to get caught in a lie.  So he told him what he knew.

After that they’d fixed his knees.  Both legs were now locked straight in casts, but supposedly on the mend.  The pain was a bitch, and they weren’t giving him a goddamn thing but Tylenol for it. 

They… that was the big question: Who the fuck were
they
?

Some sort of club or secret society like the Masons or the llluminati, he guessed.  But what did that mean?  Those were just names to him, anyway.  He’d heard a couple of references to “the Order,” but what was that?  A religious sect?  Whoever these people were, their “Order” was
big
.  Arabs, Eurotrash, probably chinks as well.

And connected.  He’d seen a guy in a white suit that everyone kow-towed to.  He’d snapped his fingers and the next thing Reggie knew, he was in some private clinic getting plugged into IVs.  He spent the late half of Saturday and the early half of Sunday in a daze, then he was shoved into the back of this Suburban with one of the Arabs who’d found him and driven south.

They were looking for Lonnie and hell bent on finding him.  They’d grilled Reggie on the best place to wait for him.  Like he knew.  But he could guess.

Tony had said the kid knew the route, even told them how much he got paid per run.  And Reggie remembered Lonnie himself mentioning that he knew how to get to Staten Island but would be lost once he reached it.

Reggie was close to absolutely sure that Lonnie’d had nothing to do with the hijacking.  That meant Lonnie was going to have to keep working.  Tony had said he ran cigarettes – wouldn’t say who for, but that was okay.  If Lonnie went back to his old job, he’d be on the road again soon. 

So Reggie had directed these Order guys to this spot on Route 13 just outside Salisbury, Maryland, where they could park close to the road with a long view of the northbound traffic.  If Lonnie quit or changed his route, they were all fucked.  But this was the perfect route to drive contraband between NC and NYC.

Last night the Suburban and another car – a Cherokee – had spent hours and hours parked here with no hits.  Now they were back, same time, same station.

Two foreign guys, Eurotrash types, occupied the Jeep idling to their left.  Reggie had the backseat of the Suburban to himself.  Another Eurotrasher – a kid named Kris – had the wheel, and the second Arab who’d found him, the young one whose English sucked, sat shotgun.  Why they had him along, Reggie couldn’t say.  He’d managed to learn that his name was Kadir and he was from Palestine, but that was it.  He seemed scared and useless. 

At thirty-two, Reggie was the old fart in the car.

“See?” said Kris from the front.  He was pointing through the windshield.  “Truck.”

His English wasn’t so hot either.  Sounded like he was Russian or from one of those other commie countries over there.