Infernal_ A Repairman Jack Novel Part 49

Joey nodded and reached for the radio. As Jack walked away he recognized the unmistakable sound of Mad Dog Russo's voice on WFAN.

Joey had groused a little about swinging through Astoria, but they'd hit no backups on the Cross-Bronx or the Triboro and made decent time. Jack had the photos of Al-Kabeer in hand as he stepped up on the front porch of Menelaus Manor. He'd called Lyle from the car to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting a seance.

"Hey, Jack," Lyle said as he opened the door. "Charlie's been waiting for you. Want a beer?"

Jack's impulse was to refuse, then he figured, Why not?

A few minutes later he and a Heineken keg can entered the channeling room.

"h.e.l.lo, Charlie," he said as he handed Lyle the photos. "I need a favor."

Lyle nodded as he took them. "Charlie says if it's at all in his power, you've got it."

Once again, that odd feeling rippled over his skin: I'm talking to a dead man.

"Thanks, Charlie. Take a look at that guy in the photos. His name is Hamad Al-Kabeer. Can you tell me anything about him?"

Lyle's ebony face broke into a grin. "I'll go first: He's an Arab."

Jack had to smile. "Gotta hand it to you, Lyle. Nothing gets past you."

The grin faded. "Charlie says you look strange."

"Well, I've had better days."

"No, he says he can't see you clearly." He paused, listening. "He says your edges are blurry and you seem to be... transparent."

Jack's gut tightened. Was it starting already? Was that how it would happen? A slow fade instead of a simple evaporation?

He looked at his hands. They looked as solid as ever. But Charlie saw the world through different eyes. Was he now seeing Jack's future?

"Long story," Jack said. "What about our Arab friend there?"

Lyle listened, then, "Charlie says he's got blood on his hands."

Jack stiffened as an electric jolt sizzled through him.

"Whose?"

"You think he might be involved in your father's...?"

"Possibly."

Lyle stayed silent a moment, then, "Charlie says he can't tell whose blood, just that it's not his own."

Jack sat in silence. One more nail in the coffin of Hamad Al-Kabeer. He just wished it wasn't all so d.a.m.n circ.u.mstantial. He wanted something more concrete before he ripped the guy in half.

And if Al-Kabeer had been a part of it-didn't matter if he was the shooter or just a planner-tearing him up was too easy. He needed something worse than just death. But what? If Jack had the time, he knew he'd come up with something. But time was in short supply.

Time...

He straightened in his chair.

Lyle looked at him. "What?"

"Just had an idea."

"Care to share?"

"Not yet. Need to work out the details..."

Yeah. Many details.

Jack stepped out of Menelaus Manor in higher spirits than when he'd arrived, but not much. He squinted. The rooftops of the houses across the street flared with a corona effect from the lowering sun behind them.

... your edges are blurry and you seem to be... transparent your edges are blurry and you seem to be... transparent...

Jack s.h.i.+vered in the twilight, and not because of the icy wind.

11.

-39:17.

A pale ghost of the nearly full moon rode the twilight as Jack stood outside Gia's front step and knocked. He wondered if there'd be a moon or even a sun where he was going. He swore that if he somehow managed to extricate himself from this mess he'd never again take this sort of everyday beauty for granted.

Gia opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"But you were gone so long! You said you'd only be an hour!"

"I know. Things got complicated."

"I was getting worried."

"Can I spend the night?"

Gia burst into tears.

Jack said, "Is that a no?"

She grabbed him and pulled him into the foyer where they clinched.

She sobbed against his chest. "I can't lose you!"

"Well, I'm not gone yet. The lady in the size-forty dress hasn't started her song yet."

Jack didn't know if his half-formed plan had any chance of working, but if it did, she'd never sing.

At least not Jack's tune.

12.

-33:22.

Tom watched the guy step out of the bodega doorway and approach the cab. When he recognized Tom he flashed his Leon Spinks smile.

After last night's uptown sortie, Kamal had offered his cell number. He said Tom could call anytime, and if he was on duty-which was most of the time-he would take Tom back to the bodega.

Tom was glad he'd taken the little slip of paper. He'd dug it out of his pants pocket and made the call.

After being all but kicked out of Gia's this morning, he'd aimlessly wandered around the city. When he finally returned to the apartment he'd found the Lilitongue floating in Jack's bedroom. He'd closed the door. Couldn't stand to look at it.

He needed a lift. A big one.

"Lose your girlfriend again?" said the bodega man.

"Yeah, and it's got me down."

"Want me to find her again?"

"No, I think I need someone different tonight."

"I know all sort of girls. What kind you like?"

"Someone to lift my spirits. She changes her name all the time. Last time I saw her she was going by a name that began with E, but she might have changed it to something that begins with X."

"Ah, yes. I know such a one."

Tom held up a fifty. "Will this do?"

"Yes. That good for two."

"Two?"

That Spinks smile again. "Okay, since you are repeat customer, I give you three."

Tom hadn't been trying to haggle. He'd taken E a few times in the early nineties and had paid about fifty a tab. He'd liked the feeling, but not the emotional drop after the drug wore off.

As the man s.n.a.t.c.hed the fifty he said, "You want else? We got other letters-A, MJ from TJ-and we got weather-snowflake and purple rain-and we got baseball, roofies, and Georgia Home Boy."

Pretty much the same patter as last night.

"Just the girl."

After that it was more deja vu. A little talk into a two-way, then a jogging kid-different one from last night-tossing an envelope through the window.

Tom had swallowed one of the tabs before Kamal's cab reached the end of the block.

By the time they reached the Upper West Side Tom was cruising. Waves of warmth and relaxation washed over him. The African music on Kamal's radio that had bugged him on the uptown trip now sounded beautiful and perfect. Tiny bubbles swam in his vision, as if he were looking at the world through a gla.s.s of champagne.

Instead of going straight back to Jack's, he had Kamal drop him off near where Broadway cut across Columbus Avenue. As he moved through the milling crowd he felt wonderful. So connected connected to all these strangers, connected to the point where he wanted to climb atop a lamppost and shout out his love for all of them. to all these strangers, connected to the point where he wanted to climb atop a lamppost and shout out his love for all of them.

Jesus G.o.d, when was the last time he'd felt this good about the world, about himself himself?

War, poverty, crime, violence, terrorism all so far away. So was Jack's predicament. Even though he loved even Jack tonight-and really loved Gia-he couldn't get worked up about his impending "escape." The world, existence, were all too wonderful to allow anything really bad to happen.

Everything would be all right, everything would work out for the best.

WEDNESDAY.

1.

-22:42.

Jack tried to focus on the newspaper but the words didn't make sense. When he realized he'd been through the same paragraph three times without understanding it-and this was the Post Post-he slapped it down on Gia's kitchen table.

Less than a day until launch. For Gia's and Vicky's sakes he'd wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. Hadn't expected it to be easy, but it was proving impossible.