That gave him half of an idea. Jack scanned the rest of the yard and spotted some battered and rusted cars lined up against one of the fences. He pointed to them.
"Any of those wrecks drivable?"
Sal stopped and looked around. "Yeah, I s'ppose. Not legal-like. A coupla them'll getcha from here to there, but probably not back."
"I don't need to get back."
"Whatchathinkin'?"
Jack was beginning to feel a little better now.
"I'm thinking I may take out some of my fee in trade after all."
12
"How long are we going to sit here?" Vuk Vujovic said, lighting another Marlboro.
All he'd done today was camp in this damn car in this rich neighborhood and smoke while they waited for this woman to show. He was stiff, restless, bored, and an unbroken chain of cigarettes had left his tongue feeling like soggy cardboard. The Lincoln was comfortable to drive, but he felt as if he'd moved into it. He checked his bleached hair in the rearview mirror. Dark roots were starting to poke through; he was going to need a touch-up soon.
"How many times are you going to check your hair?" said Ivo from the passenger seat. "Afraid it's going to fall out?"
"Not mine, old friend." He glanced at Ivo's dark but thinning hair. "I'll still have plenty when you're as bald as an egg."
"At least I won't look like a girlie-man."
Vuk laughed to hide his irritation at the remark. If anyone in this car was a woman it was Ivo—an old woman. "The ladies love the color."
Ivo grunted.
They'd met in the Yugoslav Army and later had gone through the Kosovo cleanup together. With the army and the country in shambles after that, they'd hired on with Dragovic.
Vuk stared at the woman's door. Look at this neighborhood. Elegant brick-fronted town houses on an almost private block that dead-ended at a little park overlooking the East River. No places like this back home, unless you were high in the regime. He tried to imagine what it cost to live here.
"I hate this waiting."
Ivo sighed. "Could be worse. We could still be in Belgrade waiting for our back pay."
Vuk laughed again. "Or waiting on line for a gallon of gas."
"Do you ever think about home?" Ivo said, his voice softer.
"Only when I think about the war." And he thought about that every day.
Such a time. How many woman had he taken? How many men, some KLA, most simply able-bodied males, had he marched into fields or stood against walls and shot dead? Too many to count. How powerful he'd felt—a master of life and death, surrounded by cries and wails and pleas for mercy, a master whose whim decided who lived and who died, and how they died. He'd felt like a god.
Vuk missed those days, missed them so much at times it nearly brought him to tears.
"I try not to."
Vuk glanced at his companion but said nothing. Ivo had always been soft, and now he was going softer. This was what happened when you lived in America. You went soft.
I'm going soft too, Vuk admitted. I used to be a proud soldier. Now what am I? A bodyguard to a gangster—a Serb by birth, yes, but more American than Serb—and sent on wild-goose chases like this one. But he knew he was better off than others of his generation still in Belgrade.
"Do you think this DiLawopizda has any connection with last night?" Vuk said, reluctantly moving their talk back from the past to the present.
"Could be," Ivo said. "But even if she is, she seems gone for the holiday, just like everyone else around here."
All they'd seen in their many hours on watch were a few children with their nannies. Vuk had checked in twice with the East Hampton house to report that nothing was happening, hoping they'd be called back. Instead they'd been instructed to stay right where they were.
"We're wasting our time," Vuk said.
"You got us into this."
"Me? How?"
"You had to identify the man on the video." He mimicked Vuk's voice: " 'I know him. He's the one we chased off the beach.' You never know when to shut up."
Vuk had turned, ready to give Ivo hell, when he saw him straighten in his seat.
A delivery truck with no markings had turned into Sutton Square. It rattled toward them, then angled sharply toward the curb.
"He must be lost," Ivo said, easing back into his seat.
Vuk agreed. The truck might have been white once, but now it was so dented and scraped and covered with grime he could only guess at the original color. The driver had a thick white beard and wore a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His features were blurry through the windshield. Vuk watched him pull out a map and look at it.
Dumb, Vuk thought. How do you get lost in a city where the streets and avenues are all numbered?
But the driver apparently found what he was looking for, because he began moving again, pulling head-on into the opposite curb. As the truck began backing into the second leg of a three-point turn, Vuk noticed that its rear loading platform was lowered and riding about two feet off the ground. But instead of stopping or even slowing when it had reversed to the middle of the street, the truck picked up speed and kept coming.
Vuk leaned on the horn and pressed back in the seat as he saw the rear corner of the truck angle around and loom larger and larger in the windshield.
"He's going to hit us!" Ivo shouted.
Vuk covered his eyes and braced himself. The impact jarred him forward but wasn't as bad as he'd expected. When he opened his eyes he realized that the corner of the lift platform had punched into the grille. Their car had been spared the full impact of the truck itself.
"Sranje!" Vuk shouted.
Ivo too was cursing a blue streak as they pushed open their doors. This idiot driver was going to wish he'd never turned in here.
But the truck was moving again. This time forward.
"He's taking off!" Ivo shouted.
Vuk sprinted after it, but it was picking up speed too quickly. He motioned Ivo back into the car. The truck ran the red light across Sutton Place and headed up Fifty-eighth—wrong way against the traffic.
"He's insane!" Ivo cried as they watched the truck weave a zigzag course as it dodged cars in the oncoming traffic. Tires screeched, horns blared, but the truck kept going.
Vuk wasn't about to let some old govno in a rust-bucket truck outmaneuver him. "Jebi se!" he shouted. "So am I!"
High beams on and horn blaring, he gunned the Lincoln across the street and up Fifty-eighth. Luckily there wasn't much traffic, but still it was scary.
Up ahead the truck had made a right on First Avenue, and they got there just in time to see it make a left onto Fifty-ninth.
"He's heading for the bridge!" Ivo said.
Vuk followed and spotted the truck taking the on-ramp to the Queensboro Bridge.
He floored the Lincoln up the incline, screeched into the turn, and pulled onto the span.
Ivo pointed straight ahead. "There he is!"
Vuk grinned. Did this old fool really think he could outrun them?
He accelerated up behind the truck and was about to pull alongside when the car started bucking.
"What's wrong?" Ivo said.
Vuk looked at the dashboard and saw that the temperature gauge was into the red.
"We're overheating!"
The engine coughed, bucked, and, with an agonized whine, died. The Lincoln ground to a halt.
"Sranje!" Vuk pounded on the steering wheel. Through the haze of steam rising from under the hood he watched the truck disappear over the arch of the bridge. "Sranje! Sranje! Sranje!"
Ivo was already out of the car and moving toward the front. Vuk got out and joined him. Horns blared as traffic backed up behind them.
"There's the problem," Ivo said, pointing to the smashed-in grille. "Big hole in the radiator."
"Bastard!" Vuk shouted, slamming his hand on the steaming hood. "The lucky bastard!"
"Was it luck?" Ivo said, staring along the bridge to where they had last seen the truck.
"You think that old govno did it on purpose?"
"Why do you say old? Because he had a white beard? It could have come from a Santa Claus costume."
"You think it was the man from the beach?"
Ivo shrugged. "I'm just thinking, that's all. I'm thinking that if it was the man from the beach, and if he wanted to remove us from the front of his house, he succeeded very well, didn't he."
Vuk was fuming. He wanted to punch Ivo for looking so calm. Instead he spit.
"Sranje!"
How were they going to explain this to Dragovic?
13
Nadia was ready to call it quits for the day. As she waited for the molecular imager to go through its shutdown sequence, she checked her voice mail. One message: Jack wanted to meet her at the diabetes clinic at five. He had something for her. He left his own voice mail number in case she couldn't make it.
Nadia checked her watch. Almost five now. She dialed Jack's number and told him it would be easier to meet in front of the drugstore across from her office at a little after five. As she was hanging up…
"Such dedication."
Nadia jumped at Dr. Monnet's voice. She turned and saw him standing in the doorway of the dry lab.
"You startled me."
"Sorry," he said, stepping toward her. "I came in to pick up a package and noticed that you were still logged in."
"Just getting ready to leave, actually."
"I won't ask you if you've made any progress," he said. "That would be absurd at this early stage… wouldn't it?"
His last two words caught her by surprise. She studied him. Close up like this he looked tired. And well he should be if he'd been up all hours watching men punch each other as Jack had said.
But he seemed beyond tired—more like physically, mentally, and emotionally spent. And beneath the fatigue she sensed something akin to… desperation.
What is that hoodlum forcing you to do? she wondered. What hold does he have on you?
"Yes," she told him. 'Too early. I've only just finished reviewing your experiments. You covered a lot of ground."
He nodded absently, almost morosely. "I tried everything I knew. That's why you're here. For a fresh perspective."
Nadia looked down at the console and gathered up her notes to avoid facing him. How could she tell him she felt lost, that the things Jack had told her about his bizarre testing session in Brooklyn, and Doug's discovery of the secret stock buyback were upsetting her, making it almost impossible to focus.
Monnet cleared his throat. "There's another matter I need to discuss with you: Douglas Gleason."
Nadia stiffened. Oh, God. Does he know about the hack?
"What about him?"
"Word has filtered back that he's been in the research wing, even here in the dry lab with you. That's against the rules, you know."
Nadia relaxed and let out a breath. She turned to face him.
"I thought that only applied to people outside the company." A lie… but a little one.
"No. I believe I made it clear that this area is restricted to research personnel only. Are you two… close? Is that why you've been letting him in?"
Dr. Monnet seemed so intent on her answer. Why?
Nadia decided not to reveal that Doug had been letting himself in, and she remembered how Doug had been wary about letting on that there was any romance between them.
"Close?" She managed a smile. "No. We're just old friends."
"Do you see each other often? Do you discuss your work?"
Where was this going? "He's just a friend of the family." Another lie. "We have lunch now and then. He's just very interested in"—she almost said computers—"research. But I'm sure he'd never—"
"I am sure he wouldn't either," Dr. Monnet said quickly. Why did he suddenly look relieved? "But we must not forget that he's a salesman, his business is talking, talking all day long, and one day in his enthusiasm he might slip and mention a product in a delicate stage of development. But… if he does not know about that product, he cannot slip. Do you see my point?"
"I do." It was a good point, one she could respect. She'd tell Doug about it when they met for sushi tonight. "And I promise you Douglas Gleason will not be seen in this department again."
Dr. Monnet turned and walked back toward the door. He left without a good-bye. She heard only a sigh and thought he said, "Yes, I know," but she couldn't be sure.
14
"Oh, no," Jack muttered as he followed Monnet onto the ramp off Glen Cove Road. "Don't tell me he's heading for Monroe."
This little jaunt had started in midtown after he'd returned from delivering a special party favor to the Ashe brothers on Long Island.
He rubbed his jaw from where the beard glue had irritated his skin. Had to admit he'd pulled a pretty damn efficient maneuver this afternoon with Sal's truck, leaving Dragovic's men stranded on the Queensboro Bridge.
He'd been in frequent contact with Gia since then and so far Dragovic's men hadn't returned.
He'd met Nadia in front of the Duane Reade across the street from her office as she'd suggested. He was just pressing a manila envelope containing the sample of inert Berzerk into her hand when he saw Monnet step out the door and start walking.
Jack had pointed him out and said, "There's your boss man. I'm going to see where he's off to."
Nadia was glancing nervously about as she stuffed the envelope into her shoulder bag. "Isn't this an illegal drug?" she whispered. "Can I get arrested?"
"No," he said, moving off. "It's not Berzerk anymore. Every so often the stuff turns inert—all at once. This stuff turned the other day."
Her eyes widened so much he thought they were going to bulge out of her head. "What?"
"I said—"
"I know what you said; it's just…"
Jack had figured she thought he was nuts. "Hey, that's what I was told." Other people were coming between them now, and he'd moved far enough away so that he had to raise his voice. "Sorry I couldn't get you the active stuff. Maybe tomorrow or the next day."
Nadia had only stared.
He'd waved and hurried off to catch up with Monnet. But even now, almost an hour later, he was still puzzled by her expression. He'd expected disbelief, but hers had looked more like… anguish.
He'd followed Monnet to an Avis rental garage. As soon as he'd seen Monnet step through the door, Jack caught a cab back to the garage where he kept the Buick, then raced back to Avis just in time to see Monnet pull out and head toward the East Side. Jack had followed him through the Midtown Tunnel, along the LIE to Glen Cove Road. And now… toward Monroe.
After his near-death experience there last month, he'd hoped never to see that overly quaint little town again. But here he was, heading down the road toward Long Island's Gold Coast and the Incorporated Village of Monroe.
He took heart from the fact that Monnet was a scientist, a feet-solidly-on-the ground type, not the sort to be involved in the weirdness that seemed to gravitate toward Monroe. But what the hell was he doing out here?
They crawled along the main drag, done up as an old whaling village, which it once might have been, then continued east to a marshy area that curved around the harbor. Jack followed him down a rutted road that ran toward the Sound. The utility poles lining the road were plastered with posters Jack could not read in the waning light and arrows pointing straight ahead.
Jack's and Monnet's weren't the only cars on the road, and Jack was glad of that. Meant he wouldn't stick out if Monnet was headed for a secret meeting. Finally they came to a small cluster of tents ablaze with lights. A banner stretched between two poles proclaimed: THE OZYMANDIAS PRATHER ODDITY EMPORIUM.
A circus? Jack thought. He's going to a circus?
No, not a circus. The banner boasted pictures of a green Man from Mars, a Snake Man, a fortuneteller with three eyes, and other… oddities.
Oddities and Monroe… the combination set Jack's alarm bells madly ringing. A couple of human oddities from M
onroe had damn near sent him on a one-way trip into the Great Beyond on his last visit here.
He tried to shake off the uneasiness by telling himself that this would be different, how it was a traveling show, just passing through Monroe… but he didn't quite succeed.
Jack watched as Monnet allowed himself to be waved into a spot in a grassy area roped off for parking; Jack parked three spaces away. But when Monnet got out of his car he didn't follow the meager flow of people toward the brightly lit arch that led to the midway. Instead, he struck off to the right toward a cluster of RVs, trucks, and trailers.
Jack allowed him a long lead, then followed in a crouch through the taller grass. He watched Monnet knock on the door of a battered old Airstream. The door opened and a tall ungainly figure was silhouetted in the doorway before stepping aside to let Monnet in. When the door closed again, Jack saw that it was labeled:
OFFICE.
He crouched in the marsh grass, wondering what to do. Did this have anything to do with what Nadia had hired him for? Monnet had driven all the way out here for a sideshow—in a rented car, no less. He seemed to cab everywhere else; why hadn't he cabbed out here? Couldn't cost too much more than renting a car.
Unless of course he was trying to avoid any record of having made this little trip.
Time to do a little eavesdropping.
The moonless night was a bonus. He was about to rise and creep toward the trailer when he saw a couple of shadowy forms turn the corner of a nearby tent and move toward it. Something familiar about their shapes and the way they moved…
When one of them stopped and sniffed the air, Jack realized with a start that they were a couple of the Beagle Boys who'd chased him from the warehouse early this morning. The one guy kept sniffing, turning this way and that, and Jack wondered, He's not smelling me, is he?
The breeze off the Sound was in Jack's face, which meant he was downwind.
Can't be me.
A few seconds later the pair resumed their course to wherever they were going, leaving Jack a clear field. But then someone else appeared and walked by the trailer. This rear area was a little too busy for his liking. Too much traffic and too likely a chance of being caught with his eye to a keyhole.
All the Rage Page 19
