Repairman Jack 03 - Conspiracies

by F. Paul Wilson

  Had Roma known he was going to be attacked?

  Too many questions ... and he could think of only one man who might be able to answer them.

  Roma.

  Jack tucked in his shirt and—reluctantly—left his apartment. But in the hall, after locking the door, he pulled a hair from his scalp, wet it with saliva, and stretched it across the space between the door and the jamb. After the saliva dried, it would be invisible. A crude little telltale, but very effective.

  He headed back to the hotel, glancing over his shoulder all the way.

  6

  Jack sat on one of the benches in the common area on the second floor as various SESOUPers wandered in and out of the huckster room and the MK-ULTRA panel. He watched them smile and greet each other, laugh at an in-joke, throw a friendly arm over another's shoulder, and he thought about what Abe had said. They truly were like a family, not genetically related, maybe, but they did share a heritage of sorts. He'd bet the majority of them spent a lot of time alone, their contact for most of the year limited to newsletters and the Internet, and maybe an occasional phone call. This conference was a family gathering of sorts ... a gathering of loners, mostly.

  Loners ... Jack knew the Loner family ... he was a charter member.

  But one member of this particular branch was dead. Maybe two, if Melanie already shared the same fate as Olive.

  "Working hard?"

  Jack looked up and saw Lew Ehler standing over him.

  Lew looked worse than he had this morning. Wasn't he sleeping at all!

  "Sit down, Lew" Jack said, patting the spot next to him on the bench. "Want to ask you a couple of questions."

  Lew wearily slumped his gangly frame onto the bench. "Have you learned anything since this morning?"

  "Nothing useful."

  "Sitting here daydreaming isn't going to improve that situation."

  Jack gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

  "Sorry," Lew said, looking away. "I'm a wreck, just a wreck. With each passing hour I become more and more convinced I'll never see her again." He bit his lip. "I'm going out of my mind."

  "You were feeling better when I left you this morning."

  "For a while, yes. The men in black ... I figured that's why she's missing, and why she doesn't contact me—she's hiding from them." He slumped further. "But then I started asking myself, How can I be sure? And if she is hiding, where is she hiding? I can't bear to think of her huddled somewhere alone and afraid."

  Jack sensed Lew was going to puddle up again. "It may not be that bad. She may be holed up in a motel—"

  "How? Using what for money? I checked our bank account and she hasn't made any ATM withdrawals. I called our credit card companies and there've been no charges on her cards. It's like she dropped off the face of the earth."

  "Maybe she's with a friend," Jack offered.

  "Olive, maybe?" he said, brightening just a little. "She's still missing, you know."

  "I'd assumed as much," Jack said carefully.

  "She still hasn't contacted anyone—just like Mel. Do you think Olive could be with Mel, maybe helping her?"

  Jack debated telling him about Olive. Did Lew have a right to know? Maybe. Would it make his life any easier at the moment? After seeing the flicker of hope the mention of Olive had lit in his eyes, Jack was certain the truth would sink him.

  Some other time, Jack decided.

  "I don't know what to tell you about Olive," Jack said.

  Not an answer, he admitted, but at least it's true.

  "I keep thinking about that rope ladder in Mel's folks' basement," Lew said. "It's so bizarre ... I can't seem to get it out of my head. Don't ask me why, but I just know it has something to do with Mel's disappearance."

  "All right," Jack said, grasping at anything to steer the subject away from Olive. "Maybe we'll go take another look at it."

  "Now?" Lew said eagerly.

  "Well, no. Not right now. I want to have a talk with Professor Roma first."

  "How can he help?"

  "You said he was in contact with Melanie a lot before she disappeared. Do you know if they ever met?"

  "No. I'm sure they didn't. Why?"

  He told Lew about his trip to Monroe yesterday, and what the librarian had said about seeing Melanie last week with a man who had a monkey on his shoulder.

  Lew looked stunned. "Professor Roma?"

  "Do you know anyone else with a pet monkey?"

  Lew shook his head. "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I. That's why I'm looking for him."

  Jack looked away. He didn't mention that his interest in Roma was of a more personal nature. Sure, Roma might know something about Melanie, but that wasn't the only reason now. Jack wanted to find out how much he knew about Jack, and how he knew it.

  "Don't forget Frayne Canfield while you're at it," Lew said. "He and Mel were close. They shared a bond that excluded me."

  Jack looked at him now. Was that a hint of jealousy in Lew's voice?

  "But I guess it's to be expected," Lew went on. "They grew up near each other in a small town, both disabled ... " He shook his head. "For a while there I suspected they might be having an affair, but ... I realized I was wrong. Mel wouldn't do that to me."

  "By the way, what's wrong with his legs?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen them ... but Mel has."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I asked her just what you asked me. 'What's wrong with Frayne's legs?' She told me, 'You don't want to know.'"

  7

  Jack spent the rest of the morning and some of the early afternoon looking for Roma, but man and monkey seemed to have vanished. No one at the hotel knew his whereabouts. He tried to listen to some of the El Nino panel but found it so lame he fled after a couple of minutes. It irked him that he could have been using the time to coach Vicky on her baseball basics.

  Finally he went outside in search of a phone. A sunny spring Saturday greeted him. And what did New Yorkers do when the sky was bright and the air balmy? Without lawns to mow or gardens to weed, they were free to hit the streets. And today they were hitting with a vengeance—strolling, jogging, shopping, snacking, parents pushing baby carriages, couples in shorts and sun dresses walking arm in arm or hand in hand, kids chasing each other along the sidewalks.

  An abundance of navels on display, many of them pierced.

  And all these pretty girls with really ugly guys ... almost as if they were dating outside their species. Then Jack wondered if people thought the same when they saw Gia with him. Probably.

  The people-watching served only to make Jack long all the more to be with Gia and Vicky. But he knew that even if he'd already found Roma and finished questioning him, he'd probably be keeping to himself today.

  He couldn't shake the feeling that Gia and Vicky might be safer if he stayed away.

  He found a pay phone at the corner of Ninth and Fiftieth. A huge painting of the Toxic Avenger grinned at him from the side of the building half a block down the street where Troma Rims had its offices. He called Gia, cupping his hand over the buttons as he tapped in her number.

  Dammit, he thought. Why don't I just become a card-carrying member of SESOUP? I'm becoming just like them.

  Except I'm really being watched.

  Which was no doubt how Kenway and Zaleski saw themselves too.

  What next? Start getting myself X-rayed for mind-control implants?

  Jack could not remember ever feeling this spooked.

  "Hey, it's me," he said when Gia answered.

  "You're late," she said. "Vicky's been waiting for you."

  He hated the thought of disappointing Vicky. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel out of baseball practice, Gia."

  He heard her sigh. "You shouldn't have promised if you weren't sure you could make it."

  "I was sure I could get away for a couple of hours, but ... "

  "Tomorrow, then?"

  "I don't think so. I—"

  In the b
ackground he heard a little voice saying, "Is that Jack? Is that Jack?" And then Gia saying, "Yes, hon, and he has something to tell you."

  "Hi, Jack!" Vicky said, and rattled on with her usual ebullience. "How come you're not here yet? I've had my glove on since one o'clock and it's getting all sweaty inside while I've been waiting. When are you coming?"

  The image she conjured tore at his heart.

  "Uh, I'm, sorry, Vicks, but I have a job that's going to keep me away for a while. I'm really sorry, but—"

  "You're not coming?" she said at about half her previous volume.

  "I promise I'll make it up to you," he said quickly. "We'll have a nice long practice as soon as I can get away."

  "But tryouts are next week."

  Please, Vicks, he thought. Please understand.

  "Vicks, I'll be there for you. I won't let you down. I promise."

  "Okay." She was at quarter volume now. "Bye."

  Jack leaned against the phone booth's shielding and stared at the pavement. An ant was crawling along the curb. He felt low enough to challenge it to a foot race.

  "Really, Jack," Gia said, her voice taking on a vague scolding tone, "is what you're doing right now so all important that you can't come by and see her?"

  "It's not that. It's just that I don't like the way things are going here."

  "Meaning?"

  "I'm being followed."

  "By whom?"

  "Not sure, and that's what worries me. I don't want them to know about you and Vicks, so I'm thinking it might be best for you two if I keep my distance until this job was finished."

  "Oh," she said. "And when will that be?"

  "Real soon, I hope."

  Another sigh. "Jack, when are you going to give this up?"

  "Please, Gia. Not now. A pay phone on a crowded sidewalk in Hell's Kitchen is not where I want to discuss this."

  "You never want to discuss it."

  "Gia ... "

  "Don't you see what this Repairman Jack stuff does? It doesn't involve just you. It affects all of us. And now you're afraid to see us because of it."

  "I hate it when you're right."

  That seemed to mollify her. "All right. To be continued. Please be careful, Jack."

  "Always. Love you."

  "Love you too."

  His insides roiling, Jack hung up and stood staring at the phone. Gia was right. He should be more careful with the kinds of jobs he took. He guessed this was the price of caring, of close attachments. None of it had entered the picture in his lone wolf days when he'd done his share of rough-and-tumble gigs. But now ... what was worth disappointing Vicky—or possibly endangering her?

  What irked him was that he'd been so darn choosy lately. This gig, for instance—a missing wife should have been a no-risk, no-sweat fix-it. How had everything spun so damn far out of control?

  Sooner or later he was going to have to face it: He couldn't have it both ways. Some hard choices were coming.

  But he couldn't think about that now.

  He picked up the receiver as if he were about to make another call, then whirled—

  —and startled a young woman waiting behind him.

  She wore jeans and a chopped Orioles T-shirt, had buzz-cut hair, and at least a dozen rings in her left ear. She recovered quickly.

  "You finished with that?"

  He scanned the area to see if he could catch someone watching him.

  No one ... at least no one he could see.

  He handed her the phone and moved on. He wished he were done with this job. It was making him crazy.

  8

  Jack returned to his hotel room and hauled the crates out of the bathroom. He propped the lids against the headboard of his bed and made a stab at assembling some of the Erector Set-type struts, but soon realized the job required an extra pair of hands. He tried to decipher the scrawl in the corner of the smaller lid but it didn't make much sense.

  Frustrated, he sat on the bed and stared at the two crates full of puzzle parts. He thought of Vicky. She loved puzzles. Under normal circumstances, this might have been a fun project to tackle with her, but something in his gut didn't want Vicky anywhere near these crates.

  After a few more hours of haunting the conference areas, he was hungry. He couldn't bear the thought of another meal in the coffee shop, so he wandered out and found a place on Tenth called Druids. A pint of Guinness and a steak had him in a somewhat better state of mind and body by the time he returned to the hotel,

  He was halfway to the escalator when he saw Frayne Canfield rolling toward him across the worn carpet of the lobby. He wore a bright green shirt that, along with his red hair and beard, gave him a Christmas look.

  "Have you found Sal yet?" Canfield said.

  Jack tried to look barely interested. "You mean Professor Roma? Who told you I was looking?"

  "Evelyn. Lew. I've been looking for him too. Any, luck?"

  "Nope."

  "Maybe we can look together."

  Is he really looking for Roma, or trying to keep an eye on me? Who's he working for?

  Then he remembered that Canfield had been the first to mention this Otherness stuff. Maybe Jack could pump him about it, and maybe he'd slip—maybe he'd drop something about Melanie in the process.

  "Maybe," Jack said. "We had a long discussion about the Otherness yesterday, and I wanted to get back to it."

  "The Otherness, ay?" Canfield's bulging eyes narrowed as he looked up at Jack. "And how you're tied into it?"

  Jack fought to hide his shock. What have I got—some sort of sign around my neck?

  "We, uh, never got that far into it."

  Canfield looked around. "Well, if you want to discuss it, this isn't the place. My room or yours?"

  Jack considered that for a second. If he went off with Canfield, he might miss Roma. But finding Roma was looking pretty iffy; Canfield was a sure thing. He didn't want Canfield to see the mystery crates and their contents, however.

  "Yours," he said, and didn't offer an explanation.

  As Jack followed him to the elevator, he glanced up and saw Jim Zaleski and Miles Kenway huddled in a comer, heads close in deep conversation. They stopped talking as they spotted Jack.

  Kenway called out, "I'm expecting a photo to be faxed to me any time now."

  Jack gave a thumbs-up and kept walking.

  So Kenway had taken his advice about getting visual confirmation on the Roma here and the Roma in Kentucky. That could be very interesting.

  "What photo?" Canfield asked.

  "Just a mutual acquaintance," Jack said.

  Jack and Canfield rode up in silence, with Canfield busily gnawing at a fingernail, and Jack trying to avoid looking at his flannel-wrapped legs and the disconnecting way they moved beneath the blanket. He couldn't help thinking about what Melanie had said to Lew about what was wrong with those legs ...

  You don't want to know.

  Canfield's room was laid out exactly like Jack's. In fact, it could have been Jack's ... except it had no weird green crates lying about.

  "Let's see now," Canfield said, grinning through his Hagar beard and motioning Jack to one of the chairs. "Where were we?"

  He sat there snacking on fingernail and cuticle crudites as he regarded Jack with too-bright eyes. He seemed more wired up than usual. Salt-rimmed crescents darkened the armpits of his shirt.

  "Yesterday you and I were in the 'Children of the Otherness' zone—inhabited by you and Melanie Ehler," Jack said. He settled into the chair, dropping to eye level with Canfield. "Later Roma said something about my supposedly being 'marked by the Otherness.'"

  "Not supposedly—the mark is there and you know it."

  You can see it too? Jack thought, stiffening. He shrugged with as much nonchalance as his tight muscles would allow.

  "Do I?"

  "Of course you do. Open your shirt and I'll prove it."

  "Sorry. Not on a first date."

  Canfield didn't laugh. "What's wrong? Does it disturb you
that your scars might link you to me and my birth defects?"

  Jack repressed a shudder as Canfield's legs stirred under the blanket.

  "Whatever scars I have came along long after my birth. You told me yourself that your defects happened before you were born. I don't see any connection."

  "Ah," Canfield said, raising a well-chewed index finger. "But what made your scars? A creature, right?"

  Jack stared at him. He knows too? Finally he said, "Where do you get your information?"

  "About the Otherness creatures?"

  Why doesn't he call them by name? Jack wondered.

  "Yeah. How do you know about them?"

  "Melanie and I sensed their presence last year. Just as I sensed those scars on your chest, we became aware of the Otherness creatures approaching from the east."

  That's right, Jack thought. The rakoshi had come from the east ... from India ... by freighter.

  "I get the impression you never saw one."

  "I never had the honor. We searched, but we never could locate them."

  "Lucky for you."

  "I don't see it that way. I could consider them almost ... brothers. After all, they too were children of the Otherness, like Melanie and me, although they contained far more of the Otherness than either of us."

  "The Otherness ... I'm getting real tired of that word."

  "Well, it's a perfect name, really. The Otherness represents everything that's not 'us'—meaning the human race and the reality we inhabit. Melanie thinks it's vampiric in a way, sucking the life—the spiritual life—out of everything it encounters. Monstrously dark times will ensue if and when it takes over."

  "And how would it manage that?"

  "Sneak in when the other side's not looking. It can't charge in because the current landlord's got it locked out, but it's always there, hovering just beyond the threshold, keeping an eye on us, making tiny intrusions, creating strange, fearful manifestations, using its influence to sow discord, fear, and madness wherever and whenever it can."

  "Like through the folks downstairs?"

  Canfield nodded. "Some people are more aware, others less, but each of us knows—I don't care whether it's in our preconscious, post-conscious, subconscious, in the most primitive corners of our hindbrains, in the very cells of our bodies, we all sense this battle raging. And that subliminal perception has been reflected in human religions since earliest recorded history: Horus and Set, the Titans and the Olympians, God and Satan. The war is out there, and it's been going on since the beginning of time. We're aware of it. We can sense the Otherness on the far side of the door, we can smell its hunger."