Reinforcements? Yoshio wondered. It appeared that they meant business.
So now it was a four-car procession, with Yoshio bringing up the rear.
But then Baker and his men did something strange: the car and the van began dropping back… too far back, Yoshio thought.
Weren't they afraid of losing her?
But then, perhaps they knew where she was going.
Yes, this was turning out to be a most interesting night—perhaps a decisive night. Yoshio had a feeling the best was yet to come.
Almost a shame to take money for this, he thought as he settled behind the wheel and kept driving.
13.
I don't think I like this, Alicia thought as Jack stopped his car across the street from a tiny ranch house on a gravel road in the middle of a sea of potato fields.
They had turned off the LIE a while back, traveled through some suburban towns that had given away to farmland, and now they were… here.
"I want to go back, Jack," she said. She'd said that maybe a dozen times now. He probably thought she sounded like a broken record.
Broken record… an irrelevant question fluttered through her mind: would the next generation, raised on CDs, even know what that sounded like?
"I told you: I'll take you back as soon as I'm sure we're not being tailed."
He got out and stood with the door open, staring back along the dark country road. Alicia turned and looked through the back window.
"There's nobody there, Jack."
"But there was. Somebody picked us up as soon as we got the car moving. That's why we made this little detour."
"Little" was not the word Alicia would have chosen to describe this trek. She'd had a long day, a harrowing night. My God, when was this going to end?
First, reentering the house… bad enough, but then those two men had been gunned down right in front of her. That bloody face and staring eyes, glimpsed for only a second, still strobed through her brain.
Death… so much death connected with the house.
So now she just wanted this awful night to be over. She wished she were back in her own little place with her plants and in her own bed, getting some sleep. Or at least trying to get some sleep. She did not want to be skulking through this empty farming country in eastern Long Island.
Especially with an armed man who insisted he was being followed when it was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was not.
"Okay," she said. "Maybe somebody was following us for a while. But there's nobody back there now. There hasn't been for miles. So can we please go home?"
He looked up and scanned the sky. Alicia followed his gaze. A clear cold winter night, with half a moon and a billion stars providing the light.
"More than one way to follow somebody. And trust me, we've been followed all night. I can feel it." He leaned inside and grabbed the keys. "Maybe we'd better go inside."
She looked past him at the little house. Even in the. moonlight she could tell it was run-down. The storm door hung open at an angle, and an old pickup rusted amid the knee-high, winter-brown weeds in the front yard.
"In there?"
"Yeah. It's mine." He grinned. "This 'delightful little two-bedroom ranch' is my country place."
"I don't think so."
"Come on. Just for a few minutes. I've got a feeling we're going to have company soon, and I'd rather be inside when they arrive."
Alicia looked back along the road again. "Jack… there's nobody coming."
"Just ten minutes. If nobody shows by then, we're outta here.. Okay?"
"Okay," she said, and checked her watch. "Ten minutes, and not a second more."
She saw him pull a toothpick from his pocket, then kneel and fiddle with something inside the car door near the hinge. The courtesy lights went out.
"What are you doing?"
"Jamming the light button."
He snapped off the rest of the toothpick and closed the door without latching it.
"What in God's name for?"
"You'll see. Won't matter if we haven't been followed. Let's go."
She followed him up the walk where he unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights. Alicia stopped at the threshold and took it in.
First off—the smell: Mold and mildew had been having a ball here. Then the look: The living room rug was filthy, the furniture sagging and worn, and here and there around the room, near the ceiling, corners of wallpaper curled back like peeling skin, revealing mildewed plaster.
"Your 'country place?' " she said. "When was the last time you stayed here?"
"Never." He closed the door behind her and moved to the drawn Venetian blinds. "This is my decoy place."
"For hunting?"
"No. For a situation just like this—when I'm being followed, or think I am, and can't be sure."
"You bought a house way out here just for that?"
He nodded as he lifted one of the slats on the blind and peered through. "Well, yeah. I wanted three things: isolation, low maintenance, and cheap."
She glanced around again. "I don't know what you paid for it, but you certainly got one and two."
"It was cheap enough to allow me to make some improvements."
"Improvements? Where?"
"They're not readily apparent."
"You can say that again. Looks like a crack house."
He laughed as he kept watch through the blind. "Oh, right. Like you'd know."
"Yeah, I would know," she said, resenting his sarcasm. "I've gone along when we've had to retrieve sick children from addict parents. You don't know a fraction of what I've seen."
Jack glanced at her. "You're right. I don't. Sorry. I'm sure there's lots I don't know about you."
What does he mean by that? Alicia wondered as he turned back to peeking through the blind. She was about to ask him but held back.
Ease up, she told herself. You've been acting a little weird tonight. All right, more than a little. He's got to have some questions about you. Anybody would.
She glanced at her watch: three minutes gone. In seven minutes she'd hold him to his word and make him take her home.
"Uh, oh," he said from the window. "Company."
He stepped aside and held up the slat for her. She peeked though.
Out front, beyond the derelict pickup, a car and a panel truck—her heart began to race as she recognized that truck—were pulling to a stop.
14.
"Everyone get out on the street side of the truck," Baker said into the cell phone as he pulled to a stop behind the panel truck. No point in advertising how many men he'd brought.
He opened his door and jumped out to take charge. He could almost hear the blood singing through his veins, coursing through his limbs, tingling in his fingertips. This was Sam Baker's element, this was when he felt most alive.
"Remember," the Arab said, leaning over from the passenger seat. "You must not harm the woman."
"Yeah," Baker said. "I hear you."
He'd been hearing that since they'd hit the LIE. He knew all about it. Muhallal had made that a condition from Day One. Fine. They wouldn't hurt the girl.
But the guy… that was a different story.
Especially since Baker had got the word about Mott and Richards. When they still weren't answering their phone, he'd called Chuck and sent him to limp over to check on them. Chuck was glad for something to do. He wasn't much good for anything else, what with his right arm in a splint and his knee in a straight brace—courtesy of the guy in the house.
But Chuck had been pretty shook up when he called back. Mott and Richards were dead. Head shots. Looked like hollow points.
Baker had heard of blind rage before, but never had experienced it until tonight. He'd been so pissed, and screaming so loud, he'd almost put the car in a ditch.
Not that Mott and Richards didn't deserve to be dead. Really—how dumb were they, first to get gassed, then to get whacked out in the open? Served them fucking right.
Bad enough t
hat guys he knew had been offed, but they'd bought it while they were working for him. That was a bitch slap to Sam Baker. He could not let this guy live to talk about it.
But he could make him squeal like a pig before he died.
His six remaining men, Kenny and the rest, were out of the van and donning their vests and checking their weapons by the time he got there. He pointed to the big black guy who was kneeling, tying his shoe.
"Briggs. Go check the car. Just to be sure. This guy's tricky, so be careful or you could end up like Mott and Richards."
As Briggs hefted his Tec-9 and trotted toward the Chevy, Baker turned to Perkowski and pointed to the utility pole. "Perk. Climb up there and cut the phones." Then he pointed to Barlowe. "Take DeMartini and cover the rear."
Briggs returned as they took off toward the backyard.
"Car's okay," Briggs said.
"Hey, look."
Baker turned and saw Kenny pointing toward the house. He followed his nephew's point and saw two silhouettes through the open Venetian blinds. A second later the blinds closed again.
"They know we're here. Where's my Tec?"
Kenny pulled one of the Tec-9's from inside the van and tossed it his way. Baker caught it one-handed. He checked the clip, then worked the slide. He loved these little beauties. They emptied their thirty-two-round clips in an eye blink.
"Let's go," he said.
"Wait," said a voice behind him. "I am coming with you."
Oh, shit. What a time for Ahab the Ay-rab to get some guts.
"I don't think that's such a good idea. There may be some shooting."
"That is what I fear. The woman must not be hurt."
"Don't worry. We won't—"
"I am coming. Lead on."
Baker looked at him and thought, If you weren't paying me, you lousy twerp, I'd shove this barrel right up your nose and give you a 9mm headache.
He smiled. "Okay. Your call. But don't blame me if you get hurt."
15.
"Why'd you open them?" Alicia said as Jack pulled the string to close the blind.
"Wanted to make sure they know we're here." He stepped back from the window and shook his head. "They're carrying assault pistols. Looks like they mean to do some serious harm."
Alicia's intestines writhed into a painful knot. Men with guns… looking for her… how did she ever come to this?
"You mean they're going to kill us?" Alicia said.
"That's about the only thing Tec-9's are good for," Jack said. "Close-range annihilation." He gave her a quick smile. "But not you. Killing you is the last thing they want to do."
Alicia noticed that he'd left the obvious unsaid: Killing Jack would be the first thing on their list.
Will Matthews, where are you when I need you?
"Call the police," she said, suddenly frantic. She didn't want Jack to join the other three men she'd involved in this. "Maybe if they know the police are coming—"
"That guy who climbed the pole fixed that. And even if he hadn't, the cops couldn't get here in time. And even if they could, we wouldn't call them."
He strode across the living room into the small connecting dining room. Alicia followed.
"Look, Jack. I know you have a thing about the police, but there are a dozen armed men—"
"Eight," he said as he knelt by a dusty, scratched sideboard and pulled it away from the wall. "And one of them isn't armed—or at least isn't showing it."
On the wall behind the sideboard was what appeared to be a security system keypad. Jack began punching in a code.
"All right, eight" she said, her fear and frustration rising. "Whatever the number, there's a small army out there and just you and me in here. And what are you doing? Setting an alarm? We don't need an alarm, we need help!"
"No," he said. "We need out. And that's where we're gonna get." He pushed the sideboard back against the wall and headed toward the kitchen. He motioned her to follow. "Let's go."
He led her through the kitchen without turning on a light. A quick left past the refrigerator to a dark open doorway.
"This way to the basement," he said. "The handrail is on the right. Soon as you close that door behind you, I'll turn on the light."
The basement was partially finished—half-paneled, half-bare cinder blocks. Jack crossed the littered floor to a section of paneling, poked his finger over the top, then pulled. The section swung away from the wall on hinges. Behind it, a circular opening, four feet across, gaped in the block.
"What on earth?" Alicia said.
"Not on," Jack said, "in the earth."
"A bomb shelter?" The thought of being sealed up in that dark hole, crouching and cowering while men with machine guns searched for her was too much. "Oh, no. I don't think I can."
"It's a tunnel." She sensed from his tone that his patience might be wearing a little thin. "It'll take us to the field across the street. Come on. We don't have much time."
He handed her a flashlight, and motioned her to go first. Taking a breath, she ducked inside and crawled in a few feet. She found herself in a ribbed tube of galvanized metal; cold, but surprisingly clean. Jack came in after her, pulling the wall closed behind him. She turned on the flashlight as darkness engulfed them.
"Shine that over here a sec," he said.
He set some sort of latch on the panel section, then wriggled past her. He took the flashlight and began crawling down the tunnel.
"This way."
"Do I have a choice?" she said, wondering where and when this night would end.
16.
"We must accomplish this very quickly," Baker heard Muhallal say as they approached the front door.
The Arab kept looking up and down the road, as if searching for signs of life. Nothing but darkness out there.
"Worried about someone calling the cops?" Baker said.
"Yes. Of course. I am not a citizen, and I have no diplomatic immunity. My arrest would cause great embarrassment to… to my organization."
And just what is your organization? Baker wondered. He'd been trying to figure that one out since this whole thing started.
"Not to worry," Baker said. "This won't take long at all."
"And don't forget—"
"I know, I know. Don't hurt the girl."
"That is correct. Do anything you wish to the man, but she must not be harmed."
If he tells me once more… Baker thought.
"You come over here with me," he whispered to Muhallal as he directed his men to spread out on either side of the front door.
Always a good idea to keep the guy paying the bills out of the line of fire.
He gave Briggs the go-ahead. The big guy pushed open the door and leaped inside with his weapon ranging back and forth before him. The others rushed in behind him.
Baker waited half a minute or so with Muhallal, watching the lights go on all through the house, then motioned him to follow him inside.
Was this where the Clayton broad's muscle lived? Place looked like a dump.
"Front bedroom clear," said Briggs, emerging from a hallway.
"Rear bedroom clear," said Toro, following him.
Seconds later Kenny pounded up the stairs from the basement and came through the kitchen. "Cellar's deserted," he said.
"What the fuck?" Baker said, scratching his head. He stepped to the far end of the dining area and pulled up a window. He had a bad moment when he didn't see Barlowe and DeMartini—had they ended up like Mott and Richards?—but then he spotted them.
"Anybody come out the back?" he called.
"Negative," Barlowe said.
Baker turned and looked around. "Shit. We know they were in here. We saw them."
He saw the Arab fucker watching him,, judging him. If he blew this and let them get away…
"Hey, looky here," said Perkowski from the hall. He was pointing the barrel of his weapon at a string hanging from the ceiling.
"Well, well, well," Baker said as he brushed past Muhallal for a closer
look. "What have we here? Looks like we got us a pull-down staircase."
"Looks like we got us a wall safe too," said Briggs as he pulled a black velvet painting of a tiger off the living room wall.
"We'll check it later," Baker said. "Right now, I think we've got a certain rat cornered real good."
He wanted this guy… wanted him sooo bad.
He raised his Tec and gave Perkowski the go-ahead to pull the string. "Do it."
Perkowski pulled and the ceiling door swung down.
Baker crouched, ready to fire at the first sound, the first sight of anything threatening. But nothing moved in that rectangle of darkness.
Perkowski unfolded the attached ladder. As it hit the floor, something black started sliding down a track fixed to the upper rungs.
Baker took a second or two to recognize the thing as a little cannon.
"Back!" he shouted.
… And felt foolish when the little cannon reached the end of its track and stopped with a jolt, popping a red flag from its muzzle.
Yellow letters spelled out, "bang!"
Wait till I get you, fucker, Baker thought, glaring up the ladder as Perkowski and Toro laughed. Put the hurt on you… big time.
"Got ourselves a comedian, we do," Perkowski said.
"A real clown," Toro said.
Perkowski started up the ladder, holding his Tec ahead of him. "I hate clowns."
"Be careful, Perk," Toro said. "Remember Mott and Richards."
"Oh, don't worry," Perkowski said. "Richards was a friend of mine. I remember just fine."
Perkowski's head and his Tec were swallowed by the dark opening, then he barked a harsh, humorless laugh.
"Oh. Yeah. This guy's a real clown."
"What is it?" Baker said, climbing up behind Perkowski.
Standing on a lower rung, he had to stretch against Perk's back to get his eyes to floor level. A quick look-see showed him half a dozen toy cannons, identical to the one on the ladder, arrayed on either side of the opening. A string ran up to a naked bulb directly overhead.
Baker ducked and dropped back to the floor.
Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies Page 26
