“But isn’t it dangerous keeping it here in your apartment?”
“Fire’s my big worry. But it’s worth the risk. This way I can always get to them. Unlike your Bermuda safe-deposit box.”
“Touche.”
After handing back a total of a hundred or more coins, Jack said, “Okay, that’s it for the numismatics. Bullion next. Put them in the rear section.”
“What are you going to do with all this?”
Did he think he could take it with him?
“Giving it to Gia and Vicky. They’ll need it.”
“That’s hard to believe, considering where she lives.”
“That townhouse isn’t hers. It belongs to Vicky’s aunts. But they’ve gone away and aren’t coming back. When they’re finally declared dead—the waiting period’s got about five and a half years to go, I believe—the place will go to Vicky.”
“Where are the aunts?”
“Long story.”
He began handing back deceptively heavy little cloth bags that clinked when Tom dropped them into the backpack.
“And these are…?”
“Krugers.”
“Kruggerrands?”
Tom knew about those: one ounce of gold each. But each little bag must have held about twenty or so, and Jack was handing him bag after bag. With gold hovering around four hundred dollars an ounce…
Jesus God… Jack was a wealthy man.
Tom looked into the almost full backpack. With this kind of money he could disappear and stay gone. But that would be stealing from Gia. No… couldn’t.
Finally Jack’s hidey-hole was empty, its contents transferred to the backpack. Tom hefted it. Had to weigh fifty, sixty pounds. And he’d bet a lot of those numismatics were worth ten times their gold weight.
“With all this money… why do you keep working?”
Jack backed out of the closet.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Got to head over to Gia’s. And anyway, the point, as you lawyers like to say, is moot. I’m retired as of tomorrow morning, thanks to you.”
Tom had to turn away from the look in his brother’s eyes.
“Jack, I’ve got something I need to say to—”
“Sorry. No time for chitchat.” He rose and took the backpack with him. “Got to get to Gia’s.” That look again. “Not much time left, and guess who I’d rather spend it with.”
Tom watched him shrug into his leather jacket, then stuff some video-cassettes into the backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He handled the weight as if it were nothing.
“Listen to me, Jack… I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Wish I could say the same.”
“If you’re really… if this really happens, I’ll make sure Gia and Vicky are—”
“Are what? Taken care of? How are you going to do that?”
“I meant, I’ll look out for them.”
“No need. Already covered.” Jack’s cold gaze froze him to the spot. “And why on earth do you think Gia would want to have anything to do with the reason I’m not around?”
His words only reinforced what Gia had told him this afternoon.
He heard the words again, saw her stricken expression, felt again the jabs against his chest as if she was poking him anew right now.
Our rock will be gone. And all because of you!
No… no way he could approach her again. He was anathema.
“Jack, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, Tom. Nothing at all. I may not like where I am but I don’t expect any help from you. And if by some one-in-a-million miracle you offered it, well… you’re the last person on earth I’d accept it from.”
Tom stood still and silent, reeling.
“So long, Tom. Have a nice life.”
And then he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.
Tom blinked back sudden tears. My own brother. What have I done? What have I done?
* * *
12
-12:19
Gia pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around him. Jack eased the backpack onto the floor and returned the hug.
“You said a couple of hours. It’s been four!”
He felt terrible about that.
“I know. I’m sorry. Things got complicated.”
She looked up at him. “Do I want to know?”
“Most definitely not.”
She tugged him down the hall. “Vicky’s starving.”
A leaden weight sat where his stomach had been.
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I. Every few minutes I feel like running to the bathroom and vomiting. But we’ve got to keep up appearances, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.”
“I wish you hadn’t promised her Amalia’s. I’d have liked to make you something.”
“My last meal?”
“Don’t, Jack. Please don’t.”
“Okay, okay. It’s just… I don’t know how to handle this.”
“I do.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m going to fall apart.”
He held her close a moment, then, “Where’s Vicks?”
“In the kitchen.”
He pointed to the sitting room. “Then let’s make a quick detour.”
He retrieved the backpack from the hall and carried it to the sitting room couch. He set it on the end table under the reading lamp.
“I want you to take this.”
Gia held back, looking uneasy. “What is it?”
He unzipped the front compartment and spread the edges.
“Take a look.”
She stepped forward and took a hesitant peek. She frowned, then her head snapped back.
“Gold coins? Why?”
“They’re for you.”
“But aren’t they your…?”
“Life savings. Yeah.”
She backed away. “I don’t want it.”
Jack had figured she’d react like this.
“Gia, I want you to have them. I need to go away knowing you and Vicky will be taken care of.”
She began to fill up. “But giving me your life savings means your life is over. I can’t—”
“Hey, don’t look at it that way. I just need someone to look after it while I’m gone. You know… till I get back.”
She began crying and Jack took her in his arms.
“This can’t be happening, Jack. It can’t.”
“Maybe it’s not. Maybe eight A.M. is going to come and go without anything happening and we’ll all be sitting around looking at each other and feeling stupid.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Right. He didn’t.
At least not intellectually. He’d seen the wonders of the Compendium and knew it was no ordinary book. And so far it had been right about everything: the Stain, how it grew, how to transfer it… everything. So why should it be wrong about when the two ends met?
But a deeper, nonrational part of him refused to believe that he wouldn’t be here with Gia and Vicky tomorrow night.
“I can hope, can’t I? But just in case it does happen, I want you to have this stuff to dip into whenever you need to… till I come back.”
He felt her shoulders quake. He had to snap her out of this. He knew she’d keep up a front for her daughter.
“Let’s round up Vicky and get down to Amalia’s before she starves.”
Gia broke away and wiped her eyes.
“This isn’t like me.”
“Well, you’ve never been in this kind of situation before.”
“Neither have you.”
Not quite true. Jack had been in situations where he hadn’t known whether he’d live or die. But those had been different. In those his survival depended on his actions: Make the right move, survive; make the wrong move, gone.
But this… he had no moves, no choices, no decision, no wiggle room. An iron straitjacket.
“Y
eah, well… I’m a tough guy, remember?”
Not so tough that he didn’t dread dinner with Vicky tonight. Because in the next hour or two he’d have to tell her he was going away.
* * *
13
-11:23
Jack was glad he didn’t have to describe his feelings as he watched Vicky work on her mussels in garlic and wine sauce. He had no words for them. And he’d never be able to get them past his locked throat anyway.
Amalia’s… an unpretentious, eons-old, storefront restaurant in Little Italy with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths over long tables for eating family style. Mama Amalia, older than the restaurant, loved Vicky and had greeted her with the usual fanfare—two-cheek air kisses and loud proclamations of what a beautiful child she was. Gia and Jack were an afterthought as she placed them all at a table near the window. No mystery why this was Vicky’s favorite.
And here she was, attacking her favorite dish.
As Jack watched her work through the huge platter, pausing only for a sip of Limonata while she arranged the empty shells into an interlocking daisy chain, he couldn’t help thinking of the old Squeeze song.
He sipped a glass of Valpolicella and poked at a bowl of sauteed broccoli rabe and sausage. Gia had ordered a tricolore salad and a Limonata but had touched neither.
A night out at Amalia’s had always been a festive occasion for the three of them, with mmmms and aaaahs about the delights of this or that. But for Gia and him tonight, it might have been a funeral.
Funeral… got to be a better word than that.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Gia, saw her watching him. She reached out and squeezed his hand.
Her voice was barely audible as she cocked her head toward Vicky. “Want me to—?”
He shook his head. “I need to.”
He took a deep breath.
“Hey, Vicks? I need to talk to you about something.”
She didn’t look up from working on a mussel that hadn’t completely opened.
“Uh-huh?”
“I have to go away for a while.”
Now she looked up. “Where?”
“Far away.”
“Yeah, but where?”
“It’s a place called Shangri-La.”
It was the best he could come up with. He knew she’d never seen Lost Horizon, and if and when she did she’d think it was a real place.
“Is that like Tralla-La?”
That threw Jack. “Tralla—?”
“You know—in that Uncle Scrooge comic book.”
Didn’t she forget anything? He’d given her that over a year ago.
“Something like that.”
“Where’s this Shalla-La at?”
Jack had to smile. Sounded like a Van Morrison song.
“Shangri-La. It’s on the other side of the world. Near China.”
“Wow. How come you’re going there?”
“I have to visit some people.”
She went to work on another mussel.
“When are you leaving?”
Now the hard part: “Tomorrow morning.”
Her face tilted up, frowning. “But that’s… tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Are you going to miss Christmas?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Her frown deepened. “Can’t you go after?”
“I wish I could.” He shook his head. “You don’t know how much I wish I could.”
“But… how long you gonna be gone, Jack?”
“I’m not sure.”
“A long time?”
He nodded. “Maybe.”
Gia sniffed and Vicky looked at her. No way she could miss her mother’s red, teary eyes. She turned back to Jack with a narrowed gaze.
“Is there another woman?”
Jack let out a guffaw. He couldn’t help it. He glanced at Gia and even she was smiling.
“That’s why I love you, Vicks. You never fail to surprise me.”
“Well, is there?”
“No. There’ll never be another woman. Your mommy is it for me. Forever and ever.”
She looked at Gia. “Then why’re you crying, Mom?”
“Because I’m sad to see Jack go. I don’t want him to, but… he has to.”
Vicky trapped Jack with her blue gaze. Her lower lip began to tremble.
“You’re coming back, aren’t you, Jack? You’re coming back, right?”
Time to lie.
“Of course I’m coming back.”
“When?”
“The absolute soonest I can. I swear on a stack of Bibles.”
She must have sensed something because she dropped her fork and began to cry.
“Please don’t leave!”
“Now listen, Vicks—”
“You’re not coming back! I just know it!”
Jack froze his expression to hide his surprise.
Out of the mouths of babes…
* * *
14
-11:08
Tom couldn’t sit still.
Twenty seconds after he’d settled himself on the couch he’d be up and pacing until he perched on the edge of a chair, only to be up and moving about half a minute later. He tried watching television—no good.
Wherever he went, Gia’s voice followed him.
Do you have any idea what you’ve done to our lives? Not just Jack’s but to Vicky’s and mine?
He remembered the light in her eyes, the look on her face on the way home from the opera when she’d talked about Jack being a rock in her life. And Tom wondered… had anyone ever looked like that when they’d spoken of him? Had he ever been a rock in anyone’s life?
Who was he kidding? No need to wonder. The answer was no.
He needed something to settle his nerves.
Jack didn’t seem to drink anything but beer, and that wouldn’t do it. So he hunted through the kitchen cabinets until he came upon a bottle of amber liquid.
Hey. Old Pulteney eighteen-year-old single malt. He’d have preferred vodka—ideally Grey Goose or Level—but this was all right. More than all right. When it came to scotch, Jack stocked the good stuff.
Tom poured a couple of fingers’ worth into a tumbler and tossed it down. After savoring the burn, he poured himself a second dose. This he drank slowly, sipping and thinking about his life and the mess he’d made of it. He ranged over possible ways to turn things around and extricate himself, but came up empty.
By the time he’d finished his second glass he knew scotch wasn’t going to do the trick. Not even close.
He needed something more potent. A lot more potent.
He dug out his wallet and found Kamal’s phone number. Time for another run uptown.
Before leaving he took a peek into Jack’s room.
“Oh, shit.”
The Lilitongue was gone.
* * *
15
-8:16
“Is she asleep?” Jack said.
Gia disengaged herself from him and leaned over Vicky, curled under a blanket at the far side of the couch.
“Uh-huh. She’s out.”
“Okay, I’ll carry her up—”
Gia laid a hand on his arm. “Let her stay with us.”
Jack nodded in the semidarkness. “I’d like that.”
He’d brought along a selection of movies to have something to do other than sit and count the minutes. Classics. Films they could all watch. And, for obvious reasons, no horror.
They’d let Vicky pick the first. No surprise, she chose King Kong because it was the colorized version.
F Paul Wilson - Secret History 03 Page 37
