Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy)

by F. Paul Wilson

  Crap.

  “Yeah, understood.”

  “Good. All y’gotta do is cool your heels a couple more hours without doing anything stupid, then we hit the road. By tomorrow morning you’ll get your cash and this will all be a memory.”

  “You’re still going to pay me?”

  “Sure. Three grand, just like we said. We’re standup guys.”

  Yeah, right. The money was the carrot, Tony was the stick. They figured they had Jack boxed. And maybe they did.

  For now.

  Reggie indicated the doorknob. “As you can see, this locks from the inside. I can’t lock you in, so you’re on the honor system. Be smart.”

  He closed the door, leaving Jack alone.

  Honor system… right. Well, maybe the smart thing to do was play this their way – for Tony’s sake. No guarantee that that would work out in his favor, but it was the only play he had right now.

  He stepped to the windows and looked out at the moonlit sea. The dark blotch of a boat, either anchored or idling, floated beyond the surf. From the booms jutting this way and that, it looked like a good-size trawler. A smaller boat was motoring toward the beach through the small, low-tide rollers.

  The precious “product” had arrived.

  Both Moose and Reggie had stressed the importance of this shipment to their operation. Fake Jack Daniel’s. Big deal. How important could that be? No more than cigarettes. Maybe it was the amount. Enough that they needed two trucks to move it. But enough to take up the whole first floor? Enough that they had to move him upstairs? They must be talking a lot of booze.

  Someone hopped out of the skiff or whatever it was as it nosed into shallow water and pulled it the last couple of dozen feet toward the shore. As it nosed against the beach, Jack got a look at its cargo. His gorge rose as he realized what the “product” was.

  “Aw, no! They’ve gotta be kidding! No!”

  4

  Jack watched with mounting dismay as the skiff beached for the third time and unloaded its cargo.

  Girls…little girls.

  Some chunky, most skinny, all young-young-young. He got a good look at them as they trudged over the dune and around the side of the house. The oldest he saw could be no more than fourteen, and some looked as young as ten or eleven. Most were somewhere between. All had black hair and were dressed in T-shirts and shorts, all had their hands clasped in front of them. That could mean only one thing: plastic wrist ties.

  The sex trade. He’d heard of it. Now he was going to be a part of it.

  They all looked Hispanic. Where were they from? Mexico? Central America? Probably not as far as South America.

  Christ, who cared where? Didn’t matter. They were children – snatched from streets and villages and towns, maybe some even sold by their parents – and herded aboard a ship and brought to this deserted stretch of coast.

  And Jack was expected to drive them north and deliver them to some piece of human slime who’d either pimp them out or sell them as sex slaves.

  No way. No fucking way. I’m outa here right now.

  He unlatched a window and pulled it up, unhooked the screen, pushed it out, and was readying to duck out onto the porch when he remembered Tony.

  What about Tony? If they found Jack gone, Tony would take an arrow. Or maybe they’d just put a bullet in his head.

  He pulled his leg back inside, and as he did he spotted a phone on the nightstand next to the bed. Really? They’d left him in a room with a phone? If he’d turned the damn lights on he might have noticed it sooner. Didn’t help that it was the same beige as the top of the nightstand.

  He snatched up the receiver. A quick anonymous call to 911 about a boat unloading suspicious cargo off Duck should bring a quick response. Moose and Reggie and the rest would take off – ideally to the trawler – leaving Jack, Tony, and the girls behind.

  He listened for a dial tone… and listened. Nothing.

  Dead.

  Crap.

  He resisted the impulse to smash it against the wall and gently replaced it on the cradle. He checked the wire just in case…

  Nope. Plugged into the wall. Right. A working phone was too much to hope for. Made sense for the owners to cancel service during the off season. They–

  Noise outside the door. He flopped onto the bed and tried to look like he’d been there a while. The door opened and Reggie stuck his head through.

  “Just checking.”

  “Where am I gonna go?”

  “Never know when someone’s gonna try something stupid.”

  “If you didn’t have Tony, I’d be smoke.”

  Reggie grinned. “But we do. And don’t you forget it.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Soon, my man. Real soon.”

  As soon as the door closed, Jack rose and returned to the window. Maybe he could slip out, run down the dune, and find a house with a working phone. After he called 911 he’d race back here before anyone knew he was gone. No houses close by, but –

  Something moved outside. The moon had risen high enough to light up the sand. Two dark blotches were moving away from the house toward the dune… one big, leading the way, the smaller one behind, stumbling, being dragged.

  His gut twisted as he recognized the bigger one.

  Oh, Christ. Moose heading over the dune with one of the girls. No need to wonder what was about to go down.

  Before he knew it, Jack had kicked off his sneakers and socks and was through the window. He pushed the screen back into place and moved along the porch in a crouch. Yeah, if Reggie found the room empty, there’d be hell to pay for Tony, and maybe for Jack too. But Bertel’s words kept echoing in his brain.

  There are certain things I will not abide in my sight.

  Jack had never understood that more clearly than at this instant. Because he’d just seen one of those things.

  He had no illusions about taking Moose mano a mano, at least not without raising a ruckus. Whatever he did had to be quick, silent, and final. The scene with Bertel in the picnic area replayed in his head.

  Yeah.

  The moon cast stark shadows all around him, but they couldn’t compare with the darkness encroaching on the edges of his sanity. He pushed it back. Had to stay cool, had to keep quiet. This was neither the time nor place for a screaming rage.

  When he reached the stairway at the end of the porch he took the steps as quickly and silently as possible. His bare feet made little sound on the gravel as he hurried toward the truck. He always made a point of knowing the location of the spare tire in whatever truck Bertel arranged for him, and making sure it was inflated. Never knew when you’d have to change a flat. The spare on this model was stored in a compartment under the cargo bay. He knelt by the rear bumper and yanked on the drop-down hatch behind it. He reached in along the side of the tire and found the jack; farther along his fingers closed around the tire iron.

  Yes.

  He pulled it out and immediately headed back toward the dune, inspecting it along the way. Solid iron, good weight, flat pry edge on the straight end, lug wrench on the curved end.

  Yeah. This would do. This would do just fine.

  He ran up the dune, his footfalls silent in the sand as he pelted through the sea grass. Time to lay a little John Elder action on Moose.

  He found him and the girl just over the dune. Looked like he couldn’t wait to take her any farther from the house. His back was to Jack and the girl’s shorts lay in a wadded clump to the side. Moose was unzipping his fly as he knelt between her kicking legs. Jack wondered why she wasn’t screaming, but only for a second…

  …because the darkness was engulfing him. Not with a snap, like with Rico. More gradual this time, because it had been lapping at him since he’d seen Moose and the girl heading over the dune. More like an irresistible flood now, seeping into all his nooks and crannies. It would have its way… oh, yes, it would have its way.

  Without slowing, he tightened his grip and lowered the iron as he st
retched it behind him.

  “Pssst!”

  Jack twisted his body and swung with all he had as Moose turned his head. The curved end of the iron, powered by Jack’s arm, the added body weight lent by the torso twist, plus the momentum of his headlong rush, caught the slimeball square in the teeth and flipped him onto his back.

  Jack slewed to a halt and stared in shock as Moose made a gurgling noise and rolled over onto his belly. He raised his head.

  How could he still be conscious, let alone move after that shot?

  A few feet away on the sand, the little girl was crabbing away from them on her back.

  Moose spat teeth and began to push himself up from the sand.

  Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.

  Darkness ruled. Jack stepped up beside him and smashed the tire iron against the back of his head, flattening him. Then a third shot, because… well, just because.

  He turned and saw the girl’s bare pubes as she continued the crawl away on her back. God, how old was she? Ten? Eleven? He saw the glint of duct tape across her mouth and knew why she was so silent. Moose loved his duct tape.

  He stepped toward her and she whimpered behind that tape. Moonlight glistened off the tears on her cheeks. To show her he was on her side, he dropped the tire iron, then picked up her shorts and tossed them to her. She reached for them but couldn’t hold them. Jack noticed then that her hands were taped as well, locking down her fingers. Probably so she couldn’t pull the tape off her mouth.

  Moose had thought of everything. That kind of thoroughness didn’t come without experience. He’d done this before. How many times? Jack didn’t want to know. Didn’t matter. Once was too many.

  The darkness remained on the periphery as he dropped to his knees beside the girl. She whimpered and tried to roll away, but when he grabbed her hands and began to strip off the tape, she quieted. Beneath the tape her wrists were bound with a plastic restraint, impossible to break or loosen. These suckers had to be cut off.

  “Silencio?” he whispered as he gripped the corner of the tape across her mouth.

  She nodded.

  “Silencio,” he repeated, pulling it off as gently as he could.

  He handed her the shorts and turned away, wadding up all the used duct tape as she stood and pulled them on. When she was dressed again, he turned and stared at her. So little. Just a child. The darkness bloomed as he glanced over at Moose’s still form.

  You filthy piece of–

  He pushed it down. Had to think. He’d acted without a plan but he had a good excuse for that: no time for a plan. Had to get this girl, this child out of harm’s way.

  Okay, he’d done that. At least temporarily. Now what?

  Good question. What to do with Moose?

  Harder question: What to do with the girl?

  First, Moose. The perv creep was going to be out for a while. Leave him here and let it look like he got into a fight. With whom? Not Jack’s problem, because Moose’s not talking at the moment. And even after he comes to, he probably won’t remember what happened, let alone who did it.

  But the girl…the girl, the girl, the girl… only one way to handle her. He took her bound little hands in his and looked into her dark eyes.

  In his best Spanish, he asked her name.

  “Bonita,” she whispered.

  That meant “pretty.” She lived up to her name. And his heart broke at what he had to say next.

  “Bonita…you must go back to the others.”

  Even in the moonlight he could see her eyes widen. “No-no-no!” She released a single sob, but at least she did it softly. The kid was tough. What had her life been like till now?

  He carefully assembled his response before speaking. “You must go back but only for a little while. I will save you.”

  Still she shook her head.

  “If you run, they will know. They will find you and hurt you and hurt me.” He nodded toward Moose. “I saved you once. I will save you again. I will save you all.”

  Her head stopped.

  I will save you all…a tall order.

  He tugged on her hands. She resisted a second, then rose to her feet.

  “No moverse,” he said, then hurried over to Moose.

  He found the chain that ran to his front pocket and tugged on it. Keys jangled as they pulled free. He found the clasp and undid it, then he led the little girl to the top of the dune. He peeked over. Nothing moving outside the house.

  He led her down the dune and around the house to the parking area and straight to the ground-floor door. She whimpered a little as they neared it and began to dig in her heels. He squatted beside her and turned her to face him. Tears glistened in her lower lids, readying to fall. Fine if they did. It added realism to the situation.

  He told her that he needed her to go back inside. But tell no one about him. No one must know. Say nothing and he could save her. “Comprende?”

  She sniffed and nodded.

  “Buena.” He reminded her: Tell no one. Not even her friends.

  He pulled on the door. Locked. No surprise there. Now he understood the double-key deadbolt.

  He held Moose’s key ring up in the moonlight, looking for a Yale. At least he wasn’t one of those guys who carried ninety keys wherever he went. Only half a dozen here; two looked like good candidates for the Yale. The first one fit but wouldn’t turn. The second did it.

  Jack turned the key slowly, teasing the bolt back. When it clicked, he eased the door in until he could see inside. The room was packed with prepubescent Hispanic girls, some sitting, some standing, some stretched out on the hard floor, all looking dejected. But not a single adult in sight.

  Quickly he pushed the door open, guided the reluctant Bonita through, then closed it behind her. But as he was relocking it, an idea so obvious, so beautiful in its simplicity, struck him like a… well, like a tire iron.

  Why not simply open the door and shoo them out into the night, scatter them north and south. Reggie and the others would be able to corral some of them, but the majority would be gone. Locals were few, but by morning one of them had to stumble across some of the girls and then the story would be out, blowing Moose and Reggie’s sick operation for good.

  He was just about to reverse direction on the key twist when he heard voices to his right. He recognized one as Reggie’s.

  Shit.

  He ducked away from the door and put a car between himself and the voices. He realized he was hugging Tony’s Bimmer.

  “–ain't keen on this mystery driver you got,” said the voice he didn’t know.

  “No sweat,” Reggie replied. “Kid’s not a mystery and not as young as he looks. He’s experienced – runs ciggies, and he’s made the run through DelMarVa and Jersey plenty of times.”

  “That may be, but I don’t like all the arm twisting involved. I prefer a guy who wants to be on board.”

  “Hey, you think we need that shit? Rather have Ace drive any day, but he fucked up. Shoulda run over the dog.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “He called from the cop station last night, or should I say, early this morning. Said he was driving along – okay, it was late and he’d had a few–”

  “Driving the truck – our truck?”

  “Nobody said he was a rocket scientist. Anyway, he’s driving along and suddenly there’s this mutt sitting in the middle of the road. So the dog-loving asshole swerves and hits this car coming the other way. Bad enough, but he’s got beer on his breath, and worse, there’s a warrant out on him for child support. And on top of that, his license is expired.”

  “This is your driver?”

  “Hey, it wasn’t expired when he started driving for us. I guess he never got it renewed. The long and the short of it is, Ace and his truck are outa circulation. So if we’re gonna make the schedule, we need the kid.”

  Why was he always “the kid?”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “Hey, you know that thing about a gift horse?
This guy dropped right in our laps. Almost like fate. And he won’t give us no trouble. We got him boxed.”

  “Yeah? But what about after the run? He’ll be a loose end – an unhappy loose end.”

  “Not so unhappy once we pay him double his usual rate. Bet we can bring him in – take Ace’s place.”

  “And if he doesn’t want to?”

  “Moose’ll be there. He’ll handle him. One way or another, the kid won’t be a problem.”

  “Better not be.”

  The kid is already a problem, Jack thought. Ask Moose.

  But the implication was chilling.

  He heard the door rattle as one of them tested it to double check it was locked.

  “Speaking of Moose,” the new guy said, “where is that fucker?”

  “Oh, uh, tying up some last-minute business.”

  “How soon before you put this show on the road?”

  “I’m guessing half an hour or less.”

  “Shit. You guess? Listen, we've traveled over two thousand miles with those little bitches and–”

  “You started with thirty, right?”

  “Yeah. And delivered twenty-eight.”

  “Just two lost? Not bad.”

  Just two lost? Not bad? Jack’s blood began to boil.

  “Yeah, well, always some spoilage with any cargo. One got hurt bad in a fall trying to sneak out of the hold, and the other came down with a bad case of some kinda dysentery. Had to toss them.”

  Toss them… Jesus. Those poor kids.

  “Anyway, what I’m getting at, Reggie my man, is me and my crew ferried the product over two thousand miles and we want our cut.”

  “You get paid when we get paid,” Reggie said. “Same as always.”

  “Yeah, but the longer you dick around here, the longer till payday.”

  “Shit, Tim. Half an hour ain’t gonna make no difference.”

  “Just load ’em up and roll ’em out, okay? The sooner me and the boys are back beyond the twelve-mile limit, the better.”

  They walked off, back toward the side of the house, bickering as they went. Jack waited till they made the turn, then followed. He peeked around the corner as they reached the porch and went inside. Good thing he’d closed his window behind him. Now, all he had to do was slip back inside, put on his sneakers, and play dumb. Reggie would never–