Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Archie?”

  “The new guy – that’s what we called him. They started shooting at us so we took off.”

  The boss man looked at the young Arab by Reggie’s feet. “Your stories agree. That is fortunate for you. And it gives us a start.” He turned back to Reggie. “How did you wind up at the side of the road with broken knees?”

  “Ain’t rightly sure of that. Me and Archie had a fallin’ out. Motherfucker left me for dead.”

  “Do you have a last name for this Archie?”

  Reggie thought about that. Tony had introduced – shit, Tony. He wondered if Tim had offed him as threatened. Probably. Tim didn’t like loose ends. Too bad. Reggie had met Tony only a couple of times and he wasn’t a bad guy. But hey, he’d walked into the middle of a big omelet and got his shell broke.

  Shit happened.

  Did it ever. Look what had happened so far on this run, and Reggie had a feeling he’d only seen the tip of this stinking turd.

  But what had Tony called the new guy when he’d brought him in? Larry? No, Lonnie. That was it.

  “Archie’s not his real name. We just called him that. Real name’s Lonnie. But that’s all I got. No last name.”

  “What was the nature of this falling out?”

  What had it been? What had set him off? Oh, yeah. Archie – Lonnie – had kinda lost it when Reggie suggested sinking the truck with the girls on board. Pussy.

  “We disagreed on what to do with the product.”

  “Where do you think he took the truck and its cargo?”

  “Don’t rightly know. But I’d like to catch up with that boy. We’ve got some settling up to do.”

  “That is your affair. We are interested in him only so far as he can lead us to these masked men. Do you think he was part of the plot?”

  Plot…listen to this dune monkey.

  Reggie was about to give him a hard No, but bit it back. This deserved a little thought.

  Lonnie’s reaction when the two masked guys started shooting had been pure shock. He hadn’t been prepared for anything like that. But if Reggie said that to these Arab boys, they’d have no use for him. Might dump him in the harbor just to see how long he could stay afloat with two bum legs.

  Probably a good idea to keep them interested in Lonnie.

  Especially because Reggie was interested in Lonnie too. He craved a little face time with that boy – more like removing his face, or pounding it to a pulp. Yeah, they had a score to settle. Reggie was due some major payback.

  He had an idea where he might find Lonnie, but he had to play this real careful. If he said Lonnie was part of the heist, and getting a share of the three mil, they wouldn’t look for him where Reggie figured he’d be.

  “No,” he said finally. “Lonnie was just as scared as I was when those guys were chasin’ us, but shortly before we had our falling out, I think he got a look at them.”

  The boss was instantly interested. “You are sure?”

  “Well, yeah. Pretty sure. They took off their ski masks when they started chasing us. I guess they didn’t intend to leave us alive to talk. I was on the wrong side of the cab, otherwise I woulda seen them.”

  “Do you think he could identify them?”

  “Don’t see why not. And I can identify Lonnie. I’m kinda anxious to find that boy myself.”

  “We seem to have a convergence of purposes.”

  Reggie had been counting on him seeing it that way.

  “If I help you find him, you’ll allow me a little alone time with him when you’re done with him?”

  “That depends on how cooperative he is.”

  Reggie allowed himself a smile. Poor ol’ Lonnie wasn’t going to be cooperative at all. Couldn’t be. He hadn’t seen any more than Reggie had.

  Reggie wanted to be there when all this went down.

  “I’ll tell you how I think we can find him…”

  17

  Jack parked in the space Bertel rented for the trucks. He’d backed out of this same spot a little over three days ago. The damnedest seventy-two hours of his life.

  He’d have preferred that the trip had gone down as just another cigarette run, but he couldn’t deny that it had been – to quote Black from just a little while ago–”a good day’s work.” He was glad he’d interrupted Moose’s assault on Bonita, even if it had meant killing Moose. Couldn’t dredge up any regret for Moose – the human gene pool was better off with him in the skimmer. He’d spared Reggie’s life at the cost of his knees. The pool would have been cleaner without Reggie as well, but Jack’s blood simply wasn’t that cold.

  No question about being glad he’d saved those girls from brutalized futures.

  The only part he regretted was Tony. He was probably – okay, most likely – dead. If Jack believed prayer worked, he would have prayed for his safety, but…

  He’d liked Tony. Another guy living on the fringe. He’d been at it a lot longer than Jack and would still be at it if only they’d picked a different place to crash on Wednesday.

  What strange turns his life had taken since that fight with Rico.

  With the truck secure now, his next step was to find a phone and call Bertel. He’d probably been ringing the phone in Jack’s hallway off the wall.

  As he did a last-minute search of the truck’s cab before getting out – didn’t want to leave anything of his or Reggie’s behind – he found a plastic shopping bag shoved between the driver and passenger cushions. Didn’t remember seeing that before. He pulled it out and looked inside.

  Money. Three banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills, each showing bullet damage. And a note:

  If 10% is too much, how about 1%?

  Deacon Blue

  The bands on the stacks were each labeled $10,000… thirty thousand dollars.

  Christ!

  Only a small fraction of what they’d wanted to give him but still more money than he’d ever seen in his life.

  Well, he didn’t need to risk his freedom driving for Bertel anymore, but he owed him an explanation.

  He went in search of that phone.

  18

  Bertel didn’t want to discuss anything on the phone so they arranged to meet at The Spot.

  Jack arrived first and found the usually cheerful Julio in a frowning funk, short with the patrons, slamming things around. The place was half empty – not a good sign on a Friday night – and although Julio couldn’t be happy about that, the low turnout didn’t seem to be what was bothering him. Without saying what was in it, Jack asked him to stow the shopping bag with the money behind the bar for safekeeping.

  Jack worked on a pint of Rock near Barney and Lou, ensconced in their usual spots with their shots, drafts, and ashtrays arrayed before them on the bar. Smoke from their cigarettes blunted whatever stinky cologne Julio had splashed on tonight. He wondered if their butts came from packs he’d smuggled out of NC.

  When Julio went out on the floor to take table orders, Jack leaned toward Lou.

  “What’s eating Julio?”

  Lou, the closer of the two, shook his head. “Lotta shit comin’ down.”

  Barney raked his long, greasy hair back with nicotine-stained fingers. “Lotta shit. You don’t wanna know.”

  I don’t? Jack thought. Yeah, probably not. Then again…

  “Maybe I do,” he said. “Try me.”

  Barney and Lou appeared to be asexual, and they lived in different neighborhoods, but as Jack had got to know them, they struck him as an old married couple. They’d been drinking together so long they could finish each others sentences – and often did.

  Lou leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Well, he’s getting pounded on multiple fronts.”

  Barney leaned around Lou’s shoulder. “Yeah. First off–” He glanced up and over Jack’s shoulder. “Later. Here’s your buddy.”

  Jack turned and saw Bertel pushing though the door. He looked tight, tense, haggard, and years older. He pointed to a table toward the rear of the room.


  Jack nodded to Lou and said, “To be continued,” then grabbed his beer and joined Bertel.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call before tonight?” Bertel said as they seated themselves.

  Jack bit back a fuck-off retort and said, “I’m glad you’re okay too. You had me worried there for a while.”

  Bertel stared at him a moment, then leaned back. “Sorry. Been a shitty day. And knowing you – which hasn’t been very long, but long enough – you probably had a good reason for staying incommunicado.”

  Jack nodded. “Twenty-eight of them.”

  Julio swung by then, dropped off a pint of Rock for Bertel, and sailed away without a word.

  “Maybe I don’t want a beer,” Bertel said to his retreating back.

  Without looking around, Julio raised a single-digit salute over his shoulder.

  “You don’t want it,” Jack said, “I’ll see it doesn’t go to waste.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. Just felt like something stronger is all.”

  “He’ll be back. Where do you want me to start?”

  “When you reached the Lonely Pine is as good a place as any.”

  “All right. I got there and no Tony, so I–”

  “ ‘No Tony,’” Bertel said, closing his eyes. He took a shuddering breath. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  Jack went cold. He’d suspected, but he’d kept hoping…

  “Aw, no. What?”

  “They killed him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s involved. He called me Wednesday morning to tell me about the raid. Said he was going to pick you up and get you away from the motel in case it had been compromised. Called later and said he had you stashed at a place on the Outer Banks and was sending you home empty in the morning. Last I ever heard from him. I knew the place he meant – smugglers use it a lot–”

  “Smuggling what?”

  “Everything from drugs and guns to handbags and hooch. You name it. Why?”

  Did Bertel know about the girls? If he did, so help him –

  He forced calm. He’d get to that. “What about Tony?”

  “Early this morning I headed down there. Found it crawling with cops.”

  “Cops?” So, Deacon Blue had made the call as promised.

  “Yeah. So I drove on and contacted a guy I’ve got on the tab in the NC State Police.”

  “You own a state cop?”

  “I don’t own him – I just contribute to his retirement fund to keep him looking the other way.”

  “And he didn’t warn you about the raid?”

  “The tip went to ATF. He was off duty when the feds informed the staties that they were raiding. But here’s what he told me: They found a body inside they identified as Tony Zahler.”

  “Zahler?”

  “That’s our Tony. That was his real name. He’d given me a phony last name when he joined up but I traced him. He’d been double-tapped in the head. Brains all over the wall.”

  Jack felt his jaw muscles bunch. Tim… that bastard.

  “Shit.”

  “Found another guy half buried in a dune nearby, skull stove in. Know anything about that?”

  Jack shook his head. None of Bertel’s business.

  Bertel leaned forward, face tight, expression tense. “But what I want to know is why Tony’s dead down there and you’re alive and well up here?”

  Jack gave him a quick rundown, involving only minor details about Blue and Black – he implied that they never took off their masks – and leaving out the thirty thousand they’d left him. Bertel might get the idea he deserved a piece of that. He didn’t.

  Bertel gave his head a baffled shake. “No idea who these two crazies were?”

  “Never saw them before, hope never to see them again.”

  “Well, I’m glad for the little girls. I just hope those crazies were dealing straight with you.”

  “I don’t think I’d be sitting here if they weren’t.”

  “Yeah, good point. What gets me is none of this would have happened if some lousy snitch hadn’t dropped a dime on my operation. You been talking to anyone you shouldn’t?”

  Jack gave him a look. “Think about what you just said. How can I talk when I don’t know what town your warehouse was in, let alone the street address?”

  Bertel was reaching into the pocket of his jacket. “Yeah, well, be that as it may, I want you to listen to the bitch who called in the tip.”

  “Where’d you get–? Oh, right. Your guy inside.”

  “He managed to get a copy from ATF.”

  He pulled out a battered Walkman cassette player and hit a button. A woman’s voice with a heavy Southern drawl talked about a warehouse she knew of that was being used for all sorts of smuggling – drugs and guns, for sure – and how they’d better get on it and shut it down or she was going straight to the News and Observer. She was hard to hear at times over the dog barking in the background. She hung up without giving her name.

  Jack almost laughed. “Trust me, I don’t know anyone who sounds even remotely like that. Tony mentioned someone named Billy as a possible leak.”

  Bertel nodded. “Yeah. Billie’s a good possibility.” He pounded the table once with his fist. “Damn! Tony’d still be alive if he’d just kept his mouth shut.”

  Well, that was true. Tony also would still be alive if he hadn’t gotten fancy and simply let Jack drive back north with an empty truck. And he’d be alive if they’d gotten up Thursday morning, eaten lunch, and just kept on driving.

  Jack hesitated, then decided what the hell. “How well did you know Tony?”

  “How well do you know anyone in this business?”

  “He gave you a phony name.”

  Bertel shrugged. “So what? Just a layer of protection. You should talk, Jack Moore.”

  Uh-oh. Had he found Jack’s real name?

  “But I don’t care about your real name. You came with a good recommendation.”

  “Me?”

  “Abe said you could be trusted. Good enough for me.”

  Abe’s word seemed to carry a lot of weight with people. The brothers, and now Bertel.

  “You trust Abe?”

  Bertel stared at him. “Abe is not a frivolous man. Anyone who has dealt with him knows that. His word is gold.”

  Dealt with him how? He sold sporting goods. Or was he something more? Was he a banker to shady enterprises?

  “Did Abe vouch for Tony?”

  “Naw. Never heard of Tony, I’m sure. No, Tony bought his way in, so–”

  “Wait-wait. Bought?”

  “He came to me about six months ago and connected me to a guy in Detroit. He wanted a piece of that business in return. He wasn’t asking anything unreasonable, so I brought him in. He worked the Detroit shipments, made sure they went out on time. Did a good job so I put him on running the Mummy’s flow as well.” He shook his head. “Good man. Why all these questions about Tony?”

  Jack told him the Hasid story.

  Bertel’s expression could have been carved from stone, but his eyes carried a strange mixture of disbelief tinged with alarm. Yet when Jack finished he brayed a laugh and pointed to Jack’s empty pint glass.

  “How many of those did you have Monday night?”

  “Not that many.”

  Bertel hadn’t touched his so Jack hoisted it and sipped.

  “How many Orthodox guys would have the same scraggly beard–”

  “Plenty.”

  “–which, by the next time I saw him, he’d shaved off, as if he didn’t need it anymore. Add to that his big bright smile and you’ve got Tony playing dress-up.”

  Bertel shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense, Jack.”

  “Well, not to me. And he denied it when I asked him–”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “But he wasn’t completely convincing. I was hoping you could shed some light.”

  “Well, I can’t. If it’s true, it’s disturbing – more than a little. But I
can’t see him getting involved in Arab-Israeli politics, especially an assassination. He wasn’t the type.”

  Jack had to agree. Tony seemed to be a career criminal, but not violent. But you never knew. Whatever the facts, Tony was dead and gone, so Jack would most likely never know. He didn’t like not knowing, but Bertel’s remark triggered another question.

  “Speaking of Arabs, is your Mummy still alive?”

  Bertel made a face. “Is he ever. Spent too long on the phone with him today listening to him complain about missed shipments. Why?”

  “When we met up with the slavers, they were all Arabs. I’m sure I saw a couple of them in the Mummy’s warehouse.”

  The Mummy’s Warehouse… sounded like a movie he didn’t want to see: Kharis as a tanna leaf wholesaler.

  Bertel shrugged. “I’m not surprised. Some of them are raising cash any way they can and they’re not squeamish about how.”

  “What for? Using sex slave money to build mosques?”

  “I think some money is going back home to less savory groups.”

  “The kind who like to blow up civilian shoppers in Tel Aviv?”

  “Very likely.”

  Well, Jack knew of three million of their cash that was going to be put to a different, better use.

  “And you don’t mind being a part of that?”

  Bertel bristled. “Who says I’m a part of anything? You saw – think you saw – some of my Arab’s minions. That doesn’t mean they were working for him then. Could all have been extracurricular.”

  He had a point.

  “Could be.”

  Bertel looked away. “Listen, I provide a service – at least I did until someone put the FUBAR on it. I supplied a number of people and I will supply them again. But I can’t help what one of them might do with his earnings. If you take the money I pay you and go buy crack, am I responsible for increasing drug cartel profits?”

  “Not quite the same as blowing up innocent people.”

  “Don’t be so sure. And why are you asking me about the Mummy anyway?”

  The sudden switch to another subject wasn’t lost on Jack, but he let it go. Bertel was on the defensive and pushing him would get nowhere.

  “Because there was somebody in the limo before the brothers arrived and started shooting up the place. Whoever he was, that was his last ride.”