Jack couldn’t imagine his brother giving a damn, but the rest… yeah, he could see Karina or someone else from high school coming to town and Cristin arranging a get-together.
Leaks in the dike…
Abe was right.
“But it’s kind of moot now. She’s seen me. We’ve talked. It was all by accident, but she already knows I’m here.”
“She knows where you live?”
“No.”
“She has your phone number?”
“The hall phone, yes.”
“But I have a feeling you’re going to be changing your address soon, yes?”
That took Jack by surprise.
“Are you psychic? Yeah, I was thinking of looking for a quieter neighborhood. How did you know?”
“With your financial situation improved, you should be looking for better digs. I would.”
Jack grinned. “Did you just say ‘digs’?”
“Just because I don’t get out much, I shouldn’t know the argot of the street?”
“Okay, yeah, I’m thinking of moving.”
“So. You’ll have a new address, a new phone number, and a new name. No reason she should know these things. You simply do your disappearing act again.”
“Just drop her?”
“What? Her heart will break?”
“Hardly. We were never involved and we’re not going to be involved. I’m not her type and she’s not mine.”
But yeah, her feelings might be hurt. Jack could see how: Someone you consider a friend breaks off contact, stops returning your calls, for no reason at all… that’s got to hurt.
But Cristin was tough. And she didn’t want strings. So how much would it hurt her? Not much, if at all.
“Okay. Dinner tonight, then no forwarding address.”
Abe shook his head. “Why show up at all? Make up an excuse. Beg off.”
“Can’t do that. Doesn’t feel right.”
“Feel right for her, or you?”
Jack knew the answer but wasn’t about to admit to Abe how much he was looking forward to hanging out with her tonight. Could barely admit it to himself.
To change the subject, he put on a sheepish grin and said, “Mind if I call the Mikulskis from here?”
4
Jack didn’t know which brother he spoke to on the phone, but his presence was requested on the 40 Street side of Bryant Park, near the east corner. He wouldn’t give any details, just be there in an hour and make sure he wasn’t followed.
Followed? Who would follow him? Especially from Abe’s. Then he realized the Mikulskis had no idea where he was calling from. A routine request, he guessed. But he honored it and took an intricately circuitous route back to his apartment. No one followed. He wanted to change into something warmer, just in case the brothers needed his help right away. And he wanted to add some iron to his wardrobe. Or was “heat” a better word?
Toward the first end, he added an extra sweatshirt over the one he was already wearing. Toward the second, he pulled his Ruger and a brand new SOB holster from their hiding place among his cash stacks. He removed the wrapping from the holster and slipped the gun inside. A good snug fit. Then he clipped the assemblage inside his jeans at the small of his back. Had to loosen his belt to make it fit.
Christ. Felt like he’d stuffed a cantaloupe back there.
He headed for midtown, knowing that the two sweatshirts hid the bulge, but still feeling as if everyone on the subway was staring at it. He was glad it was only two stops. He walked to the designated corner of the walled-off park – mid-block on West 40 between Fifth and Sixth – and waited.
The sun hung low, still hours from setting but behind the buildings, allowing shadows to rule the street. A cold wind whipped along from the west. Not exactly a private spot for a meeting. The sidewalks were filled with shoppers with store bags, getting a pre-Thanksgiving drop on the Christmas season.
“Jack!”
He whirled at the voice behind him – only a wall was supposed to be there – and saw the Mikulski who’d called himself Deacon Blue standing in a makeshift doorway in the plywood wall running around the park. He wore a big fatigue jacket, a knitted watch cap pulled low, and jeans.
He motioned Jack toward him. “Step into my office.”
Jack stepped through and looked around. Bryant Park had been under construction since he’d arrived in the city, so he had no idea what it looked like before, but it sure looked like crap now. Everything was dug up, retaining walls were half built, wood scraps littered the ground, and saw horses and cement mixers were scattered everywhere.
“Nice taste. Who’s the decorator?”
“Dinkins and Company,” Blue said as he fitted the door back into place. “A friend of a friend works here.”
“Your brother coming?”
“He’s here.”
Jack looked around again. “Where?”
“Out on the street, making sure you didn’t bring company.”
Anger flashed. Didn’t they trust him by now?
“Hey, I wouldn’t–”
Blue raised his hands. “Not on purpose. We’ve been picking up word that the Arabs are looking for their money.”
“Aren’t they dead?”
“The ones on the scene were just part of a group culled from a number of mosques. They borrowed the money.”
“Uh-oh. The mob?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“We don’t know, and that bothers us.”
“Maybe one of the Arabs knows.”
“They don’t.”
“How do you know?”
“We interviewed one of them.”
“Interviewed?”
“He’d been slated to help with the auction and was asking an awful lot of questions, so we decided to ask a few of our own.”
Jack had seen how the brothers operated, so he didn’t really have to ask, but did anyway.
“Is he still asking questions?”
“No.”
“Ooookay. Was he cooperative?”
“Very, but no help.”
“Why not?”
“Because he didn’t know. The guy in the limo the other night was the go-between to the money men and he’s with Allah. All our interviewee knew was that they expected a quick return on their investment, and now the principal is gone.”
“No idea who they are?”
“No, but word is they have bank connections and the bills are recognizable in some way and so their inside people have got an eye out for them. You haven’t done anything stupid like depositing thirty K to an account or anything, have you?”
Jack couldn’t help feeling insulted. “Not likely. It’s all tucked safely away for my retirement.”
He was suddenly glad Julio had turned him down.
Blue looked relieved. “Good. You seemed too smart for that, but you never know.”
“What about you guys?”
“We don’t need it now. And if and when we do, we’ve got ways of laundering it offshore. But we’re not off the hook. We still have a weak link.”
“What?”
“Not what.” His eyes locked with Jack’s. “Who.”
“Me?” Jack didn’t like the way this was going. He began sliding his hand toward the small of his back. “You don’t think I’d–”
“–be so stupid as to pull that gun in your belt? Nah. I don’t think so. That would be real stupid, and you’re not stupid.”
Jack let his hand fall away. “Why am I the weak link?”
“Because of your pal, Reggie.”
“He’s not my pal.”
“You left him breathing. That makes him your pal for life.”
“Hardly.”
“After you took off with my brother that night, I drove back to our neighboring borough to check up on him.”
“Why do I have this feeling your idea of ‘check up’ is not the same as a doctor’s?”
A smile played about the corners of Blue’s lip
s. “I was concerned about his welfare.”
“I take that to mean you were concerned that he might be faring well.”
Blue nodded.
“And you were going to fix that.”
Another nod.
Deacon Blue hadn’t been able to let it go. The brothers saw Reggie as a liability, a loose end, and Blue had returned to Staten Island’s north shore to tie it up.
Jack said, “I take it it didn’t go…well?”
“Not at all. He wasn’t there.”
“Well, he had plenty of time to crawl off and flag down someone to take him to a hospital.”
Blue shook his head. “Did some checking through some cop friends. No one with two busted knees showed up in any of the city’s ERs that night.”
“Could have been driven into Jersey.”
“Possible. Or taken to a private doc. Either way, your guy’s out there. The Arabs know him. If he can talk his way out of them killing him, he’ll give you up. He’ll spit you out faster than a vegan biting into a Big Mac.”
“What about you guys? He saw you.”
“He saw a couple of dudes in ski masks. We’re zeroes to him. You, on the other hand…”
Jack had a bad feeling about this.
“So that means what? I’m expendable?”
Blue laughed. “We don’t work that way with the good guys. This is just a heads-up to watch your back.”
Jack felt his tensing muscles relax. “He doesn’t know anything about me. And he and his buddies killed the guy who did.”
“The Tony you mentioned?”
Jack nodded. “All the ID I was carrying says North Carolina. Reggie had to guide me on the drive through Staten Island because I really and truly know nothing about it. So if he’s talking about me, he’s talking about somebody from down south.”
“Does he know the guy who was running you?”
Jack almost blurted Bertel’s name but bit it back. The less anyone knew, the better.
“Not unless Tony told him.”
Blue slapped his hand against his thigh a few times as he eyed Jack. “Never know what a guy will say when he thinks he’s got only a few moments to live.”
Jack didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s that supposed to mean? Even if I told everything I know about you, I can’t hurt you. The backward ski mask, remember?”
He was glad now that Black had made him wear it.
“You know that, and we know that, but they don’t. They may think we planted you. So watch your back is all I’m saying. We’re not talking a few grand here. We’re talking millions. They’ll be turning over every rock looking for you.”
“Swell.”
“And they’ll be using your pal Reggie to help them. He’s probably given them a detailed description. One day real soon you might see your likeness posted on a telephone pole with a reward offered.” His smile was grim as he shook his head. “You went and let a subhuman live. Told you you’d regret it.”
Jack guessed the brothers had been right, because right now he was regretting it. But he still didn’t see how he could have crushed an unconscious man’s skull. He’d had a hard enough time cracking his kneecaps.
5
Julio wasn’t much help on the subject of tapas. He said it was a Spanish thing – Spanish as in Spain – and he was Puerto Rican. He said they were like bocas, as if that explained it. What Jack came away with was snacks – tapas were snacks.
Cristin had asked him to meet her at a Spanish snack bar. Well, okay. A lot of days he lived on what could be considered snacks – Pringles, Doritos, Cheetos, Sour Patch Kids, and the like. And if it was a bar, it must have beer. Jack didn’t see how he could go wrong.
Then he remembered that ruthless people were looking for a guy named Lonnie. Looking in North Carolina, most likely, but still… not a comforting thought.
He found a Brooks Brothers and bought khaki slacks, a long-sleeve button-down white shirt, and a blue blazer. After a shower at home he dressed and checked himself in his only mirror. He didn’t recognize the guy in the reflection.
But the blazer would hide the pistol holstered at the small of his back.
Cool.
He took a roundabout way over to Second Avenue, going so far as to double back a couple of times. No one was following him. Or if someone were, he was a ninja.
Rioja turned out to be anything but a snack bar. A real restaurant with lots of dark wood and glass, and many small tables. Jack arrived early and found the place already half full. He learned that a table had been reserved by a certain Cristin Ott. The hostess seemed to know the name. He asked for a corner table against the rear wall. He took the seat that put his back to the wall and gave him a view of the entire place.
He saw Cristin step through the door a fashionable five minutes late. She wore tight jeans and a denim jacket over a white blouse. With her short dark hair and her high heels she looked very East Side. Jack had never understood high heels with jeans, but then that could be added to the very long list of things he didn’t understand about fashion. The hostess pointed him out but Cristin stared without recognition until he stood and waved to her.
“I didn’t recognize you,” she said, grinning as she reached the table. “I mean, look at you: all dressed up and nowhere to go.”
“I guess this is nowhere.”
A quick air kiss-hug combo and they sat.
“Seriously,” she said, “I chose this place because you can dress down here. Look at me and look at you. I didn’t think you owned clothes like that.”
Jack shrugged and looked down at himself. “What? These old things? I’ve had them forever.”
Her blue eyes sparkled as she reached across the table and plucked a tag from his sleeve. “Really? All those years and you never removed this?”
They had a laugh over that.
“Truth is, I’ve owned this outfit a couple of hours.”
“Who picked it out, Joe Prep?”
“I told him to check out what I was wearing, and dress me exactly the opposite.”
No lie there.
“You want real opposite?” she said, laughing. “I’d have put you in a dress.”
“I think he wanted to.”
A waitress arrived then.
“Hi, Cristin. The usual?”
“I think I’ll be adventurous tonight. House rioja.”
Jack ordered a Spanish beer, whichever the waitress preferred. He knew nothing of Spanish beers.
“I gather you come here often.”
She smiled. “It’s around the corner. Great place to stop for something light when I don’t feel like cooking – which is pretty often.”
The waitress returned with a glass of red wine for Cristin and something called San Miguel for Jack. Cristin seemed to like her wine; Jack’s San Miguel was awful. But he kept working on it. Better than no beer.
She guided him through the menu which was pretty much a list of appetizers. They ordered a bunch to share. Lots of seafood – gambas salsa negra, bacalao, chopitos, calamares – plus various veggies – papas arrugadas, pimientos a padron, bandarillas – and a couple of meats in the form of sausage and skewers.
They got through the obligatory chatter about how her party planning was going – very well, thank you – and she asked how his delivery job was going – he’d forgotten he’d told her about that, so he said he was looking into “other opportunities.”
As the dishes came in successive waves, they sampled and talked about everything but politics and religion. Cristin had been to a lot of plays – so far this year she’d liked Six Degrees of Separation best. Jack couldn’t add much on the subject, because he wasn’t a theater fan. His mother had filled his youthful ears with Broadway soundtracks, but he preferred movies.
Cristin proved no slouch on that front either. And she liked the same kind of genre movies as Jack. She thought Total Recall cool and Dick Tracy crap. Jack agreed. They both liked a couple of sequels: Robocop 2 and Predator 2. She declared Pre
tty Woman “totally clueless but soooo romantic.” They disagreed on Flatliners – she liked anything with Kevin Bacon, Jack was disappointed with the ending – but both loved Miller’s Crossing.
New music-wise they couldn’t have been more different. They both still dug the music of their youth – Def Leppard and the Police and Thriller – and Cristin almost choked on a baby squid when Jack mentioned how he was beginning to have doubts that Dexy’s Midnight Runners would ever make a comeback. Nowadays she liked Michael Bolton and Wilson Phillips. Jack found Wilson Phillips tolerable in small doses, but Michael Bolton was fingernails on a blackboard.
“I’ve gone retro and roots,” he said, rolling a shrimp in some spicy sauce. “Reggae and blues, although as new stuff goes, I really like Goodbye Jumbo.”
“Which is pretty retro itself.”
Jack smiled. She’d nailed that one. Pretty sharp.
He found himself relaxing. Concerns about Reggie and Arabs and stolen money receded, allowing him to enjoy the moment. Beer certainly contributed. After that one San Miguel he’d switched to Heineken, but alcohol wasn’t the only reason. Cristin was good company, easy to be with. They went way back and had nothing to prove to each other. They laughed a lot, and best of all, the subject of Karina didn’t come up once.
The waitress appeared. “Dessert?”
Jack patted his belly. He was tapased out. “I don’t think so.”
“You can’t leave here without tasting their flan,” Cristin said.
“You can still eat?”
“Always save room for dessert.” She added an impish grin. “Which was easy with you here.”
“Uh-oh. Did I pig out?” Had he hogged all the food? He hadn’t noticed. He’d been hungry and it had tasted so good. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize–”
She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Just busting you.”
Her hand lingered there, lightly, just for a second or two, but long enough to send a warm tingle up his arm.
Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) Page 28
