The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Too many weather reports,” the father said, smiling.

  Abe pointed. “All we have are over against the wall.”

  As man veered off, the boy grabbed a basketball and banged it on the floor—where it stayed.

  “Hey, this doesn’t bounce.”

  “Bounce? You want it should bounce?”

  Abe hated people bouncing balls in his shop.

  The father said, “It just needs air, Billy.”

  “Of course it bounces,” Abe said. “Like a Spaldeen it bounces.”

  “Hey, dad, he talks like Yoda.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” The father approached, carrying a pair of skis. “Wooden skis?”

  Abe looked puzzled. “There’s other kinds?”

  With an I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-tell-him-this look: “Yeh-uh. Like aluminum and fiberglass and composite. These things here are solid wood—not even laminated.”

  “I confess, when it comes to skis, a maven I’m not. But these are classics.”

  “They weigh a ton.”

  “Like a Viking you’ll ski.” Abe turned to Jack. “I’m kwelling about tradition, he’s kvetching about weight.”

  “How about snowboards?”

  “Snowboards? Snowboards we don’t have.”

  “See?” Billy said. “He talks like Yoda.”

  Dad said, “I know Yoda, Billy, and he doesn’t talk like Yoda.”

  “When have you ever seen a Viking on a snowboard?” Abe said. “But if such a thing exists, Ski World will have it.”

  The father’s expression brightened. “Ski World? Now we’re talkin’. Where’s that?”

  “I should know from Ski World? I’m sure you can find a place called Ski World somewhere in your phone.”

  The guy leaned the skis against the counter. “Okay. We’re done here. Come on, Billy.”

  “But Da-ad!”

  “You’re Uncle Bob warned me about this place,” he said as they headed for the door. “He said, ‘Don’t go. The owner’s crazy.’ But did I listen? Noooooo.”

  And then they were out and gone.

  Jack laughed. “Another satisfied customer! You really laid the Yiddishisms on the poor guy.”

  “My grandfather used to read Forverts every day and what Yiddish I know I got from him. Sometimes I’m not sure myself what I’m saying.” He frowned. “Who’s this Yoda I supposedly sound like?”

  “You don’t. But better than a Jabba reference.”

  “Jabba?”

  “Not important.”

  Abe jutted one of his chins toward the plastic shopping bag. “What’s in there?”

  Jack pulled out the Bagaq. “Need you to hide this for me.”

  “Hide for why?”

  “So somebody can’t steal it.”

  Abe considered it from various angles, all looks askance.

  “Mieskeit. You think someone would steal this? You shouldn’t worry. I should maybe put it out front to scare away customers like the last two.”

  “No-no-no. I’m keeping it for somebody. Just stash it downstairs until I come back for it.”

  Abe hefted the Bagaq, nodded, then placed it under the counter.

  “Next trip down.”

  “Excellent. Thanks.”

  Jack bunched up the burrito wrappers and the bag they came in, then stuffed them inside the plastic shopping bag. It looked like it still held the Bagaq.

  “Why for you do that?”

  “I want the guy who followed me here to think I still have it.”

  “Already someone’s after it? He’s blind, maybe?”

  “Long story. Can I ask you to do a couple of look-ups for me?”

  Abe rolled his eyes and looked at Parabellum. “What do you think, my friend? Two assignments for two burritos? Sound fair?”

  Parabellum deposited a multicolored load on Abe’s shoulder and flew off.

  “Well, you can see Parabellum’s vote,” he said wiping it up with a paper napkin. “I shall ignore that. Whom do you seek?”

  He handed him a slip with Hess’s phone number. “See if you can find where this guy lives. He’s one of the researchers from Plum Island. I trust his partner less but this is all I’ve got.”

  “And you think it might become necessary to pay a surprise visit sometime?”

  “Might. I’m hoping it doesn’t become necessary, but it’s not a bad thing to have in reserve.”

  “That’s easy. You could do it yourself.”

  “But you’ve got all the software.” Abe did a deep background check on every new customer. “The second one might not be so easy.”

  Jack told him about David Quinnell, his possible connection to the Department of Defense, and the address of his ex-wife in Howard Beach.

  “Defense contacts I got,” Abe said. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Excellent. Meanwhile, time to lead my bird dog on a chase.”

  Jack waved as he headed out onto the bustling sidewalks, then over to Broadway, making sure to keep the plastic shopping bag in plain sight. His tail dropped in behind him, staying maybe fifty feet back. Time to run a little game on this guy.

  4

  Tier leaned against the Central Park wall in his usual spot across the street from the Allard, sipping some bitter food-cart coffee. Madame de Medici had not shown. Maybe she really was out of town.

  He checked his phone and noticed his word-of-the-day email had arrived.

  Inchmeal

  Adverb—INCH-meel

  little by little, gradually

  Now there was an odd one.

  He was pondering how he could work inchmeal into his day when a low-pitched hum began rumbling through his head and thrumming in his chest.

  Not again.

  He covered his ears but as before it had no effect. He couldn’t escape it. He turned in the direction where it seemed to originate—the Sheep Meadow again.

  And then another sound: a high-pitched scream. Somewhere in the park a little girl was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her piercing distress kicked him into motion. He hurried the short distance to the entrance at Sixty-ninth Street and trotted down the path.

  The screams seemed to be coming from the direction of the Sheep Meadow. And as before the sound increased in volume with every step he took toward it. His entire skeleton seemed to be vibrating.

  He spotted a teenage girl, dark haired, skinny, maybe fifteen or sixteen, running from the Meadow. Two others, her mother and an older sister maybe, chased after her. The younger one slowed and staggered in a circle with a finger in each ear. Her circular, tortoise-shell glasses gave her round face an owlish look.

  She turned toward her mother and screamed, “Don’t tell me you can’t hear it now?”

  Why were they just staring at her? Her distress was palpable. And why wasn’t that goddamn noise bothering them?

  “I don’t know what else to tell you, Ellie,” the mother said, stopping before her. “I don’t hear anything.” She turned to the older sister. “Do you?”

  The sister shook her head. “I hear the traffic up on the street but that’s all. What’s it sound like?”

  “Like a moan—a long moan that never stops. And so loud! Not as loud as it was back in the field, but—” She clapped her hands over her ears. “I can’t stand it!”

  Back in the field…she must have been in the Sheep Meadow when it began.

  The mother hovered beside her. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “Make it stop. Please, Mom, you’ve got to make it stop!”

  “We can’t hear it, Ellie. That means it’s in your head. Does covering your ears help?”

  “No, it’s all around.”

  “You hear it too?” Hill blurted. He hadn’t meant to speak.

  The teen nodded as her face paled, and her cheeks… they seemed to be sinking.

  “It’s making me sick. I wanna go home!”

  “You mean like back to Mizzou?” the sister said.

  Ellie retched. “I’m gonna puke!”<
br />
  “No, don’t! You know I hate that smell. It makes me wanna puke!”

  “Hush, Bess!” said the mother.

  Tier started to turn away. He felt sorry for the kid, but she was with her family and he needed to get away from that sound. God, his head was going to explode.

  And then, as she’d warned, Ellie hurled. Tier had seen projectile vomiting before and that was what Ellie did.

  Except she vomited blood—bright red blood. A long stream of it.

  “Oh, no!” the mother screamed. “Ellie, no!”

  And then Ellie dropped to her knees and did it again. So much blood…

  Like a chopped tree, she fell onto her side, but never took her hands from over her ears.

  “Make it stop, Mom,” she gasped, her face white as a cloud. “Make it stop!”

  And then her eyelids fluttered and she passed out.

  Tier couldn’t stand by any longer. He knelt and slipped his arms under her back and her knees. As he lifted her, he said, “Call 9-1-1!”

  “What are you doing?” the mother cried as he started carrying her away. “Put her down!”

  “The sound’s not so loud up by the street.”

  “What sound?”

  He couldn’t believe this. “You really don’t hear it?”

  “No! And put her down!”

  “Just follow me, lady. She’ll be better on the sidewalk.”

  He increased his pace and heard the mother start to scream for help as she chased after him. He reached the sidewalk—the sound had definitely dropped in volume—and made for the nearest bench where a young couple sat worshipping their phones.

  “Move-move-move!” he shouted, and they moved. He laid Ellie on the bench and began gently slapping her cheeks. “Kid? Wake up, kid. The sound’s not so loud here.”

  She was all bundled up and he thought he should be loosening her coat, but no way was he going to do anything like that. The mother grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away, then pushed herself between him and her daughter.

  “Get away from her!”

  “Did you call the EMTs?”

  “I was too busy chasing you!”

  Idiot. He pulled out his phone and stabbed 9-1-1. As he waited for an answer, he glanced around at the crowd that had gathered out of nowhere and recognized Madame de Medici, Cossack hat and all, staring at him with a puzzled expression.

  “What is your emergency?”

  “Little girl vomiting blood at Sixty-Ninth and CPW.”

  “What exactly—?”

  He hung up and looked around again. Madame was gone. He pushed through the crowd and searched the street and sidewalks but no sign of her. Damn! How did she disappear like that?

  As Tier waited around for the cops and EMTs to show up, Ellie woke up.

  “The noise…” she said.

  The mother kissed her forehead. “It’s gone now?”

  “No. But it not as loud. It’s not making me sick anymore.”

  The mother looked up and her eyes met Tier’s. “Thank you. I’m sorry I panicked. I just—”

  He shrugged and smiled. “A strange man carrying my daughter off? I’d panic too.”

  “But what’s this sound she’s talking about? I thought it was in her head but you seem to hear it too.”

  Tier looked from the sister to the mother. “And you don’t? Neither of you?” When they both shook their heads, he turned to the crowd. “Who here hears that noise, that low-pitched hum?”

  Not one person raised a hand. They looked at him like he’d grown another head.

  “What is it?” the mother said. “Where does it come from?”

  Tier shrugged. “Wish I knew. Heard it Friday, now today.”

  “Thank you again. May I ask your name?”

  Instinctively he hesitated, but could see no reason not to tell her.

  “Hill…Tier Hill.”

  And just then, as suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped. Same as before.

  Tier turned back to Ellie who had started to sob.

  “What’s wrong?” the mother said.

  “It stopped! It finally stopped!”

  And then she passed out again.

  Although he felt sorry for the kid, Tier swayed in a wave of overwhelming relief. He wasn’t the only one. This kid had heard it too. He wasn’t crazy. He didn’t have a tumor.

  As the EMTs and cops arrived with their usual flashing fanfare, Tier wandered back toward his Honda. He froze in shock when he found Madame de Medici waiting for him.

  “You heard the signal?” she said.

  Unprepared for this sort of confrontation, he fumbled for an answer.

  “Signal? What signal?”

  Her amber eyes bored into him. “Did you or did you not hear the signal?”

  “If that bone-melting hum is what you call ‘the signal,’ then yes, I heard it.”

  She stared at him for a long, uncomfortable time, then, “Come with me.”

  As she started toward the curb, he stayed put, not sure what to do.

  “You followed me before,” she said over her shoulder.

  Chagrined, he said. “You weren’t supposed to know that.”

  “You’d be surprised what I know. If you like to follow me so much, follow me to my apartment.”

  Shit.

  So, he did as she said—followed as she jaywalked Central Park West to the Allard Building. The doorman grinned as they entered.

  “Hello, Simón,” she said.

  He tipped his cap. “Good day, Madame.”

  “I guess she’s back from her trip,” Tier said

  The grin widened. “She most certainly is.”

  Madame said, “To visitors I am always away. Those are my instructions to the doormen.”

  Tier stopped in the middle of the lobby and did a slow turn.

  “Something wrong?” she said.

  “The woodwork…it’s magnificent.”

  The lobby was a riot of laminates and burled wood veneers and multicolored inlays in intricate, graceful designs.

  “Yes, it is. I’ve grown so used to it I barely see it anymore. But it’s one of the reasons I bought a co-op here. No one does this kind of work anymore.”

  “My grandfather helped build the Allard. Not the woodwork, the steel.”

  “Well, so far, so good,” she said, continuing toward the elevators. “My compliments to him. It hasn’t collapsed yet.”

  She led him to the central set of doors, labeled TOWER. Inside, she pressed the 26 button, right below the P.

  “Not the penthouse?” he said as the elevator began to move.

  She looked at him askance. “That’s Burbank’s level.”

  “Oh.” Who the hell was Burbank? Was he expected to know? “Tell me about that noise you called ‘the signal.’”

  “In due time. That is not why I asked you up to my apartment.”

  “Why then?”

  “I want you to search it.”

  What?

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. I want you to search for the Bagaq as thoroughly as you wish in order to assure yourself that I do not have it.”

  Which meant he could be pretty well assured she’d hidden it elsewhere.

  “But that will prove only that you don’t have it in the apartment. It could be a million other places. I’m told you own homes all over the world.”

  “This is true.” She was staring at him. “I have not been this close to you before. There is something about you. Something special.”

  Was this going to be some sort of seduction to distract him from finding the Bagaq? Well, yeah, he could get down with that. The seduction part, okay. Better than okay. She was one hell of an attractive woman. And she seemed as much into relationships as he.

  But as for giving up on the Bagaq? Uh-uh. He could multitask in that regard.

  “Special in what way?”

  She leaned closer. For all he knew she was sniffing him.

  “You have a destiny.” Whe
n he stiffened she cocked her head. “Is something wrong?”

  Destiny…that shook him. His grandmother used to say that. Well, not that exactly, but close enough. She’d talk about a purpose in life—a “mission.” That was the word she’d used: mission.

  He knew he had a mission this week and that was the return of the Bagaq. But a mission in life?

  “No, no problem, except destiny is a weighty word. A lot going on there.”

  “Well, there is a lot going on—a lot more than anyone realizes. And your destiny might not lead you to a place you wish to be. And then again, it might.”

  The elevator stopped and they stepped out into a small vestibule where she used a pass card to open an ornate, inlaid door.

  He felt as if he’d stepped into a museum—paintings lined the walls, statues crowded the floors. Tier knew nothing of art and antiques but he had an innate sense of design and order, and he sensed neither here. She made Roland look focused and organized. Her taste could best be described as… it had once been a Word of the Day…

  “An eclectic collection,” he said. Eclectic in the extreme.

  She nodded as she removed her fur coat and draped it over a large stone Olmec head. “That’s a good word for it. I like what I like and I’m long past making excuses for my taste. Some pieces aren’t art at all, they’re simply old. But they’re all here for me. I don’t care what anyone else might think. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Tier. Tier Hill.”

  “Well, Mister Hill, search to your heart’s content. I’ll be making some tea.”

  “I’d have thought you’d have someone to do that for you.”

  “I do. But I sent them out so they wouldn’t be in your way.”

  He waited until she’d strolled out of sight, then looked around. He crossed the huge living room to the front windows and parted the sheers to reveal a breathtaking view of the Central Park Sheep Meadow directly below.

  He did cursory searches of the huge living room, the dining room, the office, and each of the three bedrooms. He had an idea which one might be hers but couldn’t be sure. The apartment spanned at least three thousand square feet. It took up the entire width of the tower, affording 360 degrees of city views, with every room crammed with artifacts from all over the world and every period in history and sometimes prehistory. Even the Museum of Natural History might be jealous here.