Sounded like Monaco. Count on him to find a cliché for every occasion.
“You consider yourselves enemies?”
“We’re not bosom buddies, I can assure you of that. Neither of us is married, so this seemed perfect. We sold our previous places and bought this.”
“You work together. Do I assume you commute together?”
A nod. “But beyond that we go our separate ways.”
“But you let Monaco keep all Quinnell’s money?”
“He insisted. And he can be relentless.”
“I’ll bet.” Jack figured it wouldn’t hurt to make it look as if he were edging onto Hess’s side. “Where’s he stash it?”
“In his half of the basement.”
“Just sitting there?”
“Of course not. It’s behind a wall.”
“Well, then, let’s go see Monaco.”
He indicated his bleeding leg. “I can’t.”
The bleeding had slowed to an ooze, but had created a big red stain on Hess’s jeans. A perfect persuader for Monaco.
“Sure you can.”
Jack yanked him to his feet and propelled him toward the front door. Hess moaned as he hobbled outside and made the four-foot trek across the front stoop to the door of 922B.
“Good man,” Jack whispered as he knocked without waiting to be told.
Swapping the Spyderco for his Glock, Jack stayed to the side and made sure Hess was positioned front and center at the peephole when the overhead light came on.
Monaco opened the inner door and said, “Edward?”
“I’m hurt.”
“I thought I heard a strange noise.” He unlocked the storm door. “What—?”
Jack was on him then, jamming the Glock against his chest to push him back into a front room configured in a mirror image of Hess’s. He pulled Hess in behind him.
“What the hell?” Monaco cried.
He wore vertically stripped pajamas and brown leather slippers. Obviously, he hadn’t been intending to go out tonight.
“The basement!” Jack said, poking Monaco again. “Let’s go!”
“Edward?”
“Do as he says,” Hess said.
Then Monaco’s gaze dropped to the bloodstain. “You’re hurt!”
“H-he stabbed me!”
He looked at Jack. “You—?”
“Yeah, and you’re next. Although I may just shoot you since I like him better. Now let’s get moving.”
Monaco got the message. He led the way to the stairs, flipped on a light, and started down. Jack made Hess follow while he brought up the rear. The three of them wound up in an unfinished basement. Totally unfinished—as in bare cinderblock walls.
He did a quick recon: naked incandescent bulbs among the exposed beams and struts in the ceiling, concrete floor, a line of lally columns supporting a central I-beam. Furnace, hot-water heater, washer and drier, a red tool box along with scattered miscellaneous junk. The only outlier was a long-handled sledge hammer.
When Hess had said behind a wall, Jack had expected to pull off wallboard and find the cash stacked between the studs. But this…
“I’m not seeing Quinnell’s money.”
“Finders keepers,” Monaco said with a sly grin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you can find it, you can keep it.”
Jack shot the floor by Monaco’s slippered feet, spraying him with concrete chips and making him dance a little two-step as it ricocheted away.
“Okay, okay! Jesus!” He pointed to the rear cinderblock wall, next to the water heater. “It’s behind there.”
“That’s an outer wall.”
His tone dripped scorn. “No, that’s a sealed-off alcove.”
“Yeah? Who was the mason?”
“Moi.”
Impressive. No clue that it wasn’t an outside wall.
“Nice job, Montresor. Might you have sealed up some sherry along with the money?”
A confused look. “What? No, why would—?”
“Never mind.” Sheesh. “Kind of convenient you’ve got a sledge down here to use against the wall.”
“That’s why it’s here…in case I had to get at the money fast.”
Jack waggled the Glock’s barrel between Monaco and the sledge. “Well, then, get to work, Montresor. I haven’t got all night.”
“It’s Monaco, not Montresor. Why are you—?”
“You wouldn’t understand. Just get hammering.”
Sometimes Jack’s brain insisted on reminding him of his three-year stint at Rutgers as an English major.
As Monaco started swinging the sledge at the block, Jack unfolded a beach chair leaning against the wall. He pushed it toward Hess and indicated he should sit. With a puzzled yet grateful look, Hess dropped into the chair.
Not a kindness. His wounded thigh would make it hard for him to get out of that chair, so he was effectively on injured reserve, allowing Jack to concentrate on Hess’s more spritely and arrogant partner in crime.
“This isn’t fair, you know,” Monaco said as he took another swing. The block was crumbling nicely.
“Fair? You mean playing by the rules? Like you?”
“Hess and I deserve this money. It would be locked away in some secret DoD vault if not for us.”
Monaco broke through into the space beyond. Demolition would go faster now.
“You mean if not for Quinnell, don’t you? He’s the guy who sacrificed his humanity and his life for it.”
“His life?” Monaco snorted. “He had no life. He was terminally ill in a federal prison. We got him out and cured his cancer.”
“Turning him into a wolfman in the process.”
“That was the deal, yes. And as a result, he can’t spend the money anyway.”
Jack shook his head at Monaco’s Cirque du Soleil-class moral contortions.
The hole was now big enough for a man to poke his head through. Jack wasn’t about to take a peek, though—not with Monaco holding a sledgehammer.
“How’s the money stored?”
“In a suitcase.”
“Half a mill fits in a suitcase?”
“A hard-case carryon.”
Was that all it took? Jack had no feel for the bulk of half a million bucks. He’d have thought it would need a full-size at least.
Finally, the hole looked big enough to admit a man.
“Okay. You can stop. Now you switch parts and play Fortunato.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You crawl in behind the wall.”
Monaco threw down the sledge. “Like hell!”
Was he going to have to come up with more threats?
Jack spoke softly. “My dear Fortunato—”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Let me relate my state of mind. You promised that money to Quinnell’s family if he let you experiment on him. He held up his end of the deal, but you didn’t honor yours. Now his wife and daughter are about to be kicked out on the street. That pisses me off, Fortunato. Pisses me off like you wouldn’t believe.”
“But—”
“No-no-no. You listen. Now I tell you how this interlude ends: I walk out with the money. What happens between now and then is up to you. You can crawl in there and shove the suitcase out, or I can shoot off both your kneecaps and get it myself, then push you through and leave you in there. Your choice.”
Monaco clenched his teeth, balled his fists, then shook his head and crawled through the dark opening.
Half a minute later, when nothing happened, Jack said, “Well?”
“Come and get it, fuck face!”
Really?
Figuring Monaco was crouching somewhere to the left or right, Jack fired straight into the opening and heard the bullet ricochet around inside. He fired again and heard Monaco cry out in pain.
“I’m hit!”
“Just a ricochet,” Jack said. “One won’t kill you. But two or three…”
&nbs
p; He fired again.
“Stop! Stop!”
A black hard-shell suitcase scraped through the opening and fell to the floor. Monaco’s foot quickly followed.
Jack gave the shin a hard rap with the Glock’s barrel. “Not so fast, Fortunato. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He rolled it over to Hess. “Open it.”
Hess laid it on its side, worked the zippers, then flipped it open to reveal rows of banded stacks of 100-dollar bills.
“That’ll do.”
After Hess had zipped it shut again, Jack lifted it—not heavy at all—and started toward the steps.
“Hey, Fortunato. Can you say ‘For the love of God, Montresor’?”
From within the hole. “Are you going to shoot again?”
“I have a thing for high-capacity magazines.”
A pause, then a faint, “For the love of God, Montresor!” from within.
Jack headed up the steps. “You just made my day.”
18
Albert had pretty much given up watching Tonto’s phone. It hadn’t shown a single goddamn blip this whole trip, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to start way out here in Nassau County. The Southern State Parkway had only two plowed lanes, and they must have been done a while ago because the road needed another pass. Needed it bad.
“We’re out in Hempstead, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “How long we gonna keep this up?”
They’d made the circuit of the JFK parking lots—Christ, there were a lot of them—with no hits. Same with their drive through Howard Beach. So, over Albert’s protests about how they were wasting their time, Tonto had got on the Belt and then the Southern State to head west into Nowheresville.
Tonto shook his head. “Not much longer. I thought for sure…”
“Yeah, well, like I told you before: You thought wrong, Tonto. Way wrong.”
Tonto said nothing, just kept focused on the road straight ahead.
What did it take to get a rise out of this guy? To get under his red hide? “Tonto” didn’t seem to bother him. Rolled right off his back. Albert had asked about his squaw, figuring that’d piss him off. But he didn’t even blink. Didn’t nothin’ bother this bastard?
He’d heard of wooden cigar store Indians—though why an Indian would be selling cigars was beyond him—and Tonto here had about as much expression as you’d expect from one of those.
All of which would make snuffing out Tonto’s life so much more fun. He just wished they’d find that fucking Bagaq so he could get down to it. When he—
A red dot appeared top left on the phone screen.
“Hey-hey-hey! We got something!”
Tonto leaned over for a look. “Yep. That’s him. Must have finished up whatever business he had out here and now he’s on his way back. Good thing we kept going or we’d have missed him.”
Was that a dig? Fuck him.
The blip was moving along the left side of the screen.
“He’s going the other way! Make a U!”
“Glad to. Where?”
Good question. The median between the eastbound and westbound lanes was wide and piled high with plowed snow. They’d have to wait until the next exit.
“We’re losing him!”
“I’m driving as fast as I can. He may go off the screen, but we’ll catch up to him. We’ve got him now.”
Said with all the confidence in the world.
Had to hand it to the fucker, he’d been right, insisting back at the airport that if Jack had gone anywhere, he’d gone east. Somehow, he’d put everything together and made the right prediction. How did someone do that?
His father’s words came back to him: You’re like me, Ali-boy. You ain’t gonna amount to much on your own. You gotta hitch yourself to someone with ideas and earn your keep by helping make them happen.
That was what his dad had done. Worked as driver and all-purpose go-to guy for one of the old-money bankers in the city. Dad always called him “Ali-boy” and said neither of them was good with coming up with an idea, but they was good at making those ideas happen. Give Dad a job and he got it done, no matter what. Same with Albert. He’d hitched himself to Roland Apfel and life had been good.
But that good life would last only as long as the boss lasted.
The blip slipped off the bottom of the screen.
“Shit! He’s gone!”
“Not to worry. Here’s an exit.”
The exit ramp had been plowed sometime earlier but was under a good six inches of snow again—and ran uphill to a stop sign. Instead of slowing to exit, Tonto gunned the Explorer and kept gunning it up the ramp. It swerved left and right and began to lose momentum but they reached the top where he blew through the stop sign to skid into a left turn onto the overpass. They crossed over the parkway and hit the onramp on the far side. Just as much snow there but they made the downhill run no sweat and were back on the Southern State heading west.
“There!” he said. “Now we’ll catch him.”
Albert clenched his teeth. How could he be so fucking sure?
“We goddamn well better. The boss needs that fucking Bagaq.”
“‘Needs’?”
Shit. Had to watch his mouth. The boss hadn’t wanted anyone to know. But why not? Tonto didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to last the night anyway. And maybe it would light a fire under his red ass.
“He says it’ll cure him.”
“Of his cancer? Really?”
“Really.”
And then Tonto did the unexpected. He laughed. The fucker laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! You believe that?”
“I don’t have to believe, Tonto. Ain’t a matter of what I believe. If the boss believes it, that’s good enough for me. I’ll go and get him the fucking Bagaq. If it works, it works. If it don’t, it don’t. Either way, I held up my end.”
Tonto gave him a thoughtful look.
“What?”
“I didn’t expect that from you, Poncia.”
“Expect what? What’re you talking about?”
“A work ethic.” As Albert tried to decide how he should take that, Tonto added, “Don’t worry. It’s a compliment, albeit left-handed.”
What the fuck?
Albeit? What did that mean? And what made a compliment left-handed—or right-handed, for that matter? Another thing he hated about this guy. Half the time he didn’t know what he was saying. Oh, he heard him good enough, but what did he mean?
Christ, he hated Tonto’s airs and fancy words. Couldn’t wait to stop his rotten little Indian heart.
19
“Burkes here.”
“At last! You’re a hard man to get hold of.”
“Who is this, may I ask?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought they would have told you. This is Doctor Monaco.”
“And just who might Doctor Monaco be?”
“You connected my associate and I with a fellow named Jack.”
“Oh, aye-aye. I remember now. What happened? Didn’t show up?”
“Oh, he showed up, all right. But you neglected to tell us he’s completely insane.”
“Now why would I say that, pal? His methods might be a wee unorthodox, but he’s one of the sanest blokes I know.”
“No. Quite the opposite, I assure you. Just moments ago, he threatened our lives and robbed us at gunpoint.”
“What’s insane about that?”
“He’s supposed to be working for us! We paid him half of his outrageous fee in advance!”
“Let me ask you this: Were you straight with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Y’ken damn well what I mean. Did you tell him the truth or feed him shite?”
“We told him what he needed to know.”
“Ah, there you go. Now you’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“You’ve pooched the deal.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
&n
bsp; “If he says he’ll do something, that’s what he’ll do. It’s a contract. Unless you play games with him. Then the contract’s dead and he plays it any way he sees fit. If you’ve put him in a black mood and wound up on his shite list, you—”
“‘Shite list’? What—?”
“Figure it out. If you’re on that list, anything can happen. My best advice, chief, is sit quiet like a bairn with folded hands and wait. You’ve already wound him up. You don’t want to set him off.”
“I’m not asking your advice. I want to know if you can recommend anyone we can send after him.”
“For what?”
“To get our money back, for one thing.”
“I dinnae ken anyone I dislike that much.”
“Hello? Hello?”
20
Lugging the suitcase against the driving snow across the parking lot had been no picnic. The wind had picked up and swept a few spots clear, while piling the drifts higher in others. Typically, none of the clear spots had been along Jack’s path.
Cold and panting, he arrived in Quinnell’s lair to find him where he’d left him, still cuffed to the pipe. Jack had suffered visions of an empty space, or worse: a free Quinnell lying in wait.
“That took longer than I thought,” he said, wheeling the suitcase into the center of the space and tipping it over onto its side. He worked the zippers and flipped it open. “Voila!”
Quinnell gave him a questioning look.
“It’s the money they never gave to Jelena.”
Quinnell growled and shook the manacle.
“Yeah, I know. They’re sonsa bitches. They were afraid to spend it yet, so they bricked it up inside a wall.”
Quinnell waved his free paw at the money, then pointed to Jack.
“What am I going to do with it? I’m going to get it to Jelena. Tonight.”
Jack couldn’t read Quinnell’s features all that well, but he was pretty sure he was seeing shock.
“You want to ask me why, right?”
A slow nod.
He didn’t want to let Quinnell in on the ultimate reason, so he shared the most obvious.
“Because it belongs to Jelena and Cilla. You earned it for them—paid a hell of a price so that they could have it—and then you all got cheated. I’m gonna fix that.”
The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel Page 24
