Firing the car would serve two purposes. First—destroy a lot of evidence. Jack hadn't taken his gloves off since he'd left his apartment, so he wasn't worried about prints. But trace evidence was tricky. Couldn't hurt to incinerate it.
The second was to bring the cops running so they could find Joey's body before any dogs got to it. No way Joey wouldn't be tied to the attack on the Center—Jack could already see the Post's MUSLIM MASSACRE!, headline—but this way his body would be returned to his family intact.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket: Abe.
"I'm at exit sixty-seven."
"How's the traffic?"
"I'm doing sixty-five."
"Okay. Bottom of the sixty off ramp."
"You should look for the usual vehicle."
That meant Abe's van.
"Will do. See you soon."
Jack grabbed his backpack, then pulled Joey's lighter from a pocket.
He flicked it and touched the flame to the free end of the coverall strip. As fire danced up its length and into the port, Jack trotted for the incline to the highway. He was about halfway up when the tank blew. He didn't look back. He reached the top and, keeping low, followed the guardrail toward the exit ramp.
10
-13:14
"Keep an eye on them for me?"
Abe shook his head. "I can't—I won't believe this is happening. A joke you're pulling, right? You should be honest with your old friend who's known you since you were a yungatsh and tell him that you've made all this up. Listen to that old friend tell you that if this should be a joke then it's a terrible one and he'll never speak to you again."
They sat in Abe's van where he'd double-parked outside Jack's place. After a couple of fitful, abortive attempts at their usual banter, talk had died. Jack found the silence awkward. He and Abe always had something to say to each other.
"No joke, Abe."
"Must be. Has to be. A world without Repairman Jack? Feh!"
How many years since Abe had given him that name? Jack didn't bother counting. Whatever the number, it wasn't enough.
"But you will look after my ladies while I'm gone, right?"
"While you're gone—that I like. It means you're coming back."
"Count on it."
"I will. I won't sit shiva then."
Although he didn't know where he'd be going, even if it was to an alternate reality, Jack had this unreasonable conviction that he'd be able to find his way home. Of course if the Lilitongue dumped him in outer space, that would be a different story: He'd be a flash-frozen fleshsicle in a heartbeat.
"As for watching over Gia and Vicky, I'll do what I can while you're away. But the type of woman who wants or needs watching over, Gia isn't."
"I know. She's a self-starter and self-sufficient, but she isn't quite as tough as she thinks or likes people to think. So look in on them for me, okay?"
"Of course. But who's going to look in on me? Who's going to tshepe me about my diet and my waistline while at the very same time bringing me Krispy Kremes? Who am I going to eat breakfast with? Who's going to worry about me…?"
Abe's voice trailed off.
Jack heard a sniff and turned toward him. The glow from a street lamp reflected off the moisture puddled on his lower eyelids.
"Abe?"
Nu, this is why you were always utzing me to worry about my heart? This is why you said I should take better care of it? Just so you could break it?"
The words choked off.
Jack felt his own throat constrict. This man had helped him become what he was. It tore Jack up to see Abe this way. He grabbed a pudgy hand and squeezed.
"I'll be back. I promise."
Abe shook his head and spoke, his voice thick. "So you say, but I have a feeling this is something even Repairman Jack can't fix."
Jack didn't admit that he had the same feeling.
Abe let out a shaky sigh.
"So, you want I should drop you off at Gia's?"
"Thanks, no. I've got a little something I have to take care of here first." He squeezed Abe's hand again. "See you soon. And work on that waistline while I'm gone."
"Who can eat?"
Feeling like he'd just cut off an arm, Jack grabbed his backpack and jumped out. He slammed the door and slapped the side panel. The truck lurched into motion. He watched it move off and disappear around a corner.
Jack turned and headed up the steps.
11
-13:06
The sound of the door roused Tom from semislumber. He'd been slumped before the TV, watching the end of the six o'clock news on some local channel and just beginning to nod off when a reporter broke in and started yammering about a bunch of Islamics blown away in New Jersey—as if anyone gave a damn.
Jack walked in with a backpack over one shoulder. He looked like Tom felt.
Tom rose and stepped into the front room.
"Hey, bro. Anything new on the Lilitongue front?"
Jack shook his head and stared at him. "I haven't been able to turn up a thing. As you can see…"
He undid a few buttons on his plaid shirt and spread the edges. Tom repressed a gasp when he saw how close the Stain's edges had grown.
"Oh, shit."
"How about you, bro? Jack said, putting an edge on the word as he redid the buttons. "Been pounding the pavement and scouring the Internet to see how you might undo this?"
Tom knew he hadn't done shit. But then, what could he do? What could anyone do against a faceless, mindless… thing?
He pointed to the closed door to Jack's bedroom. "It's still in there. Hasn't budged." He spread his hands. "I'm as helpless as everybody else."
After a long stare Jack said, "Want to make yourself useful?"
"Sure. Anything."
"Then follow me."
First stop was the kitchen where Jack pulled a pistol and a Tupperware container from the backpack and laid them on the counter.
Tom pointed to the container. "Is that the—?"
"Stain remover? Yeah."
Feeling his brother's eyes boring into him, Tom kept his head down.
Jack knew neither Tom nor anyone else could trade places with him. So why the look?
Besides, Jack was where he was by choice.
Or was he? Maybe he'd seen no choice, been unable to imagine any other course of action when the Stain moved to Gia. Just as Gia had had no choice when she'd learned she could remove the Stain from her daughter.
And Vicky had acquired the Stain because he'd brought the Lilitongue into her world.
He heard Gia's voice…
Why couldn't you have left that thing where you found it?
All his fault…
He wished he could undo it all, but what was done was done. And he'd been relieved to hear that the Stain could be taken only twice. If not, Jack would think it only right that Tom complete the circle.
Not fair. No one had the right to ask that of him or anybody else.
Jack handed him the empty backpack and a flashlight and said, "Follow me."
Tom did—straight to the closet next to the bathroom.
Taking orders, following a few feet behind… somewhere along the way he'd become Little Brother and Jack Big Brother. How had that happened?
When Jack opened the door a faint odor of cedar wafted out. He watched Jack kneel on the closet floor and pop a piece of molding loose from the base of its left side wall. He slid this back along the floor, then pulled on the cedar plank directly above it. When this came free he slid it back beside the molding.
"Shine that light in here."
Tom aimed the flashlight over Jack's shoulder and into the opening. He saw insulated pipes—most likely to the bathroom—but what strange insulation. It looked… decorated. Each pipe was festooned with little cardboard squares.
What the…?
He watched Jack reach in and start plucking them from the pipes like a man picking fruit from a tree. When he'd gathered a fistful he backhanded them to Tom
.
"Stick these in the front compartment of the pack."
Tom inspected them first. The paper squares had round Mylar windows front and back. And inside the windows—
Tom repressed a gasp. Coins. Gold coins.
He squinted at the top one. A new-looking 1925 twenty-dollar gold eagle. Next, a bright twenty-dollar Liberty head from 1907. And then a 1901 ten-dollar gold piece.
"Hey, the light," Jack said.
"Oh, yeah."
He'd been so distracted he'd let the beam drift.
Jack handed back more. Tom dropped the first batch into the pack and took the next. He knew nothing about coins but all these were old and gold and beautiful.
"Jack, are these things worth what I think they are?"
"Probably more. I've made a point of buying only top-grade stuff—MS-sixty-one or better."
"I didn't know you were a collector."
"I'm not. I'm an investor."
"But how much—?"
Jack handed back another batch.
"Are they worth? More than I paid for them, but that's all I can tell you. I don't keep a list and I don't keep up on values."
More rare coins flowing from the closet. The total value must have passed six figures already.
"How many do you have?"
Another handful came back.
"Don't really know. Like I said, I don't keep a list."
"But isn't it dangerous keeping it here in your apartment?"
"Fire's my big worry. But it's worth the risk. This way I can always get to them. Unlike your Bermuda safe-deposit box."
"Touche."
After handing back a total of a hundred or more coins, Jack said, "Okay, that's it for the numismatics. Bullion next. Put them in the rear section."
"What are you going to do with all this?"
Did he think he could take it with him?
"Giving it to Gia and Vicky. They'll need it."
"That's hard to believe, considering where she lives."
"That townhouse isn't hers. It belongs to Vicky's aunts. But they've gone away and aren't coming back. When they're finally declared dead—the waiting period's got about five and a half years to go, I believe—the place will go to Vicky."
"Where are the aunts?"
"Long story."
He began handing back deceptively heavy little cloth bags that clinked when Tom dropped them into the backpack.
"And these are…?"
"Krugers."
"Kruggerrands?"
Tom knew about those: one ounce of gold each. But each little bag must have held about twenty or so, and Jack was handing him bag after bag. With gold hovering around four hundred dollars an ounce…
Jesus God… Jack was a wealthy man.
Tom looked into the almost full backpack. With this kind of money he could disappear and stay gone. But that would be stealing from Gia. No… couldn't.
Finally Jack's hidey-hole was empty, its contents transferred to the backpack. Tom hefted it. Had to weigh fifty, sixty pounds. And he'd bet a lot of those numismatics were worth ten times their gold weight.
"With all this money… why do you keep working?"
Jack backed out of the closet.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
He shook his head. "Nah. Got to head over to Gia's. And anyway, the point, as you lawyers like to say, is moot. I'm retired as of tomorrow morning, thanks to you."
Tom had to turn away from the look in his brother's eyes.
"Jack, I've got something I need to say to—"
"Sorry. No time for chitchat." He rose and took the backpack with him. "Got to get to Gia's." That look again. "Not much time left, and guess who I'd rather spend it with."
Tom watched him shrug into his leather jacket, then stuff some video-cassettes into the backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He handled the weight as if it were nothing.
"Listen to me, Jack… I can't believe this is happening."
"Wish I could say the same."
"If you're really… if this really happens, I'll make sure Gia and Vicky are—"
"Are what? Taken care of? How are you going to do that?"
"I meant, I'll look out for them."
"No need. Already covered." Jack's cold gaze froze him to the spot. "And why on earth do you think Gia would want to have anything to do with the reason I'm not around?"
His words only reinforced what Gia had told him this afternoon.
He heard the words again, saw her stricken expression, felt again the jabs against his chest as if she was poking him anew right now.
Our rock will be gone. And all because of you!
No… no way he could approach her again. He was anathema.
"Jack, what do you want me to do?"
"Nothing, Tom. Nothing at all. I may not like where I am but I don't expect any help from you. And if by some one-in-a-million miracle you offered it, well… you're the last person on earth I'd accept it from."
Tom stood still and silent, reeling.
"So long, Tom. Have a nice life."
And then he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.
Tom blinked back sudden tears. My own brother. What have I done? What have I done?
12
-12:19
Gia pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around him. Jack eased the backpack onto the floor and returned the hug.
"You said a couple of hours. It's been four!"
He felt terrible about that.
"I know. I'm sorry. Things got complicated."
She looked up at him. "Do I want to know?"
"Most definitely not."
She tugged him down the hall. "Vicky's starving."
A leaden weight sat where his stomach had been.
"I'm not."
"Neither am I. Every few minutes I feel like running to the bathroom and vomiting. But we've got to keep up appearances, don't you think?"
"Definitely."
"I wish you hadn't promised her Amalia's. I'd have liked to make you something."
"My last meal?"
"Don't, Jack. Please don't."
"Okay, okay. It's just… I don't know how to handle this."
"I do." Her lower lip trembled. "I'm going to fall apart."
He held her close a moment, then, "Where's Vicks?"
"In the kitchen."
He pointed to the sitting room. "Then let's make a quick detour."
He retrieved the backpack from the hall and carried it to the sitting room couch. He set it on the end table under the reading lamp.
"I want you to take this."
Gia held back, looking uneasy. "What is it?"
He unzipped the front compartment and spread the edges.
"Take a look."
She stepped forward and took a hesitant peek. She frowned, then her head snapped back.
"Gold coins? Why?"
"They're for you."
"But aren't they your…?"
"Life savings. Yeah."
She backed away. "I don't want it."
Jack had figured she'd react like this.
"Gia, I want you to have them. I need to go away knowing you and Vicky will be taken care of."
She began to fill up. "But giving me your life savings means your life is over. I can't—"
"Hey, don't look at it that way. I just need someone to look after it while I'm gone. You know… till I get back."
She began crying and Jack took her in his arms.
"This can't be happening, Jack. It can't."
"Maybe it's not. Maybe eight A.M. is going to come and go without anything happening and we'll all be sitting around looking at each other and feeling stupid."
"You don't believe that."
Right. He didn't.
At least not intellectually. He'd seen the wonders of the Compendium and knew it was no ordinary book. And so far it had been right about everything: the Stain, how it grew, how to transfer it… everything. So why should it be
wrong about when the two ends met?
But a deeper, nonrational part of him refused to believe that he wouldn't be here with Gia and Vicky tomorrow night.
"I can hope, can't I? But just in case it does happen, I want you to have this stuff to dip into whenever you need to… till I come back."
He felt her shoulders quake. He had to snap her out of this. He knew she'd keep up a front for her daughter.
"Let's round up Vicky and get down to Amalia's before she starves."
Gia broke away and wiped her eyes.
"This isn't like me."
"Well, you've never been in this kind of situation before."
"Neither have you."
Not quite true. Jack had been in situations where he hadn't known whether he'd live or die. But those had been different. In those his survival depended on his actions: Make the right move, survive; make the wrong move, gone.
But this… he had no moves, no choices, no decision, no wiggle room. An iron straitjacket.
"Yeah, well… I'm a tough guy, remember?"
Not so tough that he didn't dread dinner with Vicky tonight. Because in the next hour or two he'd have to tell her he was going away.
13
-11:23
Jack was glad he didn't have to describe his feelings as he watched Vicky work on her mussels in garlic and wine sauce. He had no words for them. And he'd never be able to get them past his locked throat anyway.
Amalia's… an unpretentious, eons-old, storefront restaurant in Little Italy with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths over long tables for eating family style. Mama Amalia, older than the restaurant, loved Vicky and had greeted her with the usual fanfare—two-cheek air kisses and loud proclamations of what a beautiful child she was. Gia and Jack were an afterthought as she placed them all at a table near the window. No mystery why this was Vicky's favorite.
And here she was, attacking her favorite dish.
As Jack watched her work through the huge platter, pausing only for a sip of Limonata while she arranged the empty shells into an interlocking daisy chain, he couldn't help thinking of the old Squeeze song.
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