At least the traffic was keeping new departing passengers from reaching the airport, but planes were still landing. And the debarking passengers had nowhere to go but the terminal and the baggage claim area.
As soon as they’d retrieved Gia’s bag, Jack had found two seats at a table in the food court and installed Vicky and her there. They were lucky. Not an open seat left in the entire airport now. Then he’d hit the food stands, stocking up on whatever was ready for immediate consumption: bottles of water, bags of nuts, candy bars, big soft pretzels, hot dogs, and a couple of slices of pizza. Gia had passed on a dog, opting for pizza instead, while he and Vicky enjoyed theirs. They squirreled away the nuts and pretzels for later.
Good thing too. The concessions and restaurants, even though they were operating on a cash-only basis, soon ran out of food and drink. Bare display cases in the Italian specialty shop, empty ovens at the pizza place. Beer and liquor still remained in a good supply at a big, open bar at the center of the food court. That seemed a good thing right now, but what happened when they ran out?
More people kept pressing in from the arrival gates, but at a slower rate. With airports all over the country shutting down departures as well, fewer planes were in the air. All those passengers were on the ground, but they couldn’t go home. How many more bodies could the terminals accommodate before someone blew a fuse and the place went nuts? Mass hysteria here could leave a lot of people dead, crushed in the panic.
“Should we stay?” Gia said with a worried look, obviously getting the same powder-keg vibe.
“Well, at least we’re warm. It’s pretty damn cold outside, and I don’t see frostbite as a viable option. The hotels are full, so—”
“You’re sure of that?”
“More than one source said so.”
After picking up the food, he’d made his way to the drop-off area—somewhat difficult then, a major challenge now—and spoken to the skycaps. They said guys had walked to the hotels for a room and returned saying they were all sold out and people were camping in the lobbies.
He’d considered making the trip himself to verify it but hadn’t wanted to leave his ladies alone that long. He couldn’t see any reason for the skycaps to make that up.
“How long do we stay here?”
“We can try heading back to the city in the morning. It will be warmer then and, well, most likely we’ll have to walk.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You really think so?”
“I do. Maybe not all the way. Your place is less than ten miles from here. Maybe some of the traffic will thin out overnight. Maybe we can cover some of the distance in a cab. It’ll be cold, but we’ll make it. And then we’ll all be back home and feeling like we’ve won the lottery.”
She leaned against him. “I’d give anything to be there now.” She straightened and looked around. “Any sign of . . . ?”
“Your fans?”
Jack too took a quick look and saw nothing. Not that he could see very far. Every square foot of floor seemed occupied—those not standing were sitting on their suitcases. No one looked happy.
“Nah. Been watching. Didn’t you say they had a friend nearby?”
She nodded. “They said their buddy Jake lives a mile from here and it was going to be ‘party time.’ ”
“How could you turn down an offer like that?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy, and under normal circumstances I’d jump at the chance—you know me, right?”
“World’s number-one partay babe.”
“You got it. But I know how cranky you get when I run off to partay with complete strangers.”
“Yeah, well, but I’m in therapy for that—deep into multiple twelve-step programs—so you could’ve gone.”
“Really? If only I’d known. I—” She looked around again and shook her head. “Sorry. Nothing funny about those two.”
“No argument. But they’re probably at their friend’s place getting loaded. And even if they’re still here, they aren’t armed—”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, they were on the flight with you.” He lowered his voice. “You can sneak certain types of weapons aboard a plane these days”—he’d done it—“but neither of them struck me as having the wattage to pull it off.”
“Well . . . I hope you’re right.”
He shrugged. “Even if I’m not, doesn’t matter. I didn’t have to go through security.”
She lowered her own voice as she looked at him. “So you’re . . .”
“Of course.”
She snuggled against him again. “I can’t believe how much comfort I’m taking from that.”
“Ms. No-guns sees the light?”
“I was never antigun. My father has shotguns for hunting pheasant. And though I’m not crazy about the idea of going out and shooting harmless birds, it’s part of life out there. But he stored them in a loft in the garage. Guns around the house, especially handguns, make me uncomfortable. Own all the guns you want, just not near me.”
Jack smiled. “But I gather you’ll admit to an occasional exception?”
“Don’t rub it in.”
Vicky twisted in her lap. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m Mommy,” Gia said. “Pleased to meet you, Hungry.”
Vicky rolled her eyes. They went through this all the time. “Can I pleeeease have something to eat?”
“Sure you’re not just bored?”
She clutched her throat and spoke in a strangled voice. “I’m staaaarving!”
Gia fished in her bag and came up with one of the big soft pretzels Jack had bought earlier. She gave Vicky half and tucked the rest away.
“Can’t I have the whole thing?”
“If you finish that and you’re still hungry, we’ll see. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”
Jack watched her shrug and take a hefty bite. He saw Gia squirm under Vicky. She didn’t weigh much, but she’d been perched on her mother’s lap for a good hour.
“Want me to take her?”
“That’s okay. I—”
“Hey!” Vicky cried.
Jack looked up and saw Gabe taking a big bite out of Vicky’s pretzel. His left ear was red and swollen, and someone—the first aid station?—had taped his damaged pointer to its neighbor. Three welted scrapes ran across his forehead and the bridge of his nose—Gia’s work. Angelo stood behind him, smirking. They’d squeezed through the crowd to wind up in front of them.
He spit out the bite and made a face.
“These things taste like shit without mustard.”
Then he dropped the remainder and ground it under his sneaker.
Vicky began to cry. The sound hurled Jack to the brink. He felt the door to where he kept the darkness penned explode off its hinges. His muscles tensed, readying to leap at Gabe and rip out his throat, when he felt slim fingers grip his thigh.
“Don’t,” Gia said in a low voice. “He’s goading you.”
“Ya think?” His voice sounded far away, the words like croaks.
But she was right. A fight here could trigger a panic, endangering Gia and Vicky.
He let the darkness flow through him, saturating him without controlling him.
He locked eyes with Gabe and saw him flinch. Some of the confidence seemed to drain from him.
“We need to talk.”
Gabe blinked. “Talk?”
“Yeah. Someplace private.”
Gabe grinned, his cockiness back. “Oh, I getcha. Yeah. Private. I know just the place.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Jack, don’t,” Gia said, increasing the pressure on his thigh.
“It’s okay,” he said, rising. He lifted the sobbing Vicky from Gia’s lap and put her in his seat. “We’re just going to talk.” He glanced at Gabe. “Right?”
The grin widened. “Right.”
She grabbed his hand. “Please, Jack. They’ve got something planned.”
He looked down at her worried face and winked.
Then pulled the hood farther forward to hide more of his face.
“We’ll just talk. Like two civilized adults.” He pulled free and turned to Gabe and Angelo. “Lead on.”
“Jack, no!”
He waved but didn’t look back. Gabe turned and began moving away. Angelo tried to fall in behind Jack.
“As if,” Jack said, pointing to the spot behind his pal. “After you.”
20
“You like making little girls cry?” Jack said as they forced their way through the crowd.
“Yeah,” Gabe said over his shoulder. “I like making big girls cry even more. Like your GF. Oh, man, that bitch gonna cryyyyyyy for more when I do her.”
Jack let the words roll off. Because they were only words. But this guy had assaulted Gia, and made Vicky cry. Actions . . . actions didn’t roll off. Actions demanded reaction. And reaction was on the way.
He knew these guys—not these two in particular, but their type. He ran into them all the time. They weren’t schooled, but they weren’t dumb. They possessed a cunning lupine radar for when a situation could be turned to their advantage. They sensed the veneer of civilization thinning here and they were responding. They knew nothing about the Internet, but they knew this was no ordinary night. Opportunities were knocking and they were eager to answer the door.
Jack had been assessing the situation as he followed in their wake through the throng. They’d made sure to provoke him past the point where few men could remain passive. That meant they had a plan—and from the way Gabe had agreed to “someplace private,” Jack figured getting him alone had been part of the plan all along. Too many witnesses and cell phone cameras in the Central Terminal.
This could go down a number of ways.
Get him alone and pound him to a pulp with some improvised weapon; Jack didn’t see any sign of one on either of them, but they could have it waiting for them.
Or they could have a gun or a knife, delivered by their pal, Jake. Who knew? Jake himself might be waiting wherever they were leading him, ready to partake in the beat down.
They reached an EMPLOYEES ONLY door in a recess near some restrooms. People were huddled against the door, just as they huddled in every square foot of the terminal.
“Come on, move your asses,” Gabe said. “I told you before, y’gotta keep this door clear.”
Before . . . that meant he’d been through here recently.
“Yeah, clear,” Angelo said.
Gabe pulled out a plastic card and swiped it through the reader.
“You work here?” Jack said.
“Nah. Got a friend who does.”
Would his name be Jake, perhaps?
Gabe entered, Angelo close behind. Jack paused on the threshold, ostensibly concerned about the legality of all this . . .
“Are we allowed?”
. . . while he checked out both sides of the inner doorway.
Clear.
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “We’re cool.”
Jack kept his head down as he stepped into a well-lit stairwell. He didn’t bother to look around to check for cameras. He’d work on the assumption they were everywhere. With all the chaos in the terminal, he doubted anyone was watching too closely, if at all. But he’d bet the ranch they were recording.
Keeping a careful watch behind and on all the shadowed recesses along the way, he followed them down a series of flights of stairs. Gabe and Angelo hurried ahead but Jack refused to be rushed. Not that he had much choice. His injured hip complained bitterly about the stairs.
“You’re slow as shit, y’know that?” Gabe said from below.
“I’m scared of heights.”
“Pussy. I can beat the shit out of you, y’know.”
“Maybe.”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ maybe. You suckered me before. Got me from behind. Square on, man to man, I can kick your ass from here to the Bronx. Even with a broken finger I can take you.”
As Gabe ranted, Jack sneaked a hand under his sweatshirt to make sure the Glock was loose in its nylon low-back holster. He’d chambered a round after the melee on Randall’s Island, and it remained chambered, ready to fire. He had his slapper and his Spyderco Endura in his pockets, and his Kel-Tec backup in its ankle holster.
They kept going down until he was sure they had to be underground.
“Let me know if you spot a Morlock,” Jack said.
Angelo glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
“Never mind.”
They reached bottom where a heavy door stood open. A swipe-card reader jutted from the wall next to the frame. No Holmesian deduction needed to figure they’d been here before and prepared the space beyond. With what, he had no clue.
Gabe stopped on the threshold and gestured to the space beyond. A smile rippled his lips.
“Nice and private in here.”
Still not sure of how he was going to play this, but getting an idea, Jack too gestured toward the doorway.
“About as private as you can get, from the look of it. Please—you two first.”
As they stepped through, Jack grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind them. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep it closed, but that question became moot when he saw the big knife in the hand of the man who had been hiding behind the door. The only spot Jack hadn’t been able—or had time—to check.
He leaped toward Jack, slashing with the eight-inch blade just as the door reopened and Gabe and Angelo came charging out.
Jack backpedaled, reaching behind him, but his hip slowed him and they were on him before he could grab the Glock. Gabe and Angelo each grabbed an arm while the newcomer held the point of his bowie knife’s big, beveled blade against Jack’s throat. The overhead fluorescents reflected off both the blade and his shaven skull.
“Real clown, this guy.”
Jack didn’t dare struggle too much. A heavy blade like that could open his throat with a flick of the wrist. He felt a little sweat gather in his armpits. He’d expected Jake to be waiting inside.
Okay, options-options-options. What did he have?
First off, play cool or scared? Cool might work better with these guys.
“You must be Jake,” he said.
The guy’s features went slack for a second as he glanced at Gabe. “How the fuck he know—?”
“Who gives a shit!” Gabe tugged Jack’s arm and started him moving toward the doorway. “Get him inside!”
“I don’t like him knowing my name, man.”
“Fuhgeddaboudit. It ain’t gonna matter.”
That didn’t sound good.
As they hauled him into the room, Jack put up enough of a struggle to work his hands behind his back. Jake closed the door, then took Jack’s right arm and transferred the knife to Gabe. They slammed Jack back against the wall, but he managed to keep his hands behind him. They each hooked a leg around one of his, preventing any kicks on Jack’s part. Seemed like they’d done this before.
“This isn’t fair,” he said.
“Ay, it’s as fair as fair can be. I got a knife and you don’t.”
Jack lowered his head. “I guess I didn’t plan well enough.”
“I guess you didn’t.”
“Yeah, you know the old saying: If you find yourself in a fair fight it means you didn’t plan well enough.”
Gabe grinned. “Hey, I like that. And it looks like you didn’t plan for shit.” He twisted the blade back and forth. “Now it’s playtime.”
Jack writhed, as if trying to get as far as possible from the blade—which wasn’t such a bad idea—but the move allowed him to slip his hand under his sweatshirt and find the grip of the Glock.
“Wh-what are you talking about?”
“I’m talkin ’bout you talkin big upstairs, talkin ’bout rippin off my ear and givin it to Angelo. Well, guess what? Guess who’s gonna lose an ear? Maybe two?”
“Aw, you don’t want to do that.”
“That’s just starters, asshole. The real fun will be when I gut you
.”
“G-gut me?”
Jack inched the Glock free of its holster as the tip of the bowie approached his abdomen.
“Yeah. Gonna slice you open and let your guts fall out.”
Angelo laughed. “Yeah, like sausages.”
Jake twisted his arm. “Maybe we’ll feed you some. Like hot dogs.”
Angelo guffawed. “Aw, man, we forgot the fuckin’ rolls!”
This got laughs all around.
“B-b-but I’ll die!”
“No shit!” Gabe shouted. “You’re one smart asshole!”
More laughs. They all seemed to be getting a big kick out of this.
“Y-you can’t get away with it! The security cameras! It’ll all b-b-be on tape! They’ll catch you!”
Gabe kept smiling. “All you need is a broom handle to tip them so they don’t see nothin’.”
Jack slipped his finger over the Glock’s trigger. No safety to worry about. Ready. Just needed to know one more thing.
“S-someone will hear!”
He laughed. “Not you, asshole, ’cause you won’t have no ears. And besides, nobody up there can hear nothin’ down here.”
Just what he needed to hear.
“That’s a relief.”
Gabe gave him a puzzled look. “Wha—?”
“You didn’t plan well enough.”
He twisted to clear his right forearm, raised the Glock to hip level, and shot Gabe in the belly. The report was deafening in the small space. Angelo loosened his grip as he jumped and screamed like a girl, giving Jack a chance for a cross-body shot into his chest. Jake jumped on him and tried to take him down. Jack switched hands, slipped the pistol between his arm and his flank, and fired. Jake tumbled off, staggered back against the wall, and left a trail of blood as he slid to the floor.
Jack whirled and found Gabe on his side, hands clutched over his abdomen, kicking his legs as he made agonized, grunting noises. He’d taken a hardball round to the gut. Looked like it had exited via his back. Same with Jake, but his bullet must have hit something vital on its trip through his chest, because his wide, unblinking eyes said he was gone. As was Angelo. The second round in Jack’s magazine tended to be a hollowpoint or a pre-frag. He’d used Hydra-Shoks this time. Not much useful left inside Angelo’s rib cage.
Fatal Error Page 32
