Abel Baker Charley (38 page)

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Authors: John R. Maxim

Tags: #Thriller

BOOK: Abel Baker Charley
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Abel waited inside the glass doors until a cluster of
pedestrians passed heading west. He slipped onto the side
walk and fell behind them, his face down, his hand again
covering his mouth. Even so, a woman waking the other
way looked at him and shuddered, but she kept on without
glancing back. Abel passed Harrigan's Oldsmobile and then
two more cars before stepping quickly into the street and
doubling back toward the driver's seat. Burleson's man was
there. Not in the front seat but in the back, crouched low.
The window nearest him was open three inches from the
top.
Abel moved quickly. In one stride from the bumper of the
Oldsmobile, Abel pulled the cuff of Baker's jacket over the
palm of his right hand. In the second stride, he closed that
hand over the partly opened window and snapped it inward,
his other hand following the spray of glass and clamping across the agent's throat. His body jerked toward Abel and
lifted an inch or more, but there was no resistance. The man
did not react.
“never mind, abel. he's dead, look near his ear.”
Abel saw it now. A small neat hole near the hairline. And
there was blood from his nose, its coagulation interrupted by the pressure of Abel's grip. Abel pulled the head toward him
for a closer look, then flung the body down so it sprawled across the footwell.
“let's go, abel. i'm coming back out”
Abel stiffened.
“There are others. Burleson. Biaggi.
More. Finish them now, Baker, and they`re finished always. Finish them and we'll be safe. Tanner Burke too, Baker”
he
added almost desperately.
“Tanner Burke will be safe and
you can be happy. And Tina, Baker. Tina will be safe.”
“come off it, abel. charley, where’s tanner?”
“coming, safe”
“baker's coming too, abel. i'm going to leave this car for
tanner, that's how she will be safe, you and i are going to
talk to sonnenberg.”
“Oh, Christ!” Harrigan muttered. A city police car squealed
to an angled stop outside the Fifty-eighth Street entrance to the Park Lane. Two uniformed policemen, one a sergeant, rushed inside. “Subtle your friend isn't,” he said to Tanner
Burke. “We're going to stroll through this hotel as quickly as
we can. Whatever you see in there, if you manage to look
resolutely uninvolved, you'll blend in very nicely with the
city's population.”
“What if he needs help?”
“He didn't need help with that character in the stairwell.
Whatever trouble he might be in, he's probably got the
enemy outnumbered. Anyway, what do you feel, lass? Do
you feel like he needs help?”
“How would I know?”
“Just tell me what you feel.”
”I feel
...
I don't think he's there anymore.”
“Let's go and see, girl.”
She more than thought. She knew. She could not fully
trust it yet, but she knew. In the same way she'd sometimes
known when a phone would ring. Or what certain people
were feeling and doing. But never like this. Back in the stair
way where they found the handcuffed man, she felt Jared in parts of what they saw there but not in other parts. Harrigan
s
eemed to feel that too. He'd begun looking around them, al
most sniffing the air, before he took her arm and led her
through a dark hallway to the Plaza's service entrance.
Again on the sidewalk, he seemed to feel that something was
not as it should be. But now, entering the lobby of the Park
Lane, she knew they were safe. Tanner could almost hear Jared Baker saying so.
They saw the police at the far end of the lobby, a cluster
of employees and onlookers gathered around them. A man,
much smaller than the two policemen, was being ques
tioned. He gestured crazily as two other men in hotel blaz
ers pulled pieces of shiny brown tape from his bellman's
uniform. Harrigan pretended a passing interest as Tanner, af
fecting an air of offended civility, guided him toward the exit
with a dowager waggle of her fingers. Good girl, he thought.
“That man's saying he was tied up with tape,” she whis
pered as they reached the outer lobby.
“By the devil himself, I heard. The cops are trying to de
cide whether he's been on a toot.”
“You think Jared did that?’
“Unless you're betting the devil. Let's keep moving.
Baker said he'd clear the street, but keep your eyes open.”
Harrigan stepped partway though the doors and held one
open while he scanned the sidewalk in both directions.
There was no sign of danger. He saw his car, both wipers tilted forward as if the windshield had been cleaned. Again he took Tanner's arm, fishing for his keys as they walked.
Shielding her with his body, he opened the door on the side
walk side, admitting her. She saw him hesitate, again seem
ing to sniff the air, before he snapped the wipers back in
place and crossed to the driver's side. The engine started at once. Harrigan pulled partway from the curb and, satisfied
that no other policemen were in sight, swung the wheel hard in an illegal U-turn. Seconds later, they had entered the park
through the Sixth Avenue roadway.
“That was too easy.” Tanner let out a breath. “How come
no one was watching this car?”
“Someone was. Baker took care of him.”
“How do you know that?” The Oldsmobile paused at a
red light, allowing two young girls on horseback to cross the
road.
“Baker left a signal. The windshield wipers. There's also
a stiff on the floor behind you.”
Tanner snapped upright and spun in her seat. “Oh God.”
She groaned. Beyond the shock, an expression close to dis
appointment crossed her face. Harrigan saw it.
“Baker didn't kill him,” he said. “Hang on for just an
other minute.” Harrigan was not at all sure of the truth of what he had said. It was a feeling. And another smell that shouldn't have been there.
A half-mile farther, at the edge of the Sheep Meadow,
Harrigan slowed and found a cut in the curb leading to a maintenance shed. There, with only some distant dog walk
ers in view, he stopped the car and dragged the dead man
from the back seat to a clump of evergreens. He was armed,
like Hackett, with a dart gun. A government-issue revolver
was slung under one arm. Harrigan took both in one hand as
he examined the small-caliber entry wound at the man's
temple. He was back at the wheel in less than a minute.
“Baker didn't do it,” he repeated, this time believing it.
“The guy's been shot. I thought I smelled the cordite when
I opened the door and then I saw him back there. It didn't
seem like the time to mention it. Anyway, he's been bleed
ing maybe twenty minutes, and Baker couldn't have been
five minutes ahead of us, especially if he took time to wrap
up the little guy at the Park Lane.”
“Who could have done it then? Maybe one of your people.”
Harrigan made a face. “I'm fresh out of people, as far as
I know. Peck knows who I might call for help as well as I do,
and he figures to have intercepts in place. For the time being,
my people is just you, me, and Baker. Peck's been thinned
out a little, but he still has a small army. There's also Tor
tora's crowd. According to old Charley, Tortora turns out to be in tight with Sonnenberg, but he doesn't figure to be help
ing you or me. Anyway, Tortora's people make smaller
holes. So there has to be someone else. Jesus! They have
more teams fielded in this thing than in the fucking
Olympics. Excuse me.”
Harrigan made a sharp right turn onto the Eighty-sixth
Street crossway. The dead man's weapons, which he'd left
on the floormat, slid toward his heels. He picked them up.
“The stiff had another dart gun. Peck wants Baker alive all right. He'll take Baker apart inch by inch until he finds out
how he was made.” Harrigan slid the dart gun under his seat
and held the revolver out to Tanner. “You want this, by the way?”
Tanner drew back and shook her head.
“You don't know from guns?”
”I don't like them,” she answered. “Not handguns.”
He reached to her lap and unclasped the suede purse she held there, dropping the .38 inside. “Think of it as a sledge
hammer that makes noise. Keep it. You never know.” Tanner
snapped the purse shut, if only to get the weapon out of her
sight.
A sign near Fifth Avenue pointed to the FDR Drive. It
was almost lost in the sun's glare off the American Wing of
the Metropolitan.
“Sonnenberg,” he said. Harrigan bounced a fist off the
steering wheel. “It had to be some of Sonnenberg's spooks
back there. But this Tortora connection. I can't get it out of my mind. Back in that room with Charley I even started to
get the feeling that Tortora
.
...”
“That Tortora what?”
“Never mind. It's too dumb. It's just that I keep getting these feelings.”
“Like back when you found that man handcuffed at the
stairs? You knew he hadn't done all that. You feel things.
Like Jared and sometimes me. You were doing it again when
we reached the sidewalk.” Tanner said this wanting to hear
that perhaps Jared's talent, to say nothing of what she was
discovering in herself, was not so weird after all. But Harri
gan shook his head.
“That was pure cop,” he answered. “At the stairs it was too neat. I've seen Baker work. He leaves things where they fall. Someone cleaned up for him there. A woman, maybe. I
thought I smelled skin lotion. Then out on the sidewalk it
was just that the back door should have been covered and it
wasn't. Someone cleared it. Someone's covering Baker's
back.”
“And his front.”
“You got it. The clock says the shooter had to be some
one else. So Baker has at least two friends we don't know
about. But don't let it go to your head. If they do turn out to
be Sonnenberg's spooks, they're no friends of yours and
mine no matter what they do for Baker.”
Tanner leaned back in her seat and fell silent. They were
on the drive now, the East River off to the right. Signs
pointed to the Triborough Bridge and Connecticut beyond it.
Connecticut. What a peaceful-sounding name after all this
talk about killers and guns. Tina. Christina. Skiing and sail
ing. Clean things. That's where Jared belonged. He didn't
belong with these people. Not even with Mr. Harrigan. Why
couldn't they have just left him alone?
Then where would I be? she wondered. More of the
same? On the waiting list to be one of Charlie's Angels? Or
the latest female sickie on
Dallas?
I wonder if Jared watches
those programs. I'd be on and he'd be watching and I'd
never even know it. I'd get another fan letter from Christina
and I'd answer it, never having a clue why her letters were so special to me. Oh wow, there's something you'll never
hear me saying out loud. That a piece of me and a piece of
Jared had known each other right along. Through Tina. That
the feeling of something being missing was him.
That's not so crazy. They say that people who love each other feel as though they've always loved each other. They
say long-lost twins feel that way too. Incomplete. Until they
learn they were part of a set and then they understand why
they felt that way. Jared? I think I just said that I love you
and what are you going to say to that? Something sensible,
right?
Like . . . Tanner, we hardly know one another.
Call me Liz.
Liz, it just wouldn't work.
It's already working.
Liz, we haven't even known each other twenty-four
hours.
B
ull!

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