Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (23 page)

“Abe says he’s okay.”  He looked at Jack.  “Jesus, man.  Talk about shitty luck.  You landed yourself a truckload.”

Jack had been thinking the same thing, then something occurred to him.

“One way to look at it.  But on the flip side, if I hadn’t been along, this truck would be underwater right now.”

The first released him.  “That’s the way the world works: The early bird gets breakfast, but it’s one shitty morning for the worm.”

Jack shivered.  He hadn’t realized till now that he was cold – freezing in this wind.  He’d left his sweater in the cab.  He rubbed his arms.

“Cold?” said the first.  He was taller and had brown eyes instead of blue.

“You could say.”

“And you were going to put those girls on the street with just T-shirts and shorts.  They come from a much warmer place.”

“I was going to call them in.”

The second nodded.  “Yeah, that’d work – to a point.  The system isn’t very good at getting illegal minors back home, and those departments have their share of creeps.”

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We do,” said the second.  He jerked a thumb toward the cab of the truck.  “But first, help me with your buddy here.”

“Help what?”

“Carry him.  My brother’s got a bad back.”

Brothers?  Jack guessed the “bro” wasn’t just street talk.

“Where we taking him?”

“We’re dumping him in the channel.  Where else?”

“But he’s out cold.  He’ll–”  Now he got it.  He felt like a dumbass.

“Yeah,” said the first brother.  “You catch on slow.”

Jack backed up a step.  Their eyes showed no emotion.  They were disposing of trash. 

“Wait.  No.  I mean, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not?  You didn’t mind denting his skull.  And it’s what he was gonna do with the girls.  Turnaround’s fair play.”

“Yeah, I know that.  But it’s so…”

The skin around the second brother’s eyes crinkled, as if he was smiling behind the mask.  “Cold blooded?”

“Yeah.  I guess that’s the word.”

“Not as cold as his blood’s gonna be.”

Maybe Reggie was trash – okay, definitely trash.  Murderous trash.  Jack hadn’t felt bad about killing Moose.  And if he’d hit Reggie too hard – like fatally hard – well, that would be acceptable.  The heat of battle and all that.  But to take a helpless man, even a scumbag like Reggie, even with Tony dead, and dump him facedown in a river… Jack didn’t think he was up to that.

“Can’t we just dump him in the bushes?”

“Right.  And when he wakes up and gets over his headache, he’ll be back next week with another truckload of slaves.”  He shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  No way.”

Jack looked for options.  Why, he couldn’t say.  The world would be a better place without Reggie, no question, but…

Killing a guy to protect someone else was one thing.  This would be something else.  This would be flat-out murder.

Thinking about killing brought to mind Moose and what had happened down on the beach.  And that gave him an idea.

“What if I can fix him so he won’t be driving for a real long time?” 

The brothers looked at each other, then gave simultaneous shrugs.

“Whatta ya got in mind?” the second said.

8

“Let’s hope you don’t regret this,” the second brother said as he and Jack carried Reggie’s dead weight into the reeds. 

It turned out the brothers – he assumed they were using the term literally instead of figuratively – had followed Jack and Reggie out here in Reggie’s truck.  After letting Jack talk them out of drowning Reggie, the second brother shoved the unconscious Reggie to the floor of Jack’s cab and put Jack in the passenger seat while he drove.  The first took Reggie’s truck and promised to use Reggie’s phone to call in a raid on the Duck house.  Jack didn’t think it would accomplish much, but he had to try.

He’d slipped back into his sweater; that, along with the heat blowing from the dashboard, had eased the chill in his bones.

The second brother seemed to know where he was going.  After about a mile they’d arrived at a swampy area, then turned onto a dirt road.  When they’d stopped, the first brother had stayed in Reggie’s truck while Jack and the second hauled Reggie out and lugged him away.  For a skinny guy, Reggie was heavy as hell.

“What do you mean?” Jack said as they dropped him in a stand of cattails. 

Cattails…he remembered picking them as a kid and drying the corn-doglike tops, then lighting them.  They’d smolder and the smoke was supposed to keep mosquitoes away.  Never did, though.

“These subhumans are like boomerangs.  They somehow find their way back to you.”

Jack didn’t like the sound of that.  He’d stuck the truck’s tire iron into his belt before hauling Reggie, and he pulled it out now.  He was getting a lot of use out of this thing.

The brother added, “You’d be better off using that on his head.”

“Then I might as well have helped you dump him in the water.  Same thing.”

He shrugged.  “I’m not saying this for my benefit.  He doesn’t know me.  He’s seen a ski mask from fifty yards.  But you… he knows stuff about you.  Save your goody-goody worries for all the kids this guy has hurt.”

Maybe he was right.  Jack looked at Reggie.  A couple of good swings to the head…

He sighed.  “Nope. Can’t do it.”  He glanced at the brother.  “Is that how you handle everybody who gets in your way?  Take them out?”

“Just the subhumans.  Once they’re gone, you don’t have to give them another thought.  And believe me, they’re not worth a thought after they’re gone.”

“And you decide who’s ‘subhuman’?”

The brother looked him in the eye.  “Don’t have to.  They tell you straight out.  Actions speak louder than words.  And I’m telling you: He’s one of them.”

“I think I’ll settle for keeping him in a wheelchair for a while.”

He stared at Reggie’s knees.  In theory it had sounded, easy, almost humane, considering the alternative offered.  But the actual doing was something altogether different.

Without giving himself a chance to reconsider, Jack raised the tire iron and smashed it down on Reggie’s right kneecap.  He felt it give under the iron.  Reggie might have been edging back toward consciousness, but this yanked him the rest of the way.  He screamed and clutched at his knee.  Fighting a rising gorge, Jack swung a second time and shattered the left.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Reggie moaning and wailing as he clutched his useless legs.  A damn long time before he’d be working gas and brake pedals again.

“You just turned your back on a cold-blooded killer,” the brother said, following close behind.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve got your word that he would have backed that truck into the water with the girls in it if you hadn’t stopped him.  You telling me that’s not true?”

“It’s true.”

“So?  That isn’t killing?  That isn’t cold blooded?”

“Yeah.”  His stomach didn’t feel so good.  “Yeah, it is.”

“Okay.  Now, I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but you just turned your back and walked away from a stone killer who knows who you are–”

“He only knows me as Archie.”

“Doesn’t matter.  He knows what you look like.  He knows someone you know.  He can track you down and hurt you and people who matter to you.”

“So what should I do?”

“Remove the threat.  Don’t crush his knees, crush his head.  Or you will live to regret it.”

As they reached the dirt road Jack stopped and dry-heaved.  Once.  The second brother stopped by his side and patted him on the back.

“You’re all right, kid.  I think you made a mistake back there, but it’s yours to make.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“No, I guess you’re not.”

9

“Where are we going?”

They were rolling again – the second brother insisted on driving – and Jack’s stomach had settled. 

“You can’t know that.  Even though Abe gave you a thumbs up, you already know too much about our operation.”

“What
is
your operation?”

He pulled off his ski mask, revealing mussed-up blond hair and a pale face.  He looked younger than Jack expected.  Late twenties at most.

“Can’t drive around wearing this.”  He handed it to Jack.  “But you can.”

“What?”

“Put it on – backwards.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?  Put it on backwards and sit down there on the floor.  You can’t know where we’re going.”

Okay.  That seemed reasonable.  They didn’t know Jack and wanted to keep him literally and figuratively in the dark.  He turned the mask backward, slipped it on, then slid down onto the passenger-side floor.  He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel every rut on the pavement.

He needed to know: Who were these guys?  What was their game?  Cold-blooded killers – he’d witnessed that first hand – but they seemed genuinely concerned about the girls.

“How did you know where we were meeting?” Jack said.

“We belong to certain, shall we say, discussion groups.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’ve heard of the Internet?”

“Sure.” 

They’d had computers at Rutgers connected to the network.

“Ever hear of Usenet?”

“No.”

“It’s part of the Internet where people transfer information.  The pervs have gotten into Usenet big time.”

“They use computers?”

“Damn right.  Because it’s anonymous as all hell and they can trade pictures.  Takes forever to upload and download them, but it’s lots safer than the US mail.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah.  They’ve got bulletin boards and discussion groups they keep secret.  They try to disguise them, but if you know their lingo, you can suss out what they’re about.  They’ve got online forums that restrict access.  It took time and patience and more vomit buckets than Mister Creosote used – especially on sites where they post pictures – but we’ve worked our way into the restricted levels of quite a few.”

“You track them through computers?”

“That’s where they’ve all gone.  Coupla weeks ago we learned through one of their forums about a huge auction set for tomorrow night brokered by some Arabs.  It dovetailed with whispers we’d been getting about a big shipment coming from the South.  We learned where the auction was being held – an off-season rental of a big place in the Hamptons – and poked around the agency that handled the rental.  Got a name – fake, but tracked it to an Arab named Tachus Diab.”

“Diab?”

“You know the guy?”

Somewhere along the way Jack had learned that the Mummy’s last name was Diab.  But not Tachus.  Riaz or something like that…

Jack shook his head.  “No.  Heard the name Diab somewhere though.”

“Not exactly rare in the Arab world.  We figured he wouldn’t take possession of the girls until as close to the auction as possible, so the closer we got to Saturday, the closer we watched him.  When we saw Diab and his buddies take off in a limo followed by a rental truck, we figured the time had come.  When they pulled into that swamp and started checking their weapons, we had all the confirmation we needed.”

“What are you going to do with the girls?”

“Send them back home.”

“How do you work that?”

“We have an affiliate.  She works it out.”

“What’s in it for her?”

“Does there have to be?”

“There usually is.”

A laugh.  “My-my.  So young, so cynical.”

“You’re not exactly Methuselah.”

“No…I just feel like him.  You wouldn’t believe the shit you see…” 

Jack could almost feel the loathing flowing from him.

“So, you turn the girls over to this gal to be returned home.  That takes money.”

“Not exactly what you’d call a ‘gal.’  She’s got a lot of miles on her.  But she’s got the necessary bucks.”

“How do you know she really–?”

“Sends them home?  You’re a real trusting bastard, aren’t you.”

“If you knew what my last twenty-four hours were like, you wouldn’t wonder.”

“Maybe not.  Anyway, she does send them back.  I don’t know her story, but I suspect she was abducted as a kid and went through hell, and now she wants to do right by other kids in the same fix.”

“How’d you come to work for her?”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa.  My brother and me don’t work for anybody.”

“I don’t–”

“Understand?  You don’t have to.  We do our thing, she does hers.  She gave us a little logistical support in the beginning, but we’re independent operations.  She’s not equipped to do what we do, we’re not equipped for her end, so we cooperate.”

“Synergy,” Jack said.

“Yeah.  Good word.”

“But what
do
you do?”

“I think you’ve got an idea.”

“I saw you shoot some people and–”

“No, you didn’t.  At most, you saw two guys in ski masks do some shooting, but not at people.  Those weren’t people.  They were insects.  Vermin.  You exterminate vermin.”

This guy and his brother sure as hell had done that. 

Jack sensed real heat behind the words.  He might call whatever he and his brother were into an “operation,” but Jack sensed it was more of a
mission
.

“Well, whatever they were, I thought I recognized a couple of the Mohammedan types around the car.”

He laughed.  “
Mohammedans
?  Hell, I haven’t heard that word since Sister Margaret’s history class in grammar school.  What are you, a hundred years old?”

Jack felt his face redden behind the mask.  “An acquaintance calls them that, and I sort of picked it up.”

“Well, drop it and call them
Muslims
.  A lot fewer syllables.  But where’d you see these guys before?”  

Instantly Jack wished he’d kept his mouth shut.  He didn’t want to get Bertel involved.  He remembered helping Giovanni with a couple of jobs in Astoria and seeing that squigglly Arabic writing on a lot of the shop windows and awnings along Steinway Street.

“Astoria.  Used to date a Lebanese girl there.  Her uncle owned a bakery.  I think I saw a couple of those guys in there a lot.”

“Well, looks like her uncle is minus a few customers.  Astoria’s rotten with Arabs.”