Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (25 page)

Kadir saw no use in denying it, so he nodded.  “Yes.”

“Yet you live and he is dead.”

Kadir made the only reply he was capable of at the moment.  “Yes.”

The man’s expression never changed.  He looked neither angry nor sad, simply… concerned. 

“You will explain this.”

Not a request, a statement.  And in truth, Kadir was desperate to tell someone about the worst experience of his life.

“It all happened so fast, I–”

The man wagged his finger.  “Not here.  Downstairs.  You will come with me and then you will talk.”

Kadir led the man down four flights to the twilit street where an idling car waited with a stranger behind the wheel.  Kadir settled into the rear with the man from Qatar and the car took off.

“Talk,” said the man, watching him intently. 

As the car found Kennedy Boulevard and drove west, Kadir told everything he could remember.

“Two men in masks…” the man from Qatar said softly after Kadir had finished.  “You are sure there were no more?”

“Perhaps, but I saw only two.  They spoke English to each other.”

“What of the drivers of the delivery trucks – were they involved?”

“I don’t think so.  The killers shot at them as they fled, and talked of chasing them.  The killers took the truck the drivers left behind.”

The man rubbed his jaw.  “Interesting.”

Kadir wasn’t sure why that was interesting, unless the man was wondering what the killers intended to do with the girls.

The man said, “And you say they shot Tachus and his men in the genitals after they were dead?”

Kadir winced at the memory of the mutilation.  “Shot them
off
.”

After a pause, the man from Qatar said, “Castration by machine gun.  This makes me think this was more than simple murder-robbery.  Is someone sending a message?  Are we dealing with more than mere greed here?  Is this someone motivated by anger?”

“But they did take the money.”

“Well, why shouldn’t they?  It will finance their anger.”

“Is this bad?”

“No.  I rather think it is good.  Angry people are easier to find.”

In the silence that followed, Kadir noticed that the sun was gone; they had left Jersey City and were cruising through Bayonne.

“Where are we going?”

“To Staten Island.  That is where this all happened, that is where we will begin.  And you will help.”

Again, not a request, a statement. 

13

Jack jerked awake to the sensation of something moving on his shoulder.  The first thing he saw was a dark-skinned young girl, standing close to his cot, reaching across him. 

What–?

And then he recognized her: Bonita.  She was adjusting the blanket over him.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, mumbling, “
Buenos dias, Bonita
.”

She grinned.  “
Es de noche
.” 

She’d had a shower and been given clean clothes.  Her slightly frizzy hair was pulled back into a short ponytail.  She looked like a different person.

He looked around.  How could she tell?  No windows here.  How long had he been out?  He’d had the damnedest time falling asleep on the cot, but when he’d finally dropped off, he must have crashed like a stone.

She stepped back and ran her hands over her brand new pink sweatsuit.

“
Le gusta?
”

Did he like it?  Most of the girls her age in the city would probably think the look was a total disaster, but to her this sweatsuit was obviously a fashion coup, and just might be the newest thing she had ever worn.  Plus it was warm and practical.

“Yes.  I mean,
Si. Me gusta mucho
.”  He smiled.  “
Muy bonita, Bonita
.”

She averted her gaze, and he wondered if anyone had ever told her she was pretty.  She was.  She had a dark beauty that would have fetched top dollar at the auction the Arabs had been planning.

His stomach turned at the thought of what would have followed.

Black strolled up.

“Sleeping beauty awakens at last.  Time to roll, Archie. Our work here is done.  The girls are out of our hands now.”

Jack looked at Bonita and fought a powerful protective urge.  But he had to go.  He told her he had to leave.  He pointed to the bustling nurses who seemed tireless and told her they’d take good care of her.

“
No!”
she wailed, tears springing into her eyes.
“Yo necesito que me proteje!
”

He assured her that she didn’t need his protection, that the people here would keep her safe and see her home. 

With a sob she turned and ran off.

“Let’s go, Archie,” Black said.  “She’ll be fine.”

Jack felt a little uneasy about leaving her.  What if this was all a sham and the girls would be shunted to an auction as soon as he left?

He shook it off.  He had to get over that.  Black and Blue had proven they had no compunction about pulling their triggers.  No reason to spare Jack unless they were on the up and up.

Jack followed him toward the truck.  “Hope so.”

“Having a little trouble letting go?”

He shrugged.  “That’s usually not a problem for me.”

He’d let go of everything else in his life.  Why the reluctance to let go of her?

Black climbed in behind the wheel.  “Maybe because you saved her life by preventing her from being drowned like a rat.  Some say that makes you responsible for her.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He wasn’t too comfortable with that.  Being responsible for himself was turning into pretty much a full-time job.

“And when you think about it, you didn’t just
save
her life, down on that beach in NC, you
killed
somebody to protect her.  Yeah, no question about it: You two are bonded for eternity.”

Swell, he thought as he dropped into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

“Well, it’s going to be a really tenuous bond with me here in New York and her back in – where’s she from, anyway?”

Black shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Could be Puerto Rico, could be the DR, could be as far away as Guatemala.  Someplace where they speak Spanish.  Our job is cutting them loose from whoever’s holding them, no matter where they come from.  Getting them back there is her job.”

“Does ‘her’ have a name?”

“Yeah, but you don’t really expect me to tell you, do you?”

No.  Not really.

“She here tonight?”

Black didn’t bother answering, so Jack glanced through the windshield and saw Bonita staring at him.  He waved, but she turned away.

“The female of the species,” Black said.  “Can’t make sense of them.”

Jack shook his head.  “I think she was counting on me safeguarding her all the way back home.”

“You just might be the first hero she’s ever had.”

Jack heard the garage doors rising behind them.

“And I walked out on her.”

“But you didn’t.  You left her safe and in good hands.”

“That’s not how she sees it.”

As the truck started to back up, Jack tried to put Bonita out of his mind.  She was better off right where she was, and staying there now was the best thing for her.

“What’s the plan?”

Black said, “My brother’s wiped down the other truck.  He’s going to park it by a midtown fire hydrant and walk away.  I’m going to drive you around for a bit, then get out and let you do whatever it is you do with your truck when you return from a run.”

“And what’ll you do then?”

“Train home.”

“To the wife and kids and a blazing fireplace.”

A prolonged silence followed, then, in a soft voice, “That’d be nice.”  Black shook it off and tossed him the mask.  “Time for hide and seek.”

“Again?”

“You seem okay, but the less you know, the better for all concerned, including you.”

“What if I refuse?”

“I shoot you in the eyes.”

Not a blink, not a hint of hesitation or smile.  Jack had posed the question for the hell of it, but he couldn’t tell if Black was kidding or not.

“Then I guess I’ll put on the mask.”

14

Reggie was sure he was dying. 

His head hurt, maybe the worst headache of his life, but that paled against the agony blazing from his knees.  He’d never felt anything like that.  At first he thought he’d been kneecapped, but when his vision had finally cleared and he’d looked, he’d seen no blood.  He’d felt them through his jeans, gingerly touching where they were swollen up like watermelons.  Just broken…

Just
broken?  Nothing
just
about it.  He’d never hurt so much in his life.  How?  He had no memory of breaking them.  And he’d probably never get a chance to remember because he wasn’t going to survive the night.

He’d barely survived the day.  He was cold, wet, exhausted, hungry and thirsty as all hell, and now the sun was down.  That meant he was going to get colder and wetter, and with no food or water, weaker and weaker.

When his vision had cleared, he’d spotted the roof of some sort of warehouse above the grass and reeds.  After screaming his voice raw, he’d tried to stand, but that wasn’t possible by any stretch.  Getting on his hands and knees was even more out of the question.  So he'd tried to crawl on his belly but his broken knees howled as they were dragged over the rough ground.  Finally he’d rolled over onto his back and managed to crawl that way through the grass. 

Took him fucking forever, but he made it to what he’d thought would be a road, but turned out to be little more than a rutted path.  He tried again to scream for help, but could manage little more than a croak.  His voice was shot.

Reggie lowered his head and sobbed. If anyone used this road, it was once in a blue moon. Had to face it: He was a goner.

He lay quiet, trying to remember how he’d come to this.  Asshole Moose, disappearing, Reggie forced to take his place behind the wheel, arriving in Staten Island, meeting the –

Holy shit!  The shooters!  And that guy… Archie… he’d slammed Reggie’s head against the door.  Had he busted his knees?  Reggie seemed to have a vague memory of –

Yeah!  Shit,
yeah!

Archie… standing over him… swinging a tire iron.

Archie broke his knees.

Reggie remembered someone else there, talking to him, but he never saw his face, and the words were a blur.  But no mistake about Archie, that son of a bitch.  He –

Lights!  Headlights coming down the road. 

Reggie dragged himself half onto the road and waved an arm.  The car slowed, then stopped.  A door opened and he heard voices babbling in a foreign tongue.  He was lifted under the arms and dragged into the backseat of a car.  His knees screamed at being bent and he would have screamed too if he had a voice.

And then he saw who was dragging him and almost wished he’d stayed hidden in the grass.

Arabs.

15

They’d been riding in silence for a while, with Jack safe inside his mask, wondering at the story behind these brothers.  Where’d they get such a vendetta against pedophiles?  Jack agreed the world would be a better place without them, but he wasn’t about to make a career out of hunting them down and administering street justice.  Had they been abused as kids?  That was the only reason he could imagine two brothers winding up on the same path.

Then again,
were
they brothers?  They sure as hell didn’t look alike.  Then again–

“Hey, Archie,” said Black.  “You can take off the mask and sit up now.”

“You’re not going to shoot me in the eyes if I catch a glimpse of the street?”

He laughed.  “Nah.  In fact, I want you to see something.”

Jack straightened from the floor and pulled the backward mask off his head.  He looked around at five-story tenements with fire escapes clinging like spiders to their brick faces.  At street level, a parade of XXX and PEEP SHOW and MASSAGE signs.  The doorways sported shills and hustlers; the sidewalks were full of girls in hot pants.

He spotted a passing street sign: 46
Street and Eighth Avenue.

“Welcome to Hell’s Kitchen,” Black said.  “Specifically, the Minnesota strip.”

Jack had strolled here many times.  Lots of offers of coke, weed, speed, rock, whatever, and come-ons from teen girls in hot pants – teen boys in hot pants too – though none as young as the kids in the trucks.

“Never knew why it’s called that.”

“Because back in the mid-seventies, Minnesota passed hard-assed anti-prostitution laws that drove all their hookers here. They do tons of business when conventions are in town.”  He slowed and nodded toward Jack’s side window.  “Check out the kid at two o’clock.”

Jack peered at the bustling sidewalk and saw a young boy in tight leggings, a skintight shirt, androgynous blond hair, and heavy eye makeup, shivering on the curb. 

“Got him.”

“Can’t be over fourteen, you think?”

Jack gave him a closer look.  The eyes looked old, but the rest of him… “Not a day.”

“A chicken, waiting for a hawk.”

Jack had heard the term – chicken hawks were older gays who went for young stuff.  But this kid was definitely underage.  He gave them a hopeful look.  Jack shook his head.

Black said, “He look like he wants to be out there?”

“Looks like he’s freezing his butt off.”

“Right.  That means somebody’s running him.  Wonder who?” He scanned the sidewalk as they moved on.  “He won’t be far away.”

Jack sighed.  “Man, this is sad.”

“Yeah.  Ten blocks of the dregs of society.  They’re on their way down, but haven’t quite hit bottom yet.”

He stayed on Eighth up to 53
, cut over to Ninth, then headed back downtown.  Different here.  Still some peep and massage places, but mostly dingy storefronts, the darker doorways offering temporary shelter to shapeless homeless folks with their plastic bags and shopping carts, their gender uncertain beneath myriad layers of grime and old clothes.  

A red light halted their downtown cruise at 44
.  Up ahead Jack could see the bus overpass arching above the street into the Port Authority’s upper levels.  Suddenly his view was blocked by a splash of soapy water.