That wouldn’t be easy without knowing his last name. But Tier had ways…
“And then what?”
“We may have to resort to force.”
Tier knew what that meant and didn’t like it. He’d lived by his wits since returning from the A, without putting the hurt on anyone. He preferred it that way. Besides, he had his license and his future to protect. So, he wasn’t going to allow Roland to leave anything unsaid.
“Exactly what do you mean by that?”
Poncia gave one of his patented sneers. “Read between the lines, Hill.”
Tier didn’t bother looking at him. He spoke to Roland.
“I don’t read between lines when it comes to breaking the law and risking jail time.”
“Pussy!”
Still speaking to Roland: “Exactly what do you mean by ‘force’? How much and to what end?”
“To the end of securing the Bagaq.”
“Specifics, please.”
Roland glared at him. Tier could tell he didn’t like coming out and saying it. So much easier to leave it hanging, leaving it up to the imagination.
Poncia said, “He means we may have to grab him and go caveman on his ass until he tells us where it is.”
“Crudely put,” Roland said, “but on the mark.”
No surprise there, but they weren’t finished.
“Okay, so through torture we learn that it’s in the bank vault. How do we make him get it for us?”
Again, Poncia saved his boss the discomfiture of issuing indelicate instructions.
“We grab his wife or his kid or his girlfriend or his boyfriend and tell him we’ll trade them for the Bagaq. What, I gotta draw you a map, Tonto?”
Tonto?
Tier had grown up with racial slurs and had learned how to hide any reaction. A reaction was seen as a reward and only incited further insults. Tier had learned to consider the source. For an insult to mean anything, he had to respect the source. And in this case, the source was a fat douche bag.
No, he would not react. Now. But later, when this was all over, he might just pound Albert Poncia into the dirt—get “caveman” on him.
“I hope none of that will be necessary,” Tier said.
But he didn’t have a backup plan. At least not yet.
“I don’t care how it’s done,” Roland said. “I just want results. And fast. My remission may not last much longer. And because of that, I want you two to work together.”
Tier blurted, “You can’t be serious!”
“What’s the matter?” Poncia said. “Afraid I’ll show you up?”
“I do my best work alone,” Tier told Roland.
“If the zero results I’ve seen so far are your best work, then it appears you need help. I don’t want the Bagaq, do you understand? I need it. Learn all you can about this Jack. Follow him. If he doesn’t lead you to Madame or to the Bagaq, then I authorize you to take whatever measures necessary to secure it. The bonus you will receive for successful completion of your task should act as a balm on whatever moral wounds you must endure to succeed.”
So, it comes down to this, he thought. Knuckle under or walk away.
He was tempted to hit the road and leave it to Poncia to handle the whole thing. But quitting wasn’t a real option. Seriously…wimp out because he found Poncia repulsive? He came from a family that strolled high steel the way most people strolled sidewalks, ate lunch sitting on a beam thirty stories up.
He’d walked away from jobs before, but always from the high ground. He didn’t feel like he had the high ground here. After all, he’d lost track of Madame de Medici yesterday, and even though she’d contacted him today, he still didn’t know if she’d truly left the country. Which meant he’d let Roland down.
He’d get this done, but on his terms.
“If it’s findable, I’ll find it. But I must have the lead.”
“I ain’t taking no orders from you,” Poncia said.
“Then I walk. Non-negotiable.”
Roland turned to Poncia. “Mister Hill is the more experienced investigator. You will follow his lead.”
“But—”
“You will follow his lead.” To Tier: “Tonight you will research this Jack and learn whatever there is to know about him. First thing tomorrow you two will meet here and begin your quest. By tomorrow night you will have the Bagaq. Are we clear?”
“Very,” Tier said.
Tomorrow was going to be a very long day.
9
Jack guided the van through South Ozone Park. He’d been killing time until the sun went down. H3 was supposedly nocturnal, so the dark hours gave him his best chance of finding it. The dashboard clock said 3:30, leaving him still an hour till sunset.
He was approaching the Aqueduct periphery when a blip lit on the screen… the south end of the racetrack grounds. He stopped and watched it head south until it disappeared again.
What the—?
Had it been heading toward Howard Beach? Maybe.
He steered onto Cross Bay Boulevard and cruised under the Belt Parkway. He’d just entered Howard Beach when the blip reappeared on the right side of the screen. He turned onto 156th Avenue where the tracker led him straight to the Quinnell address.
Looked like Monaco and Hess had been right. H3 was headed for the Quinnell family.
He pulled onto a scrub brush area opposite the end of Eighty-seventh Street, grabbed the tranq gun, and jumped out.
Christ, it was cold.
Still a lot more light in the sky than he liked as he entered the woodsy barrier, but he didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing him over the roar of traffic rolling along the Belt just a hundred feet away.
He entered the woods and pushed through the leafless underbrush. Most of the trees were bare as well, which meant he wouldn’t have much cover except from the red cedars and cypresses scattered among the oaks and elms. All the backyards were fenced in—one of the bigger lots even had a pool—and all were empty except one.
Jack counted the houses from the end of the row until he neared the one he’d been told was Quinnell’s. Bare spots pocked the scruffy backyard grass. A little girl spun in a circle in the center of the yard.
A young woman, the same slovenly blonde who’d arrived at the front door this morning, sat on the back steps sucking on a joint. Jack squeezed in behind a cedar and watched her toke away, then tuck the roach into what looked like a red-and-white Altoids tin.
“Time to go in, Cilla,” she said, standing. Her voice echoed faintly through the cold air.
Cilla kept spinning.
The sister approached Cilla. “Silly Cilla.”
She grabbed her hand and stopped the spinning. Cilla let out a horrendous scream and the sister let go and backed away.
“Suit yourself. You got ten more minutes and then you’re coming in whether you like it or not.”
Cilla started spinning again.
Didn’t she get dizzy?
As soon as the door closed, something moved in the woods. It looked like a man in an overcoat but didn’t quite move like a man.
According to the Plum Island pair, H3 had stolen Quinnell’s overcoat. This guy looked to be wearing a hoodie under the coat, with the hood up and over a low-slung trucker’s hat. The shape under the coat seemed off—not definitely wrong, just… off.
He checked the tracker and if it was accurate, he was looking at H3.
As it approached the four-foot chain-link fence that ringed the Quinnell backyard, Jack loaded a dart into the tranq gun. Whoever it was, human or H3, he couldn’t see how anything good was gonna come of this situation. At four feet, the fence was high enough to keep a child inside, but not to keep an adult out.
Jack sidled closer. He wished he’d had a chance to practice with the tranq gun. He had no idea how accurate it might or might not be.
He adopted a Weaver stance and was ready to spring if the figure started over the fence, but instead it crouched and placed its hands against the l
inks.
The little girl stopped spinning and swayed like a drunk as she stared. She didn’t seem afraid. In fact, a grin lit her face as she made a weaving approach. She stopped about three feet away and seemed to be speaking, but he couldn’t make out her words. Unlikely she’d have a conversation with a wolfman.
What the hell? Maybe it wasn’t H3. But if not, what was he doing crouching by a fence near a little girl?
And why had Jelena’s sister left a three-year old out here alone in the first place? Yeah, it was her backyard, but the light was failing and the temp was dropping. Where was the slovenly aunt? Inside watching Fixer Upper?
Jack extended the weapon as the overcoated figure lifted a hand over the fence and held it out to the girl.
Watch it…watch it…
The girl smiled and said something Jack didn’t quite catch, then high-fived the proffered hand. The hooded figure turned and glided into the shadowy bushes. Jack blinked and it was gone.
On the tracker the blip was moving away. That had to be H3 but—
The little girl waved. “Bye, doggie!”
Doggie?
Holy Christ, that had to be H3, but what—?
She turned and started skipping toward the back door. Jack watched her disappear inside and was about to start after H3 when another figure stepped out of the trees and approached the fence
Who the hell was this? Another player?
As he paused to watch, the new guy vaulted over the fence and approached a rear window. He worked a small pry bar between the upper and lower sash, gave it a twist and then hurried back over the fence and into the trees.
What the hell? He pops the lock on a window and then leaves? What’s he up to?
Whatever it was it could wait. Jack was on the trail of H3 now and—
A glance at the tracker showed a dark screen. The blip was gone. H3 had gone to ground again.
Shit!
Jack resisted the urge to smash it against a tree.
Instead, he took some deep breaths and considered his options. With the light just about gone, searching for a trail was a waste of time. He’d have to wait for the blip to reappear. He didn’t think he’d have to wait long. H3 had to eat.
He headed back toward his van. Curious as he was about the identity of the new guy, he couldn’t let the van sit too long in the scrub. Calls would be made and cops would come calling.
Once he was rolling again, he thought about what he’d seen. H3 had been more manlike than he’d anticipated. But the child had seemed unafraid… and called it “doggie.”
But according to Hess and Monaco, H3 hated Quinnell, killed him, and might be after his family.
Wouldn’t be the first time they’d lied.
He drove a few blocks to Cross Bay Boulevard and pulled into the Stop & Shop lot. Time to call Abe and see what he’d learned.
10
When Albert returned from locking the front door behind Hill, the boss motioned him close to his wheelchair. He looked worse than ever—worse than a just a few minutes ago. Had he been putting up a front for the Indian?
“I need your help, Albert.” His voice was more like a scraping sound than ever.
“What can I do?” He meant that.
“Bring me the Bagaq.”
“I’m trying, but what’s that gonna—?”
“It will cure me.”
Cure? Was the boss off his head? He’d had an aunt once with cancer that spread to her brain. Made her loony.
“But I thought you said the treatments were working.”
“They are. They’re making me sick unto death, but the doctors say the chemo is working.”
“Then what—?”
“They also tell me I’ll never be cancer free. All this agony will give me only a respite. They can’t say how long, but they have little doubt the cancer will reemerge and they might not be able to stop it then.”
“Oh.”
“That’s a terrible thing to live with, knowing that the instrument of one’s demise is smoldering within.” He grabbed Albert’s arm in a claw-like grip. “I want a cure, Albert. A cure.”
His breath was rank. Albert tried not to wince. “And—and the Bagaq’s gonna do that?”
“It has powers. If one knows how to use it, it can cure any ill.”
“Wow.”
Imagine what something like that would be worth.
“Yes. ‘Wow.’ But if you don’t know how to use it, it’s just a lump of metal. I know how. And so does the Madame. That’s why she won’t give it up, won’t even lend it to me. She wants to keep all the Infernals and all their powers to herself.”
“Bitch.”
“Yes. Most definitely. If she is truly in Egypt or headed there, she is out of reach. But the Bagaq is not. You must secure it for me, Albert. You must.”
“I will.” He tried to sound confident but he knew he couldn’t guarantee it.
“Hill could be a problem, however.”
“You mean him being a softy and all?”
“That, yes. But I don’t trust him.”
“You mean you think he’s workin’ for the bitch?”
As much as Albert hated Tonto’s tight-ass superior attitude, he couldn’t see him working both sides of the street.
“No, I do not. But once the Bagaq is in his grasp, I fear he might hold it for ransom.”
Unease gripped Albert as he listened. The same plan had occurred to him: Find the Bagaq and dangle it for a monster payday.
“Hey, no worry about that, Mister Apfel,” he said quickly. Not too quickly, he hoped. “I’ll be there to keep him on the up and up.”
“That’s good to hear, Albert. Because I will never accede to blackmail. I would rather die than be forced to pay for what is rightfully mine.”
The boss didn’t really mean that, did he? Sure as hell sounded like it, though. Which meant if Albert wanted to keep the cushy deal he had here, maybe he’d better keep this fucking Bagaq thing on the up and up.
“No worry, Mister Apfel. Never happen. Not on my watch.”
“I know that, Albert. And you will be well compensated for the successful completion of your mission.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He had a feeling the bonus would be generous. The bucks flowed when the boss was happy.
“But one thing greatly concerns me, Albert. Hill knows of your loyalty to me. And because of that I fear he might do something drastic to you. You are a very important part of this household, and I would hate to see you come to any harm.”
Albert’s throat tightened—just a little. The boss cared, he really cared.
“So, you’re telling me to watch my back.”
“Yes, most certainly watch your back. But more than that. Once the Bagaq is secured, I think you should make a pre-emptive strike.”
“You mean, take him out before he takes me?”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah. Good idea. I can do that.”
As a matter of fact, he’d kinda enjoy it. Watch Tonto’s smug expression turn all scared and beggy in his last moments.
“And the stranger—Jack. When he’s served his purpose and given up the Bagaq, he should be eliminated as well. The fewer who know about the Bagaq, the fewer who can point to me.”
“Got it.” Made lotsa sense.
“Because you don’t want anything happening to me, Albert. I take good care of you, don’t I?”
“Absolutely, sir. The best.”
Without the boss he wouldn’t just be out of a job, he’d have no place to live. The thought of being homeless made him sick.
“And I fully intend to maintain our present arrangement indefinitely, but I have to be alive and free to do that. Understand?”
“Absolutely. You can count on me.”
Yeah, he’d enjoy taking out Tonto. On the other hand, he had no beef with Jack. But if the boss wanted him gone, consider him gone.
11
“Okay, everybody, listen up.”
Jel
ena recognized Junior’s voice and so she rose from her chair to peer over the top of her cubicle divider. Junior stood at the rear of the room before the two executive offices—six-two, broad shoulders, square jaw, perfect hair. And a perfect jerk. Robert Tibbett, Jr., the “Son” in Tibbett & Son. Always “Robert” to his face. Behind his back he was “Junior” to most and “Mr. Hands” to others. Jelena was one of the others.
“With the storm coming, things are dead. People are out clearing the store shelves of milk and bread. Personally, I’m going to be stocking in lots of beer.”
Polite laughter. Jelena forced a smile. Early close meant she’d lose a couple of hours’ pay. Every penny counted, especially this time of year.
“And again, if the storm’s half as bad as they say it will be, tomorrow—Christmas Eve eve—will be a washout too. Or maybe I should say a ‘white-out.’ And as you all know, tomorrow was going to be our holiday party.”
Groans, the loudest from Jelena. She’d run through her paid days off, so she wouldn’t get paid for the snow day.
“And since we were only planning for half a day on Christmas Eve anyway, that looks like a white-out too.”
Shit!
“So, I guess we can say that Christmas starts early—like, right now. Have a merry, everyone!”
Jelena slumped into her chair and bit back a sob.
This totally sucked. The story of her life lately. Things got bad, and then they got worse.
Like the bank taking her house. She had no way to prevent it.
She and David had bought it with a big initial mortgage, but he’d had a solid job with a good salary. But then he’d started gambling. He gambled away their savings, then he gambled away a second mortgage. And then he started borrowing from the wrong people, which led to agreeing to do a drug buy to erase the debt, which led to a DEA agent’s death, which led to a life sentence in Canaan Federal Penitentiary.
The bank had been patient but had reached the end of its tether. Even with housing on the upswing, her little place was far enough underwater that selling wouldn’t help. If the market held up another year or two, she might break even, but she had only a month or two: The bank had started foreclosure proceedings.
She jumped as hands landed on her shoulders.
The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel Page 17