Tier struggled to his feet and staggered a few steps to the side. Dizzy. Blood loss?
“You will tell him?” she said, her tone insistent.
“I will.”
He hefted the Bagaq. This was the thing Roland had been so hell bent on finding, the thing he thought would cure his ills. It looked like a worthless hunk of lava now. What was that Sam Spade line? The stuff dreams are made of…
“Now get moving and do your duty,” Madame de Medici told him.
“Gladly. But…” He nodded toward Poncia. “What about him?”
She turned to the creature. “Young man, please dispose of that trash.”
Young man, is it? And here I thought tonight couldn’t get any more weird. Stupid me.
The creature rolled Poncia’s corpse over the edge where it landed with a thud on the ice. As good a place as any for him.
Tier zipped up his coat and staggered toward the parking lot. When he rounded the corner, he saw a Hummer idling a couple dozen feet from his Explorer. A tall turbaned man in a long overcoat stood by the rear passenger door. He nodded to Tier as if to say, You may proceed.
Oh, I’ll proceed, all right. I’ll proceed right the hell out of here.
This job could not be over soon enough.
7
Jack realized with a start that he was back in Quinnell’s lair.
He remembered the terrible impact of the bullet hitting him in the back, of finding it increasingly hard to draw a breath, then being pulled—or pushed, rather—from the frozen basin onto the bulkhead. Madame de Medici pressing the Bagaq against his chest, then warmth and comfort. He remembered some—but not all—strength returning to his muscles but coordination eluding them, half-walking, half carried to a Hummer, driven through the snow by a silent Sikh, ending up somewhere else…
He sprawled against a familiar concrete wall, saw familiar blinking lights, a little Christmas tree… Quinnell sitting across from him, and next to Quinnell…
“Madame de…?”
“Hush. You’re still feeling the effects of the poison.”
“Neuromushclar agent.” Jeez, he sounded drunk.
“Whatever it was, the Bagaq could not reverse all its effects. How do you feel?”
“Ever drink a quart of tequila and follow it with IV fentanyl with a Shoma chasher?”
She deadpanned: “Every night before dinner.”
His laugh muscles didn’t seem to be working so he said, “A shenshe of humor too.”
“You will be helpless for a while yet.”
“No…I’m fine.”
He tried to stand but his legs wanted no part of it. He managed to raise his butt a few inches before dropping back to the floor.
“Give it time,” she said.
Questions surfaced in the muck of his brain. “How…how did you find me?”
“Your phone. I had its number on mine from when you returned my call the other night. A friend helped me track it.” She pointed at Quinnell. “But your friend here… he arrived and dashed ahead of us as we pulled into the diner lot. I followed him around to the back.”
Quinnell?
He noticed the empty cuffs handing from the pipe. Oh, right. Jack had mentioned going to the diner. But what about…?
“The Bagaq…I heard you…you gave it t’your enemy?”
“I despise conflict. I—”
“I know. I heard you talkin’ a the tall guy.”
“That would be Mister Hill. Yes, Roland and I have a conflict. I decided to resolve it. It’s as simple as that.”
“But—”
“You have more questions, I know, but I have an errand I must run. Fear not, I shall return, and I will explain all when I do.”
She hurried down the tunnel, leaving Jack and Quinnell staring at each other. Quinnell looked spent.
“Y’okay?”
A nod.
“You don’ look sho hot. Not that I’ve met lotta guysh in your condition, but you looked a li’l more with it before.”
A shrug and then a waggling point at Jack.
“Oh, wha’? You think I don’ look sho hot. I know that. Bud I know zactly why: I got hit with a doshe of that neuro shtuff myself. Only half a wha you got an’ I’m shtill wiped out. Don’ know how you came outa it sho fasht.”
Another shrug.
Jack half-raised a leaden arm to point at the empty cuffs hanging on the pipe.
“How…?”
Quinnell held up a taloned finger.
“Picked it? More power to you, buddy.”
New questions kept popping up. Chief among them was how Madame had got hold of the Bagaq. Had she persuaded Abe to give it to her? Or had she sent some of her people to take it by force? He remembered a turbaned guy driving her car… if she’d hurt Abe…
Had to call him.
It took massive effort to slip his hands into his pockets only to find them empty. Then he noticed the pile of paraphernalia on the floor beside him: his wallet, Glock, keys, and yes, his phone. He spider-walked his hand over to it, thumbed it on and… No Service.
Shit-shit-shit.
He’d have to wait till Madame de Medici got back from wherever she’d gone.
8
Tier was feeling a little stronger by the time he reached the city. He’d found an open 7-Eleven along the way where he’d picked up coffee and a couple of glazed donuts. The coffee wasn’t fresh and the donuts were a day old, but not stale yet. The carbs and caffeine gave him a much-needed boost.
Alone in the car…he embraced the solitude.
But still he’d driven in a daze of sorts. Reality had taken a left turn through a back alley into a neighborhood he hadn’t known existed. In his workaday world, ugly lumps of metal didn’t melt onto skin and suck up diseases and heal wounds. That was the stuff of Harry Potter stories or Lord of the Rings or whatever, not the world where he was born and raised. Oh, sure, the old men and women of the tribe had told their share of fantastic tales, but he’d never believed them. In fact, he’d always doubted that even they believed them.
Less than two hours ago he’d been wounded, and bleeding badly. But now the wound was gone. He’d been healed. By Magic.
The wonder of it enveloped him all the way into Manhattan where he found the streets pretty well plowed. He hadn’t a prayer of finding a legal parking space so he double-parked outside Apfel’s house. At this hour, he doubted anyone would complain. Besides, he didn’t intend to spend much time here.
The cars along the curb had been completely plowed under. No way to pass between them so he resorted to climbing onto a hood and jumping into the knee-high snow of the untouched sidewalk on the far side.
He slogged up the front steps and rang the bell again and again. Apfel had round-the-clock help so Tier knew someone eventually would answer.
A sleepy-looking man in his thirties, clad in green scrubs with A. Lindo, LPN on his name tag, opened the door. Tier didn’t give him time to speak.
“Hill here to see Mister Apfel on urgent business.”
“But—”
He pushed his way in. “Tell him I have what he’s been looking for. I’ll wait here.” When Lindo hesitated, Tier shouted, “Go!”
“Is that Poncia?” came a faint voice from upstairs.
“No, it’s me. Hill.”
“Bring him up, Tony.”
The nurse motioned Tier to follow him up the wide staircase. For no particular reason, Tier dragged a dozen feet behind Tony. His earlier energy boost was wearing off.
He found Apfel in the master bedroom, hooked up to one of his tubes. The only light in the room was a gooseneck reading lamp attached to the headboard. The dramatic lighting made the bed look like it was floating on an inky pond.
“Where’s Albert?”
“He didn’t make it.”
Apfel frowned. “As in, he is merely indisposed, or gone for good?”
“The latter.”
Tier didn’t want to get into the depredations of the wolf thing—th
e “Young Man,” as Madame de Medici had called it.
“That’s too bad.”
“I’ll have to disagree with you on that. He was a psycho.”
A thin smile. “Psychos have their uses. But to the reason for your visit: You have it?”
“I do.”
His expression turned avid. “Well, where is it?”
Tier pulled the Bagaq from a pocket and held it up. He watched Apfel’s eyes light. Yeah, the stuff dreams are made of, all right. Then the eyes narrowed.
“The color has changed.”
“So it has. It darkened right after it healed two people.”
Apfel straightened off the pillow. “It what? When?”
“Less than two hours ago.”
“What happened?”
“It made a bullet wound go away. Saw it with my own eyes.”
For some reason he held back on his own healing bout with the Bagaq. A part of him wanted to keep that to himself. Nobody else’s business, really. And of course, then he’d have to get into the wolf thing too.
Still the suspicious look. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be lying and that could be a fake. And do you really expect me to believe you know how to use the Bagaq?”
“I don’t. Or at least I didn’t. Madame de Medici—”
He slammed the mattress with his right hand. “She was there?”
Tier nodded. “She brought the Bagaq to the party. Showed up out of the blue after Poncia shot a paralyzed guy—”
“Paralyzed?” Apfel tsked. “That sounds like Poncia.”
“—in the back.”
“Of course.”
“Well, the de Medici gal took this and placed it on the guy’s bare chest. A minute later the entry and exit wounds had closed.”
In truth, he hadn’t seen the post-Bagaq entry wound, but felt he’d made a safe assumption.
“But how did you take it from her? Does she share Poncia’s unfortunate condition?”
The gleam in his eyes said he wouldn’t find that the least bit unfortunate.
“No. Here’s where it gets really strange: She gave it to me.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t give a damn what you believe, Mister Apfel. But she wanted me to tell you a few things.”
“Conditions?”
“Depends on how you look at it. She said for you to use it with her blessing, but don’t come looking for her. You can keep it as long as you live, but eventually she wants it back.”
“Hell will freeze over first!”
“She wanted me to tell you that when you’re on your deathbed she’ll show up to reclaim it.”
He grinned. “With the Bagaq at my disposal, I plan to live a very long time.” He stretched both arms toward Tier. His grasping fingers made his hands look like a pair of spiders doing the backstroke. “Now give—give it here!”
“Not so fast.”
His expression hardened. “I was afraid of this.”
“Of what?”
“Blackmail, of course. Well, how much do you want?”
Tier shook his head, sick of this man. “I don’t do blackmail. But once this gives you back your health, you may decide to welch on the deal.”
“You insult me!”
“Just pay me the rest of my per diem and the finder’s bonus, and we’re done.”
“That’s all?”
“No more, no less.”
Apfel gave him a long stare, then said, “Tony, get my checkbook.”
Tier said, “A checkbook? No Paypal or Venmo?”
“I’m old school. But let me ask you, Hill: How would you like to work for me?”
“Take Poncia’s place? Not interested.”
“I could put you on a generous retainer.”
How did he tell this man that he’d rather have cancer than work for him?
“I prefer to spread my work around.”
Tony returned with a checkbook. Apfel did some scribbling, then tore off a check. As Tier stepped forward to take it, Apfel held it back.
“Now it’s my turn to say ‘not so fast.’ How do I know that’s the real Bagaq?”
“I just told you—”
“An interesting story, but the color is way off, so how do I know it’s true?”
Bastard.
“Fine.” He dropped it on the bed. “Only one way to find out, I guess.”
Apfel placed the check on the nightstand and grabbed the Bagaq. “My sentiment, exactly. But I wish to have some privacy for this, so please step outside. Both of you.”
“Mister Apfel,” Tony said. “I don’t understand what’s—”
“You don’t need to understand, Tony,” he said in an icy tone. “You need only to do as you are told.”
Tony flushed. “Yessir.”
Tier followed him out into the hallway where the nurse closed the door behind them.
“Just what is going on?” Tony said. “I can’t be a party to—”
“Not your worry, Tony.”
“But you talked about that rock healing a bullet wound. How is that—?”
“Possible? I have no idea, Tony. And I’m too tired to care. If I never see your boss and that ‘rock,’ as you call it, again it’ll be way too soon.”
That seemed to shut him up. They waited in silence, which was fine with Tier.
And then that silence was split by an agonized scream from the bedroom. With a cry, Tony yanked open the doors and rushed in. Tier followed at a more leisurely pace. He remembered it hurting—burning—but not that bad. Maybe Apfel had a low threshold of—
Another scream—this time from Tony. Tier stepped closer and felt his gorge rise when he saw what lay on the bed.
“What happened?” Tony was shouting. “Great God, what happened to him?”
Roland Apfel was barely recognizable. His face was ravaged with tumors and what looked like shingles across his forehead and into his right eye. The Bagaq, in its ovoid form, lay on the sheet beside his chest. But his chest… more tumors, plus pustules and blisters and goddamn if he didn’t have an exit wound exactly like Jack’s a couple of hours ago. And the left side of his throat sported a bloody tear, right where Tier had been bitten. Was that what his wound had looked like before the Bagaq had worked its magic?
What the hell happened here? The Bagaq was supposed to cure. Tier was living proof. But it seemed to have the opposite effect on Roland Apfel.
“What did you do to him?” Tony cried.
“Me? Nothing. You were with me out in the hall.”
“It’s that thing you gave him.”
Tier didn’t like the way this was going.
“You mean, the thing he paid me to find.”
“You killed him!”
Okay, time to turn this around.
“Listen, buddy-boy, I’m not the one who was hired to keep him alive. This isn’t exactly going to be a high point on your resume.”
Just then, Roland opened his eyes and took an agonized breath.
Tier nudged Tony. “He’s still alive. Better call 9-1-1. Pronto.”
As Tony pulled out his phone and began punching in numbers, Tier stepped to the nightstand, picked up his check, and pocketed it. The banks would be open in a few hours. He’d have to cash it ASAP.
Blabbering into his phone, Tony hurried from the room. Was he going to wait by the door for the EMTs? Tier had a feeling it might take them a while to get here through the snow.
Apfel’s lips moved but no sound came. Tier leaned closer.
“That woman…” His voice…if sand could talk, it might sound like this. “She…” His voice gave out.
“She pulled a fast one on you, I think.”
“How?”
“No idea. You’re the expert—you and Madame. You should ask her.”
His eyes widened in fear. “Here?”
“Not that I know of. At least not yet. But I’ve a feeling she will be.”
A questioning look.
Nothing she’d said upon handing him the Bagaq had made sense at the time, but it all made terrible sense now. He stared at the Bagaq where it lay next to Apfel on the rumpled sheets. Its color had returned to the original bronze.
Tempting…
But no. That wouldn’t be wise. It belonged to Madame de Medici. It did not seem a good idea to place oneself between that woman and what she wanted.
“I can’t say it was a pleasure doing business with you, Roland, because it was anything but. And to top it off, Poncia told me just before he died how I was a loose end you wanted him to eliminate.”
“No…”
“He thought he had the upper hand, had his gun pointed straight at me, point-blank range, so he had no reason to lie.”
He turned at a sound behind him and expected to see Tony. Instead, Madame de Medici sauntered into the room.
“And this is my cue to leave. You two deserve each other.”
He gave Apfel a little salute and walked toward Madame de Medici, intending to pass her without a word.
“Don’t go too far,” she said, barely glancing at him. Her amber gaze was fixed on Apfel.
“Why not?” Not that he’d been planning a vacation.
“Burbank might be calling.”
“What for?”
“That will be between you and him.”
He couldn’t imagine what the old guy could want with him but he said no more.
They both walked on.
Downstairs he found a very cowed-looking Tony sitting on one of the padded benches in the foyer. The tall Sikh stood next to him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He gave Tier another You-may-proceed nod, and Tier did just that.
The frigid air slapped his face as he stepped out onto the front steps. It felt wonderful.
9
Madame de Medici stopped by the side of the bed and looked down at the ruins of Roland Apfel.
“Well, here we are,” she said, keeping her tone flat. Mocking him at this juncture was beneath her.
The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel Page 28