Legacies_ A Repairman Jack Novel Part 5

Which was hard to figure. If the sister was dead, wouldn't the house go to the brother?

But the Arab and the brother were keeping all their reasons to themselves. Baker figured they had to be after something in that house. And whatever it was, it had to be pretty d.a.m.n valuable, because they wanted it pretty d.a.m.n f.u.c.king bad. As to what it was, Baker didn't have a clue. Another one of their secrets.

That was okay for now. He had a big big payoff coming when the house finally belonged to the Arab. He'd have to share some of it with the crew he'd hired, but there'd still be plenty left over to solve his current financial woes, and even add a little padding to the pitifully thin cus.h.i.+on of his retirement fund. payoff coming when the house finally belonged to the Arab. He'd have to share some of it with the crew he'd hired, but there'd still be plenty left over to solve his current financial woes, and even add a little padding to the pitifully thin cus.h.i.+on of his retirement fund.

But before all this was over, Baker was going to know all all their secrets. And you could take that to the bank. their secrets. And you could take that to the bank.

A chill rippled over Alicia's skin and collected at the base of her spine as she watched a gray car double-parked across the street. It idled there, slightly uptown from her vantage point, its motor running.

The same car as this morning? She couldn't be sure. Was it watching the door of the Center or waiting for someone in one of those stores? How could she know? h.e.l.l, between the sun glare and the tinted windows, she couldn't even tell how many people were in it.

d.a.m.n, this was scary. What were they waiting for? An explosion?

She shuddered. She'd told Tiffany to let her see all the mail, all the UPS deliveries before they were opened. But what would she do if she came across a package with no return address? Call the bomb squad? Luckily she hadn't had to face that choice-all today's deliveries were from the Center's usual suppliers.

She forced herself to turn away.

This was her fifth-or was it her sixth?-trip to the front since her arrival this morning. Tiffany was beginning to give her strange looks.

She lead Jack Niedermeyer back to her office. Maybe it was just her imagination. Why would anybody follow her? What was the point? She did the same thing every day: from her apartment in the Village to the Center, from the Center to her apartment. A model of predictability.

Relax, she told herself. You're making yourself crazy. Stay calm and figure out where you go from here on the will mess.

"Have a seat," she said as they entered her office.

Raymond stopped by to drop off some papers. She introduced them but said nothing about why Mr. Niedermeyer was here.

When Raymond was gone and they were seated, facing each other, she took a good look at this very average-looking brown-haired, mid-thirtyish man in jeans and a reddish flannel s.h.i.+rt.

This is the guy who's going to get the toys back? Alicia thought as she indicated a chair. Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much. is the guy who's going to get the toys back? Alicia thought as she indicated a chair. Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much.

"Now, Mr. Niedermeyer-"

"Just call me Jack."

"Okay, Just Jack." And you can call me Dr. Clayton And you can call me Dr. Clayton. No, she wouldn't say that. "Ms. DiLauro told me you might be able to help. Are you a friend of hers?"

"Not really. I did some work for her once. Got her out of a jam."

"What sort of a jam?"

He leaned forward. "I believe the subject is missing toys?"

A tiny flash of intensity there. Well hidden, but Alicia had spotted it. Something personal between these two? Or simply none of my business?

When he'd leaned forward, he'd put his hands on her desk. Alicia was struck by the length of his thumbnails. His hands were clean, his nails well trimmed... all except for the thumbs. Their nails jutted a good quarter inch or more beyond the flesh. She wanted to ask him about them but didn't see how she could do so with any grace.

"I wasn't prying," she said. "I'm simply curious as to how one man could possibly find those toys ahead of the whole New York City Police Department."

Jack shrugged. "First off, it won't be the 'whole' department. Maybe one or two robbery detectives-if you're lucky."

Alicia nodded. He was right.

"Second," he said, "I think it's a safe bet that the guys who ripped you off aren't family men stocking up for their own kids' Christmases. And from the look of that door, they weren't pros. I smell a quickie, spur-of-the-moment heist. I'll bet they don't have a fence in place to dump their loot, which means they'll be looking for one. I know people..."

He left that hanging. What people? she wondered. People who buy stolen Christmas gifts? Was he some sort of criminal himself?

She looked at him and realized that his mild brown eyes revealed nothing... absolutely nothing.

"So... you 'know people'... people, I a.s.sume, who might lead you to the thieves. And then what?"

"And then I will prevail upon them to return the gifts."

"And if you can't 'prevail?' What then? Call in the police?"'

He shook his head. "No. That's one of the conditions of my involvement: no contact with officialdom. If the police recover the gifts, fine. All's well that ends well. If I I return them, it's a wonderful occurrence, a Christmas miracle. You don't know who's responsible, but G.o.d bless 'em. You've never seen me, never even heard of me. As far as you know, I don't exist." return them, it's a wonderful occurrence, a Christmas miracle. You don't know who's responsible, but G.o.d bless 'em. You've never seen me, never even heard of me. As far as you know, I don't exist."

Alicia tensed. Was this some sort of scam? Rob the gifts, then charge a fee to "find" them. Maybe even collect a reward?

But no. Gia DiLauro would never have anything to do with something like that. Her anger this morning had been too real.

But this man, this "Just Jack"... he might have involved Gia without her knowledge.

"I see," she said. "And what would you charge for-?"

"It's taken care of."

"I don't understand. Did Gia-?"

"Don't worry about it. All taken care of."

"There'll be a reward."

She'd had calls-businesses and individuals offering to contribute to a reward fund for the arrest of the perpetrators. The total was mounting.

"Keep it. Spend it on the kids."

Alicia relaxed. All right. So it wasn't a scam.

"What I need is some information about the gifts-anything distinctive that'll help me make sure I'm on the right track."

"Well, for one thing, they were all wrapped. We only accepted new toys or clothing-all of it un unwrapped-and then we wrapped them ourselves as they came in. You saw the kind of paper we used. Other than that, what can I say? It was a real hodgepodge of gifts, a beautiful, generous a.s.sortment..."

Alicia felt her throat begin to lock with rage.

And they're all gone!

The man rose and extended his hand across her desk. "I'll see what I can do."

Alicia gripped his hand and held it. Should she tell him about Thomas and the will and the house, about the bomb that obliterated Leo Weinstein, that perhaps the theft of the toys was connected? No, she didn't want to get into that with this man. And besides, the toy theft felt felt different. different.

"What are our chances?" she said. "The truth. Don't think you have to make me feel good."

"The truth?" he said. "Chances for recovery are zip if they've already fenced the toys. Slim if they haven't. If they're not recovered, say, by Sunday, I'd say they're gone for good."

"I'm sorry I asked." She sighed. "But that's the way it goes around here, I guess. These kids are born under a dark cloud. I don't know why I should expect they'll get a break this time."

He gave her hand a little extra squeeze, then released her.

"You never know, Dr. Clayton." He gave her a crooked smile. "Even the worst losers get lucky once in a while."

Maybe it was the smile that did it. It dropped his s.h.i.+elds. Alicia saw into this Jack for an instant-a nanosecond, really-and suddenly she had hope. If it was at all possible to find and return those gifts, this man believed he could pull it off.

And now Alicia was beginning to believe it too.

Instead of heading for the front after leaving the doctor's office, Jack ducked to the left and returned to the infant area. He stepped back into the relative shadow of a doorway across from the big plate-gla.s.s window and watched.

Gia sat half facing him, but all her attention was on the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She rocked, smiled, cooed, and looked down at that bundle as if it were the most precious child in the world. Someone else's baby, but no one looking at Gia now would know it. Her eyes were aglow with a light Jack had never seen before. And her expression... beatific was the only word for it.

And then Vicky hopped into the picture, an eight-year-old slip of a thing; her dark brown braids bouncing as she hurried a bottle of formula to her mother. Jack smiled. He had to smile every time he saw Vicky. She was a doll and he loved her like a daughter.

He'd never met Vicky's father and, from what he'd heard about the late, not-so-great Richard Westphalen, he was glad. Jack had it on excellent authority that the Brit b.a.s.t.a.r.d was dead-he knew the where, when, and how of his death-but the remains would never be found. So it would be years before Richard Westphalen was declared legally dead. Gia had taken back her maiden name after the divorce, although Vicky remained a Westphalen-the last of the line.

Vicky didn't seem to miss him. Why should she? She'd hardly known him when he was alive, and now Jack had more than taken his place. Or at least he hoped so.

He watched a few minutes longer, unable to take his eyes off the two most important people in his life. And it worried him no end that they were both in an enclosed room with HIV-positive infants.

Right, right, right. He knew all the facts and figures about how safe they were, and all that. And that was all fine and good for other people. But this was Gia and Vicky. And the threat was a virus, something you couldn't see, and not just any virus. This was HIV.

HIV had always given Jack the creeps. He wasn't generally given to looking for or finding conspiracies, but HIV was so d.a.m.ned efficient efficient. An infection that attacks the very weapons the body uses against infections... the concept had such an engineered engineered feel about it. feel about it.

Jack felt he could protect those two people in there against just about anything. But not a virus. And they were putting themselves right in its way.

If either one of them should catch it... he didn't know what he'd do.

HIV was something he could not fix.

Jack pulled himself away and walked back the way he had come.

He saw the heavyset Gladys leading a line of preschoolers down the hall. She smiled and nodded as she pa.s.sed, a huge goose with her goslings. He spotted Hector bringing up the rear.

"Hey," he said, pointing. "Who's that kid with the mad buzz cut?"

Jack had expected another offer to "feel my buth cut," or a smile at least. But Hector's eyes were dull when he looked up at Jack. And then he staggered against the wall and dropped to his knees. Before Jack could react, Hector vomited.

"Whoa!" Jack yelled. "Trouble here!"

Gladys was there in a second. "Stay back," she told Jack as she pulled on latex gloves that seemed to appear from nowhere.

She picked up a hall phone, spoke a few words, then knelt beside Hector. Jack couldn't hear what she said, but he saw Hector shake his head.

And then Raymond appeared-he too was wearing latex gloves. He gathered Hector up in his arms and carried him back down the hall. As Gladys directed the other children back into their playroom, a janitor appeared and began mopping up the mess with a solution that reeked of antiseptic.

Jack moved on. He'd been a frozen observer, not knowing what to do. The staff here had its own set of rules and protocols that Jack was not privy to. He felt like a stranger in a foreign country, with no knowledge of the language or the culture.

He quickened his pace. Hector had been smiling and bubbling less than an hour ago, and just now he'd looked like a little rag doll with all its stuffing vacuumed out.

The happy sounds of the children in the day-care rooms attacked Jack as he moved. Each shout felt like a shot, each laugh a knife thrust. Death hovered over every one of them, a fatal infection lurked around every corner, but they didn't know about that. And just as well. They were kids, and they should be happy while they could.

Especially the crack babies. Their short lives had been full of pain from day one, while a virus chewed away at their immune systems.

And now someone had stolen their toys!

Jack felt his jaw muscles bunch. Don't worry, kids... Uncle Jack may not know what to do when you're sick, but he's not quite as useless as he looked a few minutes ago. He's going to get your toys back. And in the process he sincerely intends to have a heart-to-heart chat with the oxygen waster who took them.

Life really sucked sometimes.

But it didn't have to suck all all the time. Sometimes things could be fixed. the time. Sometimes things could be fixed.

SAt.u.r.dAY.

The Nail sat behind the wheel of his truck and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Cold as s.h.i.+t out tonight, man. Cold as s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t!

But not for long. An hour from now, maybe less if the buyer didn't try to jew him down too much, he'd be flush and warm in his crib, sucking on some rock instead of this p.i.s.s poor excuse for a joint.

The Nail took a deep toke and held it. He wiped the condensation off his winds.h.i.+eld and wished the heater in this d.a.m.n truck worked. He flicked his Bic to check his watch. The buyer had said like eleven-thirty. Just about that now.

He'd floated the word that if anyone wanted a deep discount on a bunch of new Xmas toys, wrapped and ready to go, The Nail was the man. Word had floated back that a fence who was a friend of a friend of a friend wanted the whole truckload. Yes!

He exhaled and peered down the alley, looking for headlights. Lots of wheels rolling by out there, heading for the nearby Manhattan Bridge. He wished the right set would roll in here so he could get this deal done.

His contact hadn't said so, but The Nail figured the fence was bringing his own truck. Had to be. How else was he going to cart the stuff out of here?

Better not have any ideas about taking this this truck, man. He patted the little .32 automatic in his belt. Better not be thinking of anything beyond pa.s.sing the cash and offloading the stash. truck, man. He patted the little .32 automatic in his belt. Better not be thinking of anything beyond pa.s.sing the cash and offloading the stash.

Hey, that rhymes.

Pa.s.sin' the green and splittin' the scene.