Repairman Jack [10]-Harbingers (17 page)

"The building across the street. I saw the bridge across its roof. It had a redbrick front."

Jack suppressed a groan. Probably ninety percent of the buildings in Bay Ridge had redbrick facing.

"Anything else? A funny chimney, a crazy antenna, a satellite dish—anything to make it stand out?"

"No, just—wait. The cornice! The building had a faded yellow cornice carved with a drape flanked by two inverted hearts."

Jack rubbed his vaguely itchy scars. "West Bay Ridge, in sight of the Verrazano, across the street from a redbrick building with a pretty specific cornice design." He looked at Davis and Miller. "That sounds doable to me. How about you?"

Davis and Miller nodded.

Jack sighed. Looked like he'd just become a double secret temporary yeniçeri in the Militia Vigilum.

But no black suit. No way was he climbing into a black suit.

6

After they'd finished arguing the suit issue, after Davis and Miller had changed into their uniforms, and after Jack had his heat back in his holsters, they were ready to go.

Davis held out a pair of sunglasses. "At least wear the shades."

Jack had no problem with that. He took them and checked them out, turning them over in his hands. Sleek black frames, slight wraparound.

"Okay. Sure."

"Put them on."

"I'll wait till I get outside."

Davis grinned. "No, try them. They'll surprise you."

Jack slipped them on and—

"Whoa!"

The room had barely darkened. He took them off and checked the lenses, but from the outside they looked impenetrably black. He'd seen photochromic lenses, even owned a pair once, but this was different.

"How do they do that?"

Davis shrugged. "Don't know. They're something the Twins came up with. Pretty cool, huh?"

Jack put them back on and looked around. Almost like not wearing shades at all.

"Hot."

"The O is calling other Homes for reinforcements, but we can't wait."

Jack spotted Zeklos standing off to the side, watching them. The longing look on his face tugged at Jack.

He turned to Davis and jerked a thumb at the little guy.

"What about Zeklos? Why not bring him along?"

Miller overheard that.

"No way. He's out for retraining. Besides, he's a menace."

"But he's got two good eyes," Jack said, and left it at that, hoping Davis would pick up the ball.

He did: "Yeah, Miller. Right now we can use all the eyeballs we can get."

"I told you—"

"Would you be saying that if the Twins were here?" Davis said, showing some heat. "You going to let your personal feelings pave the way for another nine-eleven? You want to win this one or not?"

Miller stood silent a moment, staring at Davis, then Jack, then Zeklos, then back to Davis.

"All right. He's another set of eyes, but that's all. He doesn't suit up and if we have to make a move, he stays put."

Davis turned to Zeklos. "That okay with you?"

Zeklos nodded, then glanced at Jack. Something like love glowed in his eyes.

7

After a lengthy, contentious discussion, with most of the heat coming from—of all people—Miller, they yielded to Jack's logic: A four-way split on foot would be the most thorough but would take the longest; pairing off in two cars would allow for only one dedicated observer per car, since the driver had to be watching the street. All four of them in one car would provide three sets of eyes to comb the cornices.

So it came down to Davis driving the Suburban with Miller shotgun, leaving Jack and Zeklos in the back.

Jack studied a Brooklyn map as they drove to Bay Ridge. He couldn't see how anyplace east of Sixth Avenue could have the view of the bridge the Oculus had described, so they started near the waterfront at Shore Road and Fourth—on the edge of John Paul Jones Park—and began working their way upriver and inland from there, snaking a winding course along the streets and avenues.

Bay Ridge was a typical New York melting pot. People of all races, all shapes and sizes. The usual delicatessens, tae kwon do studios, travel agents, restaurants, bars, and bodegas lined its streets. A BP gas station, a limo service, Domino's Pizza. Jack noticed a store awning that proclaimed itself a Tea Room and sported Arabic script.

While they waited at a red light at 99th and Third, two women wearing scarflike hijabs crossed in front of them, each pushing a baby carriage.

Miller said, "Oh, yeah. This is the place."

Davis turned onto Third Avenue. "I think we're too close to the bridge here."

Jack agreed but didn't feel the need to say so.

They were making progress, but to Jack it seemed maddeningly slow. If only they knew how much time they had.

To his right, Zeklos peered out his window, studying the edges of the passing roofs. Jack kept a look out his side but also kept an eye ahead. Not an easy task with Miller's hulking carcass jammed in front of him.

They kept doing their switchbacks, working the grid. On Third Avenue, between 92nd and 93rd, ahead and to the left, Jack spotted a three-story redbrick building with a cornice that might fit the Oculus's description. He wouldn't know until they were closer.

He nudged Zeklos and pointed. The little guy looked, then turned to Jack, eyes wide. Jack nodded and pointed to the front seat.

Zeklos hesitated only a second, then he leaned over the seat and pointed through the windshield.

"There is something!"

Davis slowed the car and craned his neck for a look. Miller leaned forward, doing the same.

"You know," Davis said, "that could be it. Good eye, Zek."

Zeklos glanced at Jack and said, "It was really—"

Jack gave him a hard nudge and shook his head.

Miller growled. "If he spotted it, you know it's wrong."

"Pull over," Jack said.

Davis stopped in an empty space before a fire hydrant and idled. Jack jumped out and looked at the building that faced the cornice. They could have been twins—three-story, brick-fronted apartment houses, but the second lacked a cornice.

He leaned close to Davis's open window.

"Give me your cell number."

Davis jotted it down.

"Okay. Drive around and keep looking while I check this out."

"Since when does he give orders?" he heard Miller say.

Jack walked away before he heard Davis's reply.

A mini-mart advertising Te-Amo cigars and lottery tickets occupied the building's street level. The residential door stood to the left. He stepped up onto the front stoop and began pressing random call buttons. Finally a tinny voice spoke from the speaker.

"Yes?"

Jack pressed his hand over his mouth and pushed a garbled mishmash of syllables through the fingers.

"What?"

He repeated the mishmash.

"Fuck it!"

The buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open. Once in he bounded up the stairs to the roof door. It warned that an alarm would sound if he opened it, but he couldn't find any contacts. He pushed it open and…

Silence.

To assure he wouldn't get locked out, he took off a shoe and used it as a wedge. Then he walked to the parapet and stared at the roof across the street.

The scene matched the Oculus's description: redbrick front, drape-and-inverted-heart cornice, and beyond that, angled to the south… the Verrazano Bridge.

The Arabs were somewhere below his feet. He hoped they belonged to Wrath of Allah…

He felt the darkness well up inside at the thought of them. He wanted—
needed
—to get one of those sons of bitches alone and extract a little information.

He unclenched his fists and let out a long slow breath. That could be dealt with later. Maybe. Right now… step one completed.

Jack called Davis. "I think we've found it."

"Excellent!"

"What's the next step?"

Jack knew what his next step would be, but he thought it best to let Davis and Miller think he was deferring to them.

"Come on down and we'll figure it out."

Not what Jack had in mind.

"Fine, but I don't know if I can get back in. How about this? I hang around up here and see if anyone goes in or out."

"But you don't know the apartment."

"The building's got four per floor: two front and two back. The only place you can see the roof across the street is from the third floor. That puts our guys in one of the two front apartments."

"And if someone comes out?"

"You guys grab him or follow him or whatever you think you should do." Jack hoped they'd follow him. "You any good at bird-dogging?"

"Miller's the best."

Jack nodded to himself. Okay. He'd planted the
follow
seed.

Davis said, "What if someone goes in?"

"Then I come downstairs, let you in, and we pay them a visit."

"Sounds like a plan. Hang on." Some muffled conversation followed—Davis obviously had his hand over the speaker—then, "Okay. We'll try it for a while. But if nothing happens, we'll bust in."

"Which one?"

"Both."

"Okay. And hey, send Zeklos up with a pack of cigarettes."

"What the hell for?"

"I need an excuse for hanging out in the hall."

8

Ten minutes later Jack opened the front door for Zeklos, who handed over a pack of Marlboros.

Jack stared at the pack. "Filtered? I want manly, unfiltered ciggies—Camels, Lucky Strike, Pall Mall."

"I do not think they make those anymore in this country."

As Zeklos turned to go, Jack grabbed his arm. "Hey, why don't you keep me company?"

Zeklos glanced at Jack, then back to the street.

"Miller told me drop these off and come right back."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "And your point is…?"

Zeklos paused, then nodded and gave Jack a buck-toothed grin.

"Yes. Fuck Miller."

They headed up to the third floor where they sat on the chipped tile and leaned against the wall near the top of the stairwell. A mélange of sounds and odors swirled around them: a little opera, a little hip-hop, an argument, a child being scolded, frying bacon, boiling cabbage, sautéing onions.

Jack opened the Marlboros and offered one to Zeklos.

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I am quitted."

"I never really started, but we've got to look like we have a reason for hanging out in the hallway."

Zeklos took one and stuck it in his mouth. Jack did the same, then pulled out a disposable butane lighter.

"If you are quit, how do you have lighter?"

Jack shrugged. "Never know when you're gonna need fire."

He lit Zeklos's, then his own, and took a drag. And got a head rush. And coughed.

"Now I know why I never liked these things."

He'd simply pretend to inhale.

Zeklos lowered his volume. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay. I want to know…" He seemed hesitant. "I want to know what is your amusement."

"Amusement? Oh, you mean game?"

"Yes. That is it. You stop me from killing me, but you take my, um, metal, which make me feel worse."

"Well, I didn't want to have wasted my time."

"I understand. But then you return it."

"Because it was yours, and I figured if you were still alive by morning you'd most likely stay that way."

Jack didn't mention the part about messing with his head.

"But then you take my part this morning, and then you ask me to come along to search. Why is this?"

Jack had felt genuinely sorry for him, but that hadn't been the whole reason. He needed an asset, and Zeklos had been part of the inner circle before being pushed outside. Might be more forthcoming than the others if Jack needed more information.

And Jack had one more reason.

"Well, I haven't known Miller long, but I do love pissing him off."

Zeklos laughed. "I like you…" His voice trailed off. "What should I call you? 'Heir'?"

"You do and you're going straight back to Miller. Jack will do just fine."

Jack figured they'd seem less suspicious if they jabbered about something while they waited. So he started an ersatz argument over the relative merits of American football versus Romanian football—known over here as soccer.

They were each on their third ciggie—making sure to pocket the butts—when a young brunette, her waitress uniform visible within her open coat, stepped out of an apartment to their left. She stopped in her doorway, giving them a wary look.