Repairman Jack [10]-Harbingers (21 page)

He saw a lot of wary faces along the way. Not worried, not frightened, just… cautious. Be a whole different story if subways and bridges and tunnels started blowing up.

Which was why he was headed to Gia's. It was early, yeah, but he wanted to be with her and Vicks if bombs went off.

2

Jack had an idea as he watched Gia zip up Vicky's blue winter coat before taking her to wait for the school bus.

"Hey, why don't we give Vicky the day off and the three of us go out for breakfast?"

Vicky's blue eyes lit. "Yeah! Pancakes!"

Gia didn't look up as she wrapped a red-and-white striped scarf around her daughter's neck.

"Skip school? We need an occasion for that."

"How about my last day in town for a while?"

Now
she looked up at him. "You mean…?"

He hadn't had a chance to tell her yet; had planned to as soon as Vicky was gone, but the thought of Vicky on a bus this morning gave him a crawly feeling in his gut. He didn't want either of them out of his sight.

He nodded. "Abe says everything is ready."

Her face fell. "Oh."

"I thought you'd be happy."

"I did too."

"Where you going, Jack?" Vicky looked worried. "To Shangri-la like you said?"

Jack had told her that last month when he'd thought he was going somewhere with no road back. This time it was to a boat slip in a Fort Lauderdale marina. He planned to stop by Abe's later this morning for the exact address.

"This is a lot closer, Vicks. Florida. And it's not for long. Less than a week."

She grinned and jumped up and down. "Can I go? Can we all go to Disney World?"

"Maybe in the spring," Gia said as Jack helped her rise to standing.

"But I wanna go now! It's hot all the time there, isn't it? I can go swimming!"

Jack wondered how an offer for breakfast had turned into a trip to Disney World. Things happened so fast with kids.

"How about breakfast first?" He looked at Gia. "She gets straight A's, so one day of hooky won't matter. Please?"

Gia shrugged. "Why not? We'll make it a family breakfast." She patted her swelling tummy. "All four of us."

"Great. Where?"

"How about Kosher Nosh?"

"Again?"

She patted her tummy again. "Baby wants lox."

Though something of a vegetarian—she'd eat eggs—Gia had added fish to her diet during the pregnancy.

"Then Kosher Nosh it is."

The small deli-restaurant up on Second Avenue was only a few blocks away, so they walked.

"I still don't get this kosher thing," Jack said as they ambled west on 58th. "How'd this happen?"

She shrugged and lapsed into Abe's accent. "You want I should explain taste? I'm talking apricot ruggalach, poppy-seed twists, onion bialys. What's not to like?"

Jack laughed. "Hey, that's good. You could move to Boro Park. The weird thing is, Abe was raised in an orthodox home and he won't touch the stuff."

Gia gave him a dubious look. "You mean there's something Abe won't eat?"

"That's what he says."

"So if I put a cheese blintz in front of him he wouldn't eat it?"

"Well, I guess he'd make an exception for that."

Kosher Nosh had an old-time luncheonette look, with Formica-topped tables and chrome napkin dispensers. They took a table near the back. A harried, scowling, middle-aged waitress brought them menus. A younger woman usually waited this table.

"Where's Aviva?" Gia said.

The waitress ran a hand through her hair. "Didn't show up."

She took their drink orders—coffee, tea, and milk—then hustled away.

Vicky made a face. "She's not very nice."

"She's overloaded today, hon," Gia said. "Take it from someone who's waited her share of tables. You can get frazzled."

Jack felt a warm glow as he watched mother and daughter study their menus. Two years ago, this situation, these feelings would have been unimaginable.

"They still don't have bacon," Vicky said.

She had a way to go before she grasped the kosher thing. Jack knew a little, but it still made no sense to him.

"Oh, look," Gia said. "Here's something I haven't tried: sauerkraut pierogies."

Jack grimaced. "For breakfast?"

"Hey, I'm pregnant. That means I get a special dispensation from the rules." She put down her menu and looked at him. "I can't read you this morning, Jack. What are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling I don't want to see someone eating sauerkraut pierogies for breakfast."

"Seriously."

He thought about that.

"I feel strange. Really strange. Like I'm giving up the real me, but the real me is really someone else. So I'm really giving up the fake me who's become more real than the real me. That make any sense?"

"From anyone else, no—I'd think you'd been smoking something. But from you? Perfect sense."

The waitress returned, pencil poised over her pad.

"Figured it out yet?"

"I'll have the sauerkraut pierogies," Gia said.

"Boiled or fried?"

"What's the difference?"

The waitress deadpanned her. "One's boiled, one's fried."

Jack rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but no bombs had gone off this morning, so a grumpy waitress was something of a joy.

"I'll have the boiled," Gia said. Then she looked at him and laughed. "Don't you love this place?"

3

Jack couldn't bring himself to go back to LaGuardia, and the Ashe brothers were both booked for charters, so he decided to fly Spirit out of Atlantic City. A longer drive than to Kennedy, but lots more scenic. And he was in no hurry.

Last year's flight to Florida—the first and only commercial flight in his adult life—had convinced him that his fake ID could pass muster with airport security, so he approached this flight with a lot more confidence than the last. But the prospect of getting tagged still gave him the willies.

He'd stopped by the Isher where Abe made a big deal of bidding a sad farewell to Repairman Jack—"I'd say a kaddish but I don't remember the words"—before giving him the marina address. Then Jack powered up the Crown Vic and headed south. He wore his yeniçeri shades. He liked their clarity, and their wraparound style.

AC International proved hassle free. He had no trouble parking. The identity check at the ticket purchase counter—one way to Fort Lauderdale, please—gave him a few moments of anxiety, but no problem. The line at the security checkpoint was short and efficient. He felt much calmer going through than the previous time—not carrying a concealed weapon this trip might have had something to do with that.

Being weaponless, especially on a plane, gave him a naked feeling. Not helpless, just naked.

With half an hour to go before his flight, he checked his voice mail and found a message from his brother-in-law, Ron, asking Jack to call him.

Ron Iverson, MD, was Jack's sister Kate's ex-husband. They'd met only once, at Dad's funeral, and that hadn't been pleasant. He'd never forgiven Jack for missing Kate's funeral. Not a bad guy. And since Jack had never explained why he hadn't been there—he'd loved Kate and if there had been any way on Earth he could have made it, he would have—Ron had a right to his anger.

This was the first time he'd ever called Jack. Had to be something important.

Curious, Jack punched in the number Ron had left. After some stiff obligatory pleasantries, Ron got down to business.

"Look, Jack. I know you're not interested in family matters but your father's estate needs settling."

"Oh, man…"

"Not for me," he added quickly. "Kate's third goes to Kevin and Lizzie and their college funds are already in good shape. I'm in no hurry, but Tom's wives… I've got to tell you, Jack, your brother married three doozies."

"So I've been told."

Tom had called them the Skanks from Hell.

"Well, let me tell you, ever since they discovered your father's net worth—surprised the hell out of me, too—they've been all over me to contact you and settle the estate so they can get their hands on the cash and divvy up the proceeds from selling the place in Florida."

"Must be hell."

"Damn near. You know… that Florida place… he asked the kids down a dozen times at least, but they made it only once. Had a great time. They miss him. Lizzie's still in the dumps."

"She's not alone."

"Yeah, well, he was a good guy. But, Jack, help me out, will you? Tell me when you can make it down here for a reading of the will so we can get this over with."

"I don't want any of it. Split it two ways instead of three."

After a long silence Ron said, "What is it with you, Jack? I thought you were back on track with your father. Why won't you take what he left you, what he wanted you to have?"

Because he couldn't. The Jack named in the will no longer existed. He hadn't filed a tax return since he went off officialdom's radar fifteen years ago, so no way could he claim an inheritance. And the real, live, government-sanctioned man who Jack was going to become was not named in the will.

But he couldn't tell Ron that. Had to give him another reason.

"Because I don't need it. I'd rather see it go to Kevin and Lizzie, and maybe filter through Tom's wives to his kids."

Another pause, then, "That's… that's very generous of you. I talked to your uncle Gurney last week. Your father left him a small amount but he didn't want it either. Said the same thing."

That didn't surprise Jack. He hadn't seen Uncle Gurney in ages but remembered him as an odd character. Jack couldn't count how many times his mother had told him,
You're just like your uncle Gurney
.

"Yeah, well, get some papers drawn up for me to relinquish my share. I'll sign and get them notarized and that'll be that."

Ernie the ID man was a notary. He'd take care of that end.

Ron sounded like he wanted to say more but Jack's flight called for boarding.

"Gotta go. Give my best to Kevin and Lizzie."

He doubted they'd remember who he was. He'd met them only once.

No problem boarding. No queue for the plane to take off: The doors closed, the plane lumbered onto the tarmac, and off they went.

Jack leaned back in his coach seat and figured he could get used to this. And once he became an official person, he'd have no worries at all. He could get a legit passport and see the world.

Yep, citizenship definitely had some advantages.

Still… he looked out the window and saw the spires of Manhattan in the hazy distance and felt a wave of ineffable sadness. Repairman Jack had left the building and wasn't coming back.

A cold, hard lump formed in his stomach as he pulled down the window shade and closed his eyes.

4

Jack stood in the doorway and sniffed the air of his father's Gateways home. The musty odor was no surprise: The place had been shut up for more than a month.

The real surprise was that he was here. Talking to Ron had got him thinking about Dad's estate. This house was part of it and would be pillaged by Tom's ex-wives before it was sold. And so Jack decided to do a little preemptive pillaging himself.

He'd packed the same gym bag for this trip as the last. As soon as he'd debarked at Fort Lauderdale airport—officially Fort Lauderdale/Hollywood International—he combed through the bag and found the front-gate passkey Anya had given him when he'd visited his father.

So instead of a local motel, he'd rented a car and headed south and inland toward the Everglades and Gateways.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The shades were drawn and a wave of sadness eddied around him as he stood in the cool darkness. His father had left here figuring he'd be back to finalize its sale and pack up to move back north. His first try at selling the place had fallen through when the buyer died. He'd found another buyer, but this time it was the seller who hadn't made it to the closing.

As he moved through the front room he decided to leave the shades drawn. He was going to be here maybe twelve hours, most of them dark. No point in raising them—especially since he wasn't supposed to be here.

He went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and smiled at the sight of four bottles of Ybor Gold. He'd discovered the brand on his previous trip and it looked like he'd made Dad a convert.

He popped a top and wandered back through the living room/dining room area. He noticed that the paintings had been stripped from the walls and the trophy shelves were empty.

Readying to leave.

He stopped at the door to Dad's bedroom. All the family photos had been removed from the walls. The only ones left sat on his dresser: Tom's three kids, Kate's two, and an old family photo of Mom, Dad, Tom, Kate, and eight-year-old Jack—or "Jackie," as they'd all called him.