Scenes from the Secret History (The Secret History of the World) (40 page)

But it made plenty of sense if the contract didn’t exist.

Chastain was lying – probably about many things.  The smart thing to do was walk away.  But Jack’s interest was piqued.  What was the game here?  He’d come a long way, the money was good, and he felt a need to see this through. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  The air was different here.  Heavier than
New York’s.  Manhattan was old, and he’d found ancient secrets in its hidden corners.  But this place… the atmosphere was laden with the rot of dark mysteries with maybe even a touch of magic hovering on the edges.  Jack had seen magic.  He hated magic.

…be prepared for deadly force…

Jack was hoping to avoid that, but he’d be ready.

Be prepared indeed…
Face Off

April

Blo
odline

(a wraparound cover variant by Harry Morris)

If we divide the Repairman Jack saga into three acts,
Bloodline
kicks off Act III. Now we learn that one of the reasons Jack is the Heir lies in his genes.

Remember Jonah Stevens from
Reborn
?  Well, he’s back… via his children.  Hank Thompson and his Kickers burst on the scene.  Hank plays a big part in Act III.  Jack learns some unsettling things about himself.

But it all starts innocently enough.  Here in an early scene Jack returns a call from Christie, a prospective customer, who’s worried about her daughter Dawn.  He’s looking for a way to turn her down, but it’s a vulnerable time in his life, and he agrees to meet with her.  Big mistake…

BLOODLINE

(sample)

Jack stepped into his apartment and sniffed.  The air carried a musty tang.  Not all that unusual after being closed up for a while.  The old wood and old varnish on his Victorian wavy oak furniture gave off subtle but pleasant odors.  The must came from the other junk arrayed on the walls – treasure in his eyes, but he had no illusions that most other people would consider it junk.  Or maybe
junque
.

He jammed his finger into the soil in the pink Shmoo planter as he passed.  Nothing stuck.  The little ivy plant was thirsty.  Had to remember to add water before he left.  He glanced at the framed official membership certificates in The Shadow and Doc Savage fan clubs and straightened the Don Winslow Creed on his way to the oak secretary. 

Once there, he angled it out from the wall and removed its rear panel.  An array of pistols adorned the top, side, and rear walls of the hidden space within.  A rolled-up ten-by-twelve-inch flap of skin lay to the left, next to the
Compendium of Srem
.  A Ruger SuperRedhawk chambered for .454 Casulls rested atop that. 

Jack slipped the book free.  Big and heavy, its covers and spine made of some sort of stamped metal.

With the secretary closed and returned to its original position, he placed the
Compendium
on the paw-foot oak table but did not open it.  Something about the way the characters blurred and swam for an instant whenever he peeked inside made him queasy.

Instead he pulled his Tracfone from a pocket along with a slip of paper.  He dialed the number Christy P had left.  She picked up on the third ring.

“Yes?”

“Christy?  This is Jack.  You left this number on my website.”

A pause, then,
“Oh, yes.  Repairman Jack.”
  Her tone was hesitant. 
“Interesting name.  Did your mother pick it?”

“No, and neither did I.  But it gets the job done.  You mentioned something about your daughter and a mistake?”

“I think I’m having second thoughts about hiring someone for this via the Internet.”

Smart lady.

“Consider having third and fourth thoughts while you’re at it.  But my site isn’t the sort people find by accident.  Someone must have sent you.  Who?”   

“Jeff Levinson.  You know the name?”

“I do.”

Jack had hired on a few years ago to take care of a recurrent swastika problem at Jeff’s delicatessen.

“He speaks very highly of you.  But still…”

“Your call, lady.”

“I don’t know…”

He could almost hear her chewing her lip.

“Maybe I can help you make up your mind if you tell me what you need done.”

“How’s that going to work?”

“Because maybe I’m not interested.”

A brief pause. 
“Interesting tactic, playing hard to get.”

“Not a tactic.  I am hard to get.”

Especially these days.

“I like that.  I suppose we should meet then.  I want someplace public because–"

“You haven’t told me yet what you need done.”

“So you’re really serious about that.”

“Some fixes I can do, some I can’t.  No sense in both of us wasting our time.”

Even this phone call was beginning to sound like a waste of time.

She sighed. 
“Okay.  She’s involved with an older man.”

Hoo boy.  Jack glanced at his watch.  How much time had he just wasted?

“So?”

“He’s old enough to be her father.”

“So?”

“Can you say something else?”

“I’m waiting to hear something I can do something about.  Affairs of the heart do not fall into that category.”

“Dawn’s eighteen and he’s in his mid thirties.  Twice her age.”

Jack’s age. 

He tried to imagine a relationship with an eighteen-year old.  What the hell would they talk about?  What could he have in common with someone who hadn’t finished her second decade, who was basically a high school kid?  Sure, fantasy cheerleader sex and all that, but you needed something more to fill the down time.

Or did you?

He guessed coming so close to being a father – of a daughter, no less – could be affecting his perspective.

“I don’t see how hiring me is going to help, Christy.  What are you looking for?  Someone to break his legs?  Shoot him?  That’s not the way I work.”

At least not unless someone really had it coming.

“No, nothing like that!  I want to get something on him.  Something that’ll let my little girl see him for what he really is.”

“You already know what he really is?”

“Well…no.  But there’s got to be something.  There’s always something, right?  Besides, I get a bad vibe from this guy.”

Time to end this.

“I suppose.   But what you need is a private investigator.  Someone who can–"

“I’ve already been that route.”

“And?”

“Long story.  Look, Jeff said you were tops – pricey, but tops – and just the guy I need.  Can’t we just sit down and talk over the details?  I probably shouldn’t say this, but money isn’t an object. I’ve got money.  It’s results I want.”

“I don’t think I’m your man.”

“If nothing else, maybe you can get my retainer back from the investigator I hired.”
  Out of the blue she sobbed.  Once.  The sound took Jack by surprise.  He hadn’t seen it coming. 
“Please?  I’m really, really worried about my little girl.”

Her little girl…she might be eighteen, but he guessed your little girl was your little girl forever.

Like Emma would have been.

“Okay.  We’ll meet.  I’ll listen.  But I’m not promising anything.”

A sniff. 
“Thank you.  Where?  No offense, but I’ll feel safer if it’s a public place.”

Jack laughed.  “So will I.  Where are you located?”

“Queens.  Forest Hills.”

Fairly ritzy neighborhood.

“That means it’s no big deal to get into the city.”

“I’m in all the time.”

He doubted he could help her, but he could hear her out and maybe point her in the right direction. 

“Can you make it in this afternoon?”

He was testing.  If she wouldn’t meet this afternoon, he’d know it wasn’t as important as she’d made it seem.

“Sure.  Tell me when and where.”

Well, that settled that.

“There’s this bar I know in the West Eighties…”

Jack’s gonna regret this…
Bloodline

M
ay

By the Sword

(early scrapped cover for the

trade edition – that’s not a katana)

Remember Naka, Frank and Meiko’s son from
Black Wind
?  Nagata’s katana, the famous Gaijin Masamune, has been stolen and he wants it back.  The Kakureta Kao cult is back too, looking for the sword and a way to bring back the Kuroikaze – the Black Wind.  And Hank Thomson and his Kickers want it too.

All these disparate groups after the same thing.  How do I resolve this in Jack’s favor?  I asked myself,
WWQTD
? (
What would Quentin Tarrantino do?
) Of course: a bloodbath.

But first, you bring Glaeken on the scene.  (NB: This was Jack’s opening scene in the original
Nightworld
, but since I needed to put J and G together before that, I moved it here.)  Jack doesn’t realize that this is the
second
time he’s meeting this old dude.

By the Sword

(sample)

1

They weren't making muggers like they used to.

After trolling for about an hour through the unseasonably warm M
ay night, here was the second he'd found – or rather had found him.  Jack was wearing a Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirt, acid-washed jeans, and his
I
♥
New York
visor.  The compleat tourist.  A piece of raw steak dangling before a hungry wolf.

When he'd spotted
the guy tailing him, he'd wandered off the pavement and down into this leafy glade.  Off to his right the mercury-vapor glow from Central Park West backlit the trees.  Over his assailant’s shoulder he could make out the year-round Christmas lights on the trees that flanked the Tavern-on-the-Green. 

Jack studied the guy facing him.  A hulking figure in the shadows, maybe twenty-five, about six-foot, pushing two-hundred pounds, giving him an inch and thirty pounds on Jack.  He had stringy brown hair bleached blond on top, all combed to the side so it hung over his right eye; the left side of his head above the ear and below the part had been buzzcut down to the scalp – the Flock of Seagulls guy after a run-in with a lawn mower.  Pale, pimply skin and a skull dangling on a chain from his left ear.  Black boots, baggy black pants, black Polio T-shirt, fingerless black leather gloves, one of which was wrapped around the handle of a big Special Forces knife, the point angled toward Jack's belly.