The Lazarus Trap (17 page)

“So open the drawer. Nice and slow. Okay. Good.” She backed off. “What is this, your personal rogue's gallery? You do a little blackmail on the side, Horace?”

“What do you care?” The man's sullen tone was contradicted by a serious case of the shakes. He flipped through the pictures. “Here. This is the guy.”

Wally took the photograph. She gave it a cursory examination. She flipped it onto the counter and said to Terrance, “It's not him.”

Horace grabbed it back, studied it intently. “That's Adams! That's the man!”

“Sorry, Horace. Not our guy.” She turned away. “Unless you got something else to show me, we're all done here.”

He wailed, “What about my money?”

“What can I say? You didn't come up with the goods.” But Wally stopped in the process of reaching for the door. She gave Terrance a look, then turned back. “You good at keeping secrets, Horace?”

“Like the grave.”

She reached into her pocket, came up with the cash, and set it down on the camera. “We were never here.”

Terrance waited until they were back on the street to say, “The picture you saw.”

“Hmmm.”

“It was our guy, wasn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Val Haines. You're absolutely certain?”

“Positive ID, Terrance. Five by five.” She reached for her phone.

“Alerting your friends?”

“Yes.” Wally punched in the number, then gave him the eye. “The money better be there, Terry.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“These guys, they may talk funny. But you don't want to mess them around.”

“Soon as we return to the hotel, I'll arrange the transfer.” He waited until she had finished her call, then walked with her back toward the car. “If they're anything like you, I don't need further convincing.”

She gave him that smile of hers, the one that was equal measures feminine appeal and molten shrapnel. “You sure what you told me, about being tied up?”

THE TRAVEL OFFICE WAS LIKE MUCH OF THIS PART OF THE CITY, threadbare and grim and utterly lacking in frill. The agent was Asian and proud of his ability to find Val the absolute lowest price on a one-way flight to England. He pushed Val to take a return ticket. The second leg was only $119 more, plus taxes and fees. But Val was not listening.

Val returned to the Internet café and was directed to the pay phone. He called the number in England that Audrey had given him. But the phone just rang and rang. He returned to the counter and paid his deposit to yet another metal-studded attendant. This time Val was on and off the Internet in a flash. It was not because of Audrey's warning that her brother might be watching that he hurried. Val had no interest in triggering further memory flashes. That life was all but buried. He wrote Audrey a quick note that he was coming and would call. Then he retrieved his deposit and fled the café as he would a morgue.

He walked back to the police station and mounted the precinct stairs. He pushed through the scarred swinging doors and entered the front room's bedlam. He took a number and seated himself on the hard wooden bench running down the wall opposite the reception counter. To his left, a transvestite cuffed to the bench's arm rubbed toes blistered by too-tight high heels. Val leaned his head against the wall and fingered the airline ticket in his pocket. Another set of unwanted memories began taking shape, these starring his nemesis, Terrance d'Arcy. Val fought them down and wondered why he had not disappeared long before.

“Number seventy-three.”

“Here.” Val approached the counter.

“Name?”

“Jeffrey Adams.”

“ID?” The policeman reached over without looking up from his metal-backed pad. He copied down the false details, then handed it back and said, “Okay, what can I do for you?”

“I was arrested the night before last. There was a man in lock-up with me. Reuben somebody. An African American.”

“You were locked up here?”

“Two nights ago.”

“Charges?”

“Dropped.” He found himself adopting the cop's terseness.

“And?”

“I want to know if he's still here.”

“The reason being?”

“I want to bail him out. If I can afford it.”

“Say again?”

“The guy probably saved my life.”

“Probably?”

“Look. I don't know for certain what would've happened if he hadn't been there. All I know is, I owe him.”

The cop turned to one of his own. “You believe this?”

The other policeman shook his head and returned to his paperwork.

The cop said to Val, “What's this guy's last name?”

“I have no idea. He just introduced himself as Reuben. He's probably six-seven and three hundred pounds. Heavier.”

“Reuben James,” said the guy working the files. “Yeah, he's still in the lockup. Couldn't make bail.”

The cop gave Val a long look, then went back to a desk and tapped into the computer. “James is in on D&D. Drunk and disorderly. Bail is set at $900.”

Val counted out the bills. His roll was thinned down to $470. It would have to be enough. He waited while the cop wrote him out a receipt, then moved back outside.

He stood on the precinct's front stoop, ignored by passing officers and offenders alike. An old woman made hard going of the six concrete steps, but fended away his offer of help with an upraised hand. Val retreated to his corner position and breathed the diesel-infected city air. Perhaps it didn't matter whether his memories fully returned or not. Maybe their imprint remained wrapped around his body tight as cellophane tape. There for all save himself to see.

Both precinct doors squeaked open and a hard, dark mountain came into view. Reuben James stood beside Val, blinking up at the sky. “Tell me that sight ain't sweet as heaven's glory.”

Val gave the leaden clouds a cursory glance. He found nothing of interest.

The black man turned slowly. “I remember you. How's the head?”

“No concussion. Just like you said. Here, take this.”

When he realized what Val held out to him, he showed two pale palms. “Man, that's your receipt. You don't want to be giving me that.”

“It's yours.”

“That's a ticket for nine hundred dollars, you'll get it back when I show up at court. Which I will. I'm good for what I owe you.”

“You don't owe me a thing. I'm headed out. Take it.”

“You're talking crazy.”

“Look. You kept me safe in there. I just want to thank you.”

“You bailed me out, that's all the thanks I need.”

“I'm leaving the country tonight. I don't know when or even if I'm coming back. They may or may not mail me the money if I left an address, which I'm not.” He pushed the paper into Reuben's hand. “So I want you to have this.”

Reuben formed a massive fist around the receipt. “Why you doing this, man?”

“One more thing. There's a clinic three blocks away.

Morningside.”

“Like the street. Sure, I know it. Down by the church.”

“They're looking for a nurse.” Val turned away. “Ask for Dr. Martinez.”

“Hang on a second. Ain't no place far enough away, you can run and leave the bad behind.” He reached for Val, but missed. “Listen to me, man. I know what I'm talking about.”

Val started down the steps. “I just want to do the right thing. That's all.”

At the end of the block, Val glanced back to make sure Reuben wasn't on his trail. And collided with Vince's car.

Vince shouted at him through the open window, “What are you, drunk?”

“I haven't had a drop since that night.”

“Like I care.” He waved a hand like he wanted to punch a hole in the air. “Get in the car!”

Val opened the door and dropped into the seat. Vince hit the gas so hard the door slammed shut of its own accord. To his right a horn sounded ready to climb inside the car with them. “What are you doing?”

“Protecting my investment. What do you think?”

The car did a four-wheel skid around the corner and ran a red light. “Take it easy.”

“I'll give you easy.” Vince hit an air pocket and slid between a delivery truck and a cab. His feat earned him another horn blast. “I just left some old geezer who ain't got a brain sitting duty behind the desk. Promised him a week's free stay, I get back and the place is still standing.”

“I don't get it.”

He shot Val a look. “You owe me. That's all you got to understand.”

“I know that already.”

“This is new. This is add-on. I'm thinking another ten grand.”

“For what?” Then he noticed the clothes piled in the back seat. “My flight doesn't leave for another three and a half hours.”

“That's not the point. Unless they already got the airport covered, this way you're safe.”

“Who's got it covered?”

“Now you're listening. That's good. You're hearing me when I say I'm earning this extra ten grand by keeping you alive.” He squinted at signs zipping by overhead. “Which airport?”

“Kennedy.”

“So it's Triborough to Central.” He zinged around a limo, barely avoiding three pedestrians clustered on the corner, and zoomed away from the horns and the screams. “There I am, sitting behind my little counter, reading the
Post,
minding my own business. In comes this lady. Only she ain't no lady. She's trouble of the feminine variety. And she's looking for you.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise.” He spared Val one quick look. “She knows your name, Jeffrey. And she's showing your picture around town.”

“Is she behind us now?”

“For both our sakes, I hope not.”

“Then slow down, will you?”

“Yeah, I guess I could do that.” Vince eased his foot off the gas.

“Look at me. Getting this worked up over a dame.”

“Who was she?”

“The way she was asking her questions, I'd say a cop.”

“You mean, from the precinct?”

“Nah, I know all of them. And she didn't flash no badge. So I'm thinking a bad cop.” This time the look lingered. “Who you got after you, they'd go and hire themselves a rogue ex-cop?”

There was only one name. “Terrance d'Arcy.”

“Who?”

“You don't know him.”

“No, I don't. And seeing the company he keeps, I don't want to either.”

“What did you tell her?”

“What do you think? That I never heard of you.”

“Did she see you leave?”

“Nah. I waited 'til she got back in her limo and pulled off.”

“She was riding in a limo?”

“Her ride isn't the problem here, Jeffrey.” Vince pulled up in front of the terminal and stopped. “A limo is just wheels with a suit thrown in for good measure. Worry about how you're gonna stay alive long enough to send me my money.”