Repairman Jack [04]-All the Rage (40 page)

Jack sighed as he stared at Hank. Well, at least now he had an idea as to who had supplemented Scar-lip's diet.

No big loss to civilization.

"You don't need friends like that, kid," he said and turned away again.

"You'll pay for it!" Hank screamed into the rain. "Bondy'll be back and when he gets here we'll get even. I got my pay docked because of you and that damn Sharkman! You think you look bad now, you just wait till Bondy gets back!"

Pardon me if I don't hold my breath.

Jack wondered if it would do any good to tell him that Bondy hadn't been fired—that, in a way, he was still very much with the freak show. But that would only endanger the big dumb kid.

Hank ranted on. "And if he don't come back, I'll getcha myself. And that Sharkman too!"

No you won't. Because I'm going to get it first.

Jack kept walking, moving as fast as he could back to town. When he reached Memison's he saw no sign of Abe's truck so he stepped inside.

"We're closed for lunch and we don't start serving dinner till five," said someone who looked like a maitre d'.

"Just want to check the menu."

Taking in the sodden, ill-fitting clothes and muddy shoes, he gave Jack a please-don't-even-think-about-eating-here look as he handed him the laminated card.

Jack kept one eye on the street while he pretended to read about Memison's "Famous Fish Dinners." He saw a black-and-white unit roll by, the cop inside eye-balling everyone on the sidewalk. About ten minutes later Abe's battered panel truck of indeterminate hue pulled into the curb.

"Maybe some other time," Jack said to maitre d' and handed back the menu.

The relief on the man's face said that Jack had made his day. Always nice to bring joy into someone's life.

Outside, Jack darted across the sidewalk and into Abe's truck.

"Gevalt!" Abe said when he saw him. "Look at you! What happened?"

"Long story." Jack slumped in the seat and pulled the cap low over his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Jeez, it felt good to sit. "Tell you on the way. Right now just get me the hell outta this place."

For the first time since coming to in the hospital he was reasonably sure he wouldn't be spending the next thirty or forty years in jail, and for the first time since that cup of coffee this morning he could sit and think. His thoughts were a mess. Aftereffects of the Berzerk maybe. His mind seemed to be lurching in all directions, emotions a roiling cauldron.

What had happened this morning?

He vaguely remembered racking up three cars, killing two men, but none of that bothered him. The events were dancing shadows in his brain. What he did remember, what kept looping in clear wide-screen sur-roundsound detail, was how close he'd come to slapping Vicky, how he'd wanted to punch Gia.

And that… that was unbearable… knowing he'd been
this
far from hurting them…

Without the slightest inkling it was going to happen, he burst into tears.

"Jack!" Abe cried, swerving as he drove. "What's wrong?"

"I'm all right," he said, reining in his penduluming emotions. "It's this damn drug… It's still screwing with me. Did you call Gia?"

"Of course. A happy woman she's not."

"Where's your phone?"

Abe fished a StarTac out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. Before dialing, Jack funneled his thoughts ahead, forced his mind toward where to go from here.

First thing to do when he got back to the city was call Nadia and tell her to be careful what she ate or drank. Someone—Monnet most likely—was trying to drug her. Next he'd return here to take care of Scar-lip. After that, he'd have to make up for his behavior this morning with Gia and Vicky.

With that in mind, Jack punched Gia's number into Abe's phone. "Hi, it's me," he said when she picked up.

He heard a long, tremulous sigh. "Jack… what's happening to you?"

"That wasn't me," he said quickly. "Someone drugged me."

He went on to explain about Nadia's coffee and what the drug did to people, finishing with, "Even you'd be dangerous with a snootful of that stuff."

"I don't know about that, Jack," she said dubiously.

"I do know that I never dreamed I'd ever be afraid of you."

That cut. Deep. "You've got to understand, Gia, that wasn't me; that was the drug."

"But what about the next time you show up unexpectedly? How can I be sure someone hasn't slipped you another dose?"

"Never happen."

"You can't guarantee that."

"Yes, I can. Oh, yes, I can. Berzerk is going to be yesterday's news."

Add one more task to his to-do list: Take down GEM, and Monnet and Dragovic with it. Tonight.

Fresh rage percolated through him—not Berzerk-fueled, his own vintage, the dark stuff he kept bottled in his mental cellars. This morning he'd told Nadia that he didn't care about drugs, that they weren't his business. But this was no longer business. This was personal now.

10

Nadia was running late. She'd missed a turn and found herself heading toward Lattingtown instead of Monroe. But now she was in downtown Monroe—a whole five blocks, from what she could see—and it was almost two and she couldn't find a trace of this seafood restaurant anywhere.

Wait… there… an old pub-type hinged wooden sign hanging over the sidewalk with a fish on a plate… and the name: MEMISON'S. And there was the public phone, right in front as Doug had said. But not a parking place in sight.

Then she saw a man in baggy clothes and a soggy-looking cap leave the restaurant and jump into an old panel truck. The truck pulled away, leaving her the open spot right in front of the phone. Talk about great timing.

Nadia pulled her rented Taurus into the space and hopped out. No sooner had she reached the phone when it began to ring. She snatched up the receiver.

"Doug?"

"Nadia! You made it! I knew I could count on you."

Thank God it was him. She looked around. Was he nearby? She felt eyes on her. "Where are you?"

"About a mile and a half away. I'm hiding in a tent show out on the marshes."

"A what?"

"Don't worry. I'm not running off with the circus. You can be here in a few minutes."

She memorized his directions, then hurried back to her car and made a U-turn. She followed the waterfront—sailboats and sport fishers in the water, blue-plastic weatherproofed craft still in dry dock, waiting to be launched for the season. After a quarter-mile she turned left. The houses and shops vanished first, then the pavement: she found herself on a dirt road running through a marsh. To her left a small harbor lay still and gray like pocked steel under the overcast sky. A small ramshackle cabin sat dead ahead at the end of the marching line of roadside utility poles; and to her right, a small cluster of tents, just as Doug had described.

He'd told her to look for a small red trailer beyond the rear of what he'd called the backyard. She saw a few cars parked in a makeshift lot that she guessed could be called a front yard, but no people about.

Where was everybody? The whole area seemed so still and empty, as if holding its breath. Creepy. The idea of wandering about alone on foot did not at all appeal to her, so she drove around to the rear of the tent complex. There she found a battered old trailer whose once proud chrome skin was scarred, dented, and painted a dull red, sitting far behind the tents and the rest of the show vehicles.

Was this where Doug was hiding? She couldn't see anyplace else that matched the description. Her heart bled for him. What had driven him to these extremes?

She parked her car nose-on to the side of the trailer and noticed that all the windows were boarded over. The door hung open. She called out as she stepped out and approached the dark opening.

"Doug?"

"Nadia!" His voice echoed faintly from the dark interior. "I'm so glad you made it."

"Doug, where are you?"

"Right inside. Come on in."

She felt hackles rising. Something wasn't right here. On the phone his voice had sounded perfectly fine. But here, without the filtering effects of wires and microwave transmissions, it sounded different. It sounded wrong. And then she realized that he had called her Nadia instead of his usual Nadj.

"Why can't I see you, Doug?"

A pause, then, "I'm on the couch. I'd really love to meet you at the door but I'm… I've been injured."

Doug… hurt…

Without thinking Nadia found herself dashing up the two rickety steps and fairly leaping through the door. She stopped inside, looking around, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The air was mildewy and close despite the open door. She heard a rattling, rustling movement to her left.

"Doug?"

"Right here, sweetie," said his voice to her right—and from below.

She jumped at the sound and turned to see what she thought at first was a child, but then she noticed the mustache and the slicked-down hair. He looked like a midget from a barbershop quartet.

He grinned. "See ya later!"

Nadia watched in mind-numbed shock as the little man darted out the door.

His voice… he'd spoken in Doug's voice.

She was just beginning to move, just going into a turn, when the trailer door slammed shut, plunging her into darkness.

"No!"

The cry was a strangled sound as fear took an instant icy grip on her throat, choking off her air. She threw herself against the door, hitting it with her shoulders, pounding on it, shouting.

"No! Please! Let me out! Help!"

But the door wouldn't budge. She battered it and screamed for help even though she knew the trailer was too far from anything and anyone to hear her cries, but she kept it up until her voice was raw. Then she stopped shouting but kept pounding against the door, fighting the sobs that pushed up from her chest.

She would not cry.

And then she heard that rattle and rustle again from the corner and her frenzied panic turned to cold, cringing dread.

Someone,
something
was in here with her.

The sounds became more frenzied, and through the thrashing she caught muffled growls and whines, and whistling breaths. Whatever it was it sounded furious, but at least it wasn't coming any closer. Maybe it was leashed in the corner. Maybe—

Cell phone! Yes! She could call for help! She reached for her bag and then realized with a groan it was in the car. Now she truly wanted to cry.

More thrashing from the corner.

God, if she could only see! Slivers of daylight seeping through the boarded-up windows provided the only illumination, and what little there was only made matters worse as her eyes adjusted. Whatever was thrashing in the corner looked
big.

Nadia felt around her and found a counter and a sink. She must be in the kitchen area. She found drawers and pulled them open, searching for a weapon or even a flashlight, but all she found were food crumbs and dust.

She turned and felt around behind her. A table and—thank you, God!—a candle, maybe three inches long, in some sort of glass holder. She ran her fingers across the tabletop and knocked something to the floor. Bending she patted around and came up with a plastic cylinder. A lighter.

Her initial joy quickly faded when she realized that light would reveal what they'd locked her up with. But as she listened to the hissing, whining, thrashing thing at the other end of the trailer she knew she had no choice. Not knowing was worse.

She flicked the wheel and held the flame before her. It revealed nothing, but all noise except for the hissing breaths ceased.

Was it afraid? Afraid of fire?

The silence was almost worse than the noise. She didn't know how much butane she had left, so she lit the candle. Then, holding it at arm's length before her, she edged toward the far end of the trailer, moving inches at a time.

And slowly on the right she began to make out a shape… and it was human-shaped rather than animal, stretched out on some sort of bed… and as she moved closer she saw that it was a man and he was bound hand and foot, spread-eagle on the bed… and she saw a mouth sealed with silver duct tape, and above the tape wide blue eyes glistening in the light… She knew those eyes and the sandy hair falling over the forehead.

"Doug!"

The candle slipped from her fingers but she caught it again, barely noticing the splash of hot wax across her wrist as she leaped to his side. She was sobbing as she peeled the tape from his mouth.

"Oh, Nadj, I'm so sorry!" he half gasped, half sobbed. "I had no idea!"

She kissed him. "Doug, what happened? Why are we here?"

"I don't know," he said as she began to work on the knot on his right wrist. "I never got to see whoever snatched me."

"They stole your laptop and smashed your computer."

"Then it's got to be GEM."

"I think you're right."

Admitting that was a spike through her heart.

"I should have left their goddamn computer alone. But why you?"

Nadia had loosened the binding enough by then for him to wriggle his hand free. As he went to work on his left wrist and she tackled his right foot, Nadia told Doug about Loki-Berzerk and her suspicions.

When he was free he gathered her into his arms and she sobbed with relief and terror against his chest. His face was stubbled, his clothes wrinkled and smelly, but he was Doug and he was alive and holding her.

"I had no idea what they were planning when the little guy was talking to me," he said.

"The one who imitated your voice? He… he was uncanny."

"He came in with this big dog-faced guy and started talking to me, asking me if I needed anything and did I know why I'd been brought here. He didn't give me any answers, just kept asking questions. Now I know he was studying my voice."

Nadia studied his face in the flickering light. "Did they… have they hurt you?"

"Not a bit. They bring me food—plenty of it—and water." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'There's even a bathroom. Except for tying me up an hour ago, they've treated me pretty decently."

Nadia looked around, not seeing much. "And there's no way out?"