Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts (13 page)

"Not even
The Light'
?"

'"Especially not
The Light
. Grant me a modicum of taste."

"Not even as paper to line Parabellum's cage?"

"Parabellum wouldn't allow it. Never. Not fit for his droppings."

"But here it is."

"Where?"

"There.
The Light
—right in front of you."

"Oh, that. Well, I can explain. You see, I was looking for birdcage paper this morning and Parabellum spotted the headline and liked it so he made an exception. A momentary aberration on the part of an otherwise splendid and tasteful bird."

"He's forgiven."

"Parabellum thanks you, I'm sure. But please don't tell anyone. He's very sensitive, and even those
shlub
park pigeons would laugh at him if they knew."

"My lips are sealed." Jack looked around as he tugged
The Light
from beneath the pile. "Speaking of Parabellum, where is the blue-feathered terror of the skies?"

"The perfect parakeet is sleeping in. You miss him? You want I should—?"

"No, let him sleep until we're finished. With my luck he'll drop one of his little packages right on some crucial para—oh, no!"

"SIX GUN SAVIOR" and "Exclusive Eyewitness Report" screamed at him. He opened to page three, almost tearing the paper in his haste. His gut clenched as he found a face he recognized staring back at him.

"Christ!"

'Wit?" Abe said, leaning forward to get a look. "What's up? What is it?"

Jack's memory colorized the grainy black-and-white photo—dark blond hair, hazel eyes, fair skin, gold wire on the glasses.

"This kid! He was sitting a couple of feet away from me on the Nine last night."

The byline identified him as Sandy Palmer. Jack felt his palms growing moist as he read Palmer's first-hand account, dreading each new paragraph, certain that here was the one that would describe his features; and if not this paragraph, then the one after it. Palmer had nailed the shoot-out pretty much as Jack remembered it, but when it came to describing the so-called Savior, the kid came up empty.

"He was looking right at me," Jack said. "And 1 know I looked at him right before I made my move. He had to have seen me."

"You think maybe he left it out for some reason?"

"But why?" Jack didn't know what to think.

"Here, look," Abe said, rotating the paper so he had a better angle. "He's got an excuse. Listen: 'I know I saw his face at one time or another during the trip, but it made no impression on me. Neither did any of the other faces I saw before the shooting began. Ships passing in the night, every night, night after night. And that's sad, don't you think? This man saved my life and I can't remember his face. Perhaps this is a lesson for us all: look at the faces around you, really look at them. They're not just faces, they're people. Remember them. You may wind up owing your life to the person behind one of those faces.' " Abe grimaced. " 'Ships passing in the night.'
Oy
. So original. This is journalism?"

"Do you believe him?"

Abe shrugged. "I should think that if he'd been able to sit down with a police artist and give him anything useful, your
punim
would be on page one of every paper in town."

"Good point." Jack was starting to feel better. "You know, I just might get through this."

"Let's hope so. But the vultures already are swarming. Senators, congressmen, councilmen pushing and shoving to see who can be first to climb on top of those dead bodies to get better seen. Their stomachs should burst. They yammer about stricter gun control but what we're getting is stricter victim disarmament. Next thing you know one of the dead folks' relatives will be running for office on a victim disarmament platform, arguing for more of the same kind of laws that left their dead loved one defenseless."

"Irony ain't always pretty."

"It goes further. These
shlubs
like to hit up small businesses for donations. They don't know how good their
farshtunken
laws are for my real business, but they shouldn't come to me looking for donations. A
krenk
I'll give them."

Jack thought about Abe's real business, about the scores of pistols and rifles racked in the basement. He hesitated, wondering if he should ask, then plunged ahead.

"You ever wonder when you hear about something like this if it was one of your guns that did the killing?"

Abe sighed. "Yes, I do. But I'm careful who I sell to. That's no guarantee, obviously, but most of my customers are solid citizens. Of course, their buying a gun from me automatically makes them criminals. Felons even. But mostly they're decent people looking for a little extra protection who shouldn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night by stormtroopers when someone decides to collect all the city's registered weapons. Lots of ladies I sell to. These victim disarmers would rather have a woman raped and beaten to death in some back alley than let her carry a little equalizer. A
broch
on all of them!"

Uh-oh, Jack thought as Abe's face reddened. Here he goes.

"Gun laws they want? Make me king and gun laws they'll get! Random checkpoints day and night! If you're not carrying a weapon—
bam
! A fine! Three offenses and we lock you up! Last night would never have happened in
my
city! That
meshuggener
would have thought twice, three, maybe four times before trying what he did, and even if he'd gone ahead he'd have got off one, maybe two shots and then everybody would have opened up on him and a lot fewer bodies would've been dragged out of that car. And just imagine what the body count would have been if you'd been delayed a few minutes and wound up on the next train. Think about that."

"I have. And I'm also thinking you're crazy. You have any idea what this city would be like if you gave everyone a gun?"

Abe shrugged. "A period of adjustment there'll be, of course, during which a lot of defective genes will be removed from the pool, and during which I might maybe think about going on vacation. But when I came back I'd be living in the
politest
city on earth."

"Sometimes I wish the gun had never been invented."

"No guns?" Abe put his hand over his heart. "You mean a world where I'd have to make my entire living selling this sporting junk?
Oy!
Wipe such a thought from your brain!"

"No, seriously. I wouldn't mind a world where no guns existed."

But if one gun existed—just one—Jack wanted to be the man to own it. And since lots of guns already did exist, he wanted to own his share, and he wanted to own the best.

"Enough sky blue," Abe said. "You have plans for the day?"

Jack thought about that. Hadn't made any because he hadn't been sure he'd be able to show his face on the street. Now the whole day had opened up. Gia wouldn't be back until tomorrow but…

"Maybe I'll get together with my sister."

Abe's elevated eyebrows wrinkled his forehead all the way up to where his hairline used to be. "Sister? I remember you saying once you had one but since when are you in contact?"

"Since last night."

"What's she like? She'd like a good deal on a .32 maybe?"

Jack laughed. "I doubt that. Tell you the truth, I'm not sure yet what she's like. It's been a lot of years. But I hope to find out…"

5

Sitting alone in Jeanette's sunny kitchen, Kate cradled the phone after the last of three calls she'd made this morning.

The first had been to Kevin and Elizabeth—one of her twice-daily calls—before they ran out to school. They were sixteen months apart in age but, because of the timing of their births, only a year apart in school. The school year was drawing to a close and neither could wait for it to end, especially Kevin who, as a junior, thought he knew it all. She hoped he wouldn't muff his final exams. Liz was a sophomore and practicing like mad for her big flute solo in Telemann's Suite in A Minor with the school orchestra, nervous but handling it pretty well. Kate had promised again for at least the hundredth time to be back home next Monday to hear her.

And of course the lies continued—about how the person she was nursing back to health was a dear old college sorority sister who'd been living in Europe and had returned for cancer treatment.

So many lies… lies to everyone. Sometimes she wondered how she kept track of them all. She was so sick of lies, but she couldn't quit quite yet. She'd have to go on with this double life for two more years. Just hang on until Liz was eighteen and heading for college. Then she'd come out. With a bang.

But until then…

Kate ached to be back with the kids but knew she couldn't leave Jeanette in this state. She'd have to find some resolution to the situation before she headed back to Trenton this weekend.

The next two calls had been to complete strangers. She had no intention of involving Jack in her problems, but hadn't been able to resist the opportunity to peek through a window into her brother's life and perhaps learn something about the enigma he'd become.

The first had been to a fellow pediatrician, an infectious disease specialist working not far from here in a clinic for children with AIDS; the second to an endocrinologist named Nadia Radzminsky.

Kate hadn't let on that Jack was her brother, saying only that he'd offered their names as references. Both women had been effusive in their praise, but evasive when Kate had pressed for details about what he'd done to earn their regard. Alicia Clayton, the pediatrician, had said something to the effect that Jack didn't come cheap, but was worth every penny. Each had made it clear, though, that she could trust Jack with anything. Even her life.

Her younger brother was sounding a little scary. He was known as Repairman Jack… and for a price he fixed things… problems. How bizarre.

Not that my circumstances are exactly run-of-the-mill, she thought as she rubbed the healing puncture in her palm.

It hadn't been a dream. Something had pricked her palm last night. It couldn't be a spider or insect bite because she saw no tissue reaction. It looked like a needle had stabbed through the skin.

The thought gave her chills. With HIV and hepatitis C and who knew how many other as yet unrecognized diseases floating about, a puncture wound was not something she could brush off. She couldn't imagine Jeanette doing anything to harm her, but then she'd never imagined Jeanette behaving as she had the past few days.

Kate looked up at the sound of the study door opening and saw Jeanette, mug in hand, crossing the living room. She'd been hiding away all morning. Dressed in a loose red T-shirt and jeans, her feet snug in her well worn Birkenstocks, she looked wonderful. Jf only she'd smile…

"More coffee?" Kate said, putting on a hopeful grin.

"Just need to heat this up," Jeanette replied, her tone and expression neutral.

At least she doesn't seem as angry as last night, Kate thought. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

"What are you doing in there? Working?"

Jeanette didn't look at her as she placed her cup inside the microwave and started jabbing the buttons. "What's wrong—couldn't see enough through the keyhole?"

That stung. "Darn it, Jeanette, that's not fair! I'm not snooping on you!"

Jeanette turned toward her with a sneer twisting her lips, but then her whole expression changed, flashing from smugness to wide-eyed terror.

"Kate, oh please, Kate, help me!" she cried, staggering forward against the counter and gripping it with white-knuckled intensity.

Kate was out of her seat, moving around the counter. "Dear God, Jeanette, what's wrong?"

"Something's happening to me, Kate! I think I'm losing my mind!"

She grabbed Kate's forearms, her trembling fingers digging deep into her flesh, but Kate didn't mind. She could see in her eyes that this was Jeanette—
her
Jeanette—and she was terrified.

"You're okay! You've got me! I'm here for you!"

"You've got to do something, Kate! Please don't let this happen to me! Please!"

"Don't let what happen?"

"It's taking over!"

Oh, Lord, she sounded so paranoid. "It? What are you talking about?"

"Please, Kate! Call Doctor Fielding and tell him it's taking over!"

6

Wonderful things, buses.

Rarely during his fifty-two years had the old Terrence Holdstock used mass transportation, unless of course one included jetliners in the category. He had never ridden a bus. But the One Who Was Terrence loved buses. Took them everywhere. The more crowded the better.