Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

'Just a statement of fact, Thomas.'

'Really?' His voice changed to a hiss. 'Then try this statement of fact: If you ever, ever try to do harm to that house again, you'll—'

'I'll what? Be run down by a car? Be blown up? Be burned at the stake? What, Thomas? I know what happens if I die. So don't try to threaten me.'

'Who said anything about dying?' he said. 'How about just hurting? You can be hurt. And you can be hurt again. You can be damaged temporarily or permanently. You can be scarred. You can be maimed. You can be blinded. The list goes on, Alicia. Dying is not the worst that can happen to you.'

Alicia licked her lips with a cottony tongue. Was this really Thomas talking? Weak ineffectual Thomas?

'I know what you're thinking,' Thomas went on. 'You're thinking Thomas is just talking. Thomas is a wimp. He won't do anything of the sort. But listen well, sister: Thomas doesn't have to do any of it. He's got people who will do it for him, and enjoy it.'

Her intestines coiled in fear as she realized these were not empty threats. She hid the tremor that shot through her. How had she got into this nightmare?

'Give it up,' Thomas said. 'I've all but won as it is. It's all just a matter of time now—a very short time. Save me the trouble of having the will set aside, and you'll walk away from the closing a very rich woman. You keep fighting me and you wind up with nothing—no house, no money. I call that a no-brainer, Alicia. Why are you being so damn stubborn?'

You of all people should know, she thought. But she said: 'Why? Why do you want the place so badly?'

'I have my reasons. Nothing that concerns you.' He leaned closer and lowered his voice. 'I can hurt you in other ways, Alicia. I can ruin you professionally. I can make that medical degree of yours completely worthless.'

Alicia froze, afraid to move, afraid to hear.

Thomas's voice sank to a whisper. 'I found his stash… the master collection. It's mine now. And I can release parts of it to the state board, to select magazines and newspapers.'

Alicia knew that if her hands were free now, she'd turn and go for his throat, try to rip it out to silence that smug voice. But the cold sick dread flowing through her stole her voice.

And then she felt his hand grab her left breast and squeeze.

'Remember the good old days?'

What Alicia remembered was the seventeen-year-old Thomas sneaking into her room at night to cop a feel while she was sleeping. Something he quit after she slashed his palm with the knife she'd begun keeping under her pillow.

Her fury broke free. She flexed her neck, then rammed the back of her head into Thomas's face.

She heard him cry out in pain, and then heard a horn blare as the truck screeched to a crashing halt.

From the other side of the front partition she faintly heard the driver say something about a 'Goddam cab' as he got out.

Behind her, Thomas was whimpering. 'I think you broke a tooth!'

'Shut the fuck up,' said the man beside her—the first words he'd spoken since he pushed her in here. 'This could be trouble.'

She heard shouting outside, then something slammed against the side of the van.

'That does it,' the man said. 'I'm going out to see what's up. You just stay put.'

Alicia didn't have a choice, so he must have been talking to Thomas. She'd thought Thomas was in charge, but this thug showed him no respect. Who was in charge here?

She got a glimpse of the man's blocky build and thick features as he pulled the side door open, then it closed behind him.

5.

Yoshio was amazed at the sudden, bizarre turns of events.

He had been watching Thomas Clayton and had seen him get into a dark panel truck outside his apartment house. He had recognized Sam Baker through the open door. Since this allowed him to keep track of two of his surveillance targets at once, he'd followed.

For a good half hour he had watched Baker sweep the same section of sidewalk in front of a shuttered Korean toy wholesaler's shop. Yoshio had returned to his car from a quick walk to the pushcart vendor on the corner, and was just biting into his souvlaki on a pita when he saw Alicia Clayton get pushed into the truck.

Shocked, he dropped his souvlaki—salad, sauce, and all—onto his lap, and followed.

Were they mad? What did they hope to accomplish by this?

He got caught at the red light at the next corner. He would have run through it like the truck, but the cross traffic was too thick when he reached the intersection.

While he was waiting, he noticed a dark-haired man run up to the corner and stare after the van. Apparently he had seen the abduction and wanted to do something about it. A concerned citizen. A rarity.

As soon as the cross traffic thinned, Yoshio eased through the red light and pursued the van, leaving the man behind.

He found the truck and followed it onto a cross street. Suddenly a taxi, piloted by a madman, swerved around him and cut off the truck. After the impact, the cabdriver jumped out and Yoshio recognized him: the concerned citizen from moments before.

Yoshio watched in stunned amazement. What demon had possessed this man? What did he think he was going to accomplish alone?

6.

Baker took a quick look around. He wasn't exactly sure where they were—somewhere in the West Thirties, probably. That had been the plan: take her for a ride, scare the shit out of her, then dump her in some dark deserted spot as far west as possible.

At least there weren't too many pedestrians here. He saw how the left front end of their truck had inserted itself into the rear door of a beat-up yellow cab. What kind of asshole move had this cabbie tried to pull to cause this? Was he trying to get hit?

Whatever. The thing was to get the truck moving again. No cops, no accident report. Chuck had the frightened-looking cabbie pinned helpless against the side of the panel truck. He was an average-size white guy, and Chuck was a monster. The cabbie wasn't going anywhere.

Good. We'll do a little tap dance on this guy's head, then we'll be out of here.

Baker stepped forward. He was going to enjoy this.

That was when the cabbie stopped cursing and looking helpless. He grabbed Chuck's right wrist with both hands and gave a sharp backward twist. Baker thought he heard a bone crack. The cabbie ducked the pile-driver left Chuck threw at him and delivered a vicious sidekick to the inside of Chuck's knee. Baker knew he heard a ligament pop.

Chuck grunted and dropped to the street, clutching his knee. The moves took Baker by as much surprise as Chuck. Something very wrong here. Instead of running, the cabbie was coming his way, looking anything but frightened. Baker had a big weight advantage—what was this guy thinking? But then the guy was in his face. Who was this guy? Cabbies sat on their butts all day. They weren't supposed to move this fast…

Baker swung a right and missed as the cabbie leaned away from it. He grabbed the guy's arm with his left hand to steady him for the next shot, but he was slippery as a greased snake. He pulled free, and Baker's face exploded in pain as the heel of the cabbie's palm rammed up into his nose. Baker swung blindly and connected with what felt like ribs, but then something—a fist or a foot, he didn't know—pounded into his solar plexus. He heard himself grunt as the air exploded from him. He grabbed for the guy as he doubled over, hoping to take him down with him, but then something that had felt like a billy club but had to be an elbow rammed into his right kidney.

That did it. Baker dropped through a haze of nausea and agony, landing on his hands and knees, with his dazed mind mumbling, What happened? What happened?

7.