Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

section of paneling, poked his finger over the top, then pulled. The section swung away from the wall on hinges. Behind it, a circular opening, four feet across, gaped in the block.

'What on earth?' Alicia said.

'Not on,' Jack said, 'in the earth.'

'A bomb shelter?' The thought of being sealed up in that dark hole, crouching and cowering while men with machine guns searched for her was too much. 'Oh, no. I don't think I can.'

'It's a tunnel.' She sensed from his tone that his patience might be wearing a little thin. 'It'll take us to the field across the street. Come on. We don't have much time.'

He handed her a flashlight, and motioned her to go first. Taking a breath, she ducked inside and crawled in a few feet. She found herself in a ribbed tube of galvanized metal; cold, but surprisingly clean. Jack came in after her, pulling the wall closed behind him. She turned on the flashlight as darkness engulfed them.

'Shine that over here a sec,' he said.

He set some sort of latch on the panel section, then wriggled past her. He took the flashlight and began crawling down the tunnel.

'This way.'

'Do I have a choice?' she said, wondering where and when this night would end.

16.

'We must accomplish this very quickly,' Baker heard Muhallal say as they approached the front door.

The Arab kept looking up and down the road, as if searching for signs of life. Nothing but darkness out there.

'Worried about someone calling the cops?' Baker said.

'Yes. Of course. I am not a citizen, and I have no diplomatic immunity. My arrest would cause great embarrassment to… to my organization.'

And just what is your organization? Baker wondered. He'd been trying to figure that one out since this whole thing started.

'Not to worry,' Baker said. 'This won't take long at all.'

'And don't forget—'

'I know, I know. Don't hurt the girl.'

'That is correct. Do anything you wish to the man, but she must not be harmed.'

If he tells me once more… Baker thought.

'You come over here with me,' he whispered to Muhallal as he directed his men to spread out on either side of the front door.

Always a good idea to keep the guy paying the bills out of the line of fire.

He gave Briggs the go-ahead. The big guy pushed open the door and leaped inside with his weapon ranging back and forth before him. The others rushed in behind him.

Baker waited half a minute or so with Muhallal, watching the lights go on all through the house, then motioned him to follow him inside.

Was this where the Clayton broad's muscle lived? Place looked like a dump.

'Front bedroom clear,' said Briggs, emerging from a hallway.

'Rear bedroom clear,' said Toro, following him.

Seconds later Kenny pounded up the stairs from the basement and came through the kitchen. 'Cellar's deserted,' he said.

'What the fuck?' Baker said, scratching his head. He stepped to the far end of the dining area and pulled up a window. He had a bad moment when he didn't see Barlowe and DeMartini—had they ended up like Mott and Richards?—but then he spotted them.

'Anybody come out the back?' he called.

'Negative,' Barlowe said.

Baker turned and looked around. 'Shit. We know they were in here. We saw them.'

He saw the Arab fucker watching him,, judging him. If he blew this and let them get away…

'Hey, looky here,' said Perkowski from the hall. He was pointing the barrel of his weapon at a string hanging from the ceiling.

'Well, well, well,' Baker said as he brushed past Muhallal for a closer look. 'What have we here? Looks like we got us a pull-down staircase.'

'Looks like we got us a wall safe too,' said Briggs as he pulled a black velvet painting of a tiger off the living room wall.

'We'll check it later,' Baker said. 'Right now, I think we've got a certain rat cornered real good.'

He wanted this guy… wanted him sooo bad.

He raised his Tec and gave Perkowski the go-ahead to pull the string. 'Do it.'

Perkowski pulled and the ceiling door swung down.

Baker crouched, ready to fire at the first sound, the first sight of anything threatening. But nothing moved in that rectangle of darkness.

Perkowski unfolded the attached ladder. As it hit the floor, something black started sliding down a track fixed to the upper rungs.

Baker took a second or two to recognize the thing as a little cannon.

'Back!' he shouted.

… And felt foolish when the little cannon reached the end of its track and stopped with a jolt, popping a red flag from its muzzle.

Yellow letters spelled out, 'bang!'

Wait till I get you, fucker, Baker thought, glaring up the ladder as Perkowski and Toro laughed. Put the hurt on you… big time.

'Got ourselves a comedian, we do,' Perkowski said.

'A real clown,' Toro said.

Perkowski started up the ladder, holding his Tec ahead of him. 'I hate clowns.'

'Be careful, Perk,' Toro said. 'Remember Mott and Richards.'

'Oh, don't worry,' Perkowski said. 'Richards was a friend of mine. I remember just fine.'

Perkowski's head and his Tec were swallowed by the dark opening, then he barked a harsh, humorless laugh.

'Oh. Yeah. This guy's a real clown.'

'What is it?' Baker said, climbing up behind Perkowski.

Standing on a lower rung, he had to stretch against Perk's back to get his eyes to floor level. A quick look-see showed him half a dozen toy cannons, identical to the one on the ladder, arrayed on either side of the opening. A string ran up to a naked bulb directly overhead.

Baker ducked and dropped back to the floor.

'I don't like the looks of this,' he said. 'Get down from there.'

'Aw, just some more of the clown's funny business,' Perkowski said, reaching for the light string. 'Let's shed some light on the subject.'

'I wouldn't—' Baker started to say, but was drowned out by the deafening roar of half a dozen shotgun shells firing at once.

Perkowski's body—his head and arms a bloody ruin—hurtled from the ladder and landed on Toro.

Fury overtook Baker then. Another of his men down! The son of a bitch!

He raised his Tec-9 and began firing. He stitched all thirty-two rounds into the ceiling that ran along the hall, and was flipping the clip to spray another thirty-two when a hand grabbed his arm.

'The woman!' It was Muhallal, his expression a mixture of anger and fright. 'You'll kill the woman!'

Baker was about to tell him to fuck off when howls of pain started from the living room. He wheeled around the corner to find Briggs writhing in agony with his hand in the wall.

'What the fuck?' Baker said.

'The wall safe!' Briggs gasped. 'It wasn't locked. I saw some cash inside, but when I reached in, it spiked