Jack shrugged. 'Not many jollies in pistol-whipping a skinny old man just for doing his job.'
'Ain't old.'
'So… when you told me to go ahead and shoot, you knew I wouldn't.'
His smile was sheepish. 'You don't look like you have it in you, so I was pretty sure.'
' 'Pretty sure'? Tell me the truth: Would you have taken a bullet for that key ring?'
'Don't know. I would've hoped whoever was on the other end of that gun wouldn't shoot.'
'But you weren't going to give up that key ring.'
He shook his head 'Uh-uh.'
Jack pressed him. 'It's only a set of keys.'
Mack held his gaze. 'I think you know what I'm talking about.'
'I think I do, Mack. I think I do.'
He really liked this old guy.
'What's the 'Mack' stand for? I've got a feeling your mother didn't name you that.'
'Yeah, she kind of did: McKinley's on my birth certificate.'
'Last name?'
'First.'
'Oh, right. Next you'll be telling me your last name's Morganfield.'
He gave Jack a look. 'You a blues hound?'
'Better believe it.'
He smiled. 'Well, the last name ain't Morganfield, but I am the Hoochie Coochie Man.'
'That you are. No question about it.'
The doors opened onto the lobby and they both stepped out.
'All right,' Jack said. 'Osala's gone, left the building for good. You've got no obligation to him anymore. So what can you tell me about him?'
Mack looked around the empty lobby, then shrugged. 'Ain't much to tell. Strange duck, I can tell you that. Not like I'd know from anything he ever said, because I don't think he ever spoke to me. Had his people do it for him. Usually his housekeeper, Gilda, did his talking. Lemme tell you, there's a lady with a face I wouldn't want to come home to every night. And if it's not her, it's his driver-gofer. Used to be a guy named Henry, but he quit or got fired last year. Liked him. Now it's Georges who's got this kinda French accent. Won't miss either of them. Come to think of it, I ain't sure Mister Osala's ever even looked at me. Not once.'
'What's he do?'
'For a living? Damn if I know. Got lotsa money, that's for sure. Need a ton to own this place and have all that plastic surgery.'
'Whoa-whoa-whoa! Plastic surgery?'
'Well, it's gotta be. His looks changed last year. He started off this lily-white guy somewhere like forty or so, and now he's darker, like a Latino or something, and younger. Even looks smaller, though I don't know how he did that.'
'You mean he darkened his skin?'
'Yeah, though not as bad as Michael Jackson lightened his. Sort of like a good tan. And grew a mustache… like he was going for the Latin-lover look or something.'
Dawn hadn't mentioned that. Maybe because she'd grown used to it.
'Where'd he go?'
Mack shrugged. 'Never said.'
'Well, he must have left a forwarding address.'
'Not with me.'
'What happens if a package arrives?'
'I don't know. I suppose he'll have Georges stop by now and then and pick it up.'
Jack narrowed his eyes. 'You sure?'
'Absolutely.'
Jack pretended to reach behind him for the Glock. 'Don't make me use this.'
Mack waved a hand. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure you will. I'd tell you if he left a number, but I wouldn't give it to you.'
Jack laughed and offered the man his hand. 'I don't know what these folks pay you, Mack, but it can't be enough.'
Mack gave his hand a firm shake. 'You got that right.'
As Jack pushed through the door into the tiny vestibule before the sidewalk, he glanced at the directory of tenants, listed in order of their floor. He froze when he saw the top name.
MR OSALA
Again… something about it…
And then he knew.
'Holy shit!'
He turned and slammed back through the door and strode toward Mack. The man turned at his approach and backed up two steps when he saw him.
'Jesus God! What-?'
'Osala,' Jack said. 'You work for him?'
'N-no. I work for the building.'
'And you don't have any idea where he's gone?'
'No, I told you. And I take back what I said about you.'
The remark surprised Jack.
'What?'
'About you not having it in you to kill someone. You do. What happened?'
'Why do you think something happened?'
'Your face. You look ready for murder.'
Jack realized he was.
Mack stepped closer. 'What set you off?'
'An anagram,' Jack said. 'A lousy goddamn anagram.'
7
'You really think this is necessary?' Weezy said.
Despite the gravity of the situation, Jack had to suppress a smile. Weezy looked ridiculous in the oversize worn cloth coat, babushka, and huge sunglasses he'd picked up in a secondhand shop on his way over.
'You've been made, Weezy.'
'You really think they're watching?'
'I didn't see anyone outside, but they could have someone parked in an apartment across the street keeping an eye on the front entrance. We can't risk leading them to Veilleur.'
She distastefully inspected the rubber tips of the four-footed cane he'd picked up along with the clothes. 'Why don't I just teleconference the meeting? I don't have to be there in person.'
'You know we're not set up for that. And besides, I need you there with the Compendium.'
'Gonna give me a hint of what it's about?'
'Has to do with the One. I'll explain the rest when we're all together.'
'You looked upset when you showed up. Still do.'
He'd been kicking himself for missing the anagram.
