Crisscross. Part 50

3.

Ron Clarkson twitched like an ant who'd found c.o.ke in a sugar bowl. If he'd had antennae he'd have been hovering a couple feet off the ground.

"I gotta be crazy for letting you in here," he said as he led Jack down a fluorescent-lit corridor. Tiled walls, drains in the concrete floor. "I'm gonna lose my job, I just know it."

Ron was rail thin with pale shoulder-length hair and a goatee. He earned his daily bread as an attendant at the City Morgue in the bas.e.m.e.nt of Bellevue Hospital. He didn't owe Jack any favors, he simply liked cash under the table. Every so often-rare, but it happened-Jack had need of a body part. He'd place an order with Ron and they'd agree on a price. They'd usually meet off campus, say at a McDonald's or a diner, and make the exchange.

Today was the first time Jack had asked for a viewing. And he'd handed over a stiff price for it.

He didn't want to be here. He simply knew he had to be. He felt he owed it to Sister Maggie.

"You're not backing out, are you?" Jack put a menacing edge on his voice. "You took the dough, you do the show."

"Never should have said yes. Man, this is so crazy."

"Ron..."

"All right, all right. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just that this case is hot-I mean it's steaming. Cardinal Ryan is all over City Hall, the mayor's all over the commish, the commish is all over the ME and crime scene crew. We got maybe a half hour before they start posting her-on a Sunday, can you believe it?-and here I am bringing you down for a look-see. I must be crazy."

"If you'd have gotten it done instead of running your mouth, I'd be on my way out by now."

"Yeah, but-"

"Just one quick look. A peek. That's all I want."

"I never figured you for getting off on something like that."

They pa.s.sed some empty gurneys, and one not so empty. A green sheet covered a still form. Jack was about to ask if that was her but Ron wasn't slowing. Guess not.

"I knew her."

"Oh, s.h.i.t. Then maybe you don't want to see her. I got a glimpse and..." He shook his head. "It ain't nice."

"All the more reason."

But he didn't want to see her. He felt as if his legs were slowly turning to stone, refusing to move him down the hall. He forced them forward, one step after the other after the other...

"I don't get it. Why?"

Because I need to do this to make sure I don't hesitate when I do what has to be done.

"None of your business, Ron."

"Okay. But you'll be sorry."

I know, he thought. But not as sorry as someone else.

Ron pushed through a set of steel double doors into a green-tiled room where a guy who looked like Malcolm X was studying a chemistry book.

"Crime lab," Ron said, jerking his thumb at Jack. "Needs another look. She still in 12-C?"

The black guy nodded and went back to his chemistry.

Through another set of double doors and into a big white-tiled room that felt like a refrigerator. Latched drawers lined the walls. Ron made a beeline for a drawer near the floor. The rollers screeched as he pulled it out.

"Needs a little lube," he said with a quick, weak smile.

A black body bag lay on a steel tray. Ron made no move. Jack looked up and found him staring at him.

"Well?"

"You're sure?"

No. Not sure. Not sure at all. But he nodded.

"Do it."

Ron grabbed the zipper, pulled it halfway down, and spread the flaps.

Jack caught flashes of a crimson mosaic of torn flesh, then turned away.

"Jesus G.o.d!"

Probably could have stared indefinitely if he hadn't known her. But he had. A sweet woman. And someone had turned her into... a thing.

"Told you, man."

Jack spoke past the bile collecting in his throat. "Close her up."

"What? That's it? I risk my neck bringing you down here and-"

"Close. Her. Up Up."

After he'd heard the zipper, Jack turned around and stared down at the glistening surface of the body bag.

You poor woman...

He tried to imagine how she must have suffered before she died, but it was beyond him. He felt the blackness he kept caged in a far country of his being break free and surge through him.

He looked up and Ron jumped back.

"Hey, man! Don't blame me. I didn't do it!"

Jack voice was a metallic rasp. "I know."

"Then don't look at me like that. s.h.i.t, for a second there I thought you were gonna kill me."

"No... not you."

4.

"You locked the door?" Abe said as Jack approached the rear counter.

Jack nodded.

The Isher Sports Shop was otherwise empty, but it could have been any day of the week. Traffic in Abe's store was never exactly heavy.

The darkness still suffused him, but he had it under control. At least for the moment.

Abe was leaning on the counter, wearing what he wore every other day.

"I need some hardware."

"So you said. Hardware I got. What kind?"

"A Beretta 92."

It would have been so much easier to discuss this over the phone, but one never knew when the Big Ear might be listening. And the code Jack and Abe had developed wouldn't cover the specifics of this particular purchase.

Abe frowned. "You've already got a PT 92 Taurus. It's the same pistol. Except for the safety, of course."

"I know, but I need a Beretta."

"Why?"

"I'll explain later."

Abe shrugged. "Okay. You're paying. I'll call around tomorrow and see who-"

"I need it today, Abe. And in stainless steel."

"Stainless steel? Gevalt Gevalt! Impossible! You're asking me to move mountains, and believe me, my mother didn't name me Mohammed. You want a Glock 19, fine; you want an HK-MP5, that I can do. But a stainless-steel Beretta 92 on a Sunday? As my Italian neighbors in the Bensonhurst of my boyhood used to say, Fuhgeddaboudit."

"Got to have it before tonight, Abe. Really important. I'll owe you."

"Already you owe me." When Jack said nothing, Abe shrugged again. "All right, and I owe you too, but..."

His voice trailed off as he stared at Jack. It made Jack a little uncomfortable.

"But what?"

"But nothing. I'm seeing that look on your face."

"What look?"

"I know it, Jack. I've seen it before. And more often than not, when I see it, someone winds up shuffling off their mortal coil."

Jack knew he tended to let his guard down with Abe, but even with reins on the darkness, was it that obvious? He'd have to watch himself.

"Maybe it's because it's not yet noon and I've had a very bad day."

"Something's wrong? Gia and Vicky-?"

Jack held up a hand. "They're fine. It's no one you know. At least personally."

Interest lit in his eyes. "And that means?"

Abe knew Jamie Grant from reading The Light The Light. Maybe Jack could use her as a carrot.

"The Beretta, Abe? Get me that Beretta before tonight and I'll tell you what happened to Jamie Grant."

"The Light reporter?*" Abe made a grumbling noise. "You make your best friend in the whole world reporter?*" Abe made a grumbling noise. "You make your best friend in the whole world earn earn a little news?" a little news?"

"In this case, yes. Here's the math: Beretta equals story. Because without the Beretta there won't be any story to tell. At least not this week."

"For next week I can't wait. I'll start making calls. And then you'll tell me?"

Jack nodded. "If it goes down, yeah."

He had to position the pieces where he needed them, otherwise he'd lose this week's window and have to move it to next. Didn't want to do that. He wanted this to go down tonight tonight.

5.