Infernal_ A Repairman Jack Novel Part 30

"Twenty-seven hundred and two two bucks, sir. And seventy cents." bucks, sir. And seventy cents."

Jack looked at the meter. "Twenty-five hundred and seventy-four gallons! This thing only holds seven hundred!"

"Those are liters, sir. In gallons that would be somewhat less than seven hundred, but not much."

"Liters?"

Jack studied the sign over the diesel pump: 1.05/L. He'd been so happy to see such a cheap price that his brain apparently had registered only the number and a.s.sumed it was the gallon price. He handed over his card. "No wonder everyone around here drives mopeds."

6.

Joey climbed the subway steps up to Madison Square Park-which, for some reason he'd never been able to figure, was nowhere near Madison Square Garden. He squinted into the cold wind as he looked around. Benny the Brit had said he'd meet him on the downtown end of the park.

There. Perched on a bench just as promised.

Joey started toward him, praying this wasn't another wasted trip. Despite the support of the big shots in what was left of the families, he'd come up empty. Bel niente Bel niente. Then a call from Benny. He had something. Didn't know if it would help, but meet him in the park and he'd give Joey what he had.

So here was the park and there sat Benny.

Joey seated himself a couple of feet to Benny's left. He was maybe ten years older than Joey, squat and fat-a real tappo tappo-wearing one of those tweedy British caps that snapped onto the peak.

"Morning, Benny."

He started. "Oh, 'allo, guv. Gave me a bit o' a start there, you did."

Everybody knew Benny wasn't British. He grew up in Flatbush and had never been within a thousand miles of England. But for some reason the ceffo ceffo liked to fake an English accent. Did it so much he never stepped out of character now. Trouble was, he wasn't that good. In fact, he was freaking terrible. Picked up his accent from television-the "telly," as he liked to call it-and movies. His accent was bad even by those standards. Drove everybody bugf.u.c.k crazy, but Joey would put up with it if Benny had the goods. liked to fake an English accent. Did it so much he never stepped out of character now. Trouble was, he wasn't that good. In fact, he was freaking terrible. Picked up his accent from television-the "telly," as he liked to call it-and movies. His accent was bad even by those standards. Drove everybody bugf.u.c.k crazy, but Joey would put up with it if Benny had the goods.

"Whatta y'got for me?"

"A bit o' tape is what I got. I tapes everyone who does business wif me, and I caught meself an Arab in the act."

"Which means?"

"Which means I sold the bloke a couple o' Tavor-twos, I did."

Joey gripped the edge of the bench seat. He was sitting next to the stronzo stronzo who'd sold the guns that had killed Frankie. He didn't know whether to kill him or kiss him. Because if he had these guys on tape... who'd sold the guns that had killed Frankie. He didn't know whether to kill him or kiss him. Because if he had these guys on tape...

Too freaking good to be true. Joey's livelihood was built on peddling too good to be true, so he knew what that usually meant...

"Let me get this straight: You taped an Arab buying a pair of Tavor-twos."

"'Sright, mate."

"So why the f.u.c.k didn't you tell me that the first I asked you about it?"

Benny leaned back, looking scared, and Joey realized he'd been pretty d.a.m.n near shouting.

"Easy, mate. Don't 'ave to shout. I ain't Mutt an' Jeff. An' the reason I never said nuffin' was I didn't 'ave it then."

Joey worked at calming himself but wasn't doing such a hot job.

"Whatta you mean you didn't-?"

"'Ere now, don't get yer knickers in a twist. I only taped them yesterday. Got on the dog and bone and called you right away, I did."

"Yesterday? What the f.u.c.k good is that? Frankie was killed two weeks ago!"

"Think about it, guv: The blighters left their guns at the airport, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So they might be needing replacements. Not to mention the fact that he bought two 'undred hollow-points to go wif 'em. Bit much to be a coincidence, i'nit?"

Joey thought about that. Jesus, if this wasn't a freakin' coincidence, then that meant...

"You wouldn't happen to have that tape on you, would you?"

"Right 'ere in me sky rocket, mate."

Benny pulled a manila envelope out of his coat pocket and held it out. Joey s.n.a.t.c.hed it and clutched it with both hands.

"And that's not all," Benny said. He pulled a plastic bag out of another pocket. Joey recognized a pistol magazine. "This 'ere's a li'l somethin' the blighter 'andled while 'e was shoppin'. Got 'is prints all over it, it does."

Joey took the Baggie and stared at the magazine.

Oh man, oh man, oh man. If this panned out...

"Got a name or something to go with these?"

"Don't get to 'ear many names in me business, mate. No credit cards neither. Strictly bangers and mash. But I fink you know that."

Yeah, Joey knew that. But it never hurt to ask.

"Thanks, Benny."

"Under normal circ.u.mstances I would 'ave told those pandies to b.u.g.g.e.r right off-I'll not be sellin' to the likes o' them-but I remembered you was lookin' for blokes of that ilk, so I made the transaction. Just for you, mate. Just for you."

Not to mention a heaping plate of "bangers and mash" to boot.

"I'll remember this, Benny. Anything I can ever do for you-"

"Just find those pandies and give 'em what fer." He hauled himself off the bench. "And now I'm off to see me trouble and strife. Left 'er in Macy's, I did. Spendin' me into the poor 'ouse, most likely."

Joey was aware of Benny moving off and taking his bad accent with him, but he didn't say good-bye. He sat in the blessed silence and stared down at the envelope.

A video of a gun-buying Arab. Great. But what was he going to do with it? How did he go about ID-ing the figlio di puttana the figlio di puttana? Where did he go from here?

He didn't know. Have to think on that. But he didn't let it get him down.

Finally, something something.

7.

Tom had been strangely subdued as he'd piloted the Sahbon Sahbon along the channel through the reef. They made it to open ocean before nightfall and headed toward the dying glow on the horizon. along the channel through the reef. They made it to open ocean before nightfall and headed toward the dying glow on the horizon.

After entering the coordinates for Wanchese harbor and setting the autopilot, he turned to Jack.

"Want to take the first watch?"

Jack couldn't see why not.

"Sure."

"Good. Because I'm bushed. I'm going below for a little shut-eye."

So now, after a couple of hours of dividing his attention between the empty ocean ahead and the dwindling lights of Bermuda behind, Jack was bored out of his skull. On the trip out, the concerns of being a novice sailor in the middle of the ocean, inexperienced with the navigation equipment and bound for an unfamiliar-at least to him-destination, had kept him alert and attuned. Now it seemed like old hat. The Sahbon Sahbon was heading home and he was confident he could get it there on his own. was heading home and he was confident he could get it there on his own.

He took a good look around to confirm that no other running lights were in sight, then descended to the pilothouse to use the head.

He found Tom sitting on his bunk holding a coffee cup and watching the TV. Dazed and Confused Dazed and Confused again. Didn't he ever get tired of that movie? again. Didn't he ever get tired of that movie?

Look who's talking, Jack thought.

He'd seen certain favorite films dozens of times.

"Thought you were grabbing some z's."

When Tom didn't answer Jack took a closer look.

Oh, s.h.i.t. Is he sloshed?

Maybe, maybe not, but those looked like tears in his eyes.

"You okay?"

He shook himself, did a quick eye wipe with his sleeve, then pointed to the screen.

"That was me, you know."

Jack looked. The Slater character-Jack didn't know the actor's name-was on the screen.

"A stoner?"

"No. I did my share, for sure, but I mean the times. The mid-seventies were my high school years. I'm looking at me and my friends. Jesus, we never knew how good we had it back then. I mean, the whole future, the whole world lay before us, ours for the taking. So I took it. And screwed it up."

He sipped from his coffee cup. Jack knew it wasn't coffee.

Tom's troubles were his own doing, yet Jack couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity.

He looked around for the sea chest, didn't see it in the cabin, so he opened the door to the bow compartment. There he found it bungeed into place near the anchor. He felt an unexplainable urge to grab it, haul it up on deck, and toss it overboard.

Instead he closed the door and turned to Tom.

"What's the real story with that thing?"

"I don't know. I'd hoped for something readily convertible into cash-like doubloons and such. But who knows? Maybe the Lilitongue's worth more."

"How do you know that's what you've got? You didn't find anything in the chest that identified it."

"Don't you worry, it's the Lilitongue. I'm sure of it." He grinned. "Besides, 'Gefreda' opened the chest, didn't it?"

He had a point. "Okay, let's just say you're right. You know, but how do you prove it? How do you sell something you can't even identify?"

Tom held up a finger. "I can find a way in Philly. We've got U of P, the Franklin Inst.i.tute, plus all sorts of museums like the Mutter and the Glen-cairn. A gallimaufry of resources. Somebody in that city has has to have heard about it, or at least know where to look it up." to have heard about it, or at least know where to look it up."

"Maybe, but it could take you a year to find that somebody. And you'll never get to spend it if you're locked in a jail cell."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to do a lot of artful dodging. Especially since I'm not supposed to leave Philly. I got an exception made for Dad's funeral but-"

"So that's why you couldn't come right away."

"Right."

A sudden realization slammed Jack. "What about now? Where do they think you are at this moment?"

Tom took a sip of vodka. "Philly."

"Jesus, Tom! You skipped?"

"In a word, yes."

"You're a fugitive?"