Zeklos gave him a wary look. "Why do you bring me food?"
Jack was close enough now to smell the scotch on his breath. Going on another bender?
"Because I'm hungry and I don't like to eat alone. You telling me you've had lunch already?"
Zeklos shook his head. "No. No lunch. 1 have no appetite." jack pushed past him and headed toward the kitchenette.
"Cool. That means more for me. I could eat these suckers all day."
He set the sack on the counter next to a bottle of Dewar's scotch.
"Liquid lunch? Did I come at a bad time?"
Zeklos closed the door and waved his hands.
"No-no. I am just mashing the potato of happiness."
Huh?
Jack decided not to ask. He unpacked the sack as he spoke.
"You mean about being moved down to the minors?"
More suspicion in his eyes. "How do you know this?"
"Miller was laughing about it."
Not exactly true, but it worked. The suspicion retreated, replaced by a fearful resentment.
"Miller is glad to see me go. He hates me."
"I'd look on being hated by a jerk as a badge of honor." He held out a burger in its stiff-paper squarepants container. "Here. Try one."
The combination of hearing Miller called a jerk and the aroma of a White Castle burger seemed to do it. Jack saw the tension go out of his shoulders as he examined the burger.
"So small."
"Yep. That's why you buy lots of them. Bet you can't eat just one."
Zeklos took a bite. Then another. A third bite finished it.
He spoke around a mouthful. "This is good. This is very good."
"Have another. I bought plenty. And here's a coffee."
As they ate Jack debated his next step. Too early to bring up cyanide-tipped bullets. Better to stick with Zeklos himself.
"You know, one thing you never told me is why Miller's got it in for you."
Zeklos swallowed a big bite. "I do not think I should talk about that."
"Why not? I'm the Heir, aren't I? You heard Doc Oc say so himself."
Zeklos frowned. "Doc…?"
"The Oculus. The 0."
"Oh, yes, I see. But—"
"But nothing. They want me to hook up with the MV. Before I do that I need to know what I'm getting into. So come on. Give."
"I don't know…"
"Look. Maybe I'll become the Sentinel one day, maybe I won't. But if I do, I'll remember those who helped me when I was the Heir. And believe me, they won't be languishing in some training camp."
Jack couldn't believe the crap he was spewing, but he wanted answers and he'd take them any way he could.
And the crap seemed to be working.
Zeklos thought a moment, then said, "Very well. Since you are the Heir… I will tell you that I am in disgrace." His eyes flashed at Jack. "Partly because of you."
"You mean because I got the jump on you Friday night?" He shrugged. "Don't take it personally. I'd have done the same to Davis or Miller."
"Yes-yes, I know. But I was already in disgrace because I did not complete a duty given to me by the 0."
"Which was…?"
He looked away. "I was to kill a woman."
"When?"
"Last November. The Ally said she was to be struck by a truck."
That didn't sound very Ally-ish. It disturbed him that the Ally would send a yeniceri out to run down a woman… disturbed him a lot more than he would have expected.
"Did the 0 tell you why?"
Zeklos shook his head. "He is never told. He sees only visions of what must be done or what must be prevented."
"I take it you missed her."
Zeklos nodded but kept his gaze averted. "Yes. I told them I hit the curb and lost control, but in truth I… I could not do it. And my brothers know that." Finally he looked up and locked eyes with Jack. "Do you too believe that I should be eating the corn of humiliation?"
"I don't know about the corn of humiliation"—whatever that was—"but I think—"
"What make my failure worse is that Ally has sent second Alarm about this woman. Because of me, it must be tried again."
Sounded like the Ally really had it in for this lady.
"Maybe you're just too human to make a good… hit man."
His own word sucker-punched him. He'd said it without forethought, without calculation, and yet here it was… here was the connection.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Starfire. He set it upright on the counter between them.
"What do you know about this?"
"I've never seen—"
"The hollow point here is filled with cyanide. That mean anything to you?"
Zeklos didn't have to answer. His expression said it all. Yeah, it meant something. Meant a whole lot of something.
Joey's dying words re-echoed…
"Something else going on."
Jack grabbed Zeklos by the throat and squeezed.
"Did the MV have anything to do with LaGuardia?"
Zeklos's features hardened as he struggled to get free.
"No! Let me go!"
Jack couldn't read his eyes so he tightened his grip.
"You're lying! You—"
He would have said more but another thought slammed its way to the forefront, pushing everything else aside.
Gia… a couple of months ago she'd mentioned how a truck had come within inches of hitting her.
He let Zeklos go.
"This woman… the one you were supposed to run down… what did she look like?"
Zeklos rubbed his throat and looked at him as if he'd gone nuts. He hadn't. Not yet.
Jack leaned into his face and shouted. 'What did she look like?"
Zeklos backed away as he spoke. "She had short blond hair and—"
A blast of cold shot through him.
"Where did you almost run her down?"
"Fifty-eighth and Second Avenue. Why do you want to know this?"
"You said the same woman is targeted. When?"
"Today. At one-thirty."
Jack's voice locked. The words wouldn't come. He glanced at Zeklos's kitchen clock: 1:14.
Oh shit, oh hell, oh—
Finally he found the words. "Where?"
"Same place. Fifty-eighth and Second. Why do you care?"
Jack jumped to the door, pelted down the steps, and ran for his car. Along the way he yanked his phone from his pocket.
He stopped at his car door and called her home.
Please answer, Gi. Please.
Four rings and then Vicky's voice came on with her leave-a-message routine.
Praying that she'd check her voice mail, he said, "Gi! If you get this, go inside. I mean that. No matter where you are, step into the nearest doorway and call me back. I'm not kidding! This is life or death!"
He slipped behind the Vic's steering wheel and started her up. As he got rolling he dialed her cell number. Maybe she'd come home and retrieved it. But the cell rang and rang until a canned voice-mail message came on.
'You have reached 212 …"
With his heart battering against his ribs he left the identical message and gunned the car toward the highways. Which way to go? The BQE to the Man-hattan Bridge or jump into the Battery tunnel? His dashboard clock read 1:25.
Either way he'd never make it. Even if he could fly.
Wanted to cry, wanted to vomit. Pounded his steering wheel and screamed at his windshield. So helpless, so goddamn helpless.
Where was she? What could—?
Lunch—lunch time. If she'd stopped to eat… where…?
Kosher Nosh.
Jack thumbed 411 and asked for the number. The operator offered to dial it for him.
"Do-it-do-it-do-it!"
Two rings and a man's voice announced that he'd reached the Kosher Nosh. Jack remembered the name of the owner, the guy who ran the cash register.
"Is this Dov?"
"Who else should it be?"