A few quick turns and they hit the on ramp to 80 East.
"Remind me not to get you pissed at me, all right?"
"Why?"
"Shit, you move fast. That's what I call kicking ass. One second you're behind him, next second you're on top of him, third second you're in the car."
It hadn't been that fast.
"Didn't want him to see me, and definitely didn't want any of his pals coming to help."
"What'd you get?"
Jack flipped through the wallet. Found a couple of credit cards in Al-Kabeer's name, half a dozen business cards, and forty-two bucks. But Jack found the phones more interesting. The first—the one he'd been using when Jack hit him—was a standard Verizon model. The second, however…
"How about that? A prepaid phone."
Just like mine.
Joey glanced at it. "So?"
"No contract, no credit check, no name connected to the number. So why's he got a regular phone plus one that leaves him anonymous."
Joey's grin would have made a shark wince. "So he can't be traced when he calls his fellow dune coons."
"We need a way to see who he's been calling on this."
"No prob."
Jack looked at him. "You've got an in?"
"Hey, Frankie and me, we used to hawk cell phone licenses. I got tons of connections. We'll get those numbers."
"Great. But make it fast."
Make it very fast.
"And one more thing," Jack said. "I need you to take me on a quick detour."
10
-39:51
"Wait here. I'll only be a minute."
Joey nodded and reached for the radio. As Jack walked away he recognized the unmistakable sound of Mad Dog Russo's voice on WFAN.
Joey had groused a little about swinging through Astoria, but they'd hit no backups on the Cross-Bronx or the Triboro and made decent time. Jack had the photos of Al-Kabeer in hand as he stepped up on the front porch of Menelaus Manor. He'd called Lyle from the car to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting a seance.
"Hey, Jack," Lyle said as he opened the door. "Charlie's been waiting for you. Want a beer?"
Jack's impulse was to refuse, then he figured, Why not?
A few minutes later he and a Heineken keg can entered the channeling room.
"Hello, Charlie," he said as he handed Lyle the photos. "I need a favor."
Lyle nodded as he took them. "Charlie says if it's at all in his power, you've got it."
Once again, that odd feeling rippled over his skin: I'm talking to a dead man.
"Thanks, Charlie. Take a look at that guy in the photos. His name is Hamad Al-Kabeer. Can you tell me anything about him?"
Lyle's ebony face broke into a grin. "I'll go first: He's an Arab."
Jack had to smile. "Gotta hand it to you, Lyle. Nothing gets past you."
The grin faded. "Charlie says you look strange."
"Well, I've had better days."
"No, he says he can't see you clearly." He paused, listening. "He says your edges are blurry and you seem to be… transparent."
Jack's gut tightened. Was it starting already? Was that how it would happen? A slow fade instead of a simple evaporation?
He looked at his hands. They looked as solid as ever. But Charlie saw the world through different eyes. Was he now seeing Jack's future?
"Long story," Jack said. "What about our Arab friend there?"
Lyle listened, then, "Charlie says he's got blood on his hands."
Jack stiffened as an electric jolt sizzled through him.
"Whose?"
"You think he might be involved in your father's…?"
"Possibly."
Lyle stayed silent a moment, then, "Charlie says he can't tell whose blood, just that it's not his own."
Jack sat in silence. One more nail in the coffin of Hamad Al-Kabeer. He just wished it wasn't all so damn circumstantial. He wanted something more concrete before he ripped the guy in half.
And if Al-Kabeer had been a part of it—didn't matter if he was the shooter or just a planner—tearing him up was too easy. He needed something worse than just death. But what? If Jack had the time, he knew he'd come up with something. But time was in short supply.
Time…
He straightened in his chair.
Lyle looked at him. "What?"
"Just had an idea."
"Care to share?"
"Not yet. Need to work out the details…"
Yeah. Many details.
Jack stepped out of Menelaus Manor in higher spirits than when he'd arrived, but not much. He squinted. The rooftops of the houses across the street flared with a corona effect from the lowering sun behind them.
… your edges are blurry and you seem to be… transparent…
Jack shivered in the twilight, and not because of the icy wind.
11
-39:17
A pale ghost of the nearly full moon rode the twilight as Jack stood outside Gia's front step and knocked. He wondered if there'd be a moon or even a sun where he was going. He swore that if he somehow managed to extricate himself from this mess he'd never again take this sort of everyday beauty for granted.
Gia opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
"Where have you been?"
"Here and there."
"But you were gone so long! You said you'd only be an hour!"
"I know. Things got complicated."
"I was getting worried."
"Can I spend the night?"
Gia burst into tears.
Jack said, "Is that a no?"
She grabbed him and pulled him into the foyer where they clinched.
She sobbed against his chest. "I can't lose you!"
"Well, I'm not gone yet. The lady in the size-forty dress hasn't started her song yet."
Jack didn't know if his half-formed plan had any chance of working, but if it did, she'd never sing.
At least not Jack's tune.
12
-33:22
Tom watched the guy step out of the bodega doorway and approach the cab. When he recognized Tom he flashed his Leon Spinks smile.
After last night's uptown sortie, Kamal had offered his cell number. He said Tom could call anytime, and if he was on duty—which was most of the time—he would take Tom back to the bodega.
Tom was glad he'd taken the little slip of paper. He'd dug it out of his pants pocket and made the call.
After being all but kicked out of Gia's this morning, he'd aimlessly wandered around the city. When he finally returned to the apartment he'd found the Lilitongue floating in Jack's bedroom. He'd closed the door. Couldn't stand to look at it.
He needed a lift. A big one.
"Lose your girlfriend again?" said the bodega man.
"Yeah, and it's got me down."
"Want me to find her again?"
"No, I think I need someone different tonight."
"I know all sort of girls. What kind you like?"
"Someone to lift my spirits. She changes her name all the time. Last time I saw her she was going by a name that began with E, but she might have changed it to something that begins with X."
"Ah, yes. I know such a one."
Tom held up a fifty. "Will this do?"
"Yes. That good for two."
"Two?"
That Spinks smile again. "Okay, since you are repeat customer, I give you three."
Tom hadn't been trying to haggle. He'd taken E a few times in the early nineties and had paid about fifty a tab. He'd liked the feeling, but not the emotional drop after the drug wore off.
As the man snatched the fifty he said, "You want else? We got other letters—A, MJ from TJ—and we got weather—snowflake and purple rain—and we got baseball, roofies, and Georgia Home Boy."
Pretty much the same patter as last night.
"Just the girl."