After that it was more deja vu. A little talk into a two-way, then a jogging kid—different one from last night—tossing an envelope through the window.
Tom had swallowed one of the tabs before Kamal's cab reached the end of the block.
By the time they reached the Upper West Side Tom was cruising. Waves of warmth and relaxation washed over him. The African music on Kamal's radio that had bugged him on the uptown trip now sounded beautiful and perfect. Tiny bubbles swam in his vision, as if he were looking at the world through a glass of champagne.
Instead of going straight back to Jack's, he had Kamal drop him off near where Broadway cut across Columbus Avenue. As he moved through the milling crowd he felt wonderful. So connected to all these strangers, connected to the point where he wanted to climb atop a lamppost and shout out his love for all of them.
Jesus God, when was the last time he'd felt this good about the world, about himself?
War, poverty, crime, violence, terrorism all so far away. So was Jack's predicament. Even though he loved even Jack tonight—and really loved Gia—he couldn't get worked up about his impending "escape." The world, existence, were all too wonderful to allow anything really bad to happen.
Everything would be all right, everything would work out for the best.
WEDNESDAY
1
-22:42
Jack tried to focus on the newspaper but the words didn't make sense. When he realized he'd been through the same paragraph three times without understanding it—and this was the Post—he slapped it down on Gia's kitchen table.
Less than a day until launch. For Gia's and Vicky's sakes he'd wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. Hadn't expected it to be easy, but it was proving impossible.
Especially after checking himself in the bathroom mirror this morning and seeing the ends of the Stain under his pecs… less than six inches apart.
Vicky barreled into the kitchen.
"Jack! What are we getting Mommy for Christmas?"
The question stunned him.
"Christmas?"
She rolled her big blue eyes. "It's on Friday, silly!"
"Jeez, that's right. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
With everything else going on, it had been drop-kicked from his consciousness.
His heart sank. He wouldn't be here for Christmas, wouldn't be able to lounge by the fire as he'd done last year and watch Vicky tear into her presents.
"We haven't even bought the Christmas tree yet!"
Jack cleared his thickening throat and slapped the side of his head.
"You're right! What were we thinking? Let's get right on it." He lowered his voice. "And while we're out we'll find Mommy a present too."
"Neat! Let's go!"
Jack shook his head as he watched her run to the hall closet. Vicky did everything at top speed. His throat clenched again. Christ, he was going to miss her as much as Gia.
His cell phone rang.
"Joey?"
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Psychic. What's up?"
"You know that pay-as-you-go phone you acquired yesterday?"
"Yeah? Learn anything?"
"Did I ever. All but four calls were local, mostly to the Center. The others were all to the city."
"Does that help us?"
"They were made at seven A.M. exactly two weeks ago today. Guess where to?"
Joey seemed to enjoy playing his guess-what-I-got? game, but Jack had no patience for it.
"Come on, Joey, spit it—" And then it dawned. That was the morning Wrath of Allah claimed credit for the massacre. "You're serious?"
"Deadly. ABC, NBC, CBS, and the Times. Four in a row, bing-bang-boom."
That clinched it. Some of the blood Charlie had seen on Hamad Al-Kabeer's hands was Dad's.
Instead of an explosion of murderous rage, Jack felt only crushing depression. His energy seemed to drain away, leaving him empty, mute, immobile.
Such a waste, such a futile, hollow waste of life. These fanatics murdering innocents in the name of their vain, puerile, cold-blooded god.
Jack realized that they weren't the only irrational, unreasonable force impinging on him. The Lilitongue was another.
But the Lilitongue was immune to physical force.
Not so the Wrath of Allah.
"Yo, Jack. You still there?"
"Yeah, Joey. Still here."
"For a minute there I thought we got cut off. So anyways I'm thinking of heading over to that place and, you know, bring along some exterminating equipment and maybe clean out a nest of cockroaches. Whatta y'say? You up for a little of that?"
If circumstances had been different, if the shadow of the Lilitongue hadn't been looming over him, Jack would have been more than up for a little of that. But now, with every moment so precious…
But then, his plan had no hope of working without his returning to Paterson. And if it did work, the hours spent there would be well worth it. He might remove both blots on his life with one move.
His spirits lifted.
"Yeah. I could get into playing Orkin man for a while. Let's just make sure we have the right bugs."
"We do."
"But I want some answers first."
"You ain't alone. I got lots of questions."
"Okay. You have floor plans of the place?"
"Uh, no."
"You put somebody out to watch it?"
A pause, then, "No. I'm handling this on my own."
Swell.
"That means we'll be going in blind."
"Yeah, but so what?" His tone turned defensive. "Look, Jack, you want to sit on the sidelines—"
"I'll be there. If I don't do it now…"
"You sound like you're on a clock."
Say what you might about Joey, but like all successful grifters he had a gift for reading people.
"You could say that. Pick me up? Same time, same place?"
Joey laughed. "And in the same rolling piece of junk. But let's make it later. I checked the paper. Sundown's four twenty-nine. So whyn't I pick you up around a quarter to four. That way it'll be getting dark when we show up."
Jack said, "Sounds like a—wait. Just thought of something. I can't very well stand in front of the UN with the tools of the trade."
"Not to worry, buddy. I'll put together a two-man toolbox. See you then."
Jack cut the connection and stared at the phone. Now he had to figure a way to tell Gia that he was going to leave her for a few of the hours they had left together.
2
-22:13
"Come on, Jack!" Vicky said in a stage whisper.
She stood in the hall with her coat already buttoned, raring to go.
"We can't leave without telling your mother."
"Telling your mother what?" Gia said, coming down the stairs.
She wore jeans and a navy blue wool sweater over a white T-shirt. She looked pale and haggard; dark circles rimmed her eyes.
She looked how Jack felt.
"We're going out to get a Christmas tree."
Gia stopped midstep and paled further. "Oh, God. Christmas."
Jack stared up at her. "Yeah, I know. Kind of slipped my mind too."
Gia chewed her upper lip a second, then said, "Vicky, would you do me a big favor and get my car keys from the guest room? I think I left them there."
Jack and Gia had spent the night there. Gia hadn't wanted to stay in the same room where the Lilitongue had been, and neither had Jack. They'd clung to each other in the dark, dozing for brief, fitful stretches.
"Sure."
Vicky hit the steps running as Gia reached the floor. She watched her daughter until she was out of sight, then moved close to Jack.
"I don't have any Christmas spirit," she whispered. "None. And I don't know if I can fake it."
"We've got to." Jack glanced up at the top of the stairway. "For her."