“Who’s he?”
“Don’t play cute. You’re him. Gotta be. Jesus, I don’t believe this. I never thought you were real.” He looked down at the pile of phony IDs in his hand. “And I guess you aren’t. At least not officially, huh?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah. Right. You know, if memory serves, some of the stuff I heard about you was pretty good, some of it wasn’t. And what wasn’t came from scumbags. But all of it sounded pretty rough. So I take it you’re a rough character, Repairman Jack. Speaking of which, why would anyone trust a guy who calls himself Repairman Jack?”
“Maybe it wasn’t his idea. Maybe someone called him that and it stuck.”
“Yeah, maybe. Sounds to me like a guy with a Robin Hood complex or something.”
“And who are you?” Jack said. “The Sheriff of Nottingham?”
While Carruthers mulled that, Jack pulled inside himself and fought the sick dread growing in his gut. This nightmare was deteriorating into a hell ride. He had to get out of here.
Jack considered that. If he could get close enough to Carruthers, even handcuffed, he might be able to do something. Anything. A crazy thought, but he was as good as dead if he stayed in custody, so he didn’t see how anything he tried could make matters worse.
“Yeah, well, whatever,” Carruthers was saying. He had that worried, distracted look again. “What are we going to do with you, Repairman Jack?”
“How about letting me go?”
Carruthers offered him a small, pursed-lips smile. “Right.”
“I did one of yours a favor, so now you do me a favor. Quid pro quo.”
Jack knew his request was useless, but he wanted to keep Carruthers talking, get him relaxed, maybe a bit careless.
“Don’t bullshit me, pal. The only one who says you helped Carella is you. How do I know you and Andrews and whoever’s still holed up in Costin’s weren’t together on this job?”
“Forget it,” Jack said, genuinely insulted. “Boosting a mom-and-pop?”
“Why not? Maybe business is slow. You operate on their level, Mr. Repairman. You’re an unknown quantity. You’re capable of anything as far as I’m concerned. So maybe Andrews did shoot Carella and maybe you two had a falling out over who was gonna get his service revolver, or who was going to finish him off. So you shot Andrews.”
“Sure. And then I tried to finish off your friend by clamping down on that artery in his neck.” Jack lifted his cuffed wrists and wiggled the fingers of his right hand. “Here. Take a look. I’ve still got his blood under my fingernails.”
Carruthers stared at Jack’s hand but didn’t move.
“Come on,” Jack said. Get close… real close. “See for yourself.”
Carruthers shook his head. “Maybe you knew you were about to get caught and were just putting on a show.”
Jack dropped his hands. “You’re all heart.”
Carruthers scowled. “Even if I wanted to let you go – which I don’t – it’s out of the question.”
“We’re not just talking about me losing my way of life here,” Jack said. “We’re talking about my life. Put me in the spotlight and I’m a dead man. I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years. I can handle them fine by myself out on the street, but put me in the joint and every slimeball and two-bit wise guy with a grudge who’s got a friend inside will be gunning for me. All for helping out a cop.”
Evans barged in the door then, grinning.
“Carella’s out of surgery! Gonna be okay!”
Carruthers leaned back and closed his eyes. “Thank God!”
“And you know what he says? Some citizen saved his life – blew away the guy who was gonna off him.”
The big sergeant looked at Jack and winked.
After a protracted pause, Carruthers opened his eyes, rose from the chair, and went to the window to do his staring routine.
“Our suspect here thinks we should let him go and forget he was ever in custody.”
“What suspect?” Evans said, looking around the room. “I don’t see no suspect. I don’t remember booking anybody tonight. Do you?”
Another long pause, with Jack holding his breath the whole time.
“Check the files,” Carruthers said without turning. “See if there’s any unaccounted-for paperwork or property out there, and bring it in.”
“You got it.”
Evans gave Jack a thumbs-up as he left the room.
Jack sat quietly, watching Carruthers’ back. He said nothing, fearing to break the spell of unreality that had taken control of the room.
Evans returned in no time with a brown folder and a manila envelope.
“Here it is.”
Carruthers joined him at the table. “All of it?”
“Personal property, print cards, booking sheets, photos, and miscellaneous paperwork referring to some suspect I’ve never heard of.”
“Unlock him.”
As Evans keyed the cuffs open, Carruthers scooped up Jack’s array of ID and dropped it in the envelope. He slid the folder and envelope across the table to Jack.
“Sergeant Evans will take you out the back.”
Jack’s legs went Wrigley as he stood. He could barely speak.
“I don’t–”
“Damn right, you don’t,” Carruthers said, looking him in the eyes. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you. And you don’t owe me and I don’t owe you. This is it. We’re even. I don’t want to see or hear of you again. And if I do see you and you’re so much as jaywalking, I’ll pull you in. We clear on that?”
“Yeah. And thanks.”
“No, thanks, dammit! Just evening up. You didn’t have to do what you did but you did; I don’t have to do what I’m doing, but I am. Like you said: Quid pro quo. This for that. Now get out of my sight.”
Jack got. He followed Evans out to the back of the precinct house.
“Not easy for him to do this,” Evans said along the way. “He’s a real straight arrow.”
“So I gather.”
Jack understood what Carruthers was going through in overcoming a career’s worth of conditioning, and he appreciated it. He stopped at the back door and faced Evans.
“He thinks we’re even but we’re not. I owe him. I’ll give you a number. If there’s ever anything I can do for him–”
“Too bad you can’t get his kid brother out of Costin’s.”
The shock pushed Jack back a step into the alley.
“The hostage cop is Carruthers’ brother?”
“Yeah. Patrolman Louis Carruthers. Twenty-two years old. Got any miracles in your pocket?”
Jack remembered something Julio had showed him in the basement of his tavern.
“You never know.”
He turned and hurried toward the street.
3
Downstairs, ten feet below the bar, past the cases of booze and kegs of beer, an old hutch stood against the wall. The glass was long gone, and a thick layer of dust hid the scars in the warped mahogany veneer.
Jack coughed and grunted as he and Julio slid it away from the wall.
“See?” Julio said, pointing to the rectangular opening in the brick. “It din go nowhere.”
Costin’s backed up against Julio’s. Years ago Jack had asked if there was an emergency escape route from the tavern – besides the back door. Julio had brought him down here and shown him the old airshaft that ran up from his basement.
“Refresh me on this. Where does it go?”
Julio handed him the flashlight and smiled.
“Up. After that, I don’ know. Never wanted to find out. You gonna be the first guy in there since I bought the place.”
Jack poked his head and shoulders into the shaft and shone the flash upward. Crumbling brickwork, cobwebs, and an inky blackness that devoured the beam of light. The basement of Costin’s was only a few feet away. Maybe the shaft could get him there.