“O.K.,” Taylor said. “Well, just wanted to keep you up to date on your millionaire bum.”
“Gee, thanks,” Steve said. “You get any more good news, just trot it on over.”
“I’m not gonna have anything more, now you pulled my men off the job.”
“You still got a leak at headquarters, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Put a bug in his ear with the name Jack Walsh. You may get something yet.”
Taylor frowned. “Like what?”
“How the hell should I know? Frankly, I hope you get nothing. I just got a bad feeling about this.”
“You and me both. I mean, I hate to lose the business, but I can’t tell you what a relief it will be to tell my men I’m pulling ‘em out of the subway system.”
“I’ll bet,” Steve said. “But all the.same, I can’t help feeling that’s where they ought to be.” Steve shook his head. “Damn. I just wish I knew what that lunatic was up to.”
15
Jeremy gave high-fives to the two seniors, then stuck his hands in his pockets and watched them walk off down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Beth Killmore, who was standing with a girlfriend halfway down the hall. He wondered if she caught that action-the seniors treating him like an equal, slapping him high-fives. Surely she’d think that was cool.
Jeremy had a real thing for Beth Killmore. Even though she herself wasn’t cool. Even though she was an A student. Even though she was straight-laced, didn’t party, and had a good reputation. But Jesus, what a killer bod.
He wondered if she knew it. He wondered if she knew she drove boys nuts. She certainly drove him nuts. And shit, she was only a sophomore, for Christ’s sake. He was a junior and then some. Christ, had she seen him with those two seniors?
The bell rang. Damn, always the fucking bell. He had to get upstairs. And he hadn’t even got his book out.
He walked down the hall to his locker, spun the combination, opened the door. He took out his backpack, unzipped it, started to fumble through.
A hand grabbed his shoulder. Aw shit, the principal? What now?
He swung around with an angry scowl on his lip.
“Well, now, you don’t look pleased to see me.”
Jeremy blinked at the ragged beggar in front of him. “Uncle Jack.”
“The one and only. Footloose and fancy free. And thanks to you, I understand.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Dodgin’ teachers, mainly. Come on, my boy, we gotta get out of here.”
“What?”
“Let’s go. Let’s go, before they throw me out on my ear.”
“Go where?”
“What does that matter, as long as it’s out of here? This place gives me the creeps, you know? You ever notice that?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet you do. Well come on, boy, we gotta go.”
“Sure. But where? Why? What’s going on, Uncle Jack?”
“A lot of things, my boy, a lot of things. As it happens-Oh shit, here comes a teacher.”
Walsh spun Jeremy around. “Let’s go this way. We get separated, get out best you can and meet me out front. You’ll have to look around, ’cause I may be hidin’. Don’t worry though, I’ll spot you.”
“Yeah, but-”
But Jack Walsh was already heading down the hallway. Jeremy hurried to catch up with him.
Jeremy was so distracted by Uncle Jack he walked right past Beth Killmore without even seeing her. He glanced back over his shoulder to see if they were being followed, and found her staring after him.
Good lord. What would Beth Killmore make of this?
16
Joe Bissel sniffled twice, opened a bleary eye. Somewhere in his alcohol-dulled brain something stirred. Danger. Intruders.
Which wasn’t right. This was his spot. He’d staked it out himself. The far end of the station platform in a little alcove just behind the dumpster. It was his and no one had any right.
He opened both eyes now. Blinked. Focused. Christ, what the hell was that? Green hair? Shit. Give me a break. Green hair?
The bleary eyes focused on the other man. At least he was normal. Your typical homeless. But even they could be dangerous, and …
The eyes cleared. Oh. It’s all right. It’s Jack.
Jeremy grabbed Walsh’s arm. “Uncle Jack.”
“Yeah?”
Jeremy pointed. “Someone there.”
Walsh turned, looked. “Oh, that’s all right. That’s Joe. Don’t mind us, Joe. Go right back to sleep.”
“Uncle Jack. What the hell are we doing here?”
“Safest place we could be, my boy.”
“Yeah, but-”
“But nothin’. You been up top for a while, you get to like it down here.”
“Uncle Jack-”
“Hold on, my boy. We got work to do.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Course you don’t. ’Cause I haven’t told you yet.”
Jeremy took a breath. Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all. “Uncle Jack-”
“Now, now, my boy. I haven’t really lost my marbles. That’s what you’re thinkin’, isn’t it? The old man’s lost his marbles. Well, not at all, my boy. Crazy? Crazy like a fox. See here now.”
“What?”
“You did me a favor, my boy. And now I’m going to do you a favor. And then you’re going to do me another favor. Maybe that’s not equal, but maybe it is.”
Jeremy frowned. “Uncle Jack-”
Walsh held up his hand. “Jeremy. You’re young. You’re impatient. You want everything to make sense. The thing is, things don’t always make sense. And those that do, well sometimes they ain’t worth nothin’. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”
“Ride?”
“You’re far too literal, my boy. Now sit down. We got work to do.”
Walsh eased himself down, leaned up against the wall of the subway. After a moment’s hesitation, Jeremy did the same.
“Fine. Good,” Walsh said. “Now, let’s talk about these favors. You did me the big one, gettin’ me out of the nuthouse. Gettin’ the lawyer you went to. Damn fine job.”
“It just seemed to me-”
“I know it did, my boy, and you were right. And that was a hell of a favor and now I’ll do one for you. Then you’ll do one for me and we’re quits.
“Now, to the business at hand.”
Walsh dug in his overcoat pocket, pulled out some sheets of paper folded in thirds. He looked over at Jeremy. “You got a pen?”
“No.”
Walsh shook his head. “Always carry a pen. Let that be a lesson to you. You never know when it might get you a million bucks.”
“What?”
“Never mind, my boy. Just happen to have one.”
Walsh fished in his coat pocket, pulled out a ballpoint pen. “Now then, something to write on. That’s the thing I didn’t bring. Something to write on. Well, this will have to do.”
Walsh hunched over, spread the paper flat on the floor of the subway platform.
“Now pay attention, my boy, to what I’m going to do.”
Behind them, the eyes of Joe Bissel focused blearily, uncomprehendingly on the scene, as Walsh took the ballpoint pen, poised it over the paper, and began to write: “I, Jack Walsh, being of sound mind and body …”
17
Steve Winslow’s voice was drugged with sleep. “Hello?”
“Steve? Mark.”
“What?”
“Mark. It’s me. Mark. Mark Taylor. Steve?”
“Yeah, Mark. Hello?”
“Steve. Wake up.”
Steve Winslow hunched himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his head. “Yeah, Mark. What time is it?”
“One-thirty.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Sorry. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“What?”
“Pipeline from headquarters called. Cops brought in a John Doe.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“That’s right. Just I.D.’d him as Jack Walsh.”
“No shit. Suicide or accident?”
“Murder.”
“Murder? You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“How’d it happen?”
“Guy didn’t have all the details, but apparently the cops figure it as a thrill-kill.”