Bloodline Read Free Page B

years ago to take care of a recurrent swastika problem at Jeffs delicatessen.
    "He speaks very highly of you. But still…"
    "Your call, lady."
    "I don't know…"
    He could almost hear her chewing her lip.
    "Maybe I can help you make up your mind if you tell me what you need done."
    "How's that going to work?"
    "Because maybe I'm not interested."
    A brief pause. "Interesting tactic, playing hard to get."
    "Not a tactic. I am hard to get."
    Especially these days.
    "I like that. I suppose we should meet then. I want someplace public because—"
    "You haven't told me yet what you need done."
    "So you're really serious about that."
    "Some fixes I can do, some I can't. No sense in both of us wasting our time."
    Even this phone call was beginning to sound like a waste of time.
    She sighed. "Okay. She's involved with an older man."
    Hoo-boy. Jack glanced at his watch. How much time had he just wasted?
    "So?"
    "He's old enough to be her father."
    "So?"
    "Can you say something else?"
    "I'm waiting to hear something I can do something about. Affairs of the heart do not fall into that category."
    "Dawn's eighteen and he's in his mid-thirties. Twice her age."
    Jack's age.
    He tried to imagine a relationship with an eighteen-year-old. What the hell would they talk about? What could he have in common with someone who hadn't finished her second decade, who was basically a high school kid? Sure, fantasy cheerleader sex and all that, but you needed something more to fill the down time.
    Or did you?
    He guessed coming so close to being a father—of a daughter, no less—could be affecting his perspective.
    "I don't see how hiring me is going to help, Christy. What are you looking for? Someone to break his legs? Shoot him? That's not the way I work."
    At least not unless someone really had it coming.
    "No, nothing like that! I want to get something on him. Something that'll let my little girl see him for what he really is."
    "You already know what he really is?"
    "Well… no. But there's got to be something. There's always something, right? Besides, I get a bad vibe from this guy."
    Time to end this.
    "I suppose. But what you need is a private investigator. Someone who can—"
    "I've already been that route."
    "And?"
    "Long story. Look, Jeff said you were tops—pricey, but tops—and just the guy I need. Can't we just sit down and talk over the details? I probably shouldn't say this, but money isn't an object. I've got money. It's results I want."
    "I don't think I'm your man."
    "If nothing else, maybe you can get my retainer back from the investigator I hired." Out of the blue she sobbed. Once. The sound took Jack by surprise. He hadn't seen it coming. "Please? I'm really, really worried about my little girl."
    Her little girl… she might be eighteen, but he guessed your little girl was your little girl forever.
    Like Emma would have been.
    "Okay. We'll meet. I'll listen. But I'm not promising anything."
    A sniff. "Thank you. Where? No offense, but I'll feel safer if it's a public place."
    Jack laughed. "So will I. Where are you located?"
    "Queens. Forest Hills."
    Fairly ritzy neighborhood.
    "That means it's no big deal to get into the city."
    "I'm in all the time."
    He doubted he could help her, but he could hear her out and maybe point her in the right direction.
    "Can you make it in this afternoon?"
    He was testing. If she wouldn't meet this afternoon, he'd know it wasn't as important as she'd made it seem.
    "Sure. Tell me when and where."
    Well, that settled that.
    "There's this bar I know in the West Eighties…"

5

    Jack stepped into the open door and knocked on the frame.
    "Doctor Buhmann?"
    He'd called ahead to make sure the professor would be in. The man glanced up from his desk.
    "Oh, yes. Mister… I must confess I've forgotten your surname."
    Wrong. Jack had never told him.
    "Just Jack'll do fine. How're you doing?"
    Not well, if his appearance meant anything. He looked even thinner and sallower than on Jack's December visit.