Repairman Jack [04]-All the Rage Read Free

blond hair. She looked dazzling in a snug blue silk sweater set and black slacks.
    "'Well' what?" Gia said.
    Jack scratched his head. "Well, to tell you the truth, I don't get it."
    "Get what?"
    "Cezanne. Why he's so famous. Why he's got his own show at the Met."
    "Because he's considered the father of modern art."
    Jack shrugged. "So they say in the brochure, and that's all fine and good, but some of those paintings don't even look finished."
    "That's because they aren't, you ninny. He abandoned a number of his canvases because they weren't going the way he wanted."
    "Yeah, well, finished or not, his stuff doesn't do anything for me. How do they put it? It doesn't speak to me."
    Gia rolled her eyes. "Oh, God. Why do I bother?"
    Jack threw an arm around her shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her blond waves. "Hey, don't go getting all huffy now just because I don't like this guy. I liked Monet, didn't I?" He still remembered colors of sunlight so vibrant he'd felt the warmth radiating from the canvases.
    "Monet's easy to like."
    "You mean a painting's got to be hard to like to be good?"
    "Not at all, but—"
    "Mommy, look at those men!" Vicky said, pointing down to Fifth Avenue. "They're gonna get hurt!"
    Jack turned and saw a couple of middle-aged men in jackets and ties strutting through the slow-moving traffic, seeming to dare the cars to hit them. More than a couple. Jack spotted more—a dozen, maybe two dozen, all well dressed, all in their forties, all swaggering like street toughs.
    A car honked and one of the jaywalkers gave the driver the finger as he kicked a dent in his fender. When the driver got out he was jumped by two of the men and pummeled until he ducked back into the car and locked the door. They high-fived each other and continued toward the museum.
    On the sidewalk to the right, one of the men snatched a pretzel from a cart as he passed. As the vendor went after him, he was grabbed by three of the well-dressed goons and knocked to the ground. They kicked him a few times and moved on, laughing.
    "Jack?" Gia said, and he could hear the unease in her voice. "What's going on?"
    "Not sure," Jack said.
    He didn't like the looks of this. Unless they were a gang of middle-aged Gypsy Kings on a rampage after knocking over a Barney's—and Jack wasn't buying that—these guys were acting way out of character. For himself he wasn't worried, but he had Gia and Vicky with him.
    "Whatever it is, let's stay clear of it."
    One of the troublemakers pointed toward the entrance to the museum and shouted back to his buddies. Jack didn't catch what he said, but the others must have thought it was a great idea because they started streaming up the steps after him.
    "Let's move over to the side," Jack said, ushering Gia and Vicky away from the center door and closer to the column supports at the downtown end. "Soon as they're in the museum, we're out of here."
    But the well-dressed goons were easily distracted. Instead of making a beeline for the door, a number of them stopped to harass people along the way. Fights broke out. Within minutes the formerly peaceful steps of the Metropolitan Museum degenerated into one large multicentric brawl.
    "Oh, Jack," Gia said, pointing directly below them. "Help her."
    Jack followed her point, saw a paunchy guy in a blue blazer with some sort of gold crest on the breast pocket. He was trying to nuzzle a young woman who'd been sitting alone on one of the landings, smoking a cigarette. The more she pushed him away, the more aggressive he became.
    Jack glanced around. "I don't like leaving you two alone."
    "Just chase him off before he does something awful," Gia said. "It won't take you a minute."
    "All right," Jack said, heading down. "Maybe you could point out something more interesting to my little friend—like the fountains, say—while I see what I can do."
    Jack figured he might have to do something quick and nasty to Mr. Paunch if he wouldn't cooperate. Didn't want Vicky