Repairman Jack [09]-Infernal Read Free Page B

someone.” His eyes dropped to Jack’s father’s inert form. “And he found him.”
    “But—”
    “But nothing.” He shoved the guard away. “Get over by the door in case anyone else tries to wander in.”
    The guard moved off.
    Driscoll muttered, “Asshole,” then squatted beside Jack. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad, but you’ve got to go outside.”
    “What happened?” His own voice sounded far away. “I left him here just a few minutes ago… we were talking about going to the Empire State Build—”
    “I’m really sorry, but you’re going to have to wait outside. This whole area is a crime scene and you’re contaminating it, so you’ve got to leave.”
    “But—”
    He pointed to the floor beneath Jack. “Look at what you’re kneeling in. If we’re gonna catch these guys, we need every scrap of evidence we can get.” He slipped a hand into Jack’s armpit and lifted. “Come on. If you want to help us catch the fucks who did this to your dad, wait outside.”
    The cop’s touch lit a flicker of rage that flashed through the dead, dumb grayness that filled Jack, but he quickly doused it. Lashing out at this man who was trying to do the decent thing would solve nothing. He could walk away or be carried away; either way, he’d be leaving his dad behind. And if he was carried away, they’d find his ankle holster and the unregistered AMT .380 it held.
    So he let the cop help him to his feet and shuffled toward the shattered doorway where the security guard stood.
    He watched Jack’s approach.
    “Hey, sorry about back there. Case like this, you don’t know who’s friend or foe.”
    Jack nodded without making eye contact.
    Outside—chaos. EMS trucks screeching to a halt, shuttles trying to get out of the way, limos inching out from the curb, hundreds of people milling about, some weeping, some hysterical, some in slack-faced shock.
    He saw a harried-looking cop standing by the Vic, shouting, “One last time: Who owns this?”
    Jack hesitated, unsure of what he might be getting himself into, then decided that stepping forward would be less complicated, especially since his fingerprints were all over the car and it was registered in someone else’s name—someone unaware of that.
    Jack waved and hurried toward the cop. “Me! It’s mine!”
    “Then move it! You’re blocking the—hey, you hurt?”
    “What?”
    He pointed to Jack’s legs. “You’re bleeding.”
    Jack looked down and saw the wet red splotches on his knees. For a few seconds, he didn’t understand. Then—
    “No…” His voice caught. “No, that’s my father’s.”
    “Jesus. He all right?”
    Jack wanted to tell him what a stupid fucking question that was but bit it back. He simply shook his head.
    “Listen, I’m sorry.” The cop pointed to the Vic. “But ya still gotta move it. Just drive it into the garage. Then you can come back and wait with the rest.”
    “Wait for what?” Dad was dead.
    The cop shrugged. “I dunno. News about survivors, I guess. Not like you gotta choice. Airport’s locked down. Nobody out, nobody in.”
    Jack said nothing as he slipped behind the wheel and pulled away.

5

    Dad… gone…
    The words registered but his mind couldn’t get a grip on it, the… finality.
    He’d returned to the garage, found a spot on the perimeter of an upper level, and parked facing west. The falling December sun gleamed through the crystalline sky and stabbed his eyes. The sky had no right being so bright. It should be dark, with wind and hail and lightning.
    Numb, he lowered the visor and… just… sat.
    Gone… one minute alive and full of plans and enthusiasm, the next a cooling lump of meat in a pool of blood. Part of Jack insisted it was all a bad dream, but the rest of him knew he wouldn’t wake up from this.
    Knowing nothing made it worse. Who? Why? Some al-Qaeda strike? Or maybe al-Qaeda wannabes massacring a crowd of Orthodox Jews? Was that what this was all about? Made a sick sort of