F. Paul Wilson - Quick Fixes - Tales of Repairman Jack

Watching the rakosh die?

Jack hurried toward the crowd, thinking how some people would stand around and watch anything, but stopped short when he saw what was in the cage.

It was Scar lip, all right, but the creature he’d seen thirty six hours ago had been a pale reflection of this monster. The rakosh rearing up in the cage and rattling the bars was full of vitality and ferocity, had unmarred, glistening blue black skin, and bright yellow eyes that glowed with a fierce inner light. Jack stood mute and numb on the edge of the crowd. This was a nightmare, one that was beginning to repeat itself. The moribund rakosh was now fiercely alive, and it wanted out!

Suddenly it froze and Jack saw that it was looking his way, its cold yellow eyes fixed on him.

He turned and hurried from the tent. Outside in the rain he asked everyone he met where he could find the boss. Eventually he wound up outside a sleek, medium sized Airstream. A plate on the aluminum door read O. Prather . He pounded on it.

“Ah!” said Oz as he opened the door and looked down at Jack. “Our friend from the other night. Come in! Have you seen the rakosh? Isn’t it magnificent?”

Jack stepped up and inside, just far enough to get out of the rain that drummed on the trailer’s roof.

“What did you do to it?”

Oz stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

“Why, my good man, I’ve cared for it. I looked up the proper care and feeding of rakoshi in one of my books on Bengali mythology, and acted appropriately.”

Jack felt a chill. He was sure it wasn’t entirely from his soaked clothing.

“What...just what did you feed it?”

The boss’s large brown eyes were completely guileless, utterly remorseless.

“Oh, this and that. Whatever the text recommended. You don’t really believe for an instant that I was going to allow that magnificent creature to languish and die of malnutrition, do you? I assume you’re familiar with–”

“I know what a rakosh needs to live!”

“Do you now? Do you know everything about rakoshi?”

“No, of course–”

“Then let’s assume I know more than you. And I tell you now that there is more than one way to keep them healthy. I see no need to discuss it beyond that. Let’s just say that it got exactly what it needed.” He stepped closer to Jack and edged him outside. “Good day, sir.” He closed the door.

Yeah, Jack knew exactly what it needed. He just wondered who’d supplied the meal.

Jack stood there a moment, realizing that a worst case scenario had come true. But he still had those two cans of gasoline in his trunk. It was time to go back to plan A.

As he turned, he found Hank standing behind him. His nose was fat and discolored; a couple of dark crescents had formed under each eye. The rain darkened his sandy hair, plastering it to his scalp and running down his face. He stared at Jack, his face a mask of rage.

“It’s all your fault!” Hank said.

“You’re probably right,” Jack said and began walking in the direction of his car. He had no time for this dolt.

“Bondy was my only friend. He got fired because of you.”

Jack stopped, turned.

“Really? When did you see him last?”

“Friday morning – when you got him in trouble.”

A tiny worm began nibbling at Jack’s stomach lining.

“And you never saw him once after that? Not even to say good bye?”

Hank shook his head. “Uh uh. The boss kicked him right out. By sun up he was gone with all his stuff.” Hank’s expression was miserable. “He was the only one around here who liked me. All the freaks and geeks keep to theirselves.”

Jack sighed as he stared at Hank. Well, at least now he knew the source of Scar lip’s dietary supplement.

No big loss to civilization.

“You don’t need friends like that, kid,” he said and turned away again.

“You’ll pay for it!” Hank screamed into the downpour. “Bondy’ll be back and when he gets here we’ll get even with you. You just wait!”

Don’t hold your breath waiting for him.

He wondered if it would do any good to tell him that Bondy hadn’t been fired; that, in a way, he was still very much with the freak show. But that would only endanger the big dumb kid.

Hank ranted on. “And if he don’t come back, I’ll getcha myself. And that Man Shark too!”

No you won’t. Because I’m going to get it first.

Jack kept walking, wondering what he could do to kill the time between now and the early hours of the morning.

Monday

Jack returned to the Monroe meadows at around 1:30 a.m. He drove across the grass, intending to pull right up to the tent, duck under the flap, splash Scar lip with gas, light a match, and send it back to hell.

Jack slewed the Corvair to a halt on the muddy meadow and stared in disbelief at the empty space before his headlights. The tent was gone. Only a single trailer remained behind. Jack got out and pounded on the door until an old geezer in over sized boxer shorts answered.

“What the hell you want?”

“What happened? Where’d they go?”

“You’re a little old to be wantin’ to run off with the circus, ain’t you?”

“Cut the comedy, pal. Where are they?”

“On the road. Makin’ the jump to Jersey. They open in Cape May tomorrow night.”

Jack ran back to his car. Jersey. A couple of possible routes: south to the Verrazano and across Staten Island, or straight back across Manhattan and the GW Bridge into Jersey. Either way, they’d have to wind up southbound on the Garden State Parkway. Jack chose the latter route. It would place him near the top of the state. If he headed south, sooner or later he’d catch up to them.

*

The Parkway ground to a halt a few miles north of Atlantic City. Jack glanced at his watch: almost 3:30. No such thing as a traffic jam at this hour. Had to be an accident. A State Trooper roaring by with all lights flashing confirmed it. Jack had a bad feeling about the cause of that accident.

Fighting the crawling in his gut, he turned onto the right shoulder and followed the trooper. The cop stopped behind a train of trucks and trailers arrayed along the side of the road. Jack stopped behind him and ran up as he got out of his cruiser.

“Officer, I’m Dr. Jackson, the vet for the show. Were any of the animals hurt?”

“Right now I don’t know anymore than you do, Doc. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Jack’s trooper ran into a fellow fuzz along the way and Jack gleaned from their conversation that one of the trucks carrying the animal cages had gone out of control and skidded off the road. The driver was hurt but all the animals seemed okay.

“I’ll just go on ahead and check on them,” Jack said. The troopers waved him on.

But Jack didn’t get that far. He came upon the boss’s Airstream first. He recognized the man’s tall, ungainly frame in the glow of the headlights.

“It got loose, didn’t it?” Jack said, coming up beside him.

The taller man rotated the upper half of his body and looked at Jack.

“Oh, it’s you. You do get around, don’t you.”

It took most of Jack’s dwindling self control to keep from decking him right then and there.

“You had to feed it, didn’t you? Had to bring it up to strength. God damn you, you knew the risk you were taking!”

“It was caged with iron bars. You should know that they’re proof against a rakosh. No, there’s a human culprit here. The cage was unlocked. The creature got loose and tried to break through the front wall of the truck into the cab. The driver’s lucky he’s alive.”

“Where’s the rakosh?”

For the first time Jack detected a trace of fear in Oz’s eyes.