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

If he’d tapped on that window a few minutes later…

As soon as her hands were free she sat up and tore the gag from her mouth. She looked at him with tear flooded eyes but seemed unable to speak. Sobbing, she went to work on her ankle bonds. Jack stepped over to where the fallen sheet lay crumpled on the floor and draped it over her.

“That man, that… beast,” she said. “He told us Munir didn’t care about us, that he wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t do anything he was told.”

Jack glanced over at Hollander’s unconscious form. Was there no limit?

“He lied to you. Munir’s been going crazy doing everything the guy told him.”

“Did he really cut off his…?”

“No. But he would have if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

He went to the boy. The kid’s eyes were bleary. He looked flushed and his skin was hot. Fever. A wad of bloody gauze encased his left hand. Jack pulled the gag from his mouth.

“Where’s my dad?” he said hoarsely. Not Who are you? or What’s going on? Just worried about his dad. Jack wished for a son like that someday.

“On his way.”

He began untying the boy’s wrists. Soon he had help from Barbara. A moment later, mother and son were crying in each other’s arms. He found their clothing and handed it to them.

While they were dressing, Jack dragged Hollander over to Barbara’s mattress and stuffed her gag in his mouth. As he finished tying him down with her ropes, he heard someone pounding on the downstairs door. He ushered the woman and the boy out to the landing, then went down and found Munir frantic on the sidewalk.

“Where–?”

“Upstairs,” Jack said.

“Are they–?”

Jack nodded.

He stepped aside to allow Munir past, then waited outside awhile to give them all a chance to be alone together. Five minutes, then he limped back upstairs. It wasn’t over yet. The kid was sick, needed medical attention. But there wasn’t an ER in the city that wouldn’t be phoning in a child abuse complaint as soon as they saw Robby’s left hand. And that would start officialdom down a road that might lead them to Jack.

But Jack knew a doc who wouldn’t call anyone. Couldn’t. His license had been on permanent suspension for years.

17

Jack was sitting and waiting with Barbara and Munir. Doc Hargus had stitched up Barbara’s breast first because it was a fresh wound and fairly easy to repair. Robby, he’d said, was going to be another story.

“I still cannot understand it,” Munir said for what seemed like the hundredth time but was probably only the twentieth. “Richard Hollander… how could he do this to me? To anybody? I never hurt him.”

“You fired him,” Jack said. “He’s probably been loony tunes for years, on the verge of a breakdown, walking the line. Losing his job just pushed him over the edge.”

“But people lose their jobs every day. They don’t kidnap and torture–”

“He was ready to blow. You just happened to be the unlucky one. It was his first job. He had to blame somebody – anybody but himself – and get even for it. He chose you. Don’t look for logic. The guy’s crazy.”

“But the depth of his cruelty…”

“Maybe you could have been gentler with him when you fired him,” Barbara said. The words sent a chill through Jack, bringing back Munir’s plea from his first telephone call last night.

Please save my family!

Jack wondered if that was possible, if anyone could save Munir’s family now. It had begun to unravel as soon as Barbara and Robby were kidnapped. It still had been salvageable then, up to the point when the cleaver had cut through Robby’s finger. That was probably the deathblow. Even if nothing worse had happened from there on in, that missing finger would be a permanent reminder of the nightmare, and somehow it would be Munir’s fault. If he’d already gone to the police, it would be because of that; since he hadn’t, it would be his fault for not going to the police. Munir would always blame himself; deep in her heart Barbara also would blame him. And later on, maybe years from now, Robby would blame him too.

Because there’d always be one too few fingers on Robby’s left hand, always be that scar along the margin of Barbara’s nipple, always the vagrant thought, sneaking through the night, that Munir hadn’t done all he could, that if he’d only been a little more cooperative, Robby still would have ten fingers.

Sure, they were together now, and they’d been hugging and crying and kissing, but later on Barbara would start asking questions: Couldn’t you have done more? Why didn’t you cut your finger off when he told you to?

Even now, Barbara was suggesting that Munir could have been gentler when he’d fired Hollander. The natural progression from that was to: Maybe if you had, none of this would have happened.

The individual members might still be alive, but Munir’s family was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

And that saddened Jack. It mean that Hollander had won.

Doc Hargus shuffled out of the back room. He had an aggressively wrinkled face and a Wilford Brimley mustache.

“He’s sleeping,” Doc said. “Probably sleep through the night.”

“But his hand,” Barbara said. “You couldn’t–?”

“No way that finger could be reattached, not even at the Mayo Clinic. Not after spending a night in a Federal Express envelope. I sewed up the stump good and tight. You may want to get a more cosmetic repair in a few years, but it’ll do for now. He’s loaded up with antibiotics and painkillers at the moment.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Munir said.

“And how about you?” Doc said to Barbara. “How’re you feeling?”

She cupped a hand over her breast. “Fine… I think.”

“Good. Your sutures can come out in five days. We’ll leave Robby’s in for about ten.”

“How can we ever repay you?” Munir said.

“In cash,” Doc said. “You’ll get my bill.”

As he shuffled back to where Robby was sleeping, Barbara pressed her head against her husband’s shoulder.

“Oh, Munir. I can’t believe it’s over.”

Jack watched them and knew he hadn’t completely earned his fee.

Save my family …

Not yet. Hollander hadn’t won yet.

“It’s not over,” Jack said.

They both turned to look at him.

“We’ve still got Richard Hollander tied up in that loft. What do we do with him?”

“I never want to see him again!” Barbara said.

“So we let him go?”

“No!” Munir spoke through his teeth. “I want him to hang! I want him to fry! He has to pay for what he did to Robby! To Barbara!”

“You really think he’ll pay if we turn him in? I mean, how much faith do you have in the courts?”

They looked at him. Their bleak stares told him they felt like everybody else: No faith. No faith at all.

“So your only other option is to go back there and deal with him yourself.”

Munir was nodding slowly, his mouth a tight line, his eyes angry slits. “Yes… I would like that.” He rose to his feet. “I will go back there. He has… things to answer for. I must be sure this will never happen again.”

Barbara was on her feet too, a feral glint in her eyes.

“I’m coming with you.”

“But Robby–”

“I’ll stay here,” Jack said. “He knows me now. If he wakes up, I’ll be here.”

They hesitated.

Save my family …

If the Habibs were going to make it they were going to have to face Hollander together and resolve all those as-yet-unasked questions by settling their scores with him. All their scores.

“Get going,” he said. “I never made it past Tenderfoot in the Boy Scouts. Who knows how long my knots will last?”