Mark Smith - The Inquisitor

“Matheson or Geiger? C’mon, Richie!”

Hall punched the flashers off. “Geiger,” he said. “Geiger’s got the stuff now. Stay on him.”

Hall ended the call and drove up the block. After taking the turn onto Amsterdam, he pulled to the curb at the corner. He kept the motor running and got out. Leaning against the car’s warm steel, he stared back down the street at Geiger’s place. A few people strolled the sidewalks. The sun was just starting to go down, and shadows had begun to roll themselves out like black wallpaper on the sides of the buildings.

Hall took a deep, slow, pleasing breath. He felt better now. Every job had its detours and dead ends, and he’d been on plenty of cakewalks that had turned hellish. But he still got a rush watching calamity get put in its place.

He looked again at Geiger’s building. Now it was time to deal with Ray.

The thought occurred to Ray while he was sitting on the toilet in Geiger’s bathroom. For more than twelve hours, his brain had been overheated-dealing with pain, saturated with medication, deprived of sleep-but the heaviness was moving away. His inner skies were clearing.

He had always been aware that in his partners’ eyes he was the “dumb one” of the trio, and that was fine, because he’d learned that when crunch time came around, knowing how others saw you was as good as being smart. So what came to him now, with his pants down around his ankles, was that if Geiger didn’t call with the code, Richie wouldn’t go out of his way to get him out of here. And if the whole operation fell apart, Richie and Mitch were going to be checking airline schedules to destinations without extradition treaties and not giving him a second thought.

Ray knew the “you’re fucked” monster had just taken a seat at the table, fork and knife in hand. But he wasn’t about to become the monster’s next meal without insisting on some company.

“So what the fuck, Richie? Huh?”

Hall had been watching the foot traffic on 134th Street when his cell rang, and he immediately noticed that the edge in Ray’s voice was returning. The lidocaine must be wearing off.

“Hang in, Ray. Mitch has got him covered. We just talked.”

“Yeah? I’m happy for both of you. What about me?”

“Ray, Mitch is on him. He’s gonna snatch him any minute now, and then we’ll get the code. All right?”

“I want out of here,” Ray said, “or fuck everyone and everything. I do not go down solo on this. Hear me?”

Leaning against the car, Hall studied the glow of his cigarette for a moment. “Ray, have I ever once not had your back? Ever? ” He listened to silence, and then flicked his butt away. “That’s right, Ray, I have always been there for you-and now you want to give me this hard-case bullshit? Jesus, man.”

Ray was silent for a moment. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.”

Hall heard a beep on the line. “That’s better, Ray. Now hang on while I put you on hold for a minute-Mitch is calling again.”

Hall switched over to Mitch’s call. “What’s happening?”

“He’s on Eighty-eighth just off Central Park West. He’s stopped at a side door to 281 CPW. He must have a key, because now he’s going in.”

“You where you can see both the side door and the lobby entrance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stay put. I’m on my way.”

“Where’s Ray?”

“Still locked up,” said Hall. “We’ll get him later.”

Before switching back to his call with Ray, Hall looked down the block at Geiger’s front door. He had been waiting for the stretch of sidewalk in front of Geiger’s building to be clear of people, and now it was.

He clicked Ray back on.

“Ray, I’ve got the code. Mitch squeezed it out of Geiger and just called me with it.”

“Great! How’d Mitch get him to give it up?”

“I believe he stuck a gun in his mouth and said, ‘Please.’”

“Amazing what a little good manners will get you.”

Hall glanced at his cell. “Okay, ready? Here it is: five-six-eight-three. Got it?”

“Five-six-eight-three,” Ray repeated.

“Right. That’s ‘love’ on the number keys. L-O-V-E.”

“Peace and love-I get it.”

“Okay, Ray. See you in a minute.”

“Right.”

Hall clicked off his cell and stared at its face. “Good-bye, Ray,” he said.

When it came, the sound was not what Hall expected-it was more a muffled foomph! than an explosive roar. Hall watched the building fold in on itself like a house of cards, and when the cloud of gray dust settled, it revealed the collapsed structure as a pyramid-shaped pile of rubble, with no damage to its neighbors on either side. Geiger had installed the directional charges perfectly.

Cars screeched to a stop, heads popped out of windows, people came rushing out of doorways. Hall slid back into the Lexus and drove away.

The clank of the service elevator coming to a stop jolted Geiger awake. He had nodded out during the ride, and now he felt his damage more keenly, the forty-five-second gap in consciousness allowing the pain to win back territory. He was like a diver coming up from sunless depths, punch-drunk from the pressure, but still aware that he had to keep his ascent slow so he didn’t black out on the journey to the surface.

Geiger picked up the gym bag. Moving carefully, he walked into the stairwell and through the door into the hallway. Everything around him had to be perceived and measured; he would need to constantly realign himself so that he could efficiently manage every expenditure of energy.

He knocked on the door-it took less effort than finding the buzzer with a fingertip-and when the door opened the look on Corley’s face further informed Geiger about his state.

“Jesus!” said Corley, taking Geiger’s arm gently and bringing him inside.

Harry shot unsteadily to his feet and stared at Geiger. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Corley led Geiger to one of the leather chairs, and Harry hobbled over to help him down into it.

Geiger felt the chair’s cushion under him, but he didn’t allow himself to relax into it. “Harry,” he said, “Hall’s a hired gun-either for the CIA or someone like them.”

“Oh, man,” Harry groaned. “We are in the deep stuff. You know where Hall and the others are now?”

“Locked inside my place.”

“And what the hell did they do to you?”

“Not now, Harry. Too much to do.”

Corley was trying to get a read on Geiger’s mental state, but he couldn’t make it past the physical spectacle: the bandaged cheek, the bloodless, ghastly face, and the suggestion from the way Geiger composed his body in the chair that there was more damage beneath his clothes.

Ezra’s voice called out: “Geiger? You back?”

The boy ran down the hall toward the living room but stopped short when he saw Harry and Corley looming over Geiger’s chair, which had its back to him.

“What’s wrong?” Ezra said.

“It’s all right,” said Corley.

But Ezra knew better, and when he rushed around the chair and came face to face with Geiger, he gasped. Against the black pullover, Geiger’s face looked nearly white, and his eyes were red and glassy.

“Geiger!” Ezra said, putting a hand on Geiger’s leg. “Are you okay?”

Geiger’s face tightened with pain. Ezra instantly pulled his hand away and put it on the chair’s arm.

“Yes, I’m okay,” Geiger said. “Your mother’s coming for you.”

“She is? When?”

“Getting on a plane. Right away. She said to tell you she loves you.”

Ezra tried to smile but failed. Geiger slowly reached out and covered Ezra’s hand with his own. “It’ll be okay, Ezra.”

As small as the gesture was, Corley was staggered by its power. He had never heard Geiger speak of anyone with affection, much less show it. Whatever had happened to Geiger in the past few hours, Corley knew it had changed him.