James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

“Call from: Chuck… Mays.”

“That’s weird,” said Vince.

Jack wondered how much of a coincidence it was, never underestimating Chuck’s technological ability to know that they were talking about him. He continued to unpack as Vince took the call.

At first, Vince did nothing to prevent Jack from overhearing his end of the conversation, but about three minutes into the call he noticeably lowered his voice. Another minute later he went into the bathroom, taking extra care to maneuver around that dreaded bedpost.

What’s the big secret?

Jack was tucking socks and underwear into the dresser drawer when he heard the toilet flush. If Vince was trying to make him think that he had really needed to use the bathroom, Jack wasn’t buying it. Vince’s cell was clipped to his belt, the phone conversation over, when he returned to the room.

“Chuck wants me to meet someone,” Vince said.

“Who?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“I know, it’s annoying. But Chuck was up all night in some kind of paranoid mood. I had to flush the toilet to convince him that I was in the bathroom, away from where you could overhear. Even then, he wouldn’t tell me who he wants me to meet.”

Jack was skeptical, but he wanted to believe that Vince was being straight with him. “Who do you think it is?”

“Probably a local private detective.”

“When is the meeting?”

“One o’clock.”

“Where?”

“A pub called the Carpenter’s Arms, up on Cheshire Street. Chuck says it’s about a ten-minute cab ride from here.”

Jack checked his watch. “We’d better leave now.”

“Well, like I said: He wants me to meet someone.”

“You’re saying I can’t go?”

“For whatever reason, Chuck doesn’t want you there. Don’t take it personally.”

Jack blew out a mirthless chuckle. “What did I come all the way from Florida for, the beaches?”

“There will be plenty for you to do. Just let me get this first meeting out of the way, and then I’ll straighten things out with Chuck.”

“Call him back and straighten him out now.”

“Jack, come on. You of all people should understand the kind of hoops you have to jump through when your best friend is also a royal pain in the ass.”

Jack wasn’t totally cool with it, but Vince did have a point. Jack already had a half-dozen text messages from Theo listing all the crap he wanted Jack to buy for him in the duty-free shops.

“All right, you go,” said Jack. “But are you able to get there on your own?”

“My cell has GPS navigation. If you can get me down to the taxi stand, I’m good.”

Jack grabbed his coat and followed Vince out of the room. His walking cane and his memory seemed to be all the assistance Vince needed to find the elevator at the end of the hall. The lobby was bustling with conventioneers at check-in, however, which required some assisted maneuvering. With Vince at his side, Jack gained a whole new take on revolving doors. It was almost like something out of the Tower of London, and Vince seemed to be on the same wavelength.

“Is that the wheel of death I hear at the end of the gauntlet?” asked Vince.

A bellboy steered them toward a handicapped exit. Outside in the covered motor court was more chaos, and Jack led the way through a logjam of cars and buses to the taxi stand. Even with space heaters glowing overhead, the damp air was chilly enough for Jack to see his breath as they waited. Finally, a couple of tourists in front of them stopped arguing about whether or not they could walk to the Tower, and it was Vince’s turn. Jack held the door open as Vince climbed in the backseat and told the driver the destination.

“Do you need me to meet you here on the way back?” asked Jack.

“No, I should be able to find my way upstairs.”

Jack wished him luck, closed the door, and watched the black taxi pull away. Immediately, a feeling of complete and utter uselessness fell over him. The next cab pulled up, and the porter opened the rear door. Jack stood there. The driver called to him.

“You want a cab or not?”

Jack was about to step aside, but then he caught a glimpse of Vince’s taxi at the stoplight, less than a half block away. He hadn’t flown across an ocean to hang out in the hotel room. The whole exchange upstairs was gnawing at him, particularly the part that Vince had told him not to take personally: “For whatever reason, Chuck doesn’t want you there.”

To hell with Chuck. Jack hopped into the cab and pulled the door shut.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

It suddenly amused Jack that this was his chance to say something Bond-like to a London cabbie-except that it sounded too goofy to actually say it.

“Do you see the taxi that just pulled out ahead of us?” Jack asked. “The one waiting at the red light?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well… just do whatever he does.”

The driver glanced over his shoulder and shot him a curious look. “You want me to follow that cab?”

Jack sighed, resigning himself to it. “Fine, if you must: Follow that cab.”

Vince was halfway to the Carpenter’s Arms pub when his phone chimed. Again it was Chuck Mays.

“Swtyeck is following you.”

“How do you know?” asked Vince.

“I’m watching it right here on my computer screen.”

“You have a GPS tracking chip on Jack?”

“It’s a remote installation through his cell phone. I put one on you, too.”

Vince bit his lip to stem the eruption. “Chuck, you need to stop doing things like that without telling people. It’s a violation of privacy.”

“People need to stop telling themselves that there is such a thing as privacy.”

Spoken like a true data miner, but that was another debate. “Do you want me to go back to the hotel?”

“I don’t know,” said Chuck. “Let me think this through. You didn’t tell Swyeck who you’re meeting with, did you?”

“I lied and said it was probably a detective.”

“Good, then just lose him.”

“What do you expect me to do, roll down the window and throw a box of roofing tacks on the road?”

“Just give the driver an extra twenty pounds to ditch him.”

“That won’t work,” said Vince. “I told Jack the meeting was at Carpenter’s Arms at one o’clock.”

“Damn it! Why’d you do that?”

“Probably because I’m not at all comfortable lying to him. The three of us made a deal. This was supposed to be a team approach.”

“Fuck the team! Just call Swyteck and tell him that the meeting was canceled.”

The cab stopped, and Vince heard the meter register. “Seven pounds,” said the driver.”

Vince checked his wallet for a ten-tens were folded in half, twenties in thirds-and he told him to keep the change.

“Would you mind directing me to the pub’s entrance?” he asked the driver.

Chuck overheard. “Vince, don’t get out of the cab.”

“Sorry, I’m going in.”

“It took a lot of coaxing to arrange this. I promised it would be just you. You can’t go in with Swyteck on your tail. Let me reschedule.”

“I’ve waited long enough for answers.”

“You know how skittish she is. All I did was look at her and she ran from me.”

Vince climbed out of the cab. A cool mist greeted his skin, and he heard the Cockney accents of passing pedestrians-the nuances of northeast London in his perpetual world of darkness.

“I can’t look at her,” he said as he stepped onto the sidewalk, “which is why Shada won’t run from me.”

Stop here,” Jack told the driver. They were in Bethnal Green, a half block away from the Carpenter’s Arms.