F Wilson - Fatal Error

He noticed two elevators opposite the entrance.

"Got a repair order for…" Jack squinted at the name scrawled on the work order… "the Osama elevator."

He carried a red steel toolbox and wore oil-smudged overalls.

"It's Osala," the doorman said, giving him a suspicious look. "Repair order from who?"

He had a small, thin frame and deep brown skin, with short gray hair and a matching beard. He wore a gray uniform with dark red piping and a brass name tag that read MACK. He looked sixtyish and like he'd been around the block a few times.

Jack shrugged. "From whoever manages this place. I just go where they send me."

He handed over the work order and Mack studied it.

"This says you're to fix a noise."

"That it do."

"It ain't making a noise. It works perfect."

Jack shrugged again. "Like I said: I don't write up the work orders, I just go where I'm sent."

Dawn had told him everything she knew about the place. She'd described the Osala duplex in impressive detail but was vague about the rest of the building. One elderly doorman during the day-that would be Mack here-two elevators, one for the exclusive use of Osala's penthouse. She said the building had been virtually deserted since the holidays, with most of the other tenants fleeing to warmer climes till spring. Even Osala had been "down south" a lot lately.

Jack liked the virtually deserted part because he might have to improvise. He hoped it wouldn't come to that because he hated to improvise. But in case it did, he'd applied a droopy mustache and shoved some cotton pledgets between his cheeks and upper gums to change the shape of his face.

Mack looked at him. "How the hell you gonna stop a noise that ain't there?"

"Well, why don't we put her in motion and see about that. If there's no noise, I'm outta here."

Mack gave him a long stare, then said, "Let's do that."

He led Jack to the elevator on the left, pressed a button, and the ornate doors parted, revealing a good-size elevator.

"This the one belongs to Osala?" Jack wanted to be sure he was in the right one.

Mack nodded. "This is it. No one uses it but him and his people. Runs from here to the penthouse. No stops in between."

Just like Glaeken's. Jack knew from Dawn that it had a DOWN button but no UP. It required a key to go up.

"This Osala… he got a first name?"

"Yeah. 'Mister.' "

"You don't sound like you like him much."

"Ain't paid to like people."

Mack stepped inside and moved to a rear corner where he folded his hands in front of him, looking like he was waiting for a train.

Jack held out his hand. "Key?"

Mack looked surprised. "Didn't the management give you one?"

"No. I was planning on using yours."

"I don't have one. Only Osala and his people have keys. Didn't they tell you?"

"No."

Dawn hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Maybe she didn't know. They hadn't let her leave the place.

Damn.

Okay. Time to improvise. He looked at the lock: small keyhole, no brand name. He didn't have a bump key for this. These mini-locks could be a royal pain to pick because of their tiny pins. Then too, Mack could be lying.

He held out his hand. "Give me your keys."

Mack looked at him like he'd grown another head. "You on crack? I ain't giving you my keys."

Jack really didn't want to do this, but time was running out. He pulled the Glock from the small of his back and pointed it between Mack's eyes.

"Please?"

Mack pressed back into the corner. "Easy with that! I'm telling you I ain't got a key!"

"I'm not convinced. Hand them over."

Mack straightened, steely determination hardening his eyes and setting his jaw.

"No."

Jack couldn't believe this.

"In case you haven't noticed, there's a hollowpoint-loaded semiauto aimed at your head. You have any idea what one of these rounds will do to your brain?"

"Go ahead. Shoot. You're not getting my keys."

Aw no. He did not need this.

"Look. If, as you say, you don't have the key, then what's the harm in letting me check?"

Listen to me. I've got the gun, and I'm reasoning with him.

"Got the keys to other people's apartments on that ring. They trust me with them. I can't let you have them."

Jack bared his teeth and leaned closer, looking as tough as he could.

"Would they want you to die for that key ring?"

He shook his head. "Don't matter. This ain't about them. This is about me. You can't have it."

"What if you don't die? What if you just get your kneecaps blown off?"

Mack kept shaking his gray head. "I ain't giving it to you."

Jack wanted to break something. Of all the doormen in the city, he had to run into one with a sense of duty.

Jack pulled him from the wall and forced him down till he was face-first on the floor of the cab. Pinning him with a knee in the center of his back, he holstered the Glock and pulled out his lockpick gun. Using that and a small tension bar, it took him only a few seconds to turn the lock.

The doors closed and the elevator started up.

"Do you really not have the key?" Jack said, pulling Mack back to his feet.

He dusted off his uniform. "I told you I didn't."

Jack helped brush him off. "Sorry about the dirt. But you didn't answer the question. You got a key or not?"

"Yeah, I got a key. Fire regs say I gotta have one."

Jack inspected the ornate ceiling of the cab.

"They have video surveillance here?"

"Of course."

Of course. That meant someone could be watching them right now. Dawn had mentioned a big driver and all-around helper named Georges. Maybe him? Maybe Osala himself? Or maybe no one because no one knew the elevator was in operation.

The cab stopped and the doors opened into a tiled foyer. With one hand behind him on the grip of the Glock, Jack used the other to push Mack out ahead of him. He followed and glanced around.

Empty.

He looked for something to stick between the elevator doors to keep them from closing, but found nothing. The foyer was bare of furnishings. In fact…

"How many home right now?" Jack whispered as the elevator doors slid closed behind them.

"No one."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. They all moved out last night. The movers finished hauling out the last of the furniture just before you showed up."

Shit.

"You could have told me."

Mack smiled, showing a gold tooth. "Would you have believed me?"

"Guess not."

"Besides, ain't none of your beeswax."

Jack suppressed a laugh. " 'Beeswax'? How old are you?"

"Older than you'll ever be."

Jack stared at him a moment. "You might be right about that, but let's hope not."

Jack wandered up and down the central hall. Not a stick of furniture anywhere. And it felt empty.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"You were supposed to be fixing an elevator. Didn't matter who was home. What do you want here anyway? You come here to kill someone?"

That surprised Jack. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, you're carrying."

"I always carry. You wouldn't have happened to notice a baby being taken in or out, would you?"

"Never." He stared at Jack. "You're not a cop. So what are you?"

"A nobody."

Mack pressed the elevator button and the door opened.

"Well, Mister Nobody," he said as they got in, "you gotta work on your tough-guy act."

Jack hid a smile. "Yeah? Where'd I fail?"

Mack hit the DOWN button.

"Shoulda bashed me with your gun the first time I said no. Real tough guy woulda dented my skull for that. When you didn't, I knew you was mostly show."

Jack shrugged. "Not many jollies in pistol-whipping a skinny old man just for doing his job."

"Ain't old."

"So… when you told me to go ahead and shoot, you knew I wouldn't."