Майкл Корита - If She Wakes

Damn right it was Gerry’s show. However, the kid was spot-on. The German was inevitably going to want to get the phone to the girl if this was indeed a biometric lock, and Gerry wasn’t doing that shit for free. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to do it at all, though. This job had been sliding sideways from the beginning.

“Maybe he wants this thing to disappear, period,” Gerry said, turning the phone over on the counter. It was a perfect replica of an iPhone. “That’s all he wanted for Oltamu.”

“He wanted Oltamu dead. The phone, he wanted in his possession. If he’d planned on having it destroyed, he could have asked you to do it. But he didn’t.”

Gerry had made it his business not to ask questions that he didn’t need the answers to, but the German had wanted the phone, and Gerry was curious just what was on this thing that made it so valuable. Already, the German had been willing to go to two million for the job. Gerry hadn’t even had to push to get that much. How much could he get for an unlocked version?

“Call him and ask,” Dax said, as if Gerry had voiced the question aloud.

Gerry looked from the phone to the gun and then up at the kid. He couldn’t see his eyes because of the shadow from the black baseball cap, but his posture was the same as it always was, the slouch of a bored delinquent. In this way, he was different from both his uncle, who had a military bearing, and his father, who was always in a state of physical calm but had presence, a means of commanding attention and respect without any alpha-male posturing. The kid would need to grow into that or learn the hard way that he came across as more sullen than sinister. Hard men would look him over and feel like they could test him. The more that happened, the more likely it was that one of them would succeed, and Dax Blackwell would be in a coffin before he was twenty.

His mind and his hands worked fast, though. He’d killed Carlos and walked away clean; he’d eliminated a pair of difficulties in Maine; he’d called Kaplan’s bluff and found the phone. While Gerry had been scrambling to deal with Kaplan, Dax had been solving problems. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was worth making a call.

“We’d have to be sure we can get to her,” Gerry said.

“I can.”

“Yeah? How? She’s in intensive care, she’s got doctors and nurses and family all over her, and there are cameras everywhere in a hospital.”

“I’ll get to her,” Dax said, unfazed. “I look the part. A visiting friend from good old Hammel College. I don’t need to stay long — I can just pass through, say a prayer, take a picture.”

Gerry grinned. The kid could probably play that role just fine. He was young enough to get away with it. “Okay,” Gerry said, straightening. “I’ll make the call. But keep your mouth shut. He’s going to need to think I’m alone.”

“Sure.”

It was two in the morning in Germany, but Gerry figured he’d get an answer. He wasn’t even sure if his man was still in Germany. He was supposed to be in the States by tomorrow, so maybe he was on a plane or already on the ground.

Wherever he was, he answered the phone. They used an end-to-end encryption app that allowed for texting, voice, and video calls. Virtually untraceable, and the messages vanished. The German also used a voice-distortion device, though Gerry had never wasted time on that.

“Do not tell me there is trouble,” the German said. Through the distortion, he sounded cartoonish, a Bond villain.

“None on my end,” Gerry said. “Maybe some on yours.”

“Explain.”

Gerry did. Told him that Oltamu had put a facial-recognition lock on the phone before he died, and the face wasn’t his but the girl’s. He could get to the girl, he said, or he could hand the device off and let other people deal with it. He didn’t care; his work was done.

There was some swearing, and then some silence. Gerry was beginning to think he’d made a mistake by allowing the kid to goad him into this when the German said, “Do you know it will work? She is in a coma. Will it work with someone who is in a coma?”

Gerry looked at Dax, who nodded, pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then moved his fingers up and down.

“It should,” Gerry said. “She’s got eye movement.”

Dax gave him a thumbs-up. The kid was so damned cocky. He was also awfully good. In fact, after Dax’s work on this job, Gerry’s faith in him was renewed. The kid was more than a beta-Blackwell; he was the real deal.

And to think, Gerry had planned to kill him. What a waste that would have been.

“If it can be done safely,” the German said, “then do it. Otherwise, back off.”

“Fine,” Gerry said. “And how much is that worth to you?”

Another pause. Then: “Half.”

Half was a million. If Dax Blackwell could walk into that hospital, hold the phone up to Tara Beckley’s face, and unlock it, Gerry was three million dollars richer.

“Fine,” he said again, but he saw Dax shake his head and gesture upward with his thumb. He wanted Gerry to go higher. The balls on this kid. Gerry didn’t respond, just glared at him, and Dax shrugged and jammed his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Has to happen fast,” the German said.

“It will. Or if it isn’t doable, I’ll back off.”

“We meet at the same place and same time, no matter what. Don’t risk anything that compromises that. I won’t wait.”

“You won’t have to.”

They disconnected. Gerry put his phone in his pocket, looked at Dax Blackwell, and smiled. He was feeling warm toward the kid, and why not? He’d just made Gerry an extra million bucks. “It’s on,” he said. “Think you can get to Tara Beckley without trouble?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Of course not. What about Kaplan? She’s still out there. She doesn’t have the phone, but she’s still a threat. Somebody ought to meet her in Old Orchard, right?”

“Ought to be you. You’re the one she’s seen, the one she wants.”

“It’s personal to her, huh?”

Gerry was still riding the buzz of an extra million, and problems seemed to be solving themselves, so he nodded. “Yeah, her bullshit was that she’d trade the phone for you.”

Dax said, “I don’t recall you mentioning that.”

Gerry hesitated, realizing that he hadn’t brought that up before, then shrugged. “Wouldn’t have mattered much. We’d have taken her tomorrow and gotten the phone. Now it’s even easier. Cleaner.”

“Because we have the phone.” Dax was watching him intently.

“Right,” Gerry said. “So tomorrow, it can be quick. No need to waste time. Just clip her and move on.”

“Where will you be?”

Gerry frowned. “Taking the phone in.”

“Where?”

“The hell business is that of yours?”

“Abby Kaplan wants to see you. Maybe we should both be there.”

No, Abby Kaplan wanted to see the kid. The kid would go there and kill her. Or possibly he’d go there and fail, but Gerry had trouble believing that. If the bitch actually appeared, the kid would handle her. And if Abby Kaplan was somehow leagues better than anticipated and had arranged for cops all over the pier, well, Gerry still wasn’t overly concerned about that. Dax didn’t seem like the talking-to-cops type, and if it turned out he was, Gerry had silenced people in prisons before.

“Let me handle my shit,” Gerry said, “and you handle yours.”

He didn’t like the way the kid was looking at him. It was that clinical, under-the-microscope stare, penetrating and yet distant, the look that his father and uncle wore so naturally. The look they’d given those hard boys in Belfast all those years ago.