F. Paul Wilson: Hardbingers

Timmy spread his hands. "I know you don't come cheap, but like I said: anything."

"What I'm trying to tell you is we're venturing into What's-in-it-for-me Land. Some of the guys I call, and most of the guys they call, aren't going to pass the word around out of the goodness of their hearts. They're going to need incentive."

"Name the figure."

Jack had done this before and knew it had to be set up so, in case of success, everyone along the chain walked away with something. What he'd tell his first-line contacts was that if someone in their contact string found the girl, they'd get the same reward as the finder. This would go down the line: If A tells B who tells C who tells D who finds the girl, all four get the same reward. Five hundred bucks apiece seemed like a good incentive—one that looked better and better as it moved down the chain, ballooning to a bonanza by the time it reached the street people.

"Probably cost you twenty-five hundred, although it might go as high as five."

Timmy slumped with relief.

"Done. I can't think of anything better to spend it on."

"Got a pen?" When Timmy handed him one, Jack grabbed a napkin and readied to write. "What's she look like? What was she wearing?"

"She left the house in a blue coat over a typical Catholic girls' school outfit. You know: white blouse, blue sweater, blue-and-white plaid skirt, blue knee socks."

Jack shook his head. "Got to be a gazillion kids dressed like that in the city."

"Yeah, but they don't have Cailin's hair. It's bright red—all natural—and wild. She's always complaining about how nothing she tries will control it."

"Got a picture?"

"Sure." Timmy fumbled in a back pocket for his wallet. "You thinking of posting it around?"

Jack shook his head. He had neither the time nor the manpower for that sort of canvassing.

"Just want to see her face."

Timmy wiggled a wrinkled photo out of his wallet and passed it across.

"Taken maybe a month ago."

Jack stared at the girl in the picture. Cute kid. Round face, freckles, red and green bands on her braces, and a Santa cap squished on her wild red mop.

"You weren't kidding about the hair."

"She goes on and on about it. She'll wear you out with her constant carping about it, but…" He wiped an eye. "I'd give anything to be listening to her right now."

Jack rose and clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll get on it. Can I keep the photo?"

"Sure. Long as you need it."

"No promises, Timmy, beyond making the calls. It's a long shot."

Timmy grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"I know, but you're all I've got right now."

Jack waved good-bye to Julio and stepped out into the cutting January wind.

Long shot ? Who was he kidding? More like hitting a dime at a thousand yards with a Saturday night special.

2

"Look," Vicky said from where she'd planted herself before the monitor. "I think she's smiling." She was endlessly excited by her impending state of sisterhood.

Jack found the scene vaguely shamanistic. Gia lay on a recliner in Dr. Ea-gleton's office while a technician angled the magic wand of a fetal ultrasound this way and that over the skin of her swollen, lubricated belly.

She'd popped just before the first of the year. Through careful clothing selection she'd managed to hide it during the first two trimesters, but now she looked undeniably pregnant. Her face had filled out some, but her hair was as short and as blond as ever.

Jack's eyes strayed back to the grainy image on the monitor, melting in and out of the darkness as the ultrasonic flashlight swept over the baby. A big head, a little body, a chain of vertebral beads and, in the center, an opening and closing black hole—the heart.

Jack stared, fascinated. His child—his and Gia's.

"How's the pregnancy going?" the tech said.

Her name tag read LIKISHA. A twenty-something black girl with a Halle Berry smile and hair shorter than Gia's.

Gia opened her mouth to reply but Vicky spoke first.

"She has to sprinkle a lot."

Likisha frowned. "Sprinkle?"

Vicky looked up from the monitor and smiled. "You know—number one."

He loved her big grin. She had dark brown hair—her father's color, he'd been told—woven into a long single braid, and her mother's blue eyes.

The two women in his life.

"Ah." The Halle Berry smile appeared. "Number one. Got it."

"But don't worry," Vicky added. "She doesn't have diabetes. Doctor Ea-gleton checked her for that."

"That's good." Likisha turned back to Gia with a bemused expression. "How about—?"

"She gets lots of backaches too," Vicky said, eyes back on the monitor. "But that's normal for the third trimester."

Likisha's voice rose an octave as she stared at her. "How old are you, girl?"

"Nine."

"Going on forty." Gia's smile betrayed her pride in her little girl.

"But how—?"

"She reads a lot. Constantly. Sometimes I have to tell her to stop reading and go out and play. She's become a junior obstetrician since she learned I was pregnant."

Jack said, "And she'll be going for her junior pediatrician badge after the baby's born."

"Hey!" Vicky cried. "She's sucking her thumb."

"tfe, Vicks," Jack said.

' ''She,'" Gia said.

Jack shook his head. "We haven't established the sex yet, and that looks like a he to me." He glanced at the technician. "What do you think?"

"Can't say for sure—not with the way she keeps that umbilical cord between her legs."

" His legs. Okay, then. What's your best guess?"

"I'm not supposed to guess. But if I was guessing, I would guess it's a girl."

Jack feigned offense. "Sure. You women already outnumber us, but does that satisfy you? Noooo. You want me to be the only male in a house full of women."

Likisha smiled. "Only way to go."

"Do you know for sure the baby's not a boy?"

She shook her head. "No. But you do enough of these you develop a sixth sense. And my sense is saying 'girl-girl-girl.'"

Jack turned to Gia. "You two worked this out beforehand, didn't you."

Gia smiled that smile and winked. "Of course we did. We're sisters in the international feminine conspiracy to take back the world."

Likisha raised a fist. "Sister power!"

Vicky mimicked her. "Sister power!" Then she turned to her mother. "What's sister power?"

"Any names picked out?" Likisha said.

Jack said, "Jack."

Likisha shook her head. "Not very feminine."

"Emma," Gia said, smiling at Jack. "At least we agree on that. And Emma she will be."

Jack groaned, then turned serious.

"But whatever—he or she—the baby looks okay, right?"

Likisha nodded. "Typical thirty-two-week-old fetus with all the standard equipment in working order."

Jack let out a breath. So far—except for a near miscarriage—an uneventful pregnancy. And he prayed it would remain that way. His life otherwise had been anything but—a marching band of bad news. He didn't know if he could handle any more.

His cell phone vibrated against his thigh.

"Excuse me."

He'd made his calls for Timmy, made his reward promises, and left Julio's number. Then he'd picked up Gia and Vicks and brought them here.

He stepped out into the hall and checked the caller ID: Julio.

"What's up?"

"Hey, Meng. Louie G. call. He say he got son'thin." Julio read off a number.

"Thanks."

Jack punched it in and listened to the ring. Louie Grandinetti ran a produce supply in the west twenties. He also ran numbers. He'd give odds on anything and everything. If the meek ever inherited the earth, Louie would be making book on how long they'd keep it.

"Yeah?"

"Louie? Jack. Got something?"

"Got a runner who told some grate sleepers to keep an eye out. One of them thinks he saw something. Might be useful, might be nothing. The guy's an old bearded dude they call Rico. Told him to hang around Worth and Hudson. You were interested you'd stop by."