F. Paul Wilson - Legacies

But to get to that place he'd have to change his life.

Jack got out of bed and went to the bottom drawer of the old oak dresser. He dug through the various wigs, mustaches, eyeglasses, nostril dilators, and other paraphernalia until he found the full beard. He pulled it from its Ziploc and checked it out. Getting kind of ratty-looking. He'd have to get another soon.

He held it up to his face and looked in the mirror.

Not great, but along with a change in the way he combed his hair—moving the part more to the center—it gave his normally rectangular face an oval shape, and hid enough of his features so that no one would recognize him.

Look at you, he thought. You have to wear a beard to go Christmas shopping in midtown. Always looking over your shoulder. What kind of life is that?

If he retired, he could grow his own beard and go wherever he wanted—Gia on one arm and Vicky on the other—and not give a damn who saw them.

Retire…

Well, why not? Maybe it was time. He'd had enough close calls for a dozen lifetimes, but never anything permanently damaging. He liked to credit that to his attention to detail, but maybe it was just luck. What was he going to do—wait until he wound up dead or crippled? What was the point of pushing the odds?

Don't be a jerk, a voice said. Quit while you're ahead.

As usual, the voice was right.

As usual, Jack wasn't going to take its advice.

Not yet, anyway.

MONDAY

1.

Alicia stood uncertainly outside the bar, squinting in the late-morning glare as she peered through the streaked front window to see what it was like inside.

Was this it? Jack had told her the place was called "Julio's," and that was what the sign over the door said, but it looked so seedy. She'd expected some trendy Upper West Side watering hole, but the grubby-looking men pushing in and out of the door most definitely were not yuppies.

Alicia had wanted Jack to drop by her office as he had before, but he'd told her this time she'd have to come to his office. Okay. Fair enough. But who had an office in a workingman's bar?

And couldn't the owner maybe clean the front window once in a while? It was so smeared she could barely see through it. And what little she saw of the dark interior wasn't encouraging.

Mostly she saw plants—spider plants, asparagus ferns, wandering Jews—but they were all dead. Worse than dead. Way beyond dead. What few leaves still adhered to the stems were brown and curled and covered with a thick layer of dust. What was this—a mummy's idea of a fern bar?

All was dark as interstellar space beyond the desiccated plants. Not even stars glowing.

But this was the address he'd given her, and it was called Julio's…

Alicia stepped back and scanned the street. She'd taken a cab up so she hadn't had much opportunity to see if that gray sedan was following her again. She didn't see it on the street now. Maybe it was all in her mind.

And maybe she shouldn't even bother with this Jack. She didn't want to go through another explanation of the whole situation, tiptoeing among the details she could reveal and the ones she couldn't. And then face the questions… the inevitable questions.

Because to someone who didn't know what she knew, her actions appeared completely irrational. Thomas was the only other living person who had all the facts, and even he thought she was crazy.

She couldn't answer those questions. And so she had to settle for people thinking she was nuts.

Did she want to add Just Jack to that list?

Not really. But she had nowhere else to turn right now, and she had a feeling Just Jack was the sort who struck straight to the heart of a problem. She'd obtained a medical report on the thief who'd stolen the toys. The cops hadn't been exaggerating. He'd been thoroughly worked over… numerous fractures, countless contusions. Which told her that Just Jack was not adverse to the judicious application of force.

And after seeing what had happened to Leo Weinstein, that might be just what she needed.

But the possibility that she might be setting him up to end like poor Leo made her hesitate.

She'd looked for other options, but Just Jack seemed the best right now. She was sick to death of anything related to the will and the house, and yesterday she'd flashed on a way to clean up the whole mess. But it was not something a lawyer could handle. She was pretty sure it might be in Jack's line of work.

But did she have the guts to ask him?

Taking a deep breath, Alicia settled her nerves, pulled on the door handle, and stepped inside.

As she waited for her eyes to adjust, she heard the buzz of conversation wither and die… just like the plants in the window.

Slowly, the room came into focus. First, the TV screen, playing what looked like ESPN or one of its clones, then the neon beer signs—Bud, Rolling Rock, and Miller only, no Bass Ale or Zima here—glowing behind the bar, reflecting off the bottles lined up like wishes on the mirrored shelves. A sign over the bar, dark letters carved into light wood… FREE BEER TOMORROW…

And then the patrons, half a dozen grizzled men leaning against the bar, beers and boilermakers before them, all turned her way, staring.

What was this? A gay bar? Never seen a woman in here before?

"You here to see Jack, right?"

Alicia looked down at the short, heavily muscled Hispanic who'd materialized out of the dark. He had a pencil-line mustache and black, wavy, slicked-back hair. His voice was low, his dark eyes bright and active.

"Um, yes. He'd said he was going to be—"

"He's in the back. I'm Julio. Follow me."

Relieved, she followed the swaggering Julio past the bar and into the deeper shadows beyond. Conversation began to flow again as soon as she moved away. Once among the rear tables, she made out a form seated against the far wall. As the figure rose, she recognized Jack.

He extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Doctor."

Alicia's throat tightened as she thought of seeing that toy room full again yesterday. She clasped his hand between both of hers and held it.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said. "How to even begin to thank you for returning those gifts."

"No thanks necessary. I was hired to do a job, and I did it."

Somehow Alicia doubted that. No matter how offhanded his tone, she'd seen his eyes on Friday, and she knew what he'd done to that thief. Did a man simply "hired to do a job" wreak that kind of havoc?

He offered her coffee, which she refused. Julio refilled Jack's chipped white mug, then left them alone.

"Was everything there?" Jack said, sipping his black coffee.

Again, she noticed his long thumbnails. Maybe she'd ask him later why he didn't trim them short like the rest.

"As far as we can tell, yes. The staff is simply delirious with joy. They're calling it a Christmas miracle. So are the papers."

"I've seen them. Good. Then we can consider that matter closed. How's that little guy with the new haircut, by the way? The one who got sick right after I saw you?"

"Hector?" she said, surprised he remembered. "Hector's not doing too great."

"Aw, no. You're not going to tell me something awful, are you?"

He cares, she thought in wonder. He genuinely cares.

"His latest chest X ray shows pneumonia."

The lung infiltrates had formed a typical Pneumocystis pattern, and the gram stain had confirmed that as the infecting organism. No big surprise. Pneumocystis carinii loved AIDS patients.

Alicia had started him on IV Bactrim. He was supposed to have been on a prophylactic oral dose, but not all the foster parents were that religious about giving daily medication to seemingly well kids.