F. Paul Wilson: Legacies

"Somebody's got to find these guys—the ones who did this—and teach them a lesson… make an example of them… a very public example. Know what I mean?"

Jack fought to suppress a grin. "I think so. You mean, make it so that the next creep who gets the same idea will think twice, maybe three times before he decides to go through with it."

"Exactly. Exactly ."

With exaggerated innocence—and still fighting a smile—he said, "And, um, just who could we be thinking of to make such an example?"

"You know damn well who," she said, fixing him with those eyes.

" Moi ?" And now he had to grin. "But I thought you didn't approve of that sort of thing."

"I don't. And I never will. But just this once…"

"… you could live with it."

"Yes." She turned away and folded her arms across her chest. "But just this once."

She began wandering around his living room, aimlessly tracing her fingers across the golden oak hutch, the rolltop desk where he kept his computer…

"But, Gia—"

"Please," she said, raising her hand. "I know what you're going to say. Please don't start pressing me for some sort of moral and philosophical consistency between not marrying you because of what you do and then coming to you when there's a problem that looks like it can only be solved by your kind of tactics. I've been battling that all morning—I mean, trying to decide whether I should even mention it to you. Even in the cab, I was ready to tell him to turn onto Fifty-ninth and forget the whole thing—"

"Oh, great," he said, stung. "That really hurts. Since when is it that you can't come to me for anything ?"

She stopped and looked at him. "You know what I mean. How many times have I mouthed off about this 'Repairman Jack' thing?"

"About a million." More like three million, he thought, but what's a couple of million between friends?

"Right. And about how it's stupid and dangerous and violent and dangerous and how if you don't end up dead you're going to wind up in jail for the rest of your life. And I haven't changed my opinion one bit. So you can imagine how this thing must have got to me if I'm asking you to fix it."

"All right," he said. "I won't say another word about it."

"Maybe not now, but I know you will later."

Jack raised two fingers. "I won't. Scout's honor."

"I think that takes three fingers, Jack."

"Whatever. I promise I won't." He reached for her hand. "Come on over here."

She took his hand and he pulled her onto his lap. She settled on his thighs, light as a feather, and they kissed—not a long one, but long enough to warm him up.

"There. That's better. Now… let's get down to practicalities. Who's hiring me?"

"I spoke to Dr. Clayton—she's the acting director."

Jack felt his insides tighten. "You told her you know me?"

He'd warned Gia about that. Never let on you know me — to anyone. Even your best friend . He'd made too many enemies over the years. And if one of them thought he could get back at him through Gia… or Vicky…

He shuddered.

"No," Gia said. "I said I knew of someone who might be able to help get the toys back. Didn't mention any names. Just said I'd try to contact him and see if he was available."

Jack relaxed. "I guess that's okay."

Still, if he got involved in this, it would leave a link—at least in this Dr. Clayton's mind—between Gia and a guy named Jack who "fixed" something. Probably be okay, but he didn't like it.

"Well?" she said.

"Well what?"

"Are you available?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"Well, there's a problem. I mean, the Center can't hire me, because I can't work for a legit business. They've got to account for their expenses, and I don't exactly take checks."

He didn't even have a social security number.

"Don't worry about it. I'll pay you."

"Oh, right. Like I'll take money from you."

"No, I mean it, Jack. This is my idea. I want this. What's your usual and customary fee?"

"Forget it."

"No, I'm serious. Tell me."

"You don't want to know."

"Please?"

"Oh, all right." He told her.

She gaped at him. "You charge that much?"

"Well, as you said, 'it's stupid and dangerous and violent and dangerous' and if I don't end up dead I'm going to wind up in jail for the rest of my life. So yeah, that's what I charge." He kissed her. "And I'm worth every penny."

"I'm sure you are. Okay. It's a deal."

"No, it's not. Told you: I'm not taking money from you."

"But you've told me you never do freebies. It's against your religion or something."

"It's just a policy. But let's forget about money for now. Let's first see if this is something I can deliver on."

"Fair enough." She was staring at the TV screen. "Why do I know that actor?"

"He's Dwight Frye. You've seen him before."

"Didn't he play that guy in Dracula who was always eating flies?"

"Until he graduated to 'big, juicy spiders.' Yeah. He played Renfield."

Gia buried her face in his shoulder. "I can't believe I know that. I've been hanging around you much too long."

"And getting educated in the process. Now… where can I meet this Dr. Clayton?"

"In her office."

"When?"

"This afternoon at four."

"How do you know she'll be there?"

She smiled that smile. "Because you have an appointment with her then."

Jack laughed. "You were that sure?"

"Of course. And I'll be there with Vicky to introduce you."

He frowned. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Introducing you?"

"No. Taking Vicky down there."

"Are you kidding? She loves helping with those kids."

"Yeah, but they've got… AIDS."

"No, they've got HIV. There's a big difference. And you can't catch HIV by holding a baby in your arms. How many times have I told you that?"

"Lots. But I still…"

"When you see, you'll understand. And you'll see at four o'clock, right?"

"Right."

They kissed, but Jack felt a chill. His list of things that scared him was a short one, but the HIV virus was top on the list.

4.

Jack took a walk over to Amsterdam Avenue.

After slowing temporarily in the late '80s and early '90s, gentrification was back in full swing on the Upper West Side. New brownstone renovations, new condos, and of course, new eateries. In a few hours the streets and the host of new restaurants, trattorias, and bistros would be crowded with yuppies and dinks out for their Friday night fling to initiate the weekend's respite from buying and selling.

As individuals, Jack didn't have anything against them. Sure they could be empty-headed when it came to one-upsmanship in the conspicuous consumption arena and the endless panting after trends, and as a group they tended to suck the color out of the neighborhoods they invaded. But they weren't evil. At least most of them weren't.

Jack checked his watch. Getting near three. Abe would be ready for a mid-afternoon snack just about now. He stopped in at Nick's Nook, a mom-and-pop grocery—a vanishing breed in these parts—and picked up a little treat.

Next stop was the Isher Sports Shop. The iron grate was pulled back, exposing the blurry windows. Beyond them, an array of faded cardboard placards, dusty footballs, tennis balls, racquets, basketball hoops, backboards, Rollerblades, and other good-time sundries basked in the sunny display space.

Inside was not much better organized. Bikes hanging from the ceiling, weight benches over here, SCUBA gear over there, narrow aisles winding past sagging shelves. ESPN meets Twister .

As Jack entered, Abe Grossman was just finishing with a customer—or rather, a customer was finishing with him.