Hardbingers

2

He'd gone maybe half a block when he heard someone calling his name. He turned and saw Abe waving from the store's front door.

"Jack! Come back! Such news I've got!"

So Jack went back.

"What's up?" he said as he followed Abe's bustling form back to the rear of the store.

"That call was from a contact overseas—the one who's been working on your resurrection."

"Why didn't you say so? I would have waited."

"I didn't know if it would be good news. I didn't want to get your hopes up."

Hopes up? They'd just shot into orbit.

Impending fatherhood called for changes—momentous changes—in his legal status. Right now that status was zilch. The various and sundry governments—federal, state, and local—wheeling around him had no clue that he existed. Since his birth he'd stayed under their radar—by happenstance as a teenager, by design since he'd slipped into the city fifteen years ago.

But to be a real and true father to the baby, he had to be a citizen. Sure, he could love it and nurture it just as much in his present nonexistent state, but Gia had brought up a wrenching scenario: What if something happened to her?

The possibility had never occurred to Jack, mainly because the idea of anything bad happening to Gia was inconceivable. She would always be there.

But her point had been nailed home last November when she'd told him how a speeding truck had come within inches of splattering her all over Park Avenue.

Gia's death, as unthinkable as it seemed, and as remote a prospect as he could imagine, was not beyond the realm of possibility. Jack knew losing her would leave him emotionally devastated, but the ripples from her death would have far-reaching effects.

The baby would have no father of record. Jack—using his real surname for the ürst time since he'd gone underground—might be listed in the hospital birth records, but couldn't be listed anywhere else. The guy in question had never filed a 1040, so the IRS would be eager to talk to him. But Homeland Security would be even more interested. A man without an identity, with no official record of his existence… if that didn't start the word "terrorist" flashing red in their heads, nothing would.

He might be able to straighten it out without doing time, but that would take years. And during those years, Vicky—who he considered his adopted child—and his natural child would be living with Gia's folks back in Iowa. Jack had never met them, but he was sure they were good people. And as such they'd want to keep their grandchildren out of the clutches of someone as unsavory as Jack. Vicky would be forever lost to him—with no blood tie, he was out of the picture for her—and he'd have to fight for his own child. A custody battle for the baby would be ugly and inevitably go against him.

The only way to prevent that horror show was to become a real person—be reborn as someone with a clean slate. Someone with no relatives, no legal baggage.

Abe's idea had been brilliant: Assume the identity of someone overseas, a dead someone who wasn't listed as such. A nobody with no family to come looking for him.

Where would one find such a man?

"What did he say? Did he find someone?"

Abe nodded as he slipped behind the counter and fished out a yellow legal pad.

"You're going to be Mirko Abdic."

"Who is?"

"Was. He was a Christian Croatian gofer used by an associate in Bosnia during the war—a street kid he took under his wing. Used him to deliver messages when the communications broke down—a frequent occurrence according to him. Young Mirko was captured and tortured and killed by some Muslim Serb militia. My associate tracked them down and learned his fate. Since no one was asking or even cared, he neglected to report Mirko's death."

"But was his birth recorded? You never know in these Third World countries."

"Recorded. My associate checked."

"Criminal record?"

Abe shook his head. "Never arrested. If he'd lived longer, I'm sure he'd have had a long one. And since he was born and baptized a Christian, he won't be scrutinized like a Muslim."

Jack thought about that. A few minutes ago the plan had been an abstrac-tion, a possibility. Now that it was a reality, Jack wasn't sure how he felt. Relief that a solution had been found, but tinged with a certain inescapable dismay.

"This I know you know," Abe said, studying him, "but you have many changes ahead of you."

"Tell me about it. Everything is going to change."

"Not everything. You'll still be Jack, just with a different name."

"I might still be Jack, but I can't be Repairman Jack."

"And that will be a terrible shame."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it's time to hang it up and start a new chapter."

"You're mixing metaphors already."

"Yeah, well, it's simply too dangerous to stay in the fix-it trade."

Not just to him, but to the family he was about to have.

He'd always tried to work his fix-its at arm's length, keeping his head down, never allowing himself to be seen. In the ideal fix, the target never even knew he'd been fixed. Just chalked it up to a run of bad luck and cursed the fates instead of Jack.

But every so often, no matter how carefully he planned, something went wrong. Like that old saying: Want to make God laugh? Tell him your plans.

Sometimes he was seen, which meant someone knew his face—or thought he did. Jack used various disguise techniques—wigs, mustaches; something as simple as cotton pledgets stuffed between the gums and the cheeks gave a face an entirely different look—but he always ran the risk that someone looking for him would wind up on the same block. If the old target spotted him and followed him home…

"You're maybe thinking about Cirlot?"

Jack nodded. He'd fixed Ed Cirlot but it had been one of those cases where he'd had no choice but to show his face. Because of Jack, Cirlot wound up in jail. When he got out he'd come looking.

"He gave me a bad time. But I was living alone in my apartment. No one in danger but me. What if he'd followed me to Gia's?"

"Let's not think about that. The fact that it's happened only once is testament to the care you take."

"Once is too many. That's why I can't risk making new enemies. Repairman Jack is dead, long live… what's his name again?"

"Your name." Abe glanced at his yellow pad. "Mirko Abdic." He made a face. "Oy, such a name. You're going to have to change it as soon as you can."

"Right. Along with my spots."

His whole life… upside down. Becoming a citizen, joining the herd and allowing the politicos to fleece him along with the rest of the sheeple… the prospect made him ill.

But it had to be done. The baby hadn't been Jack's idea, and it hadn't been Gia's, but the little guy—it had to be a he—was on his way and Jack wasn't going to let anyone get between him and his child.

He sighed. "Okay. How's this going to work?"

"Details still have to be fine-tuned, but plans are in the works to smuggle you into Sarajevo toward the end of the month. A nonstop trip? No. Circuitous at best. But once you're there you'll assume the identity of Mirko Abdic. A temporary visa has been applied for—"

"Legal?"

"Of course. Isn't legit the whole idea? To be legit you must have a legit visa. After you get here you can marry Gia in time to be the baby's legal father. Then you apply for a green card. Later you can apply for citizenship and the circle will be complete."

"It's a thing of beauty, Abe."

"Your admiration and veneration I accept. But it's not over yet. Still some kinks to be ironed out. The biggest will be language. You'll have to pass through whatever outward-bound security they have over there without speaking a word of the language."

Jack didn't like that.

"Couldn't you have brought me in as a Brit or an Aussie? I could fake 'rine in Spine' and 'shrimp on the barbie.'"

"Their record-keeping is too good. We needed a country with a recent period of anarchy and chaos to provide an inventory of unreported deaths. This is the best way. The language problem will be worked out."

Jack believed that. He had implicit trust that Abe would not send him off until he was satisfied that every detail had been nailed down.

So why did he feel so queasy?