Hardbingers

8

Ten minutes later Jack opened the front door for Zeklos, who handed over a pack of Marlboros.

Jack stared at the pack. "Filtered? I want manly, unnltered ciggies—Camels, Lucky Strike, Pall Mall."

"I do not think they make those anymore in this country."

As Zeklos turned to go, Jack grabbed his arm. "Hey, why don't you keep me company?"

Zeklos glanced at Jack, then back to the street.

"Miller told me drop these off and come right back."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "And your point is…?"

Zeklos paused, then nodded and gave Jack a buck-toothed grin.

"Yes. Fuck Miller."

They headed up to the third floor where they sat on the chipped tile and leaned against the wall near the top of the stairwell. A melange of sounds and odors swirled around them: a little opera, a little hip-hop, an argument, a child being scolded, frying bacon, boiling cabbage, sauteing onions.

Jack opened the Marlboros and offered one to Zeklos.

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I am quitted."

"I never really started, but we've got to look like we have a reason for hanging out in the hallway."

Zeklos took one and stuck it in his mouth. Jack did the same, then pulled out a disposable butane lighter.

"If you are quit, how do you have lighter?"

Jack shrugged. "Never know when you're gonna need fire."

He lit Zeklos's, then his own, and took a drag. And got a head rush. And coughed.

"Now I know why I never liked these things."

He'd simply pretend to inhale.

Zeklos lowered his volume. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay. I want to know…" He seemed hesitant. "I want to know what is your amusement."

"Amusement? Oh, you mean game?"

"Yes. That is it. You stop me from killing me, but you take my, um, metal, which make me feel worse."

"Well, I didn't want to have wasted my time."

"I understand. But then you return it."

"Because it was yours, and I figured if you were still alive by morning you'd most likely stay that way."

Jack didn't mention the part about messing with his head.

"But then you take my part this morning, and then you ask me to come along to search. Why is this?"

Jack had felt genuinely sorry for him, but that hadn't been the whole reason. He needed an asset, and Zeklos had been part of the inner circle before being pushed outside. Might be more forthcoming than the others if Jack needed more information.

And Jack had one more reason.

"Well, I haven't known Miller long, but I do love pissing him off."

Zeklos laughed. "I like you…" His voice trailed off. "What should I call you? 'Heir'?"

"You do and you're going straight back to Miller. Jack will do just fine."

Jack figured they'd seem less suspicious if they jabbered about something while they waited. So he started an ersatz argument over the relative merits of American football versus Romanian football—known over here as soccer.

They were each on their third ciggie—making sure to pocket the butts—when a young brunette, her waitress uniform visible within her open coat, stepped out of an apartment to their left. She stopped in her doorway, giving them a wary look.

"Sorry about the smog," Jack said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "My sister won't let us smoke in her place."

She said nothing as she locked her door and hurried past them to the stairs.

Jack crossed 5C off his mental list.

Halfway through cigarette number six, with Jack's tongue taking on a funky feel, his TracFone vibrated. He pulled it out and checked the readout: Abe.

Must be important. Abe usually left voice mail unless he had something that couldn't wait.

"Gotta take this."

Why not? He wouldn't say anything meaningful to anyone else.

Zeklos shrugged.

"Hey, Abe. What's up?"

"Just heard from my Balkan associate. Tuesday's the day."

"So soon?"

"Why wait? You want I should put him off? May be a while before he can line up all these ducks."

"No, I guess not." The day after tomorrow. Scary. "Tell him to expect me."

"Your first leg starts at six a.m. The location of the dock slip I'll give you later. The reason I'm calling is you'd better make plans to fly out tomorrow so you can be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Tuesday morning."

"Okay, Abe. I'm a little tied up today."

"On a Sunday you work? You should be resting for your trip."

"Bye, Abe."

As Jack cut the connection, a swarthy type with a close-cropped beard stepped out of 5A. Jack gave him a careful once-over. The guy wore a snug blue nylon warm-up. No telltale bulge of a loaded vest.

He closed his door and glared at them.

"You are not to be smoking out here," he said with a thick accent.

Jack decided on a more New York response than he'd offered the waitress.

"What's it to you, pussy face?"

The guy flinched as if he'd been slapped, but quickly recovered.

"You could start a fire."

Yeah, he thought. Bet you're extra worried about a fire.

"Yo, Achmed, I'll start a fire in your ass you don't shut up and get outta my sight real quick."

The guy's lips tightened but he said nothing. Instead he double-locked his door and stomped down the stairs.

"Hey," Jack said, nudging Zeklos. "What say we order some takeout?"

Had to be careful what he said because his words would echo down the stairs.

Zeklos caught on immediately. "Of course. Pizza would be very good at this time."

Jack dialed Davis's number.

"Yo, Angelo's? Need a large pie to go."

"What?" Davis said. "Jack?"

"Yeah. Pie to go. You deaf?"

"I assume you're telling me someone's coming down."

"You got it."

"We'll be ready."

"Okay. And don't lose my order."

Jack flipped his phone closed and stared at the door to 5A.

Zeklos whispered, "We should go in?"

Jack thought about that. "Let's wait a little. Maybe someone else will show."