Legacies

1.

"No," Alicia said. "Out of the question. I've got to go to the hospital."

Are all women so headstrong? Jack wondered as he watched the ferry dock recede through the condensation-fogged glass. Or just all the ones I happen to know?

He and Alicia sat with their coffees in the passenger area of the first morning ferry out of Orient Point. The Chevy rested with the other cars below.

"Alicia—"

"Look, I've got patients and—oh, hell."

She yanked open her shoulder bag and fished inside until she came up with a cell phone.

"What's wrong?" Jack said.

"I want to call in."

He looked out the window as she dialed. The sky was a crisp blue and winter clear, but the Long Island Sound lay gray and choppy around them. He turned back to her when she mentioned "Hector," and watched her expression grow grim. She ended the call and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Bad news?" he said.

She kept her eyes closed. "Hector got shocky last night, then he crashed again. We're losing him."

"Aw, jeez." His chest tightened as he remembered that big smile, and so proud of his "buth cut." So full of life, and now…

"I should have been there."

"I can appreciate how you feel," he said.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, saying nothing.

He said, "All right. Maybe not completely. But no matter what, at this point I don't think those places are safe for you. I mean, if I were you and these people knew where I lived and worked, I wouldn't be going back there right now."

"I'll have to risk it. I've got to be there this morning, Jack. I've got to. And let's face it, you didn't leave many of them standing."

Jack didn't like it, but he could see he wasn't going to change her mind. And even if Baker and whoever he had left were planning a move, he doubted they'd pull it in front of the staff at the Center. But as soon as she stepped outside alone…

"All right," he said. "Go to the hospital, then have a guard walk you to the Center. Then stay there. Have lunch sent in. Do not set foot outside that building until I pick you up and take you to your hotel."

"Hotel?"

"Yes, hotel. You don't think you can stay at your apartment, do you? That's where they'll be waiting for you."

"Who's 'they'?" she said. "After you got through with them last night, I don't think there's any 'they' left."

Jack shook his head. He'd seen Kemel and his boss mercenary get away. How many more did the Arab have in reserve? And even if the answer was none, he could always hire more.

"The one who shoved you into the van is still up and about," Jack said.

That seemed to have the desired effect: Alicia stiffened and looked away.

"Okay, okay," she said. "Which hotel?"

"Haven't decided yet. But I'll pick you up at five and we'll use the rush-hour mob to our advantage."

"Fine," she said sullenly, and wrapped her coat more tightly around her.

"Do I have your promise?"

"Yes." Now she looked at him. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

The question startled Jack. "What do you mean?"

"You've got that 'key' you found. You don't need me anymore. In fact, it would probably be to your advantage if they got hold of me."

Jack stared at her, holding back his anger.

"No answer?" she said.

He spoke slowly. "No… just wondering if I should dignify that with an answer."

"Oh? I've offended you?"

"Damn right. You… you're a customer. We have a deal. A contract."

"I didn't sign—"

"We shook hands," he said. "That's a contract."

She flushed and looked away again. Her words came in a rush. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm wrong but I just don't know what to think or who to trust anymore. Last night was very scary—you are very scary—and I've never been in this kind of situation. I mean, people are chasing me and the man I'm supposed to be partnered with killed God-knows-how-many of them last night. And maybe they had it coming but… do you know what I'm saying? You just flipped a few switches last night and boom!—people died. You wanted them gone, and they were gone. So is it so strange for me to wonder what happens if you decide you want me gone?"

He debated saying something about only killing customers who talk too fast, but decided this wasn't a good time to crack wise.

And maybe she had a point. Usually he had minimal contact with his customers. He made a deal, then went off and got it done—like with Jorge. They never saw the work, only the results. Last night had been an exception. He'd wound up playing bodyguard—something he'd never volunteer to do—and Alicia had witnessed some rough stuff.

Too bad, but he didn't think much of the alternative.

"I do what's necessary," he said. "But in your wonderings have you considered where we'd be right now if they'd caught us?"

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "And the worst thing is that it didn't settle anything. We're still looking over our shoulders. I can't even go home."

"I'm sorry about that. But we're making progress. We know more than we did two days ago, and I've got a feeling we'll know a lot more when I find the lock to this key."

And get some more playtime with that little four-by-four, he thought. Something very strange about Clayton's "Rover."

He held the key in the direct sunlight and saw faint remnants of the words "Bern Interbank" embossed on the red vinyl case.

Hallelujah, he thought.