Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) by F. Paul Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

particular civic duty.”
    Jeez, I’m starting to sound like him.
    “Fingerprints on file anywhere?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “So you’re not on anyone’s radar?”
    “Well, I had to register when I went to school.”
    “Oh?”  He sipped, all idle curiosity and nonchalance.  “And where might that be?”
    Jack gave him a look.  “Hard Knocks U.”
    Bertel smiled.  “Good.  Don’t tell me.  Don’t tell anyone.”
    “Why’s this so important?”
    “You said you needed work.  I have an interstate moving business.” 
    Jack knew he was being “smart” but couldn’t resist.  “Oh, like Allied Van Lines?”
    Bertel’s mouth twisted.  “Perhaps I should have said ‘shipping.’  Interested in doing some driving?”
    “No license, remember?  So I tend to stay off the road unless that’s the only way I can get someplace.”
    “What if…?”  Bertel paused. 
    Jack heard laughter and glanced at the couple.  They looked Hispanic and seemed to be enjoying themselves. 
    Bertel went on. “This is just spitballing, you understand.”
    “Of course.”
    Yeah, right.
    “But what if, just for the sake of conjecture, someone gave you a license?  Not in your name, and from someplace like, oh, say, Jersey, and good enough to withstand a routine check.  Would you be willing to do some interstate driving a few times a week?”
    “Are we conjecturing a big van?”
    Jack didn’t see himself backing up a semi.
    “No.  You’d need a CDL for that.  I’m talking about keeping it simple, like a rental – Ryder, U-Haul, that sort of thing.”
    Uh-oh.
    “Hauling what?”
    Bertel hesitated again and Jack tensed, expecting to hear “weed” or “H” or something equally illegal.  He noticed the couple’s voices raised.  They seemed to be arguing now.  He wondered what had messed up their good mood.
    Finally Bertel said, “I’m going to be frank with you, Jack.  Abe sent you, and that gives you an excellent pedigree, plus you drove out here without a license while carrying an unregistered handgun.  That takes either a lack of smarts or big cojones, and I think you’re pretty smart.”
    Despite your telling me not to be, Jack thought.
    “Either way,” Bertel went on, “it means you’re not afraid to break rules.  So I’ll tell you: You’d be hauling cigarettes for me.”
    After the build up, Jack had to laugh.  “Really?  Cigarettes?”
    “Might sound funny, but the money’s not.”
    “Where from?”
    “North Carolina to Jersey City.”
    “Where’s the money in that?”
    “NC doesn’t stamp their cigarettes and, because tobacco’s a big state crop, barely taxes them.  They’re dirt cheap down there.  New York, on the other hand – that’s New York the state and New York the city – taxes the hell out of cigarettes.  They’re inching toward four bucks a pack now.”
    Jack shrugged.  He didn’t smoke so he had no idea.  But he saw where this was going.
    “So you make money on the margin.”
    “I make a piece of the margin.  I don’t do retail.  I wholesale.  I supply a guy in Jersey City who has a bogus New York tax machine.  He stamps the packs, marks them up, and sells them throughout the five boroughs.”
    The couple was getting really loud.  Jack tried to ignore them.
    “There’s enough money in black market ciggies to make it worthwhile?”
    “You wouldn’t believe.  I ship to Boston and Detroit too.  But this Arab keeps wanting more.  I need another driver and you’re perfect.”
    “Perfect…first time anyone’s ever called me that.”
    “Put you in the cab of a U-Haul and you’ll look like a college kid moving his stuff to school.  You won’t fit the profile.”
    “Profile?”
    “Sure.  The state cops and the ATF have certain types–”
    “Wait-wait-wait.  You said ATF.”
    “Well, Tobacco is their middle name.”
    “So we could be talking federal trouble here?”
    “Well, yeah.  They don’t take too kindly to that sort of