Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts by F. Paul Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

Broadway, found a phone booth, and tapped in his codes. One call. From a woman who said she'd been referred to him as someone who could help her with a problem involving a friend and a cult. Left her cell phone number but didn't say who'd referred her or any details about the cult or her problem with it. Decided she was worth a call back. An indefinable something about her voice appealed to him, made him want to work on her problem.
    Glanced at his watch: 11:20. Might be late to call her, but he needed something to do and this could be it. A new customer with a new fix-it job would occupy his mind and time while waiting for the fallout from tonight's fiasco.
    Dialed her number. When she answered he said. "This is Jack, returning your call."
    "Oh. I didn't expect you to call back so soon." A nice voice; soft and mature. Not too old, not too young.
    Good start, Jack thought.
    "Some problems can wait," he said, "some can't. You didn't say anything about yours. I can meet you tonight if necessary."
    "Gosh, it's late but…"
    "Where do you live?"
    "I… I'd rather not say."
    "Not your street address, your section of the city."
    "Oh. It's called the Flower District. It's—"
    "Know it." Upper Twenties around Sixth, above Chelsea. "I can meet you anywhere you want down there in about fifteen minutes."
    "Tonight? Gee, I don't…"
    "Lady, you called me."
    A pause during which he swore he could hear her chewing her lip.
    "Okay. But someplace public."
    Someplace public… could meet her on Forty-second Street. Few places in the city more public than the Deuce since Disney moved in. Maybe too public. Better to make it closer to where she lived…
    Considered the Seventh Avenue Papaya on the corner of Twenty-third, but that was usually a madhouse this time of night. He grinned. Maybe he should freak her out and suggest La Maison de Sade, the S-and-M supper club next to the Chelsea Hotel. Wait—that was it.
    "How about the Chelsea Hotel?"
    "Where's that?"
    Something not right here. "Thought you said you lived in the Flower District. You live down there and don't know the Chelsea?"
    "I'm visiting. I'm from… from out of town."
    "Okay then. It's right down Seventh from you. On Twenty-third. I'll meet you in the lobby. Is that public enough?"
    "I don't know… this is so strange."
    Hesitant. Jack liked that. He'd take a hesitant customer over a gung-ho out-for-blood type any day.
    "Here's how we'll work it: I'll hang out there until midnight. If you change your mind and don't show, fine. If you see me and don't like what you see, just turn around and go back home and we'll forget the whole thing."
    "That sounds fair, I guess."
    "And you should know up front that I don't work cheap."
    "I think it's a little early to haggle about fees. How will I spot you?"
    "No problem. I'll stand out."
    "How?"
    "I won't be wearing black."
    A tiny laugh. "I've spent enough time here to appreciate that!"
    Her laugh… something vaguely familiar there… an echo of a laugh from long ago, but damned if he could remember who or when.
    "Do I know you?" Jack asked.
    "Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very, very much."
    Probably right. She said she was from out of town and Jack didn't leave the city much.
    She added, "I only heard of you a couple of hours ago."
    "From whom?"
    "That's the strangest part. This woman I've never seen before gave me your number and said you could help."
    "A stranger? What's her name?"
    "I don't know. She had a Russian accent and a big white dog. She said to call you tonight… only you."
    Got his number from a stranger… that didn't sit right, especially since the only people he knew with Russian accents were members of a Brighton Beach crew he'd had a brush with last year, and they weren't too fond of him.
    A little extra caution might be in order here.
    "You call someone you've never heard of on the recommendation of someone you don't know. You must be a very trusting person."
    "No, I'm not. I'm just a very upset person. Maybe even a