Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross by F. Paul Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

Remingtons—then slammed it home and chambered a round. He changed into darker clothes and traded his loafers for black Thorogrip steel-toed boots. He already had the AMT strapped to his ankle. He slipped the Glock into a nylon small-of-the-back holster and was good to go.

10

    Jack stood on Cordova's front porch and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Last time he'd been here, the house had had no security system. But the owner had had a gun, and he'd taken a shot at Jack as he'd escaped across a neighboring roof. After Jack's break-in, chances were good Cordova had sprung for a home alarm.
    He looked around the neighborhood. Nobody out and about. Sunday night and people were either asleep or watching the 11 o'clock news before heading for bed.
    Williamsbridge sits in the upper Bronx—so far up that the subway lines run out of track and trestle just a couple of stops above it. Mostly a grid of old, post-war middle-class homes and row houses, the area has seen better days, but lots worse too. Crime here, they say, is on the wane, but Jack spotted a couple of guys dealing under the El as he drove along White Plains Road.
    He'd cruised the main drag before hitting the house because he knew from the last time that Cordova liked to hang at a bar called Hurley's between 223rd and 224th. He'd double-parked, popped in for a look around, spotted fatso stuffed into a booth at the rear, and left. He parked half a block down from Cordova's place. He'd brought the car because his plan was to rock the blackmailer's boat by stealing his files and his computer hard drive.
    Cordova's house was older than his neighbors'. Clapboard siding with a front porch spanning the width of the house. Two windows to the left of the front door, two above the porch roof, and one more looking out of the attic.
    Jack checked the porch windows. Alarm systems installed during construction could be hidden, but the retrofitted ones were easy to spot. He reached into the large duffel bag he'd brought along and pulled out a flashlight with duct tape across the upper half of the lens. He aimed it through one of the front windows across the parlor to another in the left wall of the room. No sign of magnetic contact switches. He angled the beam along the upper walls to the two corners within sight—no area sensors near the ceiling. At least none he could see.
    Okay. He'd risk it.
    He pulled out his latest toy, a pick gun. They came in electric and manual, to be sold to locksmiths only. Sure. Abe had let him try both last month. Jack had found he preferred the manual over the electric. He liked to fine-tune the tension bar, loved to feel the pins clicking into line.
    He went to work. He hadn't had any trouble last time, even with his old pick set, so now—
    Hell, it was the same lock. That set Jack on edge. Not a good sign. If Cordova wasn't going to spring for an alarm system, the least he could do was change the locks.
    Unless…
    The pins lined up quickly. Jack twisted the cylinder with the tension bar and heard the bolt slide back. He stepped inside with his duffel, holding his breath against the chance that he'd missed something. The first thing he did was search for a keypad. If anywhere it would be right next to the door. The wall was bare. Good sign.
    He made a quick check of the room, especially along the wall-ceiling crease but found no sensors. He was struck—as he'd been the first time he'd been here—by how neat and clean everything was. For a fat slob, Cordova maintained a trim ship.
    Jack waited, ready to duck back outside, but no alarm sounded. Could be a silent model, but he doubted it.
    Okay, no time to waste. Last time he was here Cordova had surprised him by coming home early. Jack wanted to be gone ASAP.
    Flashlight in hand he ran up to the third floor. He stopped on the threshold of the converted attic space where Cordova kept his computer and his files, the heart of his blackmail operation.
    "Shit!"
    The filing cabinet was gone, the computer