2

After hanging up the BACK IN A FEW MINUTES sign, Jack joined Abe in a rear closet. He closed the door behind him as Abe pushed on the closet wall. It swung open. Abe hit a light switch, revealing the worn stone stairway down to the basement. Ahead a neon sign buzzed to life.

Fine Weapons

The Right to Buy eapons

is the Right to Be Free

“You lost a W,” Jack said.

“I know, but I’m not having it fixed.”

Abe hit another switch at the bottom, lighting up the basement to reveal the lethal stock of his true trade: bludgeons, knives, pistols, rifles, and sundry weapons of every size and configuration. Even a bazooka. In contrast to the mess upstairs, everything here was neatly arranged and arrayed in rows of display racks.

“Got a Tavor-two?” Jack said.

Abe looked at him. “The model that kill—that was used at the airport? Why for?”

Jack wasn’t sure he had an answer to that.

“Just want to see one.”

Abe shook his head. “Never carried them.”

“What? You carry everything.”

“It only seems that way. The Micro Uzi, Tec-nine, and Mac-eleven are much more popular. Not that the Tavor is any bohmer in firepower—spits five-fifty-six NATOs at something like nine hundred per minute—but no one’s ever even asked about one. I should stock something no one wants?”

“Somebody wanted them.”

“For reasons other than firepower, I suspect.”

“The Israel connection.”

“So it seems.”

Silence hung between them.

Finally Jack said, “What about that backup?”

Abe stepped over to a rack and returned holding a small, sleek-looking semiautomatic with a dull gray finish.

“You want a small nine? Smaller and lighter you don’t get than this Kel-Tec P-eleven. Double-action only with a ten-round double-column magazine.”

Jack took it and hefted it. Light—a little under a pound; lighter even than his AMT. That would change when the magazine was in place—ten would double the number of rounds the AMT held—but still…

“It looks a little longer…”

“Only half an inch more than the AMT. This one’s used, but that’s good. You need to go through about fifty rounds to smooth out the action. For you that’s been done already. And note the parkerized finish. What’s not to like?”

Jack couldn’t think of a thing. Ten backup rounds… his primary-carry Glock 19 with the extended magazine held seventeen. Keep a round in the breech of each and he’d have almost thirty shots.

He retracted the slide, checked to make sure the breech was empty, then pulled the trigger. He guesstimated the pull at somewhere in the neighborhood of ten pounds, maybe a tad less. Just the way he liked it.

If only he’d been there yesterday with one of these…

“Sold. How much?”

“It’s a gift.”

“Abe—”

“Considering the circumstances surrounding the loss of its predecessor, I should charge you? Your money’s no good today.”

“It must have cost you at least a—”

“Never mind what it cost me. Allow me a mitzvah, already, will you?”

Jack wasn’t in a gift-getting mood, but felt obliged to let Abe do his good deed.

“Thanks, Abe.”

“May you never have to use it.”

As they headed back upstairs, Abe said, “When are they releasing your father’s, you know, remains?”

Remains… jeez.

“Not until tomorrow.”

Earlier this morning he’d made another call to the one-fifteenth, and this time he was referred to some city office downtown. The woman there told him that half of the bodies were being released today and the rest tomorrow. What was the deceased’s name?

Jack told her and was informed that his father’s remains could be picked up at the city morgue after ten tomorrow morning.

“The schmucks.”

“Yeah. Another day, damn it. Tom left a message that he’ll be arriving on the Metroliner and I couldn’t get hold of him to tell him to wait till tomorrow. Which means he’s on his way.”

They exited the closet and returned to the legal portion of Abe’s shop.

“So? That’s bad?”

“I was planning on meeting him, taking him over to the morgue to claim Dad’s body, getting it shipped to Johnson—”

“Johnson?” Abe said as he reinstalled himself on his stool behind the counter. “Never heard of it. Jersey?”

Jack nodded. “Our home town. Burlington County. Our mother’s buried there.”

Mom… the man he was today could be traced back to her murder.

“Damn.” Jack felt like hitting the counter again but didn’t want to put another scare into Parabellum. “This means he’ll have to stay over. Where am I going to put him?”

“Well, he could stay with you.”

Jack gave him a look.

Abe waved his hands. “Never mind. Forget I said that. Oy, what was I thinking?”

Jack showed his sweetest smile. “How about your place, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal?”

“Never! Barely room for me.”

“Which means I have to find him a hotel room.”

“This week? One in Yonkers, maybe. Maybe not.”

“And he’ll probably expect me to entertain him—which is not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Business.”

“You can’t let it slide?”

Jack shook his head. “I’d love to, but there’s only a small window of opportunity. And even if there weren’t, I want it off my plate before I start going to wakes and the funeral.” And facing his nieces and nephews. “Besides, I made a promise.”

“Better get calling. Such an earache you’ll have.”

“Yeah, thanks. Where’s your phone book?”