3

Tom walked back toward Jack’s place at an easy pace. He felt better now that he had some food under his belt. Barbecued spareribs and seafood salad from the buffet in a Korean eat-in deli. Only in New York.

Not much sleep last night. The E had kept him up into the early hours. He’d forced himself out of bed around one and it was after two by the time he’d showered and gone looking for someplace to eat.

What could he call the meal he’d just had? Breakfast? Brunch? A late dinner? An early supper? His clock was all screwed up.

The sight of men and women hurrying by with shopping bags full of wrapped gifts reminded him of how crummy the past few Christmases had been. Buying gifts, especially for the kids, was such a hassle. He didn’t live with any of them and seldom saw them, so he never knew what to get them. Two years ago he’d given up and settled on gift certificates from Amazon. Let them buy whatever they wanted. Not like they appreciated anything he did for them anyway.

He hated to say it but he dreaded the occasions when he got saddled with all three kids at once. Little Tom and Nicole—offspring of Skank from Hell Number One—absolutely hated Donald, their half-brother via Skank from Hell Number Two, and Donald reciprocated with interest. What a nightmare.

Well, this Christmas they’d get nothing-nada-zip from Dear Old Dad. No Amazon certificate. Not even coal in their stockings.

Then what would the ungrateful little—

He turned onto Jack’s block then and stopped as he saw the man himself trot down the steps of his brownstone. He wore a gray coverall under a brown leather jacket and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked like a mechanic on his way to work.

Work…

Jack hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about his work. Here was a chance to maybe get a clue as to what this repairman stuff was all about.

Wait. If what the Compendium said about the Lilitongue was correct, then Jack had less than a day left to him. Seemed unlikely he’d visit Gia dressed like that.

So what would be important enough to take him away from Gia at a time like this?

Good question. One Tom might have a chance to answer.

Well, why not? Not as if he had anything better to do with his time.

Jack hit the sidewalk and headed away from Tom. Toward Central Park.

Tom followed.

When Jack reached Central Park West he hailed a cab. As soon as one stopped, Tom hurried up to the curb to hail one of his own, all the while keeping an eye on Jack’s. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw it stop at a red light two blocks down.

A cab screeched to a halt in front of him. He jumped in and said, “See that cab up there—the one with the plate that ends in seventy-two?”

“Yes,” said the dark-skinned driver in a thickly accented voice. “You wish me to follow?”

“I wish.”

“Then this is what I shall do.”

And follow he did. Jack’s cab picked up Broadway at Columbus Circle and followed that until it reached 42nd Street. It turned east. Jack got out where 42nd T-boned the United Nations. He stayed on the curb, looking as if he was waiting for someone.

“Hold it here,” Tom told the driver.

A few minutes later an old Grand Am pulled into the curb and Jack got in. Tom had a quick look at the driver and thought he looked familiar. Who—?

Then he remembered. Jack’s scam artist friend from the morgue. Joey something.

“Okay,” Tom said as the Grand Am bolted from the curb. “Now we follow that car.”