Levy was panting as if he'd been running. "Now you know what happens when you push an oDNA-loaded man like Thompson over the edge."
Had to admit it had been an awe-inspiring exhibition of rage. Jack had had his share of rages over the years, but they tended toward the cold type—subzero cold.
Levy glanced over his shoulder. "You put us through all that for a book? Why?"
"Well, number one: He had it and it's mine. And number two: It's mine and he had it."
Jack resisted the urge to open the Compendium and leaf through it to the Kicker Man page. This was not the time or place.
"Where can I drop you off?" Levy said. "I've got to get back home."
"Not yet. I'm going to work on getting you those samples from my customer."
"Customer? You mean client?"
Something about having "clients" had always bothered Jack, but he was playing the private investigator now.
"Right. Client. If I can work a meet with her I can probably get you those samples. I want you around so I can give them to you. No sense in you driving all the way back in from Rathburg again when you're already here."
"Do you want me to meet her with you?"
"Hell, no. You don't see her, talk to her, come within a mile of her."
"Then what am I supposed to do while you're meeting her?" Was he kidding?
"This is New York City, doc. You can't kill a few hours here, you're already dead and don't know it."
6
"I usually drink only Diet Pepsi," Christy said as Julio set a bar-draft tumbler, half filled with reddish liquid, before her. "But today I'm making an exception."
They sat at Jack's usual table, everything pretty much the same as the last time they'd met here. Except she didn't seem as prissy.
Jack nodded. "I can understand that."
She frowned at the tumbler. "Not the typical presentation for a cosmopolitan."
"Ain't got no martini glasses," Julio said and walked away.
"Not the friendliest person, is he."
"He's okay."
She sipped and made a face. "Ugh! Awful. And the glass is dirty."
"Just smudged. This place doesn't get much call for cosmos. He probably had to go online to find out how to make one." Jack took a swig of his Yuengling draft. "Pours a mean glass of beer, though."
Christy took another sip, shuddered, then pushed it aside. She gave Jack a hard look.
"So, am I to understand that you don't know anything more?"
Jack knew some and suspected a hell of a lot, but couldn't tell her anything until he was sure. He eyed her blond hair. If he could snag a few strands of that, he'd be on his way to certainty.
"As I told you, I have someone under surveillance."
He'd used that—and a supposed need for more expense money—as an excuse to have Christy come to him instead of him going to her, saying he didn't want to stray too far.
"But I thought the idea was to have Bethlehem under surveillance."
"So one would think. But if I can link this guy to Bethlehem, I might be able to get your boy in enough trouble to take him out of the picture for a while."
Christy leaned forward. "This man you're watching—what is he? A drug dealer?"
"I don't want to say yet."
"Look, I've been paying you. I have a right to—" She paused, frowned. "Oh, I see. Because I blabbed to Dawn you think I've got a big mouth. Is that it?"
"In a word, yes."
"I suppose I deserved that." She grabbed the cosmo and pulled it back toward her. "I don't care how bad this swill is."
She took a deep sip and only winced a little this time.
Jack said, "But it's been costly. Paying for information has run up my expenses."
She gave him another long, hard look. "You wouldn't be running a scam on me, would you, Mister Robertson?"
Jack returned her stare. "We need mutual trust here, Christy. I can't do my best work if I think I'm being second-guessed at every turn."
"Okay, okay." She reached into her shoulder bag. "I don't mind paying if I'm getting results."
She pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table.
"Cash, as requested."
Jack nudged it aside with a knuckle. "Great."
He noted with satisfaction that she'd sealed it—by licking it, he hoped. Levy had said he could isolate DNA from her saliva.
But what if she'd used water to wet the glue? For insurance, Jack had worked out a backup plan with Julio.
He finished his beer and waved the empty mug. Julio saw him and nodded. Jack pointed to Christy's half-empty tumbler.
"Want another?"
She shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."
When Julio arrived with a fresh draft he bumped against the back of Christy's chair and spilled a couple drops of beer on her hair.
"jAy, caramba!"
Ay, caramba?
"I don't believe this!" Christy said.
Julio set down the beer and pulled a dishrag from his back pocket.
"I'm real sorry, lady. Today just ain't been a good day."
Jack watched as he began wiping the back of her head with the cloth.
"Ow!" She pushed his hand away. "Fin fine. I'd rather have beer in my hair than that cloth on it."
"Okay, okay." Julio glanced at the cloth, then grinned at Jack over her shoulder and winked. "Sorry."
Christy grabbed her bag and began to rise.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," she said to Jack, "and I think you know what I mean."
"Wait," he said, gently grabbing her wrist. "We need to talk a little more."
She gave him an uncertain look as she resettled herself.
"About what?"
"Your family, for one."
"What's my family got to do with this?"
"Maybe nothing." Jack thought of the resemblance between her and Thompson and Bolton: maybe everything. "But I'm working every angle and I've got to look into the possibility that there's something personal behind this."
She swallowed. "Personal? What could there possibly—?"
"I don't know. Have you ever seen Bethlehem anywhere before? Take away the beard, take off years… did you ever know him?"
She didn't hesitate. "No."
"You're sure?"
"Look, first off, it's not much of a beard, and second, ever see someone you know dressed up as Santa? Ever have a doubt as to who they were? If you know someone, a beard doesn't hide much close up. And I've been close up to Jerry Bethlehem. I've been in his face. I can tell you that if I ever knew him, it sure wasn't well."
That pretty well shot down one long-shot theory: That if they weren't related, maybe she'd known Bolton as a kid or teen and he was getting even with her for something.
"Okay, then. What about your husband?"
She stiffened. "I've never been married."
"All right—Dawn's father then?"
"He's never been a part of her life and he never will."
Something in her eyes, her tone… evasive?
"Why not?"
"Because he doesn't even know she exists."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Well, you can't be a hundred percent sure of anything, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure."
Jack pulled out the copy of Kick he'd retrieved from his apartment while waiting for her to make it in from Forest Hills. He showed her the jacket photo of Hank Thompson.
"Ever seen him before?"
She shook her head. "No. Why?"
Damn. Another long-shot theory down in flames. He'd hoped Thompson was connected to Christy and was pulling Bolton's strings to get even with her for something—like maybe running off with his daughter. Guess not.