He sat up again. The pain came in a white wave, and he made himself ride it, eyes closed, teeth clenched. The pain didn’t matter. If she was here, he had to help her, had to get to her. Even if she wasn’t, she would be soon.
A sound came from down the hall. The refrigerator door opening. Jack was in the kitchen. He must have felt safe with Tom unconscious, left him here. Just lucky timing. Tom stood, holding his left arm in his right. The world wobbled, then slowly steadied. Now what?
He might be able to make it out the front door, but what if Anna came home before he could get the cops here? He could try her cell phone, but what if she was on the El, or the battery was dead?
No. He couldn’t leave until he knew they were both safe. So what then? The phone was no good; the extension was in the kitchen. His cell was in his bag, but he didn’t see it. The room was spare, just the chair, an entertainment center, a TV, a lamp. His eyes roamed the fireplace, the shelves, the hallway. His toolbox. He’d left it in the hallway after looking for the drugs.
He didn’t let himself think. Just ordered his feet to move. One step. Two. Heart racing, Tom bent down by the orange plastic toolbox. The latches were unfastened. Thank God he’d been in a hurry the other day. He reached for it, automatically using his closer hand, his left. The broken pinkie grazed the lid. Stars burst behind his eyes. He wanted to gasp, to howl, to scream curses and kick the wall. He held his breath and didn’t make a sound.
Don’t stop, you don’t have time, go, go, be strong. Teeth grinding, he forced his right hand into motion. Opened the lid gently. Inside the top tray lay a collection of small tools: needle-nose pliers and a current detector and a miniature flashlight and a handful of misfit screws. And a four-inch Buck knife. Tom picked it up with two fingers. He’d originally had the hammer in mind, but this was better, faster and concealable. Carefully, he lowered the lid of the toolbox.
He heard a noise from down the hall and jerked upright. It took a minute to process the familiar pop and hiss. Jack had gone to grab a beer, like this was no big deal. The rush of anger that brought was amazing, hundred-proof hate at the sheer arrogance. The guy had clearly written Tom off as nothing.
Lips twisted, Tom took the few steps back to the chair. He opened the knife and slid it gingerly into his front right pocket. Then he sat, closed his eyes, and waited. He might be down, but he wasn’t nothing.
JACK TOOK A LONG SWALLOW of Old Style. The cold beer slid easy down his throat. He glanced at his watch, saw it was nearly six. The woman would be home soon. Almost done.
He walked down the hall. Tom Reed was still in the chair. His position was a little different, though, and his breathing didn’t have the regularity that came with unconsciousness. His left hand burned red, angry flesh and drying blood. “You awake?”
The guy didn’t answer, but his eyelids twitched. “Yeah, you’re awake.” Jack stepped past him, to the front window. Glanced out at the quiet block. A pretty little street. Vintage graystones and two-flats, a couple of bungalows stuck in between. Plenty of trees, but still in the middle of things, restaurants and bars an easy stroll. The people walking dogs smiled at each other, stopped to chat. “Lemme ask you, what does a place like this run?”
There was a long pause, and then Tom said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What? You think I don’t live somewhere?” He turned back from the window, walked over to the door. Unlocked it. “How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You bought it, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So how much?”
Tom rubbed at his head with his right hand. “There’s a place for sale down the block for five and a quarter.”
“Half a million dollars.” He whistled, traced the woodwork of the molding with the palm of his hand. “You know the house I grew up in, my dad bought for something like thirty grand? A little place off Archer, with a postage-stamp yard and a crooked roof. My brother and I shared a bedroom until… shit, until I moved out.” He sipped his beer. “It was a big deal, though, him being able to buy at all. Most of the Polacks we knew were renting.”
“What did you mean when you said you thought Anna knew where the money was?”
Jack walked over to the wall, leaned against it. “Two people put something somewhere, one is surprised to find it gone?” He shrugged.
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“Better hope you’re wrong.” Jack rolled his shoulders to loosen them. Long jobs were the hardest. Too much time for foul-ups. A neighbor looking through the window, a civilian growing a spine, you never knew. Forty-three years old now, and more work than he could remember. Time to quit. Once he and Marshall split the money, he was heading for Arizona. See if Eli was still interested in a partner for his bar. Jack unclipped his mobile phone from his belt, flipped it open. The reception was fine. “I know, I know, it’s a bitch. Hard to believe something like that. But it’s funny how money changes people. Even people you trust.”
“If Anna does know where the money is…” The man hesitated, and Jack could see that it hurt him to think like that. “Will you just take it and go?”
“You have a gambling problem or something?”
“Huh?”
Jack finished the beer in a long swallow. “You’ve got a building in a neighborhood that runs half a mill.” He set the can on the ground, then stomped it flat. Saw Tom Reed wince at that. He chuckled, then bent to pick up the can and slip it in his pocket. “You’ve got a job that pays solid bank, and a good-looking wife.”
“So?”
“I’m just wondering, why would you take the money?” He paused, locked eyes with the guy. “I really want to know. I mean, what is it you want” – he gestured in a circle – “you don’t already got?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
Tom shook his head, said nothing.
“Okay, sure, it’s tempting. Money is always tempting. But you had to know life didn’t work that way, right? In your heart? I mean, it was a bag full of money.”
“We…” Tom hesitated. “We didn’t know where it came from. We thought it was his. Like he’d saved it, didn’t trust banks.”
“That make it better?”
“He was dead. We weren’t hurting anybody.”
“That’s the problem with you people.” Jack cracked his thumbs. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have taken it. I would. Did, as a matter of fact. But I didn’t tell myself it wasn’t hurting anybody. I wanted it, so I took it. You get my meaning?”
“No.”
“Let me put it another way.” He cocked his head. “You really believe you didn’t bring this on yourself?”
Tom opened his mouth, then closed it. The moment stretched. Then Jack felt the phone vibrate on his hip. He drew the.45. “Don’t fuck around. Get me?”
Tom gave the barest of nods.
Jack opened his phone and read the text message.
ANNA FLIPPED ON HER BLINKER, waited for a white construction van to pass, then put the Pontiac in reverse, turned the wheel hard, and backed into the narrow space. Before she moved to the city, parallel parking had seemed like an arcane art. Now she could do it in her sleep.
The sidewalk was dappled with spring sunlight, little patches of flowers beginning to bloom beside the road. A red BMW was offset by an explosion of white tulips, and a flowering bush half obscured a black Honda, the engine running, a man inside fiddling with a cell phone. She strolled easy, thinking about Tom’s voice as he’d suggested they go to a hotel. He hadn’t seemed worried – just the opposite, in fact. Like he’d solved a problem that had been bugging him, and wanted to celebrate. Odd.
Still, a hotel sounded nice. They used to do that every now and then, check into a place downtown just for the change. A vacation in their hometown, complete with big fluffy robes and a swimming pool. It had been years. Should be fun.