Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

His mind raced. What now? He wasn't even sure that had been Alicia. And even if it was… he should stay out of it. Chasing after them himself was dangerous. Cowboy stuff like that was a sure way to get collared, and a collar could wreck his life. He should call the cops—do the 911 thing and let them handle it.

But he hadn't caught the license plate on the truck, and hadn't seen any distinctive markings.

She's in a dark panel truck somewhere on Eighth Avenue—maybe.

Yeah, right. That would—

A horn blared to his left. A taxi wanted to pull away from the curb, and Jack was blocking him. Jack held up his hand and approached the driver.

4.

Alicia felt her taching heart pound against her ribs and heard the breath whistling in and out of her nostrils as she struggled against the tape that bound her to the seat.

They're going to kill me! she thought. I'm going to end up just like the others.

It had happened so fast! The man had caught her in mid-stride, hurled her into the truck, and jumped in after her. Before she could react the door was closed and she was taped into this chair, with a short piece slapped across her mouth. She felt tears crowding into her eyes. What did they want with her?

And then she remembered: They can't kill me. The house will go to Greenpeace if they do.

But what if this is something else? What if this has nothing to do with the house? You hear of people disappearing all the time. What if this is just some random abduction?

The inside of the truck was as dark as a tomb. She could make out the shape of the man who'd pushed her in, and sensed someone else sitting behind her. The first man had her shoulder bag and seemed to be pawing through it—she could hear the contents being pushed this way and that. What were they looking for? Who were they? What did they—?

And then the one behind her spoke. She recognized the nasal voice.

"Hello, sis."

Thomas.

Anger sliced through her. She couldn't see him, but she could imagine him—his lanky brown hair, his big-nosed, pockmarked face, his pear-shaped body. Had he gained weight since she'd last seen him a dozen years ago? Undoubtedly.

She wanted to scream at him, but knew nothing would pass her taped lips. So she stopped struggling against her bonds and forced herself to be calm. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her terror.

"Sorry we have to meet like this," he said in a casual, offhanded tone. Alicia could almost hear his smirk. "But I wanted to act out one of my bondage fantasies. And I also wanted to make it clear in no uncertain terms how disturbed we are by what you did—or tried to have done to the house last night."

We … he was as much as telling her that he wasn't in this alone.

"I don't want this to be a lecture, so I'm going to have my associate here remove the tape from your mouth. If you begin to scream or cause any unpleasantness, it goes back on and stays on. Is that clear?"

Alicia refused to nod.

"I said, is that clear?"

Still she wouldn't nod.

Finally she heard Thomas sigh. "All right. Take it off."

The dark figure next to her reached over and tore the tape roughly from her face. From the way her flesh stung, she was sure it had taken an upper layer of skin with it.

"You bastard," she said in a low voice without turning. She did not want to see him. "You filthy piece of—"

"Ah-ah-ah," Thomas said. "I warned you about unpleasantness."

"Just a statement of fact, Thomas."

"Really?" His voice changed to a hiss. "Then try this statement of fact: If you ever, ever try to do harm to that house again, you'll—"

"I'll what? Be run down by a car? Be blown up? Be burned at the stake? What, Thomas? I know what happens if I die. So don't try to threaten me."

"Who said anything about dying?" he said. "How about just hurting? You can be hurt. And you can be hurt again. You can be damaged temporarily or permanently. You can be scarred. You can be maimed. You can be blinded. The list goes on, Alicia. Dying is not the worst that can happen to you."

Alicia licked her lips with a cottony tongue. Was this really Thomas talking? Weak ineffectual Thomas?

"I know what you're thinking," Thomas went on. "You're thinking Thomas is just talking. Thomas is a wimp. He won't do anything of the sort. But listen well, sister: Thomas doesn't have to do any of it. He's got people who will do it for him, and enjoy it."

Her intestines coiled in fear as she realized these were not empty threats. She hid the tremor that shot through her. How had she got into this nightmare?

"Give it up," Thomas said. "I've all but won as it is. It's all just a matter of time now—a very short time. Save me the trouble of having the will set aside, and you'll walk away from the closing a very rich woman. You keep fighting me and you wind up with nothing—no house, no money. I call that a no-brainer, Alicia. Why are you being so damn stubborn?"

You of all people should know, she thought. But she said: "Why? Why do you want the place so badly?"