Repairman Jack [02]-Legacies

"Oh, yes." He pointed to the left, toward a sign with an arrow and the word SEATING. Jack wondered how he'd missed that. "Over there. He over there."

Jack stepped through the small brick arch and checked out the extra seating area. He saw the back of a tall thin black guy, short-cropped hair, facing the wall. Jack ducked back to the buffet area, bought a Pepsi, then dropped into the seat opposite Milkdud.

"Sushi for breakfast?" Jack said, checking out Milkdud's tray.

"Hey, Jack," Milkdud said, extending his hand across the postage-stamp table. "Got to preserve my slim boyish figure, man."

"For hacking, right?"

He shrugged. "A spare tire can keep me from where I want to go sometimes. Besides, this is brunch and you really can't call California rolls sushi."

They went back years. Jack kept running into this tall guy—Milkdud had worn dreadlocks then—at the revival houses around the city. They started talking, and finally got to the point of trust where they'd lend each other tapes and discs of cherished films. But if Jack had ever known the name the man's mother called him, he'd long since forgotten. He was Milkdud—or Dud—to the world. Long, lean, with milk-chocolate skin, a laid-back look, and an easy smile; but all people seemed to remember about the guy—even in the days when he had those huge dreadlocks—was the big, black Aaron Neville-class mole in the center of his forehead. Some class clown during his growing up must have compared it to a certain brand of chocolate-coated caramel, and the name had stuck.

"I stand corrected," Jack said. "So what are you up to these days?"

"Working in the Coconuts up the street."

"They're hiring MIT grads now?"

Milkdud shrugged. "I'm in the laser disc department. The hours are flexible, and the discounts help me keep up my collection."

Jack nodded. Flexible hours… that was something Milkdud needed for his real passion. Yeah, he was a movie freak, but old buildings were his first love.

"How many discs you got now?"

Another shrug. "Lost count. But I'm glad you called. Been meaning to get in touch with you about a recent purchase."

Jack straightened. "Something on my want list?"

Milkdud reached down and pulled a plastic Coconuts bag from under the table. He handed it across to Jack.

"Yes!" Jack said when he looked inside. He pulled out a laser disc of An Unmarried Woman. "How'd you find it?"

The 1978 Jill Clayburgh-Alan Bates drama was one of Gia's favorite films. Its charms eluded Jack—he'd never been particularly taken by any of Paul Mazursky's work—but he'd been trying for years to buy or tape a copy for Gia. He religiously checked the schedules of all the cable movie channels he subscribed to—TCM, AMC, TMC, Cinemax, Starz, Encore, and the rest—but they rarely listed it, or when they did, he always found out about it too late to set his recorder.

Milkdud said, "One of the used places down on Mac-Dougal. It's a good transfer but it's Hong Kong."

"I see that. Not dubbed, I hope."

"No—just Cantonese subtitles."

"Subtitles are no problem. Can I borrow it?"

"Yeah. As long as you want. Just don't forget where you got it."

"You like it?" Jack knew Milkdud as a Guinea gross-out maven. Heavy into Argento, Bava, and Fulci. Hard to believe he'd even sit through An Unmarried Woman, let alone want it in his collection.

"Nah. But it's so damn hard to find, I feel I should have a copy. Weird, huh?"

"Just the collecting disease."

Jack understood; he suffered himself. "Your timing is perfect, Dud." Now he had at least one Christmas gift for Gia she wouldn't be expecting. "I'll do a dub and get it back to you as soon as…" Jack hesitated, feeling bad about asking Milkdud for another favor after he'd found Gia's movie for him, but he had no choice. "And… I need your help."

"Your message mentioned a building hack."

"Right. I spotted your squiggle in the Hand Building last night."

Milkdud's eyes lit as he smiled. "The Hand Building… the twenty-five story ferroconcrete on Forty-fifth. Yeah, she's a beauty. A prime example of postwar urban architecture. My handle's still there? Cool. Hacked her about three years ago. Should've brought my notes, then I could give you the exact date and some details. A very cool place. That lady's full of blind spaces."

"You keep notes?" Jack said. This was great news. "Like some sort of hacking diary?"

"I like to think of it simply as 'exploring.' We were calling it 'hacking' back in the seventies, but then the computer geeks co-opted the term. I don't like the comparison. Computer hacking implies mischief, malevolence, and malfeasance."

"Not in its pure form," Jack said.

"True. The pure computer hacker is an explorer. He wants to gain entry, open all the doors, find all the hidden places, learn all the secrets, and leave everything pretty much as he found it. That's what I do. I get into a building and explore all the spaces the workaday occupants never see, don't even know exist, then I get out."

"But not without leaving your 'Killroy-was-here' squiggle."