“Sumo,” came the new gentler voice. ”I want you to pay
attention.”
”Wha... ?” He swallowed.
Baker held up Jace's knife and tossed it far to one side. ”I
have no knife, Sumo.”
The big man breathed heavily but said nothing.
“Sumo, I want you to let her go and then back away. Go
away and wait until we're gone and then come back for your
friend. Do that, Sumo, or you'll be hurt just as terribly.”
Sumo rocked as the words sank in. He seemed to con
sider running, backing off. But he was feeling better too. He
was not afraid of this man now. He didn't know why he'd been afraid of him at all. It's the guy who's afraid, not him.
He wouldn't try to deal if he wasn't afraid.
”I saw what you did to him, you bastard.” It was some
thing to say.
“The woman, Sumo. Let her go.”
“You want her?” Sumo's voice was becoming shrill.
“How bad do you want her?”
“Now, Sumo. There's no more time.”
The big man turned his knife again so that the cutting edge rested on the underside of the woman's breast. “How about one piece at a time? How about if I cut off one of her tits for you, you want her so much.” Sumo tightened his
forearm viciously across her throat as he said this. The
woman went limp against him.
Once again, Baker studied the woman. Her breathing was
slow and labored. She would see nothing.
“Abel,”
he said.
The man in the gray raincoat watched a second time. He
watched across the sight of his pistol until it began to shake.
He was trembling almost to the point of spasm. Biaggi
pressed the gun flat against the grass with both hands, and
he heard this different Baker say,
“Recess is ove
r
pig”
Sumo went white. Making animal grunts, he staggered backward to his feet. The woman's torso fell heavily to the ground. Off balance, he whipped the knife cross-handed
toward Baker's body. The knife spun once and hit. It stuck,
he realized hysterically. He could see it dangling from the
flesh of the man's hip below his open jacket. In almost joy
ful relief, he realized that the man was crippled. And he had
no knife. Not even the thing he used on Jace. He could take
this man, he realized. H
e
could rip the arms off almost any
one who fought him barehanded. Then he'd pull the knife
out of this fucker's hip and cut off his pecker with it and
leave it in his mouth. Jace would like that. That would make
Jace feel better except. . . except. . . Something felt wrong
with his face
...
so fast. . . something hit his face
...
all numb and wet, and he was falling backward against a rock
and someone was holding him . . . turning him around
and . . . ooohhhh, he heard a faraway scream when the kid
neys on both sides exploded inside of him and... my ass ...
what's the matter with my ass
...
Sumo fainted.
Biaggi could not stop the shaking that had spread across his
shoulders and down his back. It was all he could do to keep
his breathing soft enough to blend with the sounds of the
park. He watched through blades of grass as Baker stripped
off his jacket and wrapped it, indifferently, he thought,
ar
ound the body of the unconscious woman, then lifted her
onto one shoulder with astonishing ease. With his free hand,
he knelt to gather bits of cloth and then, without pausing,
stepped fluidly across a low stone wall as if he carried no
burden at all. Biaggi put away his gun and fumbled for the radio on his belt.
“Harrigan,” he whispered as he fed out his antenna. He
did not bother with a call signal. “Harrigan, come in. Come
in.”
“Got you” came the broken voice from the box.
“Where
...
hell are you?”
“He's headed your way from near the zoo,” Biaggi
panted. “There's trouble here. Park muggers. This guy
Baker took them both out with ease. Except I think one of
them knew him. And he's got a woman with him.”
“What was ... damned thing? Say again.”
“He's coming your way. He just ripped the shit out of a
couple of punks.”
”. . . can't get
...
stay on him. You read?”
“I'm on him. Out.”
Biaggi collapsed his radio as he pushed to his feet. He
moved several steps in the direction Baker had taken and
then hesitated, glancing toward the shape of the one called Jace. Baker would keep, he decided, for the few seconds it
would take to see if these two were alive. He'd be slowed by
the weight of the woman, and he could only be heading
south to the exit nearest his hotel, where Connor Harrigan
was waiting.
He knelt at Jace's side and bent over the ruined face but
chose not to look at it. The gurgling, mewing sounds it made
were enough. He stripped off Jace's watch and patted for his
wallet. Both of these he dropped into his raincoat pocket. Al
most as an afterthought, he placed his fingertips on the
carotid artery of the unconscious man. Jace could live.
Given attention, the bum could live. Biaggi stood and
walked the fifteen yards to where the big one
lay draped
over the boulder. He lifted Sumo's wrist, feeling for a pulse as he worked loose a heavy chronograph. This pulse was
weaker than the other. Biaggi studied the watch curiously,
ig
noring Sumo, who slid like a flow of mud from the rock
and settled to the grass. Funny, he thought, for junkies to
own watches. The big one's clothing, both their clothing,
were good quality and they fit. They must have bought them
new. Dressed like this, he wondered, and they're working
the park?
He bent over and felt for Sumo's wallet. His hand
brushed over something wet and hard. Biaggi drew a pen-
light from his pocket and cupped his hand over the beam as
he sought what he already knew was there. Again he turned
his head away. A befouled and dripping bit of chrome
gleamed obscenely in the light. The knife was rammed a full
ten inches into Sumo's colon.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
He fell backward into a sitting position and stared after
Baker through the darkness. What the hell was going on
here? He shuddered again at what he'd seen, and at the
thought that had he not seen it, he might have tried to take
Baker himself. Who wouldn't have? The guy was nothing. A
commuter. Or he used to be. Just one more grunt who took
the train to work and played golf on Saturdays and jogged with his dog on Sundays until it was time to light the char
coal. Sonnenberg could take a lump like that and make
this
out of it? What for? Who the fuck would want him? But you
want him, don't you, Mr. Peck? You say, do you have
doubts, Michael? Are you up to this task, Michael?
We can't
let him fall into the wrong hands, Michael. Not Domenic
Tortora's hands, not Connor Harrigan's hands, not a couple
of punks working Central Park . . . Wait a minute.
Biaggi patted his raincoat pocket and located the wallet that belonged to Jace. He drew out the soft leather billfold.
It was expensive, he realized, even before he snapped on his penlight. Dunhill, maybe. The light made a circle the size of
a half-dollar, and it quickly found the likeness on a driver's
license of the one who seemed to know Baker. The name
printed there seized Biaggi by the throat.
He was Baker again.
He had started south, then doubled back when he was be
yond the hearing of the
man who'd stayed hidden. His arms
had begun to burn under the woman's weight, and the mus
cles of his back were tightening. Perhaps he'd sent Abel
back too soon. No, she was beginning to stir. Abel might
have
...
He wasn't sure anymore what Abel might have
done.
Beyond the zoo, he found a bench that was deep in
shadow and sat the rousing woman there, wondering if it
might be best to leave her. The one in the gray raincoat
might help her. The one who followed and watched. But he was far behind. He had a gun, Baker realized. Why did he
have a gun in his hand this time? No matter. He was getting
farther away. If she were left here now, someone else might
find her. Maybe someone like the two he'd crippled. Or
she'd wake up screaming before he was safely gone. Be
sides, he had to know first.. .
“Charley?”
“yes?”
“This is Tanner Burke. Did you know that?”
“you did so i did.”
“How can it be that she's here? Does she know me?”
“doesn
y
t know jared baker.”
“Why was she in the park, Charley? And how did Abel
find her?”
”i don't knowwww.”
Charley lapsed into an irritating
singsong that he used when he chose to be vague. The voice
in Baker's head was softer than the other and higher pitched.
Childlike. Baker despised this one sometimes.
“You do know, Charley. And the other one back there, the
one called Jace. He knew me. He said my name. Who was
he, Charley?”
“ask abel”
“I’
m asking you, Charley. What has Abel done?”
“abel says go now. go to the hotel.”
“Answer me, Charley. I'll bring you out if you don't an
swer me.”
“you can't, she'll see.”
The woman coughed and one eyelid fluttered. It opened slightly and then closed again, but her breath was coming
deeper and faster. Baker waited until he could feel her body
start to tense against his and then he closed his hand firmly
over her mouth. Her eyes opened wide and she sucked in air
through his fingers.
“Don't scream,” he said as gently as he could manage.
“You're all right now but you can't scream.”
Her hands braced against him, fingernails biting, and her
eyes turned to his. They were wide with terror.
“Do you understand?” he asked, whispering. With his head, he gestured toward a deeper part of the park. “I'm
going to get you out of here. But you have to be quiet.”
She flicked her eyes in the direction and nodded quickly.
Baker drew back his hand but kept it hovered near her
mouth.
“Where are they?” she croaked, peering into the damp
blackness. Baker let his hand fall away.
“They can't hurt you. Do you think you can walk?”
”I think so.” She felt her legs as if to measure the strength
that remained in them. “Please, let's get out of here.”
“Fifth Avenue is right past those trees.” Baker pointed. ”I
stopped so you could ... pull yourself together first.” Baker
touched the bulging pocket of the jacket he'd made Abel
wrap around her. Abel would not have covered her. He
would have carried her into the street the way she was.
“Your things . . ” He faltered. “They're in that pocket.
They're torn but they might be better than ...”
Baker knew he was stammering. He was talking of cloth
ing recently torn from her body, and he was talking to a face that had grown to mean much to him. A shyness seized him.
She noticed. Or at least she sensed his discomfort and it
seemed to ease her own. The woman reached into Baker's
jacket and drew out the light, crumpled clothing. She fin
gered first the hooks of her bra. They were bent and twisted.
The thin shoulder straps had been sliced through with a
knife.
“The blouse isn't so bad,” he suggested. “It's just torn
near one button. I can walk back into the trees while you put it on.”