Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross Read Online Free PDF Page A

before, who's made a career out of blackmail."
    Maggie looked frightened. "But how did he get those pictures of me and…?"
    And who? Jack wondered. Male or female?
    He had a pretty good idea of how it had gone down. Cordova's legit grind was private investigations. Someone hired him for a job that had put him in Maggie's orbit. The shitbum spotted something hinky, took a few pictures, and now was using them to supplement his income.
    "Bad luck. The wrong guy in the wrong place at the wrong time."
    She leaned forward. "I want his name."
    "Better you don't know. It can't do you any good. Might even buy you some trouble." He looked at her. "I mean it."
    "Yes, but—"
    "You believe in the soul, I assume?"
    "Of course."
    "This guy's is a petri dish."
    She slumped again. "This is terrible."
    "Not really. Granted you've got a better chance of goof-ups if you're on the string to an amateur than a pro, but I've already dealt with this particular pro. I know where he lives and where he works. I'll get your photos back."
    She brightened. "You will?"
    "Well, maybe I shouldn't guarantee anything, but we've gone from Stage One to Stage Two in a matter of minutes. That's a record. We still have to send him that money though."
    "Why? I thought that was to trace him. If you already know wüo he is—"
    "There's a reason we're shorting him. I want to rattle his cage, make him get in touch with you. When he calls, you've got to cry poverty—"
    She barked a bitter little laugh. "It won't be an act, I can tell you that."
    "Be convincing. What that does is set the stage for your sending him no more money when and if I retrieve your photos. You simply haven't got it. Remember, he's got a lot invested in his blackmail assets. We don't want him connecting you to losing them. No telling what he'll do."
    Instead of looking concerned, Maggie smiled as if a terrible burden had been lifted.
    "This is going to work, isn't it," she said.
    "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
    "No, it is. I can feel it. God turned away from me for a while—not without good reason—but now I see His hand again in my life. He led me to you, to someone who has already dealt with my tormentor. That can't be just a coincidence."
    Coincidence…
    Jack felt his shoulders tighten. He hated coincidences.

6

    Jack watched Maggie leave, nimbly sliding past Patsy as she gave him the brush.
    Months ago a lady—a Russian lady with a big white dog—had told him there'd be no more coincidences in his life. He'd seen no hard evidence yet that she'd been right, but certain incidents that he might otherwise consider happenstance seemed to form a pattern when he looked for one. True, you could always find connections if you looked hard enough and stretched the imagination. That was how conspiracy theories were born.
    But Maggie had it right: Her picking him to help her with Cordova seemed like a hell of a coincidence. On the other hand, Cordova did a lot of blackmailing. It wasn't impossible that two of his victims—Emil Jankowski in September and Maggie here at the tail end of October—would call on Jack. Not too much competition in the fix-it field.
    Still…
    He popped out of his seat and headed for the door, waving to Julio as he passed the bar.
    Out on the street he peered up and down the sidewalk until he spotted Maggie's blue knit hat bouncing away to his right. He took off after her, keeping his distance. He hoped she'd snag a cab but no, she bounded down the steps of a subway entrance.
    Damn. Following her on a Sunday wouldn't be easy. No crowds to hide in. With a mental shrug he headed down. The worst that could happen was she'd spot him and he'd have to ad lib an explanation.
    He hung back on the stairs till he saw her head for the downtown side. When she hopped on an A train he slipped into the following car and positioned himself where he could watch her through the glass. She pulled a book from her bag but didn't open it. She stared at the floor, looking lost, as if the