F. Paul Wilson - Repairman Jack 1 Legacies

Legacies

A Repairman Jack Novel

F. Paul Wilson

This is a work of fiction.

All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Copyright 2005 by F. Paul Wilson

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

A Forge Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com

Forge is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN-10: 0-812-57199-1

ISBN-13: 978-0812571998

For technical advice, many thanks to Simson Garfinkel, writer, commentator on the wired life, and honest-to-God, real-life building hacker (retired). Jack uses a variation on the Garfinkel Method of elevator surfing.

To my wife and first reader, Mary.

To Joe Bogdan, MD, and Daphne Keshishian, MD, for sharing their

experiences with pediatric AIDS.

To the WB store managers of District 1: remember September 26, 1996, in Albany? Pages 67-82 are for you.

And for their generous and expert editorial help: Elizabeth Monteleones sharp eye for character detail, Steven Spruils psychological insights, Deidre Lonzas copyediting skils and candy savvy, and Al Zuckerman, the maestro.

Authors Note

Jack is back.

Of al my seventeen novels, none has generated more mail than The Tomb. Its been in print since 1984, and I stil get a steady stream of letters asking the same question: When are you bringing back Repairman Jack?

The truth is, Ive brought him back half a dozen times in short stories and novelettes, and as a supporting character in Nightworld.

But never in another novel of his own.

Why no Repairman Jack novel since The Tomb? Lots of reasons. Prime among them is that Jack is very special to me. I didnt want to abuse him, so I held him back, letting him loose for a quick hit, then tucking him away again, waiting for the right set of circumstances where he could range free for an entire novel.

Legacies is that novel.

And the nicest thing is, I found I stil like working with Jack.

Were going to do this again sometime. But I promise not to wait another decade and a half before I get down to it. (Neither of us is getting any younger, you know.)

NB: There is no Center for Children with AIDS on Seventh Avenue near St. Vincents. I made it up. Tragicaly, I did not have to make up the kids who need such a facility.

FRIDAY

Its okay! Alicia shouted as the cab jerked to the left to swing around a NYNEX truck plodding up Madison Avenue. Im not in a rush!

The drivercurly dark hair, a Saddam Hussein mustache, and swarthy skindidnt seem to hear. He jogged his machine two lanes left, then three lanes right, hitting the brakes and gunning the engine, hitting and gunning, jerking Alicia back and forth, left and right in the rear seat, then swerving to avoid another yelow maniacmobile trying a similar move through the morning traffic.

Her cabs net gain: one car length. Maybe.

Alicia rapped on the smudged, scratched surface of the plastic divider. Slow down, dammit! I want to arrive in one piece.

But the driver ignored her. If anything, he upped his speed. He seemed to be engaged in a private war against every other car in Manhattan. And God help you if you were a pedestrian.

Alicia should have been used to this. Shed grown up in Manhattan. She hadnt been here for a while, though. Shed moved away at eighteen for colege and had stayed away for medical school and her residencies in pediatrics and infectious diseases. She hadnt wanted to come backwhat with that man and her half brother Thomas stil living herebut St. Vincents had made her the proverbial offer she couldnt refuse.

So now, after a little over a year, she was stil getting used to the citys changes. Whod have believed theyd be able to scour off the grim sleaziness that shed assumed to be permanently etched on Times Square?

Cabbies too. What had happened to them? Theyd always been pushy, brazen driversyou had to be to get around in this citybut this new crop were maniacs.

Finaly they hit the Forties.

Almost there, Alicia thought. Maybe Il live to see another sunset Almost there, Alicia thought. Maybe Il live to see another sunset after al.

But as they neared Forty-eighth she noticed her cab was stil in the center lane, accelerating. At first she thought he was going to miss her turn off, then she saw the opening: two lanes to the right, behind a graffiti-coated delivery truck and just ahead of a bus puling away from the curb.

Youre not! Alicia cried. Please tel me youre not going to try to

He did. And he made itjust barelybut not without forcing the bus to slam on its brakes and give him a deafening blast from its horn.

The cabbie floored it along the open stretch of Forty-eighth, then swerved violently rightward toward the curb. The cab jerked to a halt at the address Alicia had given him when shed slid into its rear seat down in Greenwich Vilage.

Six-seventy-five, he said.

Alicia sat there fuming, wishing she were strong enough to break through the partition and throttle him. She wasnt. But she could give him a taste of his own medicinein reverse.

Slowly, she inched toward the curbside door, opened it with the greatest of care, and edged herself out. Then she took out her walet and began to count her change carefuly. She had about two dolars worth. She picked out a dolar-seventy-five in dimes and nickels.

Come on, lady, the cabbie said, leaning over the passenger seat and looking up at her through the window. I havent got al day.

Alicia made no sign shed heard him as she slowly puled five singles from her walet, one at a time. Finaly, when she had exactly six-seventy-five in her hand, she handed it through the window.

And waited.

It didnt take longthree seconds, topsbefore the driver popped out his door and glared at her over the roof of his cab.

Ay! Where is tip? He pronounced it teep.

Pardon me? Alicia said sweetly. I cant hear you.

My tip, lady! Where is it?

Im sorry, she said, holding a hand to her ear. Your lips appear to be moving, but I cant hear a word youre saying.

Something about my slip?

My tip, goddammit! My tip! My tip! My fucking tip!

Did I enjoy my trip? she said, then let her voice go icy. On a scale of one to ten, I enjoyed it zero exactly the amount of your tip.

He made a move to come around the cab, probably figuring he could intimidate this slight, pale woman with the fine features and the glossy black hair, but Alicia held her ground. He gave her a venomous look and slipped back into his seat.

As she turned away, she heard the cabbie shout an inarticulate curse, slam his door, and burn rubber as he tore off.

Were even, she thought, her anger fading. But what an awful way to start a beautiful fal day.

She put it behind her. Shed been looking forward to this meeting with Leo Weinstein, and she wasnt going to let some crazy cabbie upset her.

At last shed found an attorney who wasnt afraid to tackle a big law firm. Al of the others shed triedthose in her limited price rangehad reacted with a little too much awe when theyd heard the name Hinchberger, Rainey & Guran. Not Weinstein. Hadnt fazed him in the least. Hed read through the wil and within a day came up with half a dozen suggestions he seemed to believe would put the big boys on the defensive.

Your father left you that house, hed said. No way they can keep it from you. Just leave it to me.

And so shed done just that. Now she was going to see what hed accomplished with the blizzard of paper hed fired at Hinchberger, Rainey & Guran.