Gateways. Part 3

"That's right. You don't travel. How about a gym bag or something along that line?"

"Yeah, but it's filled with tools." His kind of tools.

"Well, if it's not too dirty inside, empty it out and we'll see if it'll do the job."

Jack pulled the bag out of a closet and emptied its contents on the kitchen counter: gla.s.s cutter, suction cup, rubber mallet, pry bar, slim jim for car doors, lock picks, an a.s.sortment of screwdrivers and clamps in various sizes and configurations.

"What is all this?" Gia asked as she watched the growing pile.

"Tools of the trade, m'dear. Tools of the trade."

"If you're a burglar, maybe."

He wiped out the inside of the bag with a damp paper towel and handed it to her. "Will this do?"

It did. His wardrobe down south would consist of shorts, T-s.h.i.+rts, socks, and boxers. They managed to stuff it all into the bag.

"You're going to look wrinkled," she warned.

"I'm going to Florida, remember? Wrinkle City."

"Touche."

He hefted the bag. "Do I check this or will they let me carry it on board?"

"That looks plenty small enough for the overhead."

"Overhead...? Oh, right. I know what you mean."

She looked up at him. "When was the last time you were on a plane?"

Jack had to think about that. The answer was a little embarra.s.sing. "I think it was soph.o.m.ore year of college. Spring break in Lauderdale."

He barely remembered it. Seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way it was. A different life.

"Not once since?"

He shrugged. "No place I want to go."

She stared at him. "Is that the truth?"

"Of course. Anything I could ever want is right here in this city."

"You don't think the fact that flying is so much of a ha.s.sle, a risky risky ha.s.sle for you, has anything to do with it?" ha.s.sle for you, has anything to do with it?"

"Maybe some." Where was this going?

Gia slipped her arms around him and squeezed, pressing herself against him.

"Don't you see?" she said. "Don't you see? You've built this anonymous, autonomous life for yourself, but it's become a trap. Sure, no one knows you exist and you don't spend the first four or five months of every year working for the government like the rest of us, and that's great in its way, but it's also a trap. Everywhere you go you've got to pretend to be someone else and run the risk of being found out. I go anywhere I want without a second thought. If I go to an airport and someone scrutinizes my ID, I'm not worried. But you've got the anxiety that someone will spot a flaw."

She released him and fixed him with her blue stare.

"Who's freer, Jack? Really."

She didn't understand. Jack figured she'd never fully understand. But that was okay. It didn't make him love her any less, because he knew where she was coming from. She'd been on her own for years, a single mother trying to make a career for herself and a life for her child. She had responsibilities beyond herself. Her days, spent dealing with the nuts and bolts of everyday life, were hectic and exhausting enough without adding multiple layers of complexity.

"It's not subject to comparison, Gia. I've lived the way I felt I had to live. By my rules, my code. My not paying taxes has nothing to do with money, it has to do with life, and who owns mine, or who owns yours, or Vicky's, or anyone's."

"I understand that, and philosophically I'm with you all the way. But in the practical, workaday world, how does that work for a man with a family? 'Oh, I'm sorry, honey. Daddy's not traveling with us because he's using a false ident.i.ty and doesn't want us involved if he's picked up. But don't worry, he'll meet us there. I hope.' That's no way to bring up a child."

"We could all all have false ident.i.ties. We could be an under-the-radar family." He quickly held up his hands. "Only kidding." have false ident.i.ties. We could be an under-the-radar family." He quickly held up his hands. "Only kidding."

"I hope so. What a nightmare that would be."

This time he pulled her close. "I'm working on it, Gi. I'll find a way."

She kissed him. "I know you will. You're Repairman Jack. You can fix anything."

"I'm glad you think so."

But coming back from underground with his freedom intact...that was a tall order.

You'd better come through for me, Abe, he thought, because I've hit a wall.

He didn't want the ha.s.sle of parking at the airport so he called a cab to take him to LaGuardia. Since Gia lived in the shadow of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, a minimal detour would allow him to drop her off at home along the way.

"Be careful," she whispered after a long goodbye kiss. "Come back to me, and don't get into any trouble down there."

"I'm visiting my comatose father. How on earth could I possibly get into any trouble?"

8.

Jack reached the OmniShuttle Airways counter an hour before the next scheduled flight.

Before dropping Gia off, he'd had the cab take him over to Abe's where he left the package to be overnighted to his father's place. Abe used a small, exclusive, expensive s.h.i.+pping company that didn't ask questions. The cab ride had been uneventful, but it felt so odd to be moving about the city without a gun either tucked into the small of his back or strapped to his ankle. He didn't dare risk trying to sneak one onto the plane, though, even in checked luggage, now that they were x-raying every piece.

The ticket purchase went smoothly: A mocha-skinned woman with an indeterminate accent took the Tyleski Visa card and the Tyleski driver license, punched a lot of keys-an awful lot of keys-then handed them back along with a ticket and a boarding pa.s.s. Jack had chosen OmniShuttle because he didn't want any round-trip-ticket ha.s.sles. The airline sold one-way tickets without regard to Sat.u.r.day stayovers or any of that other nonsense: When you want to go, buy a ticket; when you want to come back, buy another.

Jack's kind of company.

He asked for an aisle seat but they were all already taken. But he did manage to snag an exit row, giving him more leg room.

He had some time so he treated himself to a container of coffee with a trendoid name like mocha-latte-java-kaka-kookoo or something like that; it tasted pretty good. He bought some gum and then, steeling himself, headed for the metal detectors with their attendant body inspectors.

He made sure to get on the end of the longest line, to give him a chance to see how they conducted the screening process. He noticed that a much higher percentage of the people who set off the metal alarm were taken aside for more thorough screening than the ones who didn't. Jack wanted to be in the latter category.

This is how a terrorist must feel, he realized. Standing on line, sweating, praying that no one sees through his bogus ident.i.ty. Except I'm not looking to hurt anyone. I'm just looking to get to Florida.

When it came his time, he placed his bag on the belt and watched as it was swallowed by the maw of the fluoroscope. Then it was his turn to step through the metal detector. He put his watch, change, and keys into a little bowl that was pa.s.sed around the detector, then stepped through.

His heart skipped a beat and jumped into high gear when a loud beep sounded. d.a.m.n!

"Sir, have you emptied your pockets?" said a busty bottle-blonde woman in a white s.h.i.+rt with epaulettes, a gold badge, and a name tag that read "Delores." She was armed with a metal detecting wand. A dozen feet behind her, two security guards stood with carbines slung over their shoulders.

"I thought I did. Let me check again." He patted his pants pockets front and rear but, except for his wallet, they were empty. He pulled out the wallet. "Could this be the culprit?"

She waved her wand past it without a beep. "No, sir. Step over here, please."

"What for?"

"I have to wand you."

When had "wand" become a verb?

"Is something wrong?"

"Probably just your belt buckle or jewelry. Stand here, back to the table. Good. Now spread your legs and raise your arms out from your body."

Jack a.s.sumed the position. The moisture deserting his mouth seemed to be migrating to his palms. She waved the wand up and down the inside and outside of his legs, then across his waist where she got a beep from his belt buckle-no problem-and then she started on his arms. Right one first-inside and outside, okay; then the left-outside okay, but a loud beep as the wand approached his armpit.

Oh s.h.i.+t, oh h.e.l.l, oh Christ. Abe you promised me, you swore to me the knife would pa.s.s the detectors. What's happening?

Without moving his head, Jack checked out the two security guards from the corner of his right eye. They looked bored, and certainly weren't paying attention to him. To his left a handful of unarmed security personnel were busy screening-wanding-other travelers. He could barrel past them and dash back out into the terminal, but where to go from there? His chances of escaping were nil, he knew, but he d.a.m.n well wasn't simply going to stand here and put his hands out for the cuffs. If they wanted him, they were going to have to catch him.

"Sir?"

"Hmmm? What?" Jack could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. Had she noticed?

"I said, do you have anything in your breast pocket?"

"My-?"

He jammed his hand into the pocket and came out with his package of Dentyne Ice. Gum in a blister pack...sealed with foil...

She ran her wand over it and was rewarded with a beep. She took the pack, opened it to make sure it was only gum, then dropped it on the table. The rest of the wanding was beepless.

The future that had been telescoping closed at warp-10 now opened wide again. Feeling as giddy as a man with a reprieve from death row, Jack retrieved his watch, keys, and chain, but he left the d.a.m.n gum. It had put him on a train to heart attack city. Let Delores have it.

As he hefted his gym bag strap onto his shoulder he fought an urge to ask Delores if she wanted to inspect that too. Inspect anything you want! The mad inspectee strikes again!

But he said nothing, contenting himself with a friendly nod as he started toward his gate. He reached it with just enough time to put in a quick to call Gia.

"I made it," he said when she answered. "I board the plane in a couple of minutes."

"Thank G.o.d! Now I won't have to figure out how to bake a cake with a file inside."

"Well, there's still the flight home."

"Let's not think about that yet. Call me when you've seen your father, and let me know how he is."

"Will do. Love ya."

"Love you too, Jack. Very much. Just be careful. Don't talk to strangers or go riding in strange cars, or take candy from-"

"Gotta run."

He wound up in a window seat in the left emergency row with the perfect traveling companion: The guy fell asleep before takeoff and didn't wake up until they were on the Miami tarmac. No small talk and Jack got to eat the guy's complimentary bag of peanuts.

The only glitch in the trip was a slight westward alteration of the usual flight path due to tropical storm Elvis. Elvis...when Jack had heard the name announced on TV the other night he'd done a double take that would have put Lou Costello to shame.

He wondered now if there'd ever been a tropical storm named Eliot. If so, had it been designated on the maps as T. S. Eliot?

Elvis was not expected to graduate to hurricane status, but was presently off the coast near Jacksonville, cruising landward and stirring things up, just as its namesake had in the fifties. Though the plane swung westward to avoid the turbulence, Jack could see the storm churning away to the east. From his high perch he looked out over the rugged terrain of cloud tops broken dramatically here and there by fluffy white b.u.t.tes from violent updrafts. Elvis was entering the building.

9.

"Don't let her bite me, Semelee!" Corley cried.

Semelee lifted the sh.e.l.ls away from her eyes and looked at Corley.

Corley's good eye, the one he could open, rolled in its socket under his bulging forehead as he looked up at her from where he stood waist deep in the lagoon. Normally at that spot in the lagoon the water'd be up to his neck. But with this drought...

Corley was hard on the eyes, that was for sure, but that made him good for beggin'. They'd take him to town, sit him in a shady spot on the sidewalk, put a beat-up old hat in front of him, and wait. That hat wouldn't stay empty for long. People'd take one look at that face and empty their pockets of all their spare change, even toss in a few bills now and then.

But Tuesdays weren't no good for beggin'-not as bad as Mondays, but bad. So Mondays and Tuesdays became fis.h.i.+n' days.

"Tell her not to bite!" Corley wailed.

"Hesh up and hold the net," Luke told him.

Semelee smiled as she watched the two clansmen from the deck of the second, smaller houseboat, the Horse-s.h.i.+p Horse-s.h.i.+p. They stood in the water beside the boat, each holdin' a four-foot pole with a net of half-inch nylon mesh stretched between them. Twisted trees with tortured trunks on the bank leaned over the water.