The Jack Frost Thrillers - Box Set Page 24

  Fred tottered slowly away. I patiently followed him, remaining a respectful distance behind to avoid running over the old fellow. Ripper started and stopped several times, looking up at me with a “What’s taking so long?” look on his face.

  “How’ve you been, Fred?” I said.

  He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “As good as an old man can be, I suppose,” he said with a little chuckle.

  As we approached the entrance to the living room, Fred stopped and turned to face me. He fixed his watery blue eyes on me, a serious look on his face. Then he reached out and touched my arm with a bony hand. “Mr. Frost . . . there’s something you should know . . .”

  “What, Fred? What should I know?”

  He hesitated, obviously having second thoughts. He shook his head, then looked down. “Well, on second thought it’s not for me to say, sir. You’ll see for yourself.”

  And with that he showed us into the living room, then turned and headed down the hallway again, leaving me wondering what the hell that was all about.

  Jilly’s study was just off the living room. He looked up as I entered, then got slowly to his feet, levering himself out of his easy chair with both hands. It was damn painful to watch, but I knew better than to offer to help him. He stood for a moment to get his breath, then walked toward me, his hand extended. “Jack, I’m glad you finally had sense enough to get out of Las Vegas, you crazy bastard.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, maybe I did push that a little.”

  Ripper flopped down in a corner, but he was fully alert.

  I looked over Jilly’s shoulder at Vi, who stood with her back to me. He followed my glance and tried to reach out to grab my arm as I walked around him, but he was too late. I softly called Vi’s name as I walked toward her.

  She turned slowly to face me. As I approached, I realized the look on her face was one of bewilderment . . . no, fear.

  Fear? I stopped in my tracks.

  “Hello,” she said timidly, looking up at me. She held out her hand. “Are you a friend of Jilly’s?”

  A cold, sick feeling flooded through me. For a moment I tried to convince myself that she was kidding . . . but I knew she wasn’t. I reached out and gently took her offered hand in mine.

  “Vi . . . it’s me. Jack.”

  She looked up at me, her beautiful seventy-year-old face pale and drawn. It finally dawned on me that Vi Evans truly had no idea who I was.

  “Vi,” I said again, softer this time. “It’s me, Jack Frost . . .”

  A flicker of recognition passed behind her eyes. Then she seemed to take a deep breath and a slow smile spread across her face as she exhaled.

  “Oh, Jack . . . it’s you. Yes . . . how lovely to see you again.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look at Jilly. He stood there, a stricken look on his face. He quickly turned away and painfully settled into his chair.

  I turned back to Vi and smiled down at her. She reached up and touched my face. “Have you seen Jonathan?” she said.

  I paused for a moment, struggling to find the right answer to give her about her dead son. Finally I said, “Yes, I have, Vi. He sends his love.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss him, Jack. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I know he’s busy with his job and all, but . . . I really miss him.” She began to wring her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  I touched her shoulder, then turned to face Jilly. As I did so, I glanced at Ripper, who was staring curiously at the grieving old woman.

  Jilly spoke softly, so Vi couldn’t hear. “It’s Alzheimer’s, Jack . . . Alzheimer’s . . .”

  I was stunned. Jilly . . . . how did this happen so fast?”

  “She’s been showing symptoms for the past three or four years. I think losing Jonathan somehow hurried it along. I’m just guessing, but . . .”

  “My God.” I sat down.

  Fred quietly entered the room, holding a tray bearing two mixed drinks—a tray that was trembling in the old fellow’s hands.

  “A Rusty Nail for you, Mr. Frost,” Fred said. He looked intently into my face. When he was assured that I was aware of what he had alluded to, he nodded almost imperceptibly. Then he handed Jilly a Scotch and water and turned and slowly made his way out of the room.

  Jilly let out a long, shuddering sigh. “It’s getting worse, Jack,” he said softly. He glanced at Vi to make sure she wasn’t listening to their conversation. I looked at her too, but she was somewhere else.

  “She still knows who I am, most of the time,” Jilly said, “but now and then she doesn’t. It’s gut-wrenching.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jilly.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “Fortunately I have the money to properly care for her—she won’t be going into any damn nursing home. She’ll be right here, in her own home until . . .”

  Jilly made a small sound and his eyes filled with tears. I looked down into my drink, not really knowing what to say.

  And then Ripper, that evil-tempered alcoholic Doberman—a dog who hates everyone and everything—did the most amazing thing. As Jilly and I watched, the big predator got to his feet and walked slowly toward Vi, who sat grief-stricken, still wringing her hands.

  When Ripper reached her, he laid his huge head in her lap. A moment or two went by before she looked down at him. Then a slow smile spread across her face. “Why, hello there . . . .” she said softly.

  Ripper never moved as Vi began to gently stroke his head. Then she paused, as if listening, and after another moment or two she said sadly, “I know . . . thank you so much . . .”

  It was too much for Jilly. He choked back a tortured sound in his throat and lunged to his feet, then walked out of the room, head down.

  I sat there, stunned, as I watched a giant Doberman and a broken old woman communicate somehow, each comforting the other in some unknown way. I tried to make sense of what I was witnessing.

  I found Jilly in his study.

  “Is there anything I can do, Jilly?”

  Jilly shook his head. “No, you just have to take care of yourself, Jack. I don’t want to lose you, too, and we both know there’s a pretty damn good chance of that happening.”

  “Maybe so. But I won’t go quietly.”

  With that, Jilly managed a weak smile. “I don’t imagine you will, but that won’t make me feel any better.”

  A small voice said, “Senor Evans . . . .”

  The young woman standing in the doorway held a baby . . . Felicia’s baby. I had brought him here after Felicia died, not knowing where else to take him.

  “Yes, Maria?” Jilly said gently.

  As she timidly entered the room, she stared up at me for a moment before she fixed her eyes on the huge Doberman standing next to me.

  “It’s okay, Maria,” Jilly said. “This is Jack Frost, a close friend of mine.” He looked up at me, “Jack, this is Maria Martinez . . . Felicia’s sister.”

  The sight of her took my breath away. My God. She looked so much like Felicia . . . .

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Maria,” I finally managed to say. “Your sister was a very special person.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting her voice, I suspect. Finally she said, “Gracias . . . thank you, Senor.”

  I stood there, staring down at the baby as memories flooded through me.

  “Maria lives with us now, Jack. She takes wonderful care of little Jonathan, but she’s going to have her hands full now that Vi . . . .”

  His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and touched Maria’s arm. “Maria, please let Vi see him before you put him down for his nap,” he said. Then he reached over and kissed the baby on the forehead.

  Maria nodded and gave me a small smile as she turned away. “Si, Senor Evans, I will.”

  After she left I turned to Jilly. “Well . . . I’ll be going now. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all . . . . ”

  Jilly nodded. “I’ll call y
ou. Thanks, Jack.”

  We shook hands. My old friend looked up at me for a moment. He swallowed hard, then said, “Ripper is special, Jack. You take care of that dog, you hear?”

  I nodded. “I will, Jilly. Believe me, I will.”

  Chapter 16

  I buckled my seatbelt and sat there in the Jag for a moment. It seemed chillier than when I had arrived just an hour ago. I thought about putting the top up, then decided against it. Maybe the cold air will clear my mind, numb the pain that the thought of Alzheimer’s had put there.

  Lives have changed, the lives of people I love and care about . . . and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  I started the engine, but before I pulled away I looked over at Ripper, sitting in the right bucket seat. I thought about what had just transpired in that house a short time ago. I’ll never forget it, and I’ll never say another bad thing about that dog.

  “I owe you, Ripper . . . . I owe you big time.”

  He looked at me as if he perfectly understood what I was saying. And at that moment, I chose to believe he did.

  * * *

  As I crossed the Washoe Flats on 395, on the outskirts of Carson City, I found myself wearing a grim smile, and I realized why. The prospect of protecting myself from a Syndicate killer was no longer my Number One concern. Hell, I’ll handle that, one way or another.

  But Jilly and Vi’s problem . . . well, that was another thing altogether. I had no control over that, and it haunted me, made me feel helpless, and that pissed me off.

  “Alzheimer’s . . . .” I said the dreaded word aloud. “Why her . . . why Vi?”

  I finally forced the ugly thought from my mind and decided to concentrate on something I did have control over—the Syndicate hit man.

  He has to find me, which I’m sure he already has, and he has to deal with me on my playground, not his. If Vegas oddsmakers were handicapping this “sporting” event, they’d probably make me a three-point favorite.

  But it’s not a sporting event. He can strike anytime, anywhere, and that evens the odds. Therefore, I imagine the Vegas oddsmakers would probably call it a “push” and move on to the next sporting event.

  A “push” I can live with. So come and get me, you bastard . . . and you’d better be good.

  Chapter 17

  The month of August came and went uneventfully. I really didn’t make any attempt to change my habits all that much. I still ran on the beach every day with Ripper, and I made it a point to drop by Jilly and Vi’s once a week or so.

  Vi didn’t seem to get any worse during that hot summer month, which was a relief. But I knew it was just a matter of time. Jilly was handling it fairly well, everything considered. He’s a tough old man. His rise through the Syndicate ranks as a hard young punk had been meteoric, and after he finally made it to the top, he stayed there for a very long time, until he decided he’d had enough.

  Jilly never shared the Feds’ views that what he did for a living was illegal. I remember him telling me, “Hell, it’s nothing compared to what those elected bastards do every single day,” and I couldn’t really disagree with his logic.

  Jilly had his own version of honor. He had no quarrel with the gambling and prostitution sides of the business, but he was hell on narcotics. He had run a “clean” operation, in his opinion, until the day he left. But now, just a few years after his retirement, things have changed radically, and Jilly knows it. He’s a realist, but he’s also philosophical, which comes with age. Now he just shakes his head and says, “I’m glad I’m not in the business anymore. It’s dirty now, not like the Good Old Days.”

  I guess we all have our version of the Good Old Days.

  * * *

  August turned into September, then October, and still no sign of Giovanni’s hit man. On a magnificent Saturday morning I stood on my deck looking out over the steel blue surface of Lake Tahoe, a cup of steaming coffee in my hand, just enjoying the view and the crisp fall air. Winter wasn’t far off; I could feel it in the air.

  I realized I was beyond bored. I had painted everything that needed painting (and some stuff that didn’t), and fixed everything that needed fixing. I had washed and waxed the Jag and Land Rover until they looked ready for a Concours d’ Elegance, and I had cleaned my little A-frame so many times it smelled and looked like an operating room.

  What else needs doing? There must be . . .

  Maybe Giovanni has decided to let me off the hook.

  The thought was there in my head, loud and clear. Instantly I was totally pissed at myself. “You idiot!” I said aloud. I turned and literally stomped into the A-frame, my mind racing. I just gave Giovanni exactly what he’s been hoping for!

  The passage of time does its thing, quietly and efficiently, and Giovanni knows it. Despite my best efforts, I had allowed myself to become complacent.

  I vowed it would not happen again.

  Still pissed at myself, I decided to grab some lunch at Humpty’s Dump, a newly-opened sports bar in Zephyr Cove. After that I thought maybe I’d head into Stateline to see if Dave Fabrizo is playing somewhere in town. He’s an old and trusted friend, and one helluva entertainer who has performed everywhere on the South Shore, and in Virginia City and Reno.

  Ripper climbed into the passenger seat of the Jag, and sat back, a happy dog indeed. As I drove away from the cabin, it occurred to me that I’d soon be getting the roadster ready for its winter hibernation. The Land Rover is far better suited for Lake Tahoe’s brutal snowstorms.

  I pulled into the parking lot in front of Humpty’s Dump. “Stay,” I said to Ripper. He gave me his usual “You think I have to be told that every time?” look.

  As I got out, I looked around warily, as I always do—old habits are hard to break, and this was one I didn’t want to break.

  The place was crowded. I waved at Sherry, the bartender, and received a blazing smile in return. “Hey Jack!” she said.

  I was about to sit down at a table when I heard my name called out, loud and clear.

  “Frost! My God, it’s you!”

  I turned just in time to see B.J. bearing down on me on a dead run. She jumped into my arms, carrying me back a step or two with her momentum as she wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. She gave me a huge hug, then kissed me hard, her laughter captured in her throat.

  Around me I could hear laughter as customers watched this beautiful black woman literally overwhelm me with her female heat.

  “B.J.!” I finally managed to say when she let me up for air. “What are you doing in Lake Tahoe?”

  She continued to ravish me for another minute or two, which I didn’t really mind, before she reluctantly unwrapped her legs from around my waist and stood on her tiptoes, her arms still around my neck. She gave me another huge kiss before she said anything.

  “Oh, Jack, it’s so good to see you!” she said with a laugh that showed off those beautiful white teeth. “So damn good!”

  “It’s good to see you, too, B.J.!” I said truthfully.

  “It’s my day off, so I thought I’d stop by and grab a sandwich! What a bonus, running into you!”

  “Your day off from what?” I said.

  “I just got a job dealing at Harrah’s. Things dried up in Vegas, Frost. I mean, it’s terrible! Everyone’s trying to figure how to escape, seriously! I remembered you telling me about how beautiful Tahoe was, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Well, I got lucky! I landed a job my first day in town. And Frost, you weren’t kidding about Tahoe—this place is heaven on earth!”

  “Mighty close, anyway,” I said. “C’mon, pretty lady, I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “I’ll let you!” she said with a joyous laugh.

  Minutes later we were seated at a corner table. B.J. sat enthralled as she stared through the windows at the snow-covered mountain tops across the lake.

  “Beautiful . . . just beautiful!” she said softly.

  “It is that,” I said. “It most certainly is.”

/>   She looked at me, then reached across the table and took my hand. “I missed you, Frost.”

  “Well, here I am,” I said with a smile. But she noticed that I didn’t say, “I miss you too.”

  She let go of my hand and sat back and gave me an honest, open look. “I scare you, don’t I.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course not; what do you mean by that?”

  She laughed. “You know damn what I mean, Frost. You’re no country bumpkin.” She sighed and leaned closer. “Jack . . . back in Vegas, when I told you I thought I was falling in love with you . . . that was just something that popped up in the heat of the moment. And, as I recall, there was a lot of heat at that moment.” She sat back in her chair and began to laugh.

  “Yeah, there sure was,” I said with a laugh. As I sat there, wondering what to say next, a smiling waitress walked up and took our order.

  We had a leisurely lunch and caught up on the news. She was still B.J., outgoing and funny. Once again I found myself captivated by this beautiful woman.

  “I’m glad you saved me, Frost,” she said, suddenly serious. “I had worked myself into a little financial mess, and life had gotten very hard. That affects the way you look at things, you know?”

  “And how’s your little financial mess now? Are you okay? If you need—”

  “—I’m fine, Frost, but thanks for the offer. I’m not in good shape, yet, but I can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I sold everything I could lay my hands on before I left Vegas. I’m free and clear and now I have a good job. Feels great!”

  “I’m happy for you, B.J.”

  She gave me a long, level look. “You really are a good man, Frost. You really are . . . .”

  “Ah, shucks,” I said with a laugh.