“The man with the red hat. Denny Colt…”
“All these ‘Colts’ — it’s bound to become way-out confusing, don’t you think? Anyhow, he and his partners will be the first of many. I have other guests lined up on the agenda, all of whom you’ll have to entertain — or Blandos will die. I rather dig the arrangement. Now, would you two like a drink, or prefer to play indignant and leave? I’m a busy man.”
“We’re going to defend Heropa,” Jack said, “and I’m going to kick your arse.”
Wright looked at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows, pointing the gun in the Equalizer’s direction.
“Good luck with that fool’s assignment, lover-boy. Now beat it, or I’ll place a bullet in your belfry. Hail HYDRA!”
Just as the man clucked away at his lame gag, he accidentally inhaled cigar smoke, and then stooped over to cough.
Despite the existence of these duplicates — who could lurk anywhere nearby, likely also armed — Jack was about to make a move, when Wright sat up straight, rubbing his chest, the gun again pointed in the direction of his two visitors.
“By the way,” Wright said, “give my best to Mitzi. Oh, wait, I believe that’s already being taken care of. Can you give her this?”
Tarpé Mills flew across the space and landed in Jack’s right hand.
Her eyes had been gouged out.
#165
No one was home when Jack banged on the door — or else Louise had taken to avoiding him. But he had seen the lights were all off from out on the street when arriving in Gypsie-Ann’s car. Since the security entrance had been open, they’d been able to head straight upstairs.
Beside him on the doormat, the reporter produced a hairpin.
“I think, in this situation, we’re allowed to pry,” she announced.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Both were startled by this comment, coming as it did from the very next doorway along. Louise’s neighbour ‘Handsome’ Harry Phillips stood there in his purple satin dressing robe, puffing on a cheroot.
“Mister Phillips.”
“Louise’s friend,” the man nodded back.
“Do you know where she is?”
“Kid isn’t home. Saw her come and go earlier this evening — I’d say she was headed for City Hall.”
“Cheers.” Jack decided on the spot to broach something troubling him. “Not that we don’t appreciate it, but why’re you being helpful?”
“One gets to recognize the signs. I have eyes. Can see Louise likes you and know when I’m licked. Aside from that, she looked upset — crapper chat, who wouldn’t be in the circumstances? Her world is gone to hell, with the old man being locked up.” Phillips studied the stains on Jack’s shirt collar. “By the way, what happened? Looks like you’ve been in a warzone.”
“Kind of.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d invest in a change of wardrobe. Nothing like carnage to turn off a lady.”
Jack nodded, before hobbling down stairs with Gypsie-Ann. His leg was cramping and it felt like the improvised bandage was soaked through, but he didn’t have time to get the thing redecorated.
“What a honey,” the reporter muttered, her cheeks an unfamiliar pink.
“One more thing,” Harry called over the banister above. “I have to say — Louise accepted a lift from a pretty dodgy-looking chap.”
Jack froze. “What? When?”
“When she left here. Out the front.”
“Taxi driver?”
“Didn’t seem that way. Drove a yellow Plymouth, though, so maybe it was unmarked. I think it was a ’38, registration BBP589, and one other thing — he wore a particularly tasteless red hat. Good night.” Harry’s door slammed.
At the same time, Jack had entirely stopped breathing for several seconds, and then he fell down onto a step. Turning straight back, Gypsie-Ann crouched before him.
“The guy in the rouge feutre you were telling me about?”
Panting now, trying desperately not to panic, Jack thought about all the angles this might not be — but kept returning to the one it probably was. “Maybe, if you’re talking up the man in the red hat.” He swallowed hard. “Likely. Too much of a—”
“Coincidence?”
“Yeah.”
So wrapped up in heroics that Jack hadn’t done what he’d promised the Professor — look after Louise. Too scared anyway to talk to her after the fight. Jack knew he would live with both failings, and the personal inadequacy, the rest of his years.
“God. Then they have her.”
“Who’re they?”