Legacies

1.

Alicia stood uncertainly outside the bar, squinting in the late-morning glare as she peered through the streaked front window to see what it was like inside.

Was this it? Jack had told her the place was called "Julio's," and that was what the sign over the door said, but it looked so seedy. She'd expected some trendy Upper West Side watering hole, but the grubby-looking men pushing in and out of the door most definitely were not yuppies.

Alicia had wanted Jack to drop by her office as he had before, but he'd told her this time she'd have to come to his office. Okay. Fair enough. But who had an office in a workingman's bar?

And couldn't the owner maybe clean the front window once in a while? It was so smeared she could barely see through it. And what little she saw of the dark interior wasn't encouraging.

Mostly she saw plants—spider plants, asparagus ferns, wandering Jews—but they were all dead. Worse than dead. Way beyond dead. What few leaves still adhered to the stems were brown and curled and covered with a thick layer of dust. What was this—a mummy's idea of a fern bar?

All was dark as interstellar space beyond the desiccated plants. Not even stars glowing.

But this was the address he'd given her, and it was called Julio's…

Alicia stepped back and scanned the street. She'd taken a cab up so she hadn't had much opportunity to see if that gray sedan was following her again. She didn't see it on the street now. Maybe it was all in her mind.

And maybe she shouldn't even bother with this Jack. She didn't want to go through another explanation of the whole situation, tiptoeing among the details she could reveal and the ones she couldn't. And then face the questions… the inevitable questions.

Because to someone who didn't know what she knew, her actions appeared completely irrational. Thomas was the only other living person who had all the facts, and even he thought she was crazy.

She couldn't answer those questions. And so she had to settle for people thinking she was nuts.

Did she want to add Just Jack to that list?

Not really. But she had nowhere else to turn right now, and she had a feeling Just Jack was the sort who struck straight to the heart of a problem. She'd obtained a medical report on the thief who'd stolen the toys. The cops hadn't been exaggerating. He'd been thoroughly worked over… numerous fractures, countless contusions. Which told her that Just Jack was not adverse to the judicious application of force.

And after seeing what had happened to Leo Weinstein, that might be just what she needed.

But the possibility that she might be setting him up to end like poor Leo made her hesitate.

She'd looked for other options, but Just Jack seemed the best right now. She was sick to death of anything related to the will and the house, and yesterday she'd flashed on a way to clean up the whole mess. But it was not something a lawyer could handle. She was pretty sure it might be in Jack's line of work.

But did she have the guts to ask him?

Taking a deep breath, Alicia settled her nerves, pulled on the door handle, and stepped inside.

As she waited for her eyes to adjust, she heard the buzz of conversation wither and die… just like the plants in the window.

Slowly, the room came into focus. First, the TV screen, playing what looked like ESPN or one of its clones, then the neon beer signs—Bud, Rolling Rock, and Miller only, no Bass Ale or Zima here—glowing behind the bar, reflecting off the bottles lined up like wishes on the mirrored shelves. A sign over the bar, dark letters carved into light wood… FREE BEER TOMORROW…

And then the patrons, half a dozen grizzled men leaning against the bar, beers and boilermakers before them, all turned her way, staring.

What was this? A gay bar? Never seen a woman in here before?

"You here to see Jack, right?"

Alicia looked down at the short, heavily muscled Hispanic who'd materialized out of the dark. He had a pencil-line mustache and black, wavy, slicked-back hair. His voice was low, his dark eyes bright and active.

"Um, yes. He'd said he was going to be—"

"He's in the back. I'm Julio. Follow me."

Relieved, she followed the swaggering Julio past the bar and into the deeper shadows beyond. Conversation began to flow again as soon as she moved away. Once among the rear tables, she made out a form seated against the far wall. As the figure rose, she recognized Jack.

He extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Doctor."

Alicia's throat tightened as she thought of seeing that toy room full again yesterday. She clasped his hand between both of hers and held it.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said. "How to even begin to thank you for returning those gifts."

"No thanks necessary. I was hired to do a job, and I did it."

Somehow Alicia doubted that. No matter how offhanded his tone, she'd seen his eyes on Friday, and she knew what he'd done to that thief. Did a man simply "hired to do a job" wreak that kind of havoc?

He offered her coffee, which she refused. Julio refilled Jack's chipped white mug, then left them alone.

"Was everything there?" Jack said, sipping his black coffee.

Again, she noticed his long thumbnails. Maybe she'd ask him later why he didn't trim them short like the rest.

"As far as we can tell, yes. The staff is simply delirious with joy. They're calling it a Christmas miracle. So are the papers."

"I've seen them. Good. Then we can consider that matter closed. How's that little guy with the new haircut, by the way? The one who got sick right after I saw you?"

"Hector?" she said, surprised he remembered. "Hector's not doing too great."

"Aw, no. You're not going to tell me something awful, are you?"

He cares, she thought in wonder. He genuinely cares.

"His latest chest X ray shows pneumonia."

The lung infiltrates had formed a typical Pneumocystis pattern, and the gram stain had confirmed that as the infecting organism. No big surprise. Pneumocystis carinii loved AIDS patients.

Alicia had started him on IV Bactrim. He was supposed to have been on a prophylactic oral dose, but not all the foster parents were that religious about giving daily medication to seemingly well kids.

"He's going to be all right?"

"The medication he's on usually does the trick."

Usually.

"Anything I can do for him? Send him some balloons or a teddy bear or something?"

How about a mother or a father, or better yet, a new immune system? Alicia thought, but said, "That'd be great. He's got nothing. I'm sure he'll love anything."

"He's got nothing," Jack said, shaking his head and looking glum as he stared at his coffee.

When he looked up at her, Alicia knew he was struggling to find words to express the bleakness of the life he was trying to imagine.

Don't try to express it, she thought. You can't.

"I know," she told him.

He nodded. Then he sighed. "Your message said you had a personal matter you wanted to discuss."

Yes, she thought. Let's move on to something you can do something about.

"First, call me Alicia. And before we get down to business, I want to know about those dead plants in the window. What's the idea?"

Jack glanced over to the window. The dead stuff had been there so long he hardly noticed it anymore.

"Julio uses them as totems. To ward off evil spirits."

"You're kidding. What evil spirits?"

"The kind that order Chardonnay."

Her smile was crooked. "Oh, I get it. A macho bar… testosterone thick in the air."

Jack shrugged. "I can't speak for Julio. He likes a certain type of customer and tries to discourage others. But sometimes it backfires. Sometimes those plants actually attract the wrong type because they think the place is so 'authentic'… whatever that means. But let's get back to you."

She sighed, feeling the tension mount. Here we go.

"It's a long, complicated story, and I won't bother you with all the details. In a nutshell: A man named Ronald Clayton died in a plane crash two months ago and left every damn thing he owned to me."

"Who was he?"

"He fathered me."

"Your father? I'm sorry to hear—"

"Don't be. We shared some genes, and that was the extent of it. Anyway, when I got the call from the lawyer who's the executor of the estate, I told him I wasn't interested in that man's belongings or anything connected to him. Then he told me that I was sole heir."

Across the table, Jack raised his eyebrows. "Not your mother?"

"She died twenty-some years ago—and that you can be sorry about, if you wish."

Alicia barely remembered her mother. If only she hadn't died… things would have been so different…

"Well, anyway, I was shocked. I hadn't spoken to him in a dozen years. Hadn't even thought about him." Wouldn't allow myself. "I told the executor I wanted nothing to do with the damn house and hung up on him."

Jack remained silent. Still waiting for the "problem" part, Alicia figured.

Don't worry, she thought. It's coming.

"Next thing I know, my half brother Thomas is on the phone, and he's—"

"Wait," said Jack. "Half brother?"

"Right. Older by four years."

"Which half—the mother or the father?"

"Ronald Clayton is his father."

Jack cocked his head. "And he was left out in the cold."

"Right. Not a dime."

"Any other halves floating around the Clayton family?"

"No. Just Thomas. He's enough, thanks. So Thomas is on the phone saying that if I don't want the house, can he have it. I tell him no. I say I've changed my mind. I do want it. I tell him I'm going to donate it to the AIDS Center for use as a satellite facility. So forget about it."

"Got along with your brother about as well as your father, I take it?"

"Worse, if that's possible. The next day Thomas is back on the phone offering me two million for the house."

Jack's eyebrow's jumped. "Where is this place?"

"Murray Hill."

He smiled. "No kidding. That might be cheap for Murray Hill."

"It's a three-story brownstone. Worth every penny."

"So far, I don't see why you think you need me. Take the money and run."

Now came the touchy part. Now he'd start wondering why. But Alicia had evaded the hard questions—the impossible questions—with poor Leo Weinstein, and she could evade them with Jack.

"But I didn't. I turned him down."

"You knew the price would go up."

"No way. But it did. Thomas came back and offered me four million. And I gave him the same answer. And then he told me he was tired of bidding against himself and that I should 'name a fucking price'—his words—and I hung up on him."

"Turned him down again… sort of like winning the lottery and not cashing in your ticket, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. You see, Thomas hardly has a dime to his name."

Jack leaned forward and stared at her. Now he looked interested.

"You know that for sure?"

"I suspected it. I mean, he's been in a low-level research job at AT&T since he graduated college. Where would he get approval for a mortgage that size? So I checked him out: His credit rating is the pits, and he quit his job about the time he started calling me."

"So… a guy with no money and no job offers you four mil. I don't blame you for hanging up on him."

"No," Alicia said, "you don't understand. I think he does have the money—in cash."

"In cash?"

"That's what he offered me—said I can take it or he can donate it all to the charity of my choice. How do you explain that?"

"Either he's crazy or somebody's backing him."

"Exactly, but who? And why not approach me directly? Why go through Thomas?"

"Does it matter?" Jack said, leaning back again. "A valuable piece of real estate lands in your lap. You can either live in it or sell it. You don't need me, you need a tax attorney."

Alicia sensed him withdrawing, losing interest. She rushed forward with the rest of her story.

"But I can't live in it, and I can't sell it. When I turned him down, Thomas hired some high-priced attorneys to challenge the will. I can't take possession until this is resolved. They even got a court order to board up the place, so I can't even take a look around inside." Not that I'd ever want to.

"Why board it up?"

"Apparently it's been broken into since it's been empty. Thomas says he wants to protect what he expects to be his property once his challenge to the will is upheld. He's even hired a security firm to guard the property."

Jack smiled. "All this from a guy with no income. Your half brother is very resourceful."

"That's not the word I'd use for Thomas."

"Still, you don't need me—you need a lawyer." Alicia bit her lip. No, she needed Jack for what she wanted. But how would he react when she asked?

Sometimes it's good to deviate from routine, Jack thought, trying to look interested. And sometimes it isn't.

This meeting, never would have happened if he'd followed his usual MO. He always talked to prospective customers before setting up a face-to-face. That way he avoided the Dr. Claytons of the city—people with problems that could be remedied by more orthodox methods.

But because he'd already met Alicia, he'd set up the meeting without the usual preliminaries.

Not a complete waste of time, he thought, but pretty damn close. The only thing that saved it was the good doctor herself.

Something about Alicia Clayton intrigued him. He met lots of people with secrets. Virtually all of his customers were hiding something. He was used to not hearing the whole story on the first pass. And he'd become adept at spotting the holes. He couldn't tell what they'd skipped, but he knew when they were holding back.

Alicia Clayton was different. He couldn't get a read on her. Either she was hiding nothing, or she was so good at hiding that she could hide everything, even the fact that she was hiding something.

Jack chose the latter. Because looking at her sitting here across the table from him, he sensed that she had a good figure under that coat and bulky cable-knit sweater, but she was hiding it. In fact, she could have been a striking woman with those fine features and dark, dark hair. Attractive in a steely way. But she chose not to be. She chose to downplay her looks. Hide them.

Well, how he looked was her call. And she wasn't exactly in the glamour business.

Didn't pay to read too much into these things, he supposed.

But she was so utterly composed. Too composed. Almost… wooden.

What else was she hiding? This woman wasn't just locked down tight, she was hermetically sealed. And that took practice. Many years of practice.

All of which intrigued him. Who was this woman who seemed to want to hide everything!

But he knew he was unlikely to pop any of her seals this morning. So he was looking for a way to bring this little tete-a-tete to a close when she leaned forward.

"I had a lawyer," Alicia said. "Until Friday when he was murdered."

Jack smiled. Lawyers who did wills and such didn't get murdered. "You mean 'killed,' don't you?"

"No. I mean murdered. Can you think of a circumstance when a car bomb is anything but murder?"

Jack straightened in his seat. The story had been all over the radio and TV.

"That car explosion in Midtown?" he said. "He was your lawyer?"

Alicia nodded. "We were supposed to meet that morning. I guess someone didn't want him to make it."

Uh-oh. Did he detect a little paranoia here?

"What makes you think you're the reason he was killed? I read they found some cocaine in what was left of his glove compartment."

"I see lots of coke users," she said. Her face remained a mask, but Jack noticed her right hand clenching into a fist. "Most of the parents of my babies are drug abusers. Drugs are how they got the virus that they passed on to their kids. I didn't see any signs of that in Leo Weinstein."

She leaned back and seemed to relax—with an effort, Jack thought.

"Of, course, I could be wrong. But Leo's isn't the first violent death connected with this will."

Jack found himself leaning forward. "Another lawyer?"

Alicia shook her head. "No. When I came to the obvious conclusion that someone was bankrolling Thomas, I wanted to find out who. I hired a private investigator—you know, to follow him, find out who he meets with, the TV detective kind of stuff. I didn't know what I was going to do with the information, but all this mystery and subterfuge was bugging me. I mean, if someone wants that man's house so badly, why not approach me directly? Why go through Thomas?"

"And what did you learn?"

"Nothing." Her steel-gray eyes bore into him. "One night, about two weeks after I hired him, the investigator was killed while crossing East Seventy-fifth Street. Hit-and-run."

Jack drummed his fingers on the table's ringed surface. Okay, so maybe she's not paranoid. Could be coincidence, but if you hire two people to look into a problem and both of them wind up dead, who can blame you if you suspect a connection?

Obviously someone who wished to be anonymous wanted the Clayton house. Wanted it bad. They'd made a "name-your-price" offer, and when that was turned down, they went to court.

But it was one hell of a leap from there to say that they were killing anyone who stood in their way. Besides…

"Okay. Two people you hired to help you are dead. Maybe there's a connection. But think about it: If someone is eliminating people who get between them and this house, why haven't they removed the biggest stumbling block—you?"

"Don't think that hasn't kept me up nights since Friday. I don't know anything about the will. I didn't attend the reading. And when I hired Leo—the attorney who was murdered—I simply had a copy sent from the executor's office to his. So I've never seen the damn thing. But that's going to change. I'm going to get a copy for myself and see what the terms are. I do remember Leo saying something about the will being 'rather unusual.'"

A question hit him. "Did you ever live there? In the house?"

She didn't move, but Jack had a feeling that Alicia had receded to the other side of Julio's.

"Till I was eighteen. Why?"

He shrugged. "Just curious. I still don't know what you want me to do. I don't do bodyguard work, so—"

"I want you to burn the place down."

Jack stared at her, trying to hide his shock. Not at the request itself—lots of people had come to him over the years looking for a torch job—but at the unexpectedness of it. He hadn't seen this one coming.

He made a show of cleaning out one of his ears. "I'm sorry. I thought you just said you wanted to burn down a house for which you've already been offered four million dollars."

"I did."

"Can I ask you why?"

"No."

"You're going to have to give me some kind of explanation."

Alicia shifted in her seat. "Why should you care?"

"It's the way I work."

She sighed. "All right. Maybe I'm just tired. I may be a doctor, but I don't make a lot of money. I could be making more in private practice, but the Center is what I want to do. Whatever I've managed to save after living expenses and paying back my education loans,—and believe me, I've got six figures worth of those—went to retainers for the investigator and the lawyer. I'm just about tapped out, Jack. I don't want to start all over again with a new lawyer. And frankly, I'm a little scared. I just want this over with."

Scared? Jack had a hard time buying this woman as scared. He had a feeling she didn't run from anything.

"But the solution to all your financial problems can be solved by a simple telephone call to your brother."

"Half brother. But I don't want to sell to Thomas. And he's preventing me from selling to anyone else."

Jack was baffled. "But if, as you say, you don't want the house and don't care about it, why not sell it to him?"

Alicia's eyes were suddenly ablaze as she spoke through her teeth.

"Because… he … wants it!"

And just as suddenly the fire was gone.

"And you don't get any explanation for that," she said evenly.

Jack leaned back and studied her. Where did he go from here? His instincts told him that here was a lady with a few buttons missing from her remote control, that he should make a beeline for the door and not look back.

Good advice. She'd already told him she was almost tapped out, so no way she could pay his fee. That meant there was nothing in this for him but trouble.

Easy to get out of it. Just tell her arson wasn't his thing—the truth—and that would be that.

So why wasn't he saying it? Why hadn't he said it when she'd first mentioned torching her dead father's house?

Because…

Truth was, he didn't have a good because, other than the fact that he was intrigued by Alicia and fascinated with the scenario she'd laid out. This lady was turning down a fortune to keep a house that had belonged to a man she wouldn't call "father" out of the hands of a half brother she hated. What was it with the place? Had something happened to her there?

Things were slow and Jack's curiosity was piqued.

"Okay. Here's what I can do. I can't promise you anything now. The best I can do is tell you I'll think about it. I'll have to check out a few things before I decide."

"What's to decide?" she said, a note of irritation creeping into her voice. "Either you will or you won't. You didn't have to check out anything with the toys."

"That was a different story. Getting something back is a little bit different from burning something to the ground, don't you think? You're talking about a major fire in mid-town Manhattan."

Jack watched her face as she paused. Obviously she thought he'd simply negotiate a fee and go do the job. But her face gave nothing away… until she sort of smiled. Sort of because it didn't quite make it to her eyes.

"Oh, I get it," she said finally. "You need to check me out."

"That's part of it. My gut says to believe you, but I've had some truly excellent storytellers try to hire me from time to time in the past."

She nodded. "For all you know, the house belongs to an ex-lover who two-timed me and I'm looking to get even."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

She gathered up her bag and rose. "Well, I can tell you this, Mr. Just Jack," she said coolly, "I don't have a lover. And I don't lie. You do what 'research' you feel you must and get back to me if and when you're satisfied. In the meantime, I'll be researching other options." Another sort of smile as she turned. "Thanks for meeting with me."

Jack whistled softly through his teeth as he watched her go. That lady was all steel inside.