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3
Jack sat huddled under a blanket, fighting to keep his eyes open. Four-thirty-five and he felt miserable. Must have picked up a flu of some sort. Great time to get sick.
First he'd been wracked by chills, and just when he'd reached the point where he feared he'd never be warm again, he'd broken out in a drenching sweat, so profuse he'd had to snag a towel from the bathroom to dry off.
The aftermath was weakness and lethargy. Too weak to keep standing at the window, so he'd pulled up a chair. Down the street, to the left, his Viper-1 night goggles had spotted a Taurus pulling away at 3:20 or so, leaving a man standing in the deep shadows of the sidewalk. But even at maximum magnification he remained a featureless blur.
A Kozlowski blur, Jack was sure.
This was why he'd remained on watch: for a moment like this, to confront the bomb setter face to face.
Problem was he was in no shape to confront anyone. An arthritic old lady in a wheelchair would be a challenge right now. The Kozlows-kis would mop up the street with him.
All he could do was watch and wonder. He knew the man in the shadows was watching the apartment house door; but where had the car gone? What was the driver up to?
And then the Taurus was back.
Jack stiffened. When had that happened? He flipped up the night goggles and checked his watch: 4:50. Must have dozed off. Damn!
There, almost directly below, a man crossing the street, moving away. Getting into the driver side of the Taurus.
Jack's heart began hammering. Where'd he come from? Had he been in the building? Set another bomb, a bigger one, in the lobby maybe?
He watched the Taurus. It stayed put. Good sign. A bomb in the lobby big enough to kill the people in a third-floor apartment would take out half the block. But their car was parked in the blast zone.
That meant a smaller bomb, if any. But where?
He'd have to go down and check.
That was when the second bout of chills slammed him…
4
"What if the fucker sleeps till noon?" Joe said from the back seat where he'd stretched out.
Stan yawned. He still sat in the driver seat, eyes on the mirrors, mirrors on the Crown Vic.
"Then we get him at noon."
Long night. When was the last time they'd stayed out till sunup? The sky was brightening but the streets remained quiet. The city started moving a little later on Saturday mornings.
"Yeah, well, whenever it is, let's hope we have better luck with your rig than mine."
"We will, Joe. Because I stayed cool while I was making it. And I kept it simple."
Stan liked to call it the Kozlowski Kar Krusher. A quarter brick of C-4 sandwiched between a remote electronic detonator and an aluminum-insulated refrigerator magnet. He wasn't the first to rig one, he was sure, but he'd perfected it to the level of art.
Too bad it wasn't legal to sell them. He'd often imagined an infom-ercial for the Kozlowski Kar Krusher…
Got an a
boss who's on your ass all day? A wife who's taking you to the cleaners in divorce court? Sure you do!
And you probably thought you just had to put up with it, just had to grin and bear it, right?
Well, think again!
The Kozlowski Kar Krusher changes all that! It's so easy! And safe too! Reduce your problems to rubble in just three easy steps! Here's all you do:
First, identify the car of the one who's darkening your days.
Second, walk by the target car and stop to tie your shoe. While you're kneeling, simply slip the rig under the car and let the magnet attach itself to the frame. No need to get in the car or under the hood, no dicking around with ignition wires. Simply place the Kozlowski Kar Krusher under the driver side, the passenger side, the rear compartment, the gas tank: the choice is YOURS!
Third, just straighten up and walk on.
And that's IT! Blow the bastard or the bitch to hell whenever you want! What could be easier, or more fun?
But that's not all!
If you're dealing with a suspicious type who has a remote start on his car, or a cowardly type who sends someone else out to start it while he's safe in the house, no problem! The Kozlowski Kar Krusher has got you covered! YOU are in control. Just wait till the human blot on your existence is in the car, then press the red button on the Kozlowski Kar Krusher Remote Detonator (batteries not included) and BOOM! Bye-bye bitch! Bye-bye bastard!
But wait! There's more!
Why blow up the car in front of the target's house? Why be so ordinary? The Kozlowski Kar Krusher allows you artistic expression, lets you choose the venue of your enemy's demise! How does mid-span on the Brooklyn Bridge sound? Or right in front of City Hall? Or better yet, in your ex-girlfriend's driveway! With the Kozlowski Kar Krusher you don't simply eliminate the problem—you make a statement!
The Kozlowski Kar Krusher! Regularly $119.99, but now, for a limited time only, get two for $200!
Wouldn't that be something, Stan thought. Wouldn't that be a pisser.
He shook himself out of his reverie and checked the Crown Vic again in the mirror. He'd attached the rig under the driver side. When it went, the C-4 would shred the car and leave nothing recognizable of whoever was sitting inside.
Stan had decided to take no chances. As tempting as it would be to follow the guy around and wait till he was near a cop car before hitting the button, Stan knew getting cute could backfire. A traffic glitch could put the rig out of range of the detonator, or a stray transmission from a two-way radio on the wrong frequency could set it off when they were too close. Keep it simple, stupid, and blow the guy to hell right there in front of his own building.
He stiffened as he saw the apartment building's glass front door swing open. A man stepped out and leaned on the door as it closed behind him.
"Check this guy out," Stan said. "Is that our boy?"
Joe's head popped up, looking through the rear window. "That's him all right. That's the fucker. Looks like shit, though. Like he's been smokin' rock all night."
The guy did look a little wasted as he slumped there looking up and down the street. That was what had made Stan unsure about him a moment ago. Here was a guy who'd been moving like a cat yesterday, but this morning he looked like a tired old hound.
Stan glanced at his watch. "He's an early bird."
"Nah," Joe growled. "We're the birds. He's the fuckin' worm."
Stan pulled the remote trigger from his shirt pocket. It was shiny and black, the size of a cigarette pack. He extended the transmitter aerial but left the little hinged red metal guard in place over the button.
As he watched the guy step away from the building, digging in his pants pocket as he moved, Stan thought, Please be going for your car keys.
And he was. A keychain appeared in his hand; he selected one and stuck it into the lock.
"Gimme the button," Joe said, thrusting his good hand over the back of the front seat. "I gotta do this. I just gotta."
"Just wait a sec. We're in no hurry here. Plenty of time. He's ours when we want him."
"You think I don't fuckin' know that?" Joe said, voice rising. "Just gimme the button!" %
The guy had the door open and looked about to duck inside, but then Stan saw him step away from the car and go back to the apartment door.
"We missed him!" Joe shouted. He started pounding the seat back. "Shit!"
"Easy, Joe," Stan said as he looked around and spotted a young black woman striding their way along the sidewalk. Her route would bring her within a few feet of their car. He stuck the trigger back into his pocket. "Keep it down. We got company. We don't want nobody remembering us."