The Last Christmas: A Repairman Jack Novel Read online

  THE LAST CHRISTMAS

  A Repairman Jack Novel

  By F. Paul Wilson

  A Gordian Knot Production

  Gordian Knot is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Limited Edition published September 2019 by Gauntlet Press

  Crossroad Press Edition published November, 2019

  ISBN: ePub Digital Editon - 978-1-950565-66-5

  ISBN: Trade Hardcover - 978-1-950565-67-2

  ISBN: Trade Paperback - 978-1-950565-82-5

  Cover images from Adobe Stock

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  F. PAUL WILSON is an award-winning, bestselling author of sixty books and nearly one hundred short stories spanning science fiction, horror, adventure, medical thrillers, and virtually everything between.

  His novels The Keep, The Tomb, Harbingers, By the Sword, The Dark at the End, and Nightworld were New York Times Bestsellers. The Tomb received the 1984 Porgie Award from The West Coast Review of Books. Wheels Within Wheels won the first Prometheus Award, and Sims another; Healer and An Enemy of the State were elected to the Prometheus Hall of Fame. Dydeetown World was on the young adult recommended reading lists of the American Library Association and the New York Public Library, among others. His novella Aftershock won the Stoker Award. He was voted Grand Master by the World Horror Convention; he received the Lifetime Achievement Award from the Horror Writers of America, and the Thriller Lifetime Achievement Award from the editors of Romantic Times. He also received the prestigious San Diego Comic-Con Inkpot Award and is listed in the 50th anniversary edition of Who's Who in America.

  His short fiction has been collected in Soft & Others, The Barrens & Others, and Aftershock & Others. He has edited two anthologies: Freak Show and Diagnosis: Terminal plus (with Pierce Watters) the only complete collection of Henry Kuttner’s Hogben stories, The Hogben Chronicles.

  In 1983 Paramount rendered his novel The Keep into a visually striking but otherwise incomprehensible movie with screenplay and direction by Michael Mann.

  The Tomb has spent twenty-five years in development hell at Beacon Films.

  Dario Argento adapted his story “Pelts” for Masters of Horror.

  Over nine million copies of his books are in print in the US and his work has been translated into twenty-four languages. He also has written for the stage, screen, comics, and interactive media. Paul resides at the Jersey Shore and can be found on the Web at www.repairmanjack.com.

  Repairman Jack*

  The Tomb

  Legacies

  Conspiracies

  All the Rage

  Hosts

  The Haunted Air

  Gateways

  Crisscross

  Infernal

  Harbingers

  Bloodline

  By the Sword

  Ground Zero

  The Last Christmas

  Fatal Error

  The Dark at the End

  Nightworld

  Quick Fixes—Tales of Repairman Jack

  The Teen Trilogy*

  Jack: Secret Histories

  Jack: Secret Circles

  Jack: Secret Vengeance

  The Early Years Trilogy*

  Cold City

  Dark City

  Fear City

  The Adversary Cycle*

  The Keep

  The Tomb

  The Touch

  Reborn

  Reprisal

  Nightworld

  Omnibus Editions

  The Complete LaNague

  Calling Dr. Death (3 medical thrillers)

  Ephemerata

  Novellas

  The Peabody-Ozymandias Traveling Circus & Oddity Emporium*

  “Wardenclyffe”*

  “Signalz”*

  The LaNague Federation

  Healer

  Wheels Within Wheels

  An Enemy of the State

  Dydeetown World

  The Tery

  Other Novels

  Black Wind*

  Sibs*

  The Select

  Virgin

  Implant

  Deep as the Marrow

  Sims

  The Fifth Harmonic*

  Midnight Mass

  Collaborations

  Mirage (with Matthew J. Costello)

  Nightkill (with Steven Spruill)

  Masque (with Matthew J. Costello)

  Draculas (with Crouch, Killborn, Strand)

  The Proteus Cure (with Tracy L. Carbone)

  A Necessary End (with Sarah Pinborough)

  “Fix”* (with J. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson)

  The ICE Trilogy*

  Panacea

  The God Gene

  The Void Protocol

  The Nocturnia Chronicles

  (with Thomas F. Monteleone)

  Definitely Not Kansas

  Family Secrets

  The Silent Ones

  Short Fiction

  Soft & Others

  The Barrens and Others

  Aftershock and Others

  The Christmas Thingy

  Quick Fixes—Tales of Repairman Jack*

  Sex Slaves of the Dragon Tong

  Secret Stories

  Editor

  Freak Show

  Diagnosis: Terminal

  The Hogben Chronicles (with Pierce Watters)

  * see “The Secret History of the World”

  DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

  Visit the Crossroad site for information about all available products and its authors

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  We hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at [email protected] and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

  If you have a moment, the author would appreciate you taking the time to leave a review for this book at the retailer’s site where you purchased it.

  Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to my wife, Mary; Dannielle Romeo, and Elizabeth Monteleone. Also to all the good folks at Gauntlet Press and Crossroad Press.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I think a bit of orientation (or reorientation) might be in order.

  Nightworld hasn’t happened yet. What you’re about to read takes place in the December after Ground Zero and a couple of months before Fatal Error.

  The Compendium of Srem is still in Jack’s apartment; Weezy just moved out to her own place near W. 72 & Amsterdam and left the Compendium with Jack until she finishes repainting.

  The Lady, still weakened and stuck in old-woman form after Ground Zero, recuperates in an apartment in Glaeken’s building.

  Russ Tuit is still alive; Hank Thompson is st
ill kicking; Ernst Drexler is still plotting.

  It’s been just over a year since Jack’s dad’s death on December 7, and just under a year since his brother Tom disappeared on Christmas Eve.

  Table of Contents

  Friday—December 19

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  Saturday—December 20

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Sunday—December 21

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Monday—December 22

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Tuesday—December 23

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  Christmas Eve

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  The Secret History of the World

  Friday—December 19

  1

  Jack suppressed a groan as Edward Burkes appeared in Julio’s doorway.

  Not again.

  Burkes looked more like a bear than ever, but his brown hair and neat beard had gained a generous helping of salt since Jack first met him back in the early ’90s.

  Burkes and Julio arrived at Jack’s table together. Julio still sported the goatee he’d started in the summer.

  “Julio,” Jack said. “You remember Burkes, right?”

  Julio, short and muscular, maybe half Burkes’s size, scanned him up and down. The pair of them looked like a little organ grinder and his dancing grizzly.

  “Oh, yeah,” Julio said. “You used to come in here back in the day.”

  “‘The day’?”

  “Yeah. Right after I took over.”

  “Aye. Our mutual friend here introduced me to the place.” Burkes sounded more like Sean Connery than ever. “You had John Courage on draft, as I recall, and that kept me coming back for a while.”

  “Yeah. Can’t get that no more. You drinking someplace else?” Julio made it sound like a challenge.

  “I frequent a proper pub further downtown. They have Guinness. You don’t.”

  “Do now. Replaced the Courage.”

  Burkes slapped the table. “Now you’re talking! Be a good lad and draw us a couple of pints!”

  Jack held up his Yuengling. “I’m good.”

  “Got Murphy’s too,” Julio said.

  “Guinness it is, lad.” As Julio strutted away, Burkes glared at Jack’s glass. “What’s this pish you prefer to a free Guinness?”

  “America’s oldest brewery. Want to try?”

  “Wouldn’t touch a drop of it to me lips.”

  Jack liked Burkes. He had a presence that said everything was under control as long as he was here. His Scottish burr and jolly Burl Ives exterior hid a dangerous man. He’d come to see Burkes as the type who’d stand his ground when it made sense and get the hell out when it didn’t. But in retreat he’d be the last man onto the last helicopter leaving the roof.

  Burkes had been chief of security for the UK’s mission to the UN when they’d met. Still was. They’d butted heads during Jack’s early years in the city, but wound up working together trying to foil what became the first Trade Center bombing. They’d failed but remained in contact.

  In his position at the UK mission, Burkes sometimes came up against a situation he thought better handled by a local than a Brit. That was when he’d call on a freelancer like Jack.

  Burkes was looking around, taking in the place. “One thing I’ll say for Julio’s: It never changes. Still has those dead plants in the windows, still that eedjit sign.”

  He’d never appreciated Julio’s “Free Beer Tomorrow…” sign. Similar ones had popped up all over the city the past few years, but Jack couldn’t remember seeing one before Julio’s.

  “That’s its charm.”

  “And he still smells bad.”

  “His latest aftershave.”

  “Must he marinate in it? It’s honkin’.”

  “You tell him.”

  “What? And risk a jab in the nose? He’s got muscles on his muscles.”

  Yeah, Julio worked out a lot and liked to show off the results.

  “No worry. He’s a pussycat.”

  Julio returned then and placed a deep brown pint on the table.

  “Guinness for Shrek.”

  “Here now, laddie. Am I looking green to you?”

  But Julio was already moving away.

  Burkes held up the glass, admiring the perfect half inch of foam.

  “Knows how to pour a stout, I’ll give him that.” He held it higher. “Slàinte mhòr agad.”

  Jack clinked his glass against his. “Ditto.”

  Jack waited till Burkes finished a deep quaff and wiped his mustache, then leaned forward. “I’m guessing you didn’t ask to meet because Julio’s Guinness might be better than your pub’s.”

  “Nae danger. Might have some work for you.”

  Burkes didn’t call on Jack often—averaged once every year or so. But this was the third time this year.

  “Not interested.”

  “Again?”

  “Look, I barely survived the last referral I took from you.”

  Burkes looked surprised. “That Indian bloke? Bahkti, wasn’t it? Wanted you to find his mother’s necklace or summat, aye?”

  Right. Two and a half years ago. Sounded like an easy fix at the time but… Jack rubbed his shirt, fingering the three diagonal ridges of scar tissue across his chest where Scarlip had tried to rip him open…

  “It got complicated.”

  Burkes frowned. “Come to think of it, I never saw Bahkti again after that.” His eyes narrowed. “You two didn’t have a falling out, did you?”

  “‘Falling out’? What are you implying?”

  “Well, we both know you can be, shall we say, intemperate when provoked. And don’t y’be telling me otherwise. I’ve seen it.”

  Kusum Bahkti…the late Kusum Bahkti…Jack had been forced to fry him, but Burkes didn’t need to know that.

  Deflection time…

  “‘Intemperate’? Am I hearing correctly? The man who introduced me to that gentle flower of a woman, La Chirurgienne, is talking about intemperate?”

  Burkes laughed. “Forgot about that. Point taken. By the bye, I hear she’s semi-retired.”

  The scariest woman Jack had ever met. A Picasso of pain. What had she called herself? Right, a nociresearcher.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” Burkes said.

  “I repeat: Not interested.”

  “Working something else?”

  “Not working anything.”

  “Why not?”

  Jack shrugged to hide his discomfort. “Things been slow lately.”

  Burkes gave him a hard stare. “Slow
and yet you keep turning me down? What’s eatin’ you, lad?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “No, yer not.” His burr thickened. “Yer in some kinda funk.”

  “Funk? As in ‘smell bad’?”

  “No, y’eedjit. As in depressed.”

  “Depressed? Me? Hell no.”

  He wasn’t depressed. Other people got depressed. Not him.

  He didn’t want this conversation. He was fine. Really. He simply didn’t feel like doing fixes lately. Didn’t feel like doing much of anything lately. No biggie. Nothing to get worked up about. Just sitting and watching the wheels go ’round… wheels within wheels…

  “At least give me a listen and see what you think.”

  Burkes wasn’t going to be put off, it seemed. Oh, hell…

  “All right. Shoot.”

  “There’s a good lad. Now, last night I was approached by a pair of Americans who wanted to know if I could do—or arrange—a discreet search for a missing person here in the city.”

  Jack leaned back. “A pair of Americans? How weird is that?”

  “I know. Locals asking a foreigner to search for a missing local. Makes nae sense.”

  “Well, you’ve been in the city for a long time—longer than I have, as a matter of fact. And, let’s face it, you’ve been known to step off the reservation when the situation demands it.”

  Burkes looked uncomfortable. “That’s known only in certain circles.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why they don’t contact the boys in blue or a PI.”

  “I think the key here is the ‘discreet’ part. They were adamant about that. Did not want local authorities involved. Did not want local police resources accessed. And let’s face it, most PIs are either ex cops or have strong cop connections.”

  “So, they go to a guy who’s unconnected to local officialdom but who’s got his own police force. Makes a contorted sort of sense.”

  Burkes’s personnel at the mission included some hard-ass SAS vets.

  “To them, maybe. Not to me. If everything’s got to be oh-so secret, it won’t do to have my guys going around asking a lot of questions with their Glasgow burrs. It’s just asking to be noticed. And if there’s something minging on the end of their stick… well, I don’t want my guys getting the stink on them.”

  Jack had to laugh. “So, you thought of good ol’ Jack.”

  “Who better? I told them I know a guy who lives under the radar and hires out for this kind of thing for a living. He’s got no connection to the cops—in fact, he avoids cops at all cost—so they could count on him doing everything on the down low.”