Free Repairman Jack [03]-Conspiracies by F. Paul Wilson Page B

about your father?"
    "My turn to say 'Stop.'"
    "Come on, now. I've never met him, but he can't be as bad as you make him out."
    "He's not bad, he's just relentless. And he cannot stay with me. You know what my place is like."
    Gia nodded. "Like the 168th Street Armory."
    "Right. I can't move all that stuff out. No place to stash it. And if he finds any of it—"
    "You mean like I did?"
    Jack nodded. "Yeah. And you know what happened."
    Gia and Jack hadn't been together that long then. He'd told her he was a security consultant. She'd been doing him a favor, a little spring cleaning, when she stumbled onto one of his caches—the one in the false rear of the antique secretary. It almost had broken them up. Even though they were back together now, tighter than ever, Jack still shuddered at how close he had come to losing Gia and Vicky. They were his anchors, his reality checks, the two most important people in the world.
    "He's an uptight middle class guy who already thinks his younger son is something of a loser; don't want him thinking he's a gun nut too. Or worse yet, figure out he's been lying to him all these years about being in the appliance repair business."
    Gia shook her head and smiled. "You're unbelievable, Jack. Here you've spent your whole adult life cutting yourself free from just about every string society attaches, and yet you still crave your father's approval."
    "I don't crave it," he said, perhaps, a tad too defensively, he realized. "It's just that he's a good man, a genuinely concerned parent, and it bugs me that he thinks I'm some sort of loser. Anybody else—present company excepted, of course—I wouldn't care. But dammit, he's my father. And I can't have him crashing with me."
    "Then you should simply say your place is too small and offer to put him up in a hotel for his stay."
    "I don't know if that's going to fly." Frustrated, he groaned and stared at the ceiling. "I'll think of something. I've got to."
    "Speaking of thinking," Gia said softly, "you might want to think about making some time in your busy schedule to stop by sometime late Friday morning."
    "I don't know, Gi. No telling what's going to be happening. What's up?"
    A tiny shrug. "Nothing much. It's just that Vicky's got a play date and she's being picked up at eleven—"
    "And we'll have the place to ourselves?"
    Those blue eyes locked onto his. "Completely."
    Jack grinned. Ooh, yes. "Something just opened up. See you one minute after eleven."
    He glanced over to the motorcycle and realized with a start that Vicky was no longer on it. He stiffened and scanned the dining area.
    "Relax," Gia said. "She's over there talking to those kids."
    Jack looked to where she was pointing and saw Vicky talking to a crowd of children about her age. They all had backpacks and were under the wings of a couple of matronly chaperones. As Jack watched, Vicky led one of the boys over.
    "Hey, Jack," she said, grinning. "His name's Jack too!"
    "Jacques," the boy said.
    "That's what I said. He's from France." She gestured to the group behind her. "They're all from France. They're visiting."
    "And where else would they come for fine American cuisine," Jack said. He extended his hand to the little boy and repeated his entire French vocabulary. " Bon-jour , Jacques."
    The kid beamed. " Bonjour , Monsieur!" and then went into overdrive Francais, incomprehensible to Jack.
    Gia answered him in kind and the two of them babbled back and forth for a couple of minutes until his chaperone called him back.
    Jack was amazed. "I didn't know you spoke French."
    "President of the French club in college."
    "It's so ... sexy. Will you speak French to me on Friday?"
    She smiled and patted his hand. "Easy, Gomez."
    "I had no idea."
    "Well, it's not like I have much chance to use it. French isn't a very useful language in Manhattan."
    "Jack;" Vicky said, "will you teach me to play baseball?"
    "Sure," Jack said. "But I've got to tell you, I wasn't a great player."
    "I just want to hit a