Free Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts by F. Paul Wilson Page B

your curve."
    "You're not going to let this drop, are you?'
    "Not until you tell me."
    "Okay. Let me ask you a couple of questions first. You can have love without sex, and sex without love, agreed?"
    "Of course."
    "What if you had to choose between them? What if you had to live the rest of your life with either no sex or no love? And by no love I mean loving no one and no one loving you. Which would you give up?"
    Kate barely hesitated. "Sex."
    "There you go. That's normal."
    "That's it? That's your sole criterion for normal?"
    "Not mine—yours."
    "I never said it was mine."
    "You chose love over sex, and the very fact that love is your choice makes it normal, because you're one of the most decent, honest, normal people I've ever known."
    "That's not just circular reasoning—it's spherical."
    "Works for me, Mrs. Wife-mother-pediatrician."
    "Ex-wife."
    "Which is probably even more the norm these days. Hey, if I'm wrong, prove it."
    Kate opened her mouth, looked as if she was about to say something, then closed it again. She glanced at her watch.
    "I've got to go."
    "But what about your friend and the cult?"
    "I'll work something out."
    She seemed afraid. Of what? What was she hiding?
    "Is your friend into something illegal?" He couldn't believe Kate would be involved with someone who was but… you never knew. "Because that's okay. Most of the people I know—"
    "No-no, nothing like that. She's recovering from cancer therapy and she's acting strangely. It's more psychological than anything else."
    "Some of these cults can play rough if you interfere."
    "It's nothing like that, Jackie… Jack. Really. I was upset when I called; now I think I was overreacting. I don't think I need to get you involved."
    "Involve me," he said. "I'm here for you." Before she could put him off again, he grabbed a cocktail napkin and said, "Got a pen?"
    "I think so." She fished one out of her shoulder bag and handed it to him.
    "I'm putting down my number and the numbers of two people I've worked for recently—both women and, coincidentally, both doctors.
    Before you write me off, you call them and see what they say. If you still don't want my help, I won't like it, but at least it'll be an informed decision."
    She took the napkin but didn't promise to make the calls.
    "Come on," Jack said. "I'll walk you home."
    "I'm practically there already."
    "Little brother does not let big sister walk the mean streets alone at night."
    "Jack—"
    "I can walk beside you or six feet behind you, but you might as well resign yourself to the fact that I'm seeing you safe home."
    Kate sighed, then smiled thinly. "Let's go then."
    Out on Seventh they walked and talked about getting together again during her stay in the city and keeping in touch afterward until a neon sign down one of the streets caught Jack's eye: FYNYL VYNYL. He thought he knew all the used record shops in the city but this was a new one. Almost 1 A.M. and it was still open. He couldn't pass this up.
    "Mind if we stop in here for a sec?" he said.
    "Not at all."
    Inside, a guy with a shaved head and huge muttonchop sideburns looked up from behind the counter as they entered. "We're closing in about fifteen minutes."
    "We'll only need one of those if you really know your stock," Jack told him.
    "What I don't remember, this baby does," he said, patting the Mac to his left.
    "Great. It's a single from 1971. A&M Records. 'Tried So Hard' by the Flying Burrito Brothers."
    The guy snorted. "Yeah, right. The Dutch 45? I've got a waiting list for that one. Still haven't seen a copy."
    Jack waved and turned back toward the door. "Thanks anyway."
    "Flying Burrito Brothers?" Kate said as they returned to the sidewalk. "They're from my time. How'd you get interested in them?"
    "You."
    "Me?"
    "Sure. You had all those Byrds albums."
    "Oh, right. Back when I was horse crazy. They did that song 'Chest-nut Mare' and that got me into them and buying up all their old records. But how—?"
    "You played their stuff so