Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2)

by J. Gregory Smith

  Chapter 25

  Scorpio Photography Studios : Two days later

  The sound of one of the burner phones ringing was a welcome break from watching Rollie and Tom try to cheat each other in cards and argue whether to listen to Sinatra or Arabic rap.

  It was VP calling and I left the room grateful for such spacious exile quarters. “What’cha got?”

  “Hey. Not sure. There’s a guy in front of Rollie’s place.” She was monitoring the cameras she’d installed to watch the front of the house.

  It was late morning and sunny out. “Early for the mail.”

  “No delivery. The guy is big, wearing a knit cap and a windbreaker. When he rang the doorbell, I could see he was wearing gloves.”

  “Jehovah’s Witness?” I joked, but my heart was speeding up. VP had good instincts.

  “The body type is all wrong for the hulking one of your dudes. This one is big, like an old football player, you know, with a gut. I think I can see some gray hair.”

  I thought about anyone else who I might not have warned away from the place and immediately thought about Ross, the guy from the liquor store. He should have enough medicine for his sister now, but maybe he had another sister. No, nobody’d mistake him for an athlete.

  “Shit,” VP said. “I knew he wasn’t right.”

  “What?”

  “He just peeked in the window, like he wanted to see if anyone was coming, then looked around, and now he’s going around the side toward the backyard.”

  “Can you follow him?”

  “Lemmie switch to the one in the back yard,” she said. “Got him. He’s creeping to the back door. Whoa, there’s another one following him.”

  I felt my stomach drop. “Can you make out guy number two?”

  “No, he’s got a hoodie on. First guy is busy crouched by the door. Gotta be picking the lock.”

  “Do they look like they’re working together?” Grist was too lean to be one of this pair. Maybe another team member?

  “Can’t tell yet. The guy at the back door can’t see Hoodie. I’m on split screen now. Hoodie is taking his time reaching into his pocket and …”

  “And what?”

  “Son of a bitch! Just lost the camera in the back. I think Hoodie might have shot it with something.”

  “Seriously? Can you still see the front?” I wondered if the whole feed had gone offline.

  “Front is fine, and that’s weird. A pedestrian is strolling by, not acting like a gun went off.” The cameras were video only, no audio.

  “Maybe a suppressor? Are you sure it was destroyed?” By now Rollie and Tom had overheard snippets of my side of the conversation and were now standing in front of me. I almost put VP on speaker but remembered Tom didn’t know anything about who she was. That was her decision, if she wanted to let him in.

  “I’m sure. It was fine one second and Hoodie raised something from his pocket and the next moment it was out.”

  “They could still be working together. Can you still see Hoodie?”

  “No, he ran around the corner of the house to the backyard.”

  “Ran?”

  “Yeah and he’s built like a linebacker, and not an old one. It could be one of your dudes, Mauser was the big one, right?”

  “Yeah. But you said the other one is older and dumpy?” That didn’t sound like Grist.

  “Like he was buff back in the sixties … oh crap. They’re definitely not working together.”

  “How do you know?” I said, but VP talked over me.

  “Dumpy is walking back around the corner and Hoodie is directly behind him, like ‘stick ’em up’ close. Dumpy looks like he might puke.”

  “What about Hoodie?”

  “He’s got a facemask on and is keeping his head down. But he’s large and in charge here, and he’s walking Dumpy across the street. They’ll be out of camera view soon.”

  “You recording this?” I didn’t know what else to ask.

  “Oh yeah. The back-door stuff as well.”

  * * *

  While we waited for VP to check her video recording, Tom, Rollie and I tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  “The important thing is now we know for sure those knobs are following through on their intention to nick our shipment.” Tom paced up and down the center of what used to be the main chapel of the church.

  “I want to know who that was trying to bust into my place,” Rollie said. I could tell he was fighting the urge to go back and investigate, even though this was exactly the reason we’d bugged out in the first place.

  But I was struggling with the same impulse.

  “The way Mauser went after him means he wasn’t part of their crew. They were right on top of your house, weren’t they?” I said. “When VP called, I was worried it might be Oliver, but that man was far too large and—” It hit me. “Damn! I think that’s Franklin.”

  “Franklin? Who’s that?” Tom asked.

  “He works for Oliver. He pulled a gun on me. Follows that he’d be the guy Oliver would send if he wanted to scare me or look for some leverage of his own. And that’s just what he’d want to do. I go and show Oliver I have all this evidence on him, and instead of surrendering he just has to double-down, maybe try to get something on us.”

  Tom stopped pacing. “Tell me you didn’t leave that sort of prize behind?”

  “Hell, no. But that’s beside the point. What do you think Grist and Mauser will do with this poor bastard?”

  “That’s the poor bastard’s lookout, isn’t it?” Tom looked back and forth between Rollie and me. “Isn’t it? This Oliver bloke can’t know anything about where we are now, can he?”

  “No,” I said. “And neither would anyone he sent. Even so, there’s no way Franklin knew what he was getting into when he went snooping.”

  “And we care because …?”

  “Maybe the guy isn’t a friend,” I said, “but to be fair, I’d walked in uninvited to the house in Strawberry Mansion. He was just doing his job.”

  “Maybe so. But now?” Tom pointed out.

  “On another day he’d probably get my gun in his face,” Rollie said.

  “I remember the feeling,” Tom said.

  “Grist and Mauser are going to do a hell of a lot more than threaten the guy,” I said. “Come on Tom, you know better than we do that Franklin is about to get tortured or worse and he doesn’t even know anything.”

  Rollie looked at me hard for a minute, then shook his head. “Cripes. Never thought I’d feel sorry about a flunky busting into my home.” He sighed. “We gotta try.”

  “Try what?” Tom said, his voice rising. “Presenting yourselves to the chaps hunting you? Keep your eye on the prize.”

  Rollie scowled. “My prize is getting to sleep in my own bed without being killed. Kid,” he said to me, “let’s go on offense. We know where these guys are, more or less. Can Bishop see to it that the cops are around when I swing by, say, to pick up my mail?”

  “What good would that do?” Tom said. “Mate, if you had seen the way that pair operate, you wouldn’t be in a hurry to put yourself in their hands. Kyle should know better, but he’s thick.”

  “I’ve seen what they can do and I’ll be damned if some dumbass landlord gets mutilated just because he has the bad luck to work for Oliver.” I wished I knew what to do about it, but whatever it was it had to be quick. “What are you thinking?” I asked Rollie.

  “As fast as they reached my place, I figure they had to be close,” he said, “but not in a car, or VP would have seen them.”

  “Good point. So, they’re holed up close. Like maybe across-the-street close?” I was thinking about the small apartment building across the street.

  Rollie shrugged. “Last time I checked, kidnapping was illegal in Fishtown.”

  “That’s it!” I said.

  “You’re going to file a police report?” Tom said. “Rather high-profile, not to mention peculiar, given the fact that you’re across town, don�
��t you think?”

  “VP will.” My mind raced. “She can hide the call better and describe what happened in detail.”

  “So, the police arrive and knock on doors, ask questions, then what? Do you really think Grist and Mauser will be so easy to catch?” Tom paused. “Wait, did you say ‘she’?”

  Crap. “Not now, Tom. You’re right, they won’t catch anyone, but I bet you we have a good shot at interrupting them and maybe even flushing them out. There’s only five or six units in that little building.”

  Rollie grinned. “They’ll be trying to avoid the cops, not some shitkicker in an Olds.”

  Tom shook his head. “Right, if there’s no talking you out of this, then I’m going with you to protect my investment.”

  “I’ll call VP,” I said. “Rollie, fire up the Bomber.”

  Tom grabbed Rollie’s arm. “Don’t chance it. If they already know your car, we’re through.”

  “We’re pressed for time here,” Rollie said, “and Kyle’s truck will give us away for sure.”

  “No worries. Ring your mate and I’ll be out front in a jiffy. Be ready.” Tom slipped out the big wooden front door to the old church.

  “Did he just wink at you?” Rollie asked.

  “Sure it was for me?” I pulled out a burner phone and called VP, deciding this wasn’t the best time to tell her about my gender reveal slip-up.

  * * *

  VP couldn’t wait to use her voice changer and spoofing software to report the kidnapping. I was glad she was on board, but had to wonder again if this was a stupid and futile gesture. Even if it was, we had to try.

  Rollie ducked into his bedroom and came out with his .45 strapped to his hip. He pulled on a light jacket to conceal the weapon. “I’ll take the front seat. You tell the little guy where to turn from the back. You see our boys, don’t keep it a secret.”

  Tom pulled up in an old, faded brown Toyota Corolla. The horn sounded, like a nasally whine.

  “So much for high-speed pursuit,” Rollie said.

  “We won’t be mistaken for the cops, that’s for sure,” I said. “Let’s hope I can fit in the back.”

  We crammed into the car and I told Tom where to go for the fastest way to Rollie’s. It wasn’t far.

  “When did you get this?” I asked Tom.

  He seemed puzzled by the question. “Just now.”

  My heart sank. “You stole it?”

  “Borrowed, mate. I wouldn’t be caught dead keeping this thing.”

  “But—”

  “Look, I haven’t nicked many cars since I was a lad, so I’m not current on the latest techniques. These were always a breeze to pinch.”

  “You get pulled over,” I said, “we’re all going in for car theft.”

  “It won’t be for speeding,” Rollie said.

  “We drive on the right side of the road in this country,” I reminded him. “And try to avoid the sidewalks.”

  “In-flight entertainment. Lovely.” Tom followed my directions in one take.

  Chapter 26

  Near Rollie’s Place

  I’d checked in with VP on the way and she said the cops thought one of Rollie’s neighbors had called in the activity, didn’t want to leave a name.

  “Grist and Mauser have probably high tailed it by now,” Tom said.

  “If so, then we’re safe to go look, aren’t we?” I said. “Maybe it’s a longshot, but how many safe hiding places do you think these two have to scurry off to?”

  Tom considered it. “Fair play. If they are going to sweat this bloke, they’ll need a place to do it, and they can’t have been in town long.”

  I wasn’t surprised that we reached the neighborhood before the police. They hadn’t been given much to go on, but I did hope they’d show soon.

  In the meantime, we drove as slow as we dared up and down the nearby streets, especially by alleys. Nothing.

  The first cruiser rolled past about fifteen minutes later. It crawled by the spot VP had said the guy got grabbed.

  “That’s it?” I said. We were parked down the next block. We’d figured Grist and Mauser must have been even closer to Rollie’s place, so we decided to linger.

  A second police car pulled next to the first and the cars blocked the street while the officers chatted outside their driver side windows. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, but the casual gestures spoke to the lack of urgency. The second car drove off and the first parked in a yellow towaway zone and a single officer emerged.

  We watched as he crossed the street and as luck would have it, he went straight to Rollie’s porch and rang the bell.

  “That door better not open,” Rollie said.

  Nobody opened the door and the officer shrugged, wrote on a small notepad, then crossed the street again.

  “Where’s he going?” Tom said.

  “He’s checking the small apartment building right across the street. It only holds a handful of units. Most of the residents are pretty old, maybe they even saw something.”

  “Half of them are out of it. Good neighbors and they mind their own business.” Rollie frowned.

  “What?”

  “None of those old folks would simply allow someone to camp out and watch our place,” Rollie said.

  I shuddered. Rollie was right. One guy in particular, Mr. Thibault, belonged in assisted living, but was too stubborn to make the move.

  “Not voluntarily.” I racked my brain. “We can’t go without checking on them.”

  “Isn’t that what your police friend is doing right now?” Tom asked.

  “Only if he knocks on every door. They think they are investigating a report of a possible kidnapping.”

  “How will Grist and Mauser react if the officer comes knocking?” Tom said.

  “Say nothing and hope they go away?” I felt doubt creep in as I spoke the words. “Then take off as soon as the coast is clear?”

  “And if they decide to respond more aggressively?” Tom’s question lingered in the air while we waited five minutes that felt like five hours.

  Finally, Rollie broke. He checked the pistol holstered in his waistband. “I didn’t sign up for this to get someone killed.” He reached for the door handle.

  “Rollie wait. If we—” I didn’t get a chance to finish my thought because we all saw the door to the apartment building open.

  Two men emerged, hoodies up over their heads. One was broad-shouldered and hulking, the other lean and tall. We couldn’t see their faces, but that wasn’t necessary.

  “Why not grab them right now?” Rollie drew the gun and held it low.

  “No!” Tom and I yelled simultaneously.

  “Mate, you do not want to start a firefight with these two. Especially not with one pistol.”

  “You might be surprised what I can do with this thing,” Rollie said.

  “They won’t be,” Tom said. “They’re ready for a scrap. Look at them.”

  The two men moved with a practiced ease that took me back to the Sand Box and watching operators take down a door on a house raid. They each kept a hand inside a pocket and scanned the street, then split up without warning. The big guy, who I assumed was Mauser, walked around the corner out of sight. Grist stood near the empty patrol car.

  “Think we can take this one?” Rollie wasn’t usually so antsy. I was used to the calm, patient sniper.

  “Where’s the cop?” I asked. “The place only has one staircase. Not even an elevator.”

  “What’s he doing now?” Tom said while Grist walked around to the driver’s side of the cruiser and produced a set of keys.

  “Oh no,” Rollie said. “Those have got to belong to the cop.”

  Grist hopped into the car and started the engine. The way it was parked, it was a block away with its nose pointed in our direction.

  Part of me wanted to see the cop charge out of the building, but the smarter half knew that the police academy hadn’t prepared him for a guy like Grist, who could kill him without a seco
nd thought. If he hadn’t already.

  The police car rolled toward us.

  “Rollie, stay put,” I said. “He may recognize you.”

  We all scrunched down in the tiny car and sat frozen while the cruiser rolled by at a moderate pace.

  Tom stared up at the windshield.

  “Think he made us?” I asked.

  Rollie peered at the side mirror and spoke in a calm voice. “Start the car, Tom.” The contrast between his earlier excitement and this icy tone told me shit was about to get real.

  “Right.” Tom sat up and turned over the sewing machine of a motor. His eyes were on the rearview. “He’s on the radio. No, it’s a phone.”

  By now all of us were sitting up and peeking through the back window. We all saw the car slow, stop, and then saw the white reverse lights.

  “Get us out of here,” Rollie said. “Back up and take the first left.”

  “That street goes the wrong direction,” Tom said, but he’d already pulled onto the narrow street. In this area, many were one-way.

  “We’re only going one way and that’s far from this asshole,” Rollie said. The gun was in his lap.

  I looked back and sure enough, the patrol car had reversed by the intersection and turned to follow us against the grain of the one-way street.

  “Left at the next one and—Look out!” Rollie pointed at the delivery van heading right for us with its horn blaring and headlights flashing.

  “I’m not blind.” Tom sawed at the wheel and jammed the brakes, which squeaked like panicked mice.

  If we’d been in anything larger, we’d have swapped paint with the van and the line of parked cars on the other side as we squeezed through.

  “Grist’ll never fit.” Tom grinned and the little motor strained to accelerate.

  Tom was half right. While Rollie barked out directions for us to reach Girard Avenue, we all heard the siren. I turned in the cramped seat to see the lights on the stolen cruiser on full display as the wider vehicle scraped and muscled its way past the now stopped van.

  We reached Girard Avenue and turned right, catching a break in traffic on the wide thoroughfare. Grist popped out after us, using the lights and siren to make his own breaks. The powerful cruiser leaped toward us.

  “You may get your shootout after all.” Tom wasn’t grinning anymore. “I can’t outrun him.”