Ken’s frown became a sneer.
“I don’t need a lecture. Just get it done, Raul.”
“There’s also the case of your son, Mr. Smith.”
“My son?”
“Thomas. He has—”
Ken shook his head.
“Let me worry about him. You just worry about making sure everything is set with the Church of Liberation.”
And then the tape abruptly cut out.
“Power,” Drake muttered. “He thinks he can control everything.”
Hanna sipped her drink.
“Not everything,” she said. “But most. But now you have the power… the question is, what are you going to do with it?”
He thought about this for a moment; with this video in his possession, Drake really could do whatever he wanted.
He could use it as leverage to stay out of prison, for one. He could get the mayor to step down and he could deport Raul back to wherever the hell he came from. He could fast-track Yasiv to becoming the Chief of Police and secure enough funding to keep Triple D’s doors open for generations.
He could make sure that Hanna kept her job or get her a new one if that was what she wanted.
He could set Leroy up at any college in the country and he could hire a team of a dozen PIs to find Chase.
He could use his leverage to get Beckett reinstated as the head ME for New York State.
And he would most definitely be able to see his son again and help Jasmine deal with any legal issues that might come to the fore.
But while these were all viable options, there was only one that Drake would find satisfying enough.
“Can I borrow your phone again?” he asked. “There’s someone I need to call. Someone who has been with me since the beginning.”
Chapter 75
Bullets peppered the glass, but so far as Screech could tell, it was still holding.
For now, anyway.
Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before it shattered, Screech looked around and tried to figure a way out their situation.
He had no idea why or where Leroy had come from, but the kid had saved his life. Now it was on Screech to return the favor. And, judging by the way that Yasiv was still trying to clear his face, the sergeant also needed saving.
“Water,” Yasiv gasped. “I need water.”
Screech’s first instinct was to look to Leroy given the kid’s knowledge of chemistry, but he was still lying on his stomach, his hands over his head.
He scrambled across the lab and found a jug on the ground not far from the scientist’s fallen body. Staying low just in case the glass blew inward, Screech scooped it up and hurried back to Yasiv.
“Water!”
“Fuck, I’m here, move your hands! Yasiv, move your goddamn hands!”
Yasiv lowered his hands, revealing skin beneath that was red and raw. Screech quickly reared back and splashed the entire jug of water in the man’s face. There was so much force behind it that Yasiv stumbled backward, barely able to stay on his feet.
“Fuck, it still burns,” Yasiv moaned. “It fucking burns!”
Screech was looking around for more water when he saw that Leroy was in a seated position and was holding a half empty container of white powder in his hand.
“Is this what he got in his eyes?” the kid asked.
“Yeah, that’s it. What the fuck do we do, Leroy?”
Leroy turned his attention to the label.
“Powdered hydrochloric acid,” he grumbled. Before Screech could ask what the hell that meant, the kid was searching through the lower shelves for something.
Every time a bullet embedded itself in the glass, both of them cringed and ducked.
“Here!” Leroy said, whipping around, a bottle of pink fluid in his hand. “Sodium bicarbonate buffer! Use this!”
He tossed the bottle and somehow Screech managed to catch it. After ripping the cap off, he then turned back to Yasiv who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
“You better be right about this, kid,” Screech whispered as he splashed the bottle in Yasiv’s face.
The man’s response was immediate. He sighed, gasped, burped, and then blinked.
“Better,” Yasiv said. “That’s better. Jesus.”
“It should keep getting better over the next few minutes,” Leroy informed them. “But you have to—”
“Sergeant Yasiv, I knew this time would come.”
The voice came from the other side of the glass, and all three of them turned their eyes in that direction.
The man with the machine gun was deeply tanned, with a shaved head and broad nose. He was grinning as he leveled the barrel of the gun at them.
Gun… where’s my gun? Where did—
And that’s when Screech realized that he dropped it in the hallway when Leroy had shoved him inside the room.
“Horatio DuPont,” Yasiv shouted back.
The name sounded familiar to Screech, but he couldn’t immediately place it.
“I don’t need to see you to know who you are,” Yasiv continued, “to know who you’re working for.”
And then it clicked.
Horatio Dupont.
Horatio Dupont was one of the five officers of ANGUIS Holdings, along with Boris Brackovich, Steffani Loomis, the Mendes Corporation, and of course, Ken Smith.
Before he’d been killed, Boris Brackovich was the one in charge of getting the girls and drugs into New York. Now it appeared that this man, the man with the shit-eating grin and automatic weapon, was responsible for tainting the heroin with ohmefentanyl.
Screech briefly wondered what Steffani and Raul’s roles were in all of this.
He already knew that Ken was the kingpin, the Drug Lord.
The capo.
“Palmer warned me about you,” Horatio said. “But I didn’t think that you had the balls to come here yourself.”
Leroy slowly inched his way back to Screech, but instead of speaking, he indicated the shelf of chemicals with a nod.
“What the hell are you doing,” Screech whispered.
Leroy didn’t answer, he just dropped to all fours and began rooting through the jars.
“Oh, I got balls alright,” Yasiv pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it up so that Horatio could see it. “And I won’t stop until I’ve knocked all of you off this list.”
Horatio laughed.
“Yeah? Knock us off? Really? This glass ain’t gonna hold forever. When it breaks, I’m going to mow you and your gang of misfits down. And then I’ll burn the lab to the ground. But you want to know what the best part is?”
Screech tried to ignore the banter and watched as Leroy pulled three bottles off the shelf.
“No?” Horatio asked. “Well, I’ll tell you: the best part is that Palmer will make sure that everyone knows you were a dirty cop. That you were part of Pontiac and Dalton’s crew. That you deserved what happened to you, just like they did.”
The comment caught Screech by surprise and he looked at Leroy.
Their eyes met, and Leroy nodded.
“There was a shootout,” he said quietly. “Heard it over the radio… Dalton and Pontiac were gunned down by gangbangers, then the cops took them out. It was all a setup.”
Screech didn’t feel sorry for any of them.
“Is that what you think?” Yasiv shot back. He was blinking rapidly and the tears that were streaming down his cheeks made track marks that looked like thin milk. It was clear that he was stalling, waiting for something… but what?
Yasiv only had a pistol. He couldn’t even call for backup if on the rare chance they got reception in here—the sergeant had smashed his walkie on some goon’s head outside the warehouse.
“It’s not what I think, Yasiv. It’s what is. We control everything.”
Yasiv wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Give me your sock,” Leroy said in his ear.
Screech glanced at the kid, wonde
ring if he’d lost his mind. But when Leroy demanded his sock again, this time with more fervor, Screech tore off his running shoe and then his sock. He handed it to Leroy and watched in awe as he dumped two of the three chemicals into it. The kid thoroughly mixed these with his hand and then held the neck open.
With his chin, he gestured toward the third bottle, this one containing a foul-smelling liquid that reeked of rotten eggs.
“Everything, huh? I bet your buddy Boris Brackovich thought the same thing… and we all know how that turned out.” Yasiv drew a thumb across his throat in a slashing gesture and from the other side of the glass, Horatio growled. “I guess you didn’t control—”
The man opened fire again and this time not only did the cracks start to connect, but Screech could see it bowing inward as well.
They didn’t have much time.
When Horatio exhausted his clip and started to load another, Leroy leaned in close.
“Pour a tablespoon of the liquid into the sock and wrap it into a tight ball,” he instructed. “Just a tablespoon. You’ll have three or four seconds and then throw it. Don’t wait any longer.”
Screech’s eyes went wide.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just a tablespoon,” Leroy repeated as he made his way on all fours over to Yasiv.
“And then what?” Screech nearly shouted. “And then what?”
Leroy looked back one final time.
“Then you get down. Get down and stay the fuck down.”
Chapter 76
“Keep him talking,” Leroy said.
Yasiv didn’t need the encouragement.
“That bastard Boris got what he deserved. You will all get what’s coming to you. You, Steffani, Raul, and Ken.”
Horatio fired again, and the glass finally gave way. It wasn’t a massive explosion, but more like a sheet of ice sloughing off a warming iceberg.
The largest chunk slid just over top of Screech’s head. The second it hit the floor, he pulled the neck of the sock wide and tilted whatever the hell the reeking liquid was over the opening.
“One tablespoon, one tablespoon, one tablespoon,” Screech muttered. But as he started to pour, another piece of glass smashed just by his right elbow, startling him.
He dumped half the bottle.
More shots rang out, distinct reports this time, and Screech realized that Yasiv had opened fire on Horatio.
Screech looked down into the sock, the contents of which had started to fizz, and realized that even if he could pour out some of the liquid, there was no time.
“Fuck it.”
He twisted the sock into a ball as he’d been instructed, and then tossed it over his shoulder.
“Get down!” Screech yelled, dropping to his stomach.
Horatio pulled the trigger again, but Leroy had already yanked Yasiv down. Instead of turning them to pulp, the bullets made a serpentine pattern across the ceramic tiles on the wall.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Horatio yelled. “I’m going to—”
The pressure in the room suddenly changed. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out and gravity had gone on a temporary sabbatical.
Then there was a flash of white light and everything was forced back into place. A searing heat blasted over Screech’s head. It only lasted a second, but it was so intense that his entire body immediately broke out into a sweat. He forced his stomach even flatter and held his breath, trying his best not to inhale any of the caustic fumes.
And then, as quickly as the blast had engulfed them all, it was gone.
“Are you okay?” Leroy asked, helping him to his feet.
Screech looked down at himself and patted his entire body before nodding.
Somehow, he was okay. Screech wasn’t sure how he’d avoided death not once, but twice in a matter of ten minutes, but he had.
“I told you one tablespoon,” Leroy snapped.
Screech shrugged and was going to apologize when he heard something from the hallway. Thinking that it was Horatio again, he whipped around.
It wasn’t Horatio, it was a fire. The walls just outside the room appeared to be alive with it as deep orange and yellow hues shimmered and danced.
“One tablespoon,” Leroy muttered again.
Screech got onto his toes and stared out the smashed window, searching for Horatio. He found him. Or, more precisely, he located some of him.
Over the years of working closely with Drake, Screech had seen some gruesome things, things he couldn’t have imagined prior to their introduction. But this… this was something else entirely.
Horatio’s body was a mess. His arms had been completely blown off, leaving ragged, bloody stumps where they’d once been. One of them was halfway down the hallway, the other nowhere to be seen.
Horatio’s legs were bent at impossible angles, and his torso was nearly twisted into a crescent.
Thankfully, the man was lying face down.
“We need to get out here,” Leroy said frantically. “This whole place is gonna go up.”
Yasiv, who seemed to have recovered from whatever had been thrown in his face, observed the scene with a confused expression. But then he started to nod.
“Yeah, it’s time to go,” he affirmed.
They were halfway to the door, crouching low to avoid the smoke and the flames that started to pour in through the window, when Leroy stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Screech demanded.
Leroy leveled a finger at the lab tech who still lay crumpled against the sink.
“Yeah? What about him?”
Screech’s first instinct was just to leave the man behind, to just let him burn. But then he changed his mind.
Horatio might have gotten what he’d deserved, but he didn’t know the scientist from Adam.
Yasiv evidently felt the same.
“Screech, you grab his legs, we’re bringing him with us.”
***
With a grunt, Screech dragged the scientist a safe distance from the burning building and then helped Leroy with the guard.
Yasiv handcuffed the men to each other and used a second set of cuffs to attach them to a sturdy looking bike rack. He’d already disassembled the guard’s assault rifle and had tossed part of it back into the fire, while slipping another into his pocket.
“We gotta go,” he said. But it was a redundant statement; they were already hurrying toward his car in front of the warehouse.
Once inside, Yasiv grabbed his radio.
“Dispatch, this is Sergeant Yasiv, I need fire and rescue to 52 Cherivel Lane. Over.”
As he waited for a reply, Yasiv reversed and then spun the car around.
“Sergeant Yasiv, we’ve been trying to reach you; there’s been an officer involved shooting and your presence has been requested. Over.”
His first thought was that something had happened to Detective Dunbar.
“Dispatch, who were the officers? Over.”
“Dalton and Pontiac—they’re deceased. Over.”
Yasiv’s jaw went slack. Someone had taken them out. He knew that there would be an attempt on their lives eventually, but he didn’t think that it would happen so soon. And definitely not on the way back to the station.
Ken must be getting desperate.
His eyes drifted up to the rearview, and he focused on Leroy. The boy was watching Screech, who had his cell phone pressed to his ear.
He was supposed to be in that convoy… the woman from IA had been adamant that Leroy should go directly to the station. If I hadn’t…
“Give me the address, I’m on my way. Over.”
Yasiv’s eyes still burned and his vision was blurry; keeping the car on the road was proving difficult.
“Yasiv?” Screech asked from the backseat.
Yasiv looked into the rearview mirror again. Screech’s eyes were wide, his mouth slack.
“What? What is it now?”
“That was Drake. I think… I think we need to make
a detour and meet him first. He says he’s got evidence that will put Ken Smith away for good.”
Chapter 77
Drake was watching the video of Ken Smith for the ninth time when there was a commotion near the front of the bar.
His eyes shot up.
“What the hell?” he gasped.
Screech entered first, soot or coal dust smeared on his cheeks and chin. Leroy followed closely behind, his bruised face and hair covered in some sort of white powder.
Drake scrambled out of the booth and ran toward them, only to stop short when a third person entered Barney’s.
It was Sergeant Yasiv, and he looked the worst of the lot: the man’s eyes weren’t just red, but crimson and there was a smattering of blisters marring his pink cheeks.
Drake’s first instinct was to turn and run the other way. Even though Yasiv was a friend, someone who could be trusted, he was also the sergeant of NYPD 62nd precinct.
Drake, on the other hand, was an unstable criminal awaiting trial for kidnapping a police officer.
They were on completely opposite sides of the law.
And yet they shared much in common.
Yasiv looked equally shocked when he saw Drake, but he didn’t reach for his walkie-talkie or his handcuffs or even his gun. Instead, he strode forward deliberately and held out his hand.
Drake didn’t hesitate; he shook it hard.
“Drake,” the man said.
“Yasiv,” Drake replied.
Now that they had broken the ice, Drake asked them all what the hell happened to them.
“It’s a long, fucked up story,” Yasiv replied.
Drake nodded; they all had their stories to tell, it appeared.
“Come and sit down and grab a drink. We have something to show you.”
***
Based on their appearance, Screech, Leroy, and Yasiv earned the right to speak first.
Yasiv had been right; it was a long and fucked up story. A story that toed the line of believability.
“Jesus,” he managed once Screech paused to take a breath. “Horatio Dupont is really dead?”
Screech pressed his lips together as if fighting back vomit.
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2 Page 57