by Ty Patterson
He went up.
He jumped high in the air, braced his legs against the partition wall and the house, Jackie-Channed up the sides of the house using his legs and hands to spider climb swiftly.
Got both feet on top of the concrete separation, where he paused briefly and fired at the hoods to keep them at bay.
He got a few shots in return as they yelled in startled surprise at his move. That turned to anger quickly, but by then he had leapt high in the air to grab the frame of a satellite dish that was fastened to the building’s side, which took his weight, and heaved himself to the roof.
A shot slammed into his side just before he reached the top, making him gasp for breath, while another tore the heel of his shoe, and then he was over the side, safe. He lay panting for a moment, and that’s when he heard sirens, approaching fast.
His side felt like a tree trunk had crashed into the side of his body. The body armor had stopped the round, however, and it didn’t seem like any rib was broken. He peered cautiously over the roof’s edge and reared back instantly when he spotted some of the shooters climbing up.
He got to his feet and ducked low, breathing harshly as he drew air into his lungs, his chest hurting with every heave. He lumbered over the roof toward the end of the houses. The sirens grew closer as his ribs got used to his rapid inhales and exhales. They still hurt, but he ignored the dull burn. It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot in his armor, and it wouldn’t be the last. The night lit up with flashes of blue and red as voices and the sound of doors and windows being slammed floated up to him.
A shout from behind him.
Two men, silhouetted in the dark. He shot at them swiftly, making them duck, and zigged and zagged as he leapt over piping and trash and circled cooling fans on the roof.
He reached the end of the long stretch of residences and snapped a glance back. No pursuers. It seemed they had fled, gotten away before the cops had sealed all exits.
He could hear the growing presence of police on the street. Neighbors will tell them of shots on the roof. That’ll get them to seal the entire block. He’d have to go into flight mode. The narrow alley between his row of houses and the next was a steep drop. He couldn’t climb down the way he had come up. The next line of houses wasn’t close enough. What was that dark line, though?
He hurried to the rear of the roof and thanked his luck when he found it was a drainpipe.
Held his breath when he grabbed it with his hands and let his body swing down and slam against the side of the house. That sent a fiery jolt of pain through his chest, but the drainpipe held. It creaked ominously on its fastenings but didn’t collapse.
He slithered down as fast as he could, gritting his teeth against the burning of his palms, and after what felt like an eternity, dropped to the ground.
Cutter cursed when a dog barked somewhere. He blindly ran down the alley, away from Linden Boulevard, thanking his luck again that the cops hadn’t reached its mouth yet. It would only be a matter of time, however.
He swore to himself when he reached a wall. Ran at it and scaled it, dropped into a garden. Another dog joined the chorus. He heard voices. Lights turned on in the backyard. He didn’t dare look behind him, lest his face be illuminated. He was disguised, but why take the risk?
He raced to the end of the yard, leapt over another fence to land in a narrow passage between another line of row houses. He squeezed through the slimmest opening between two walls and almost sobbed in relief when it opened into Caton Avenue.
No cops there.
He dusted off his clothing and straightened his walk as much as he could despite the torn heel in his shoe.
His body cooled, the sweat on his face started drying slowly, and his ribs settled into an angry twinge. He fished out his cell.
‘Karim,’ he said when the metal shop owner answered after several rings. ‘Can you open up for me?’
‘Of course,’ the owner replied. He didn’t complain, didn’t ask why; nothing in his voice but ready agreement. Their shared history was such that no explanations or questions were needed.
‘I also need some clothing.’
‘They’ll be a tight fit, my friend.’
‘I need them just for the night.’
‘Anything I have is yours. Even my life.’
Cutter grinned in the darkness.
Melodrama. No one could top Karim when it came to that.
He means it, though.
55
Cutter circled back to his parked SUV. No cops near it. The boulevard was blocked: cruisers, command vehicles, FDNY, forensic technicians and the inevitable TV vans.
He navigated out with difficulty and exhaled in relief when no one stopped him. He drove to the metal shop and parked in its front yard. A line of light beneath its shutters.
He raised them a crack to roll beneath them and was greeted by a beaming Karim, holding a steaming cup of coffee.
‘I knew you would need this.’
Cutter nodded gratefully. Slipped out of his clothes, then picked them up and stuffed them into the furnace. Broke his cell phone and tossed its remains into the heat.
He dressed in the owner’s clothes—a close fit, but that was okay. I need them just for the drive back.
He ground his Glock into powder and followed it up with his ammo.
He held his armor speculatively and looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’ll take care of that.’
‘Karim—’
‘I’ll take care of that,’ the owner repeated and thrust the cup of coffee at him.
Cutter sipped and closed his eyes at the warmth that seeped through him. He sat down in a leather chair in the corner of the shop and let his body relax. Karim returned presently, wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Done,’ he said simply. ‘No trace of your clothing.’
Machinery and tools behind him, brightly lit. A photograph discreetly hanging from a wall: a woman laughing as if the world was hers.
Karim’s daughter, whom Cutter had rescued from a prostitution ring. She was a mom of two kids, enjoying her life on the west coast. His only child, whom he had reared as a single parent.
The owner followed his eyes and smiled gently.
‘Even my life will not be enough—’
‘Stop.’ Cutter heaved himself up and hugged his friend. Headed out and replaced the false plates on his SUV with spare ones in his vehicle. Handed the old ones to his friend, who took them.
An hour later, he was back home, with a new burner phone, a new Glock in his holster.
He didn’t sleep for a long while. What he had seen through the window played over and over again in his mind.
Crump, his wife and kids on the couch. Staring sightlessly. Dead.
Sheller had acted faster than he had and had tied up all loose ends.
I’m no closer to getting to him.
56
Attack was the best defense.
Cutter was confident there was no way the cops could link him to Martinelli’s and Crump’s homes and deaths, but he decided to take the bull by its horns.
He would confront the cops.
He steamed onto the eighth floor of OnePP using a visitor pass that a friend had arranged. Stood outside a glass-walled office until he got the attention of its occupants.
‘What’re you doing here?’ Difiore greeted him furiously when she opened the door.
He barged past her, nodded shortly at Quindica, whose only reaction was a twitch of her lips and a dancing light in her eyes.
‘Out,’ the detective barked, jerking her thumb at the room’s other occupants.
‘Sorry, folks,’ Cutter told them as the cops streamed out. He had interrupted a briefing in a meeting room.
He helped himself to the coffee on the side table and munched on a biscuit. They had nothing on Beth’s beverage and cookies, but he wasn’t complaining.
‘We’re waiting,’ Difiore told him icily. She and the FBI SAC, their arms c
rossed against their chests, leaning against a wall, a whiteboard behind them with names and dates and several details scribbled on it.
‘I’m waiting, too.’
‘This isn’t some game, Grogan,’ she hissed. If a voice could freeze, he would have turned into a life-sized block of ice. ‘You burst into our office, interrupt us—’
‘Because Martinelli is dead,’ he interrupted her. ‘And this assistant chief in Brooklyn. What was his name? Crump? He and his family were killed. Did he have any connection to the officer? WHAT’S GOING ON?’
It was difficult to thunder with a mouthful of biscuit, but he managed to pull it off.
It didn’t have the result he wanted.
‘We don’t answer to you,’ Quindica said frostily. Her amusement at his arrival had disappeared.
‘You don’t, but I’m involved.’
‘Your only involvement is to follow the news and our press statements, like any other New Yorker.’
He made to rise but sat down when Difiore wagged a finger at him.
‘Can you read the room?’
The sense of urgency was unmistakable when he looked through the glass. Tense faces as cops worked the phones or sat at their screens. No smiles, no jokes, no watercooler or hallway conversations.
‘That’s our task force. How you got on this floor I’ve no idea. Can you see anyone idling?’
He couldn’t.
‘That’s our answer. We are working our butts off, and thank you for visiting us, but we can’t help you.’
‘Why was Martinelli killed?’ he asked stubbornly.
‘He won’t go,’ Quindica said.
‘No. Not unless we throw him out,’ Difiore agreed.
‘That would make a scene. Our team would wonder who he was.’
‘They must be thinking that already, the way he entered.’
‘I’m right here.’ Cutter waved a hand, but they ignored him.
Something unreadable passed between the women, who pulled out two chairs and sat across from him.
‘What do you want to know?’ the detective asked.
‘Martinelli’s death. Crump’s killing. A day apart. That can’t be a coincidence.’
‘We’re pursuing all leads.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ he exploded. ‘I deserve to know more.’
‘You deserve nothing,’ she said flatly. Her hostile gaze flickered to Quindica’s, and that same unreadable look passed between them. ‘The gang killed Martinelli. That seems to be obvious, going by our investigations.’
‘Sheller’s tying up loose ends,’ he guessed.
She nodded.
‘But why now?’ the SAC thought aloud. ‘Why wait all this time? Why plug him that night and not before?’
‘There was someone with him in his apartment,’ the detective took over. ‘Someone escaped through his window.’
Cutter congratulated himself on his poker face. ‘Neighbors saw this person?’
‘No.’ Her hair flew out in a circle when she shook her head. ‘No cameras, either. There’s no other explanation for the broken window—’ She caught herself before she revealed too much. ‘We’ve canvassed the street, sought out information, but …’
He nodded. Crank calls would have flooded their system. Besides, I was careful. They’ve got nothing to go on.
‘Crump?’ he reminded them.
‘We don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘Like you said, it’s coincidental. But there was no note on the body, nothing to link it to a gang killing.’
‘White supremacist?’
‘We’re looking into it, but so far, nothing.’
‘They don’t advertise themselves,’ he said bitterly. ‘Not the ones that senior. That’s your case too?’
‘Yeah. Commish and her boss’—she nodded at her partner—‘want daily updates.’
‘What do you have for us, Grogan?’ The SAC pinned him down with her dark eyes. ‘We told you what we got. It’s your turn.’
You’ll throw me into prison if I tell you anything.
‘Street’s quiet. Too quiet.’ He shrugged. ‘My snitches have clammed up.’
‘Tell us something new.’
‘I don’t have anything.’
Other than the fact that I know for sure Crump was a Lion. However, there was no way he could admit that.
‘I’m sure the assistant chief was in Sheller’s gang,’ he said carefully.
‘How do you figure that?’ Quindica and Difiore’s poker faces were as good as his.
‘If there was a stranger in Martinelli’s apartment—’
‘There was,’ the SAC interjected flatly.
‘He might have fingered Crump to this intruder. Sheller’s men must have arrived as he was interrogating Martinelli. Which was why he had to escape through the window. The shooters questioned the cop, who confessed he mentioned Crump. They killed him. Sheller then ordered the hit on the assistant chief.’
He paused as if to ask: How am I doing?
They didn’t reply, but neither did they contradict him. They must have worked it out the same way.
‘Why did they kill his wife and kids?’ Quindica’s rage cracked through her stone visage. ‘They had nothing to do with whatever went down.’
‘That’s how he works. He demands utter loyalty and enforces it with extreme violence.’
‘Crump hadn’t exposed him.’
‘He could have. Sheller acted preemptively and decided to send a message at the same time. His gang isn’t like the others. Families aren’t off-limits.’
He ran his fingers through his hair restlessly. ‘We’re missing something. Jake, my friend in ADX. Remember what he said? That Sheller was working on something big.’
‘Killing an assistant chief, executing his entire family is big enough,’ Difiore snarled.
‘Nope. That was him covering his ass, there. There’s got to be something else.’
‘If you find out, you’ll let us know.’
‘Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?’
‘What’s that?’ he asked Quindica.
‘Sheller knows that intruder escaped with Crump’s name.’
‘What can that man do?’ Cutter challenged her. ‘Go to the press and say Crump got Martinelli to shoot Davis? He has no proof. Just his word. And,’ he smiled wickedly, ‘I guess he would be a suspect for you, too.’
Difiore stirred after a short silence. ‘It just struck me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Every Lion in the city—heck, all white supremacists, every one of Sheller’s cops—will be looking for that person. How long can he hide?’
* * *
Cutter left them on that upbeat note.
He put on his shades as he exited OnePP. At least they didn’t arrest me, he told himself. That was a win.
Quindica’s right. Sheller will have everyone looking for me.
He stopped so abruptly that someone bumped into him from behind and cursed. He didn’t pay heed.
Sheller knows I am Zaidi. That’s why he got Kobach to kill Jake that way. He might suspect I was the person at Martinelli’s. Which is why his hitters were at Crump’s.
Why hadn’t the gang leader come after him? He can easily find out where I live and work.
It had to be that project he was working on. It’s why he’s holding back from an all-out attack. Cutter couldn’t think of any other explanation.
However, the Sheller he knew wouldn’t let anything stand in his way to get to his enemies.
He’ll still come after me. Sneakily. He won’t rest until he’s killed me.
* * *
‘Nope,’ Arnedra huffed. ‘No thug’s going to stop me from coming to our office.’
‘This is no ordinary gangster,’ Cutter fumed. ‘He’s the most dangerous man I know.’
‘Even more than that terrorist? Mansoor?’
‘Yeah. Listen to me,’ he urged. ‘This will be temporary. Until the cops find out where he is.’
; ‘It’s okay for you to come here,’ she glared at him, ‘but not for me?’
‘Arnedra, he’s after me!’
‘And you’ll expose yourself, set yourself as bait. I know you. Nope, I’m not running away. I’ll be right here.’
She jumped when he slammed his palm on her table.
‘Yes,’ he told her ominously, ‘I want to set him up, but I can’t do that if I am constantly worrying about you.’
‘He doesn’t want me. Heck, I bet he doesn’t even know of me.’
‘He knows. He’s smart. He’s evil. He knows about this place, where I live, where you live. He works like that.’
‘I don’t believe you—’
‘He cut off Jake Horstman’s head,’ he yelled. ‘Isn’t that warning enough for you? That was his doing. You must have heard it on TV.’
Her eyes widened. Her shoulders sagged.
‘They said it was a prison fight,’ she whispered. ‘The killer wanted revenge.’
‘Yeah, Sheller got his killer to make it look like that. He ordered the hit.’
She wet her lips and looked away from his stare.
‘I can’t risk you,’ he said gently. ‘Did you hear about that cop and his family? In Brooklyn? He’s behind that, too.’
He brought her up to speed on all the incidents and his findings since their last meeting. ‘He didn’t have to kill Crump’s family. Sheller … he’s the most vicious and brutal man I’ve ever known.’
‘You’ve convinced me,’ she laughed shakily. ‘I’ll go.’
‘No, don’t go to your Bronx apartment. Your sister, she’s in California, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah. But—’
‘Visit her. I know you have a standing invitation from her. Take her up on it.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Arnedra,’ he said savagely, ‘I don’t want to come to the office one day and find your head on the floor.’
That clinched it.
57
Cutter mounted more cameras in the office once Arnedra had hugged him tight and left him. He installed pressure pads at the entrance and near the windows.
There were two escape routes for quick getaways. One was through the bathroom window, down the drainpipe, into the bathroom of an office two floors below. That property was rented by him on a long-term lease.