Break

by Ty Patterson

  He dug deeper in the internet and found a few mentions of the club being a white men’s outfit. If Tizzard’s speaking there, he’s got to have supporters there. Heck, all its members could be white nationalists.

  It wasn’t the club’s composition or the fact the supremacist was speaking there that interested him.

  It was Chino’s line. Where he had cut himself off.

  Someone who has come back from … the dead?

  Would that be Sheller? Would he show himself at the rally?

  71

  Gunner had come up with the idea after meeting Mease that morning. The strategist had briefed him on how the campaign was doing.

  ‘Everything’s heading in the right direction,’ he declared. ‘Rubin’s got a few TV appearances, town halls, all over the country. He’ll consolidate his lead over his opponents. That’s what our pollsters say. That leaves just him and Thyssen.’

  ‘I’m hearing rumors of his getting support from other parties.’

  ‘Several politicians have reached out discreetly. Big names. We’ve discussed that possibility. We won’t make any decision until just before the elections.’

  ‘That will give us maximum leverage?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mease smiled at the felon’s use of us.

  ‘Tizzard’s speech is going to turn violent.’

  ‘I thought he was supposed to be at a private club.’

  ‘We’re going to allow a few protesters to enter. That will trigger the action.’

  ‘I’ll get Farley and Parsons to book TV interviews soon after it’s over. He can get some good soundbites out of it. What about Grogan?’

  ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘We told you to—’

  ‘There will be no blowback. I’m going to sucker him into a trap. You’ll have to trust me on that.’

  * * *

  ‘Spread it around that I might show up,’ he instructed Nails. ‘Don’t mention my name, however.’ He repeated the message that Cray had crafted. ‘Use that line, exactly in that manner.’

  ‘I’m working on the snitch, boss,’ his man protested. ‘There’s no need to do it this way. If there’s a snitch, he might suspect he’s being set up.’

  ‘Nails,’ Gunner said softly, in the way his people had grown to fear. ‘I am not asking. I’m telling.’

  And that had resulted in Chino’s call to Manuel.

  * * *

  Cutter learned that Eric Tizzard’s rally at the private club was no secret. Many media outlets were talking about it, and the dark corners of the internet where racists and haters gathered had a field day.

  Chino’s right. It looks like there’ll be a big turnout.

  Cutter cleaned his Glock as he thought of his options. Going to Difiore wasn’t one of them. Should I go? Would Sheller expose himself? Why would he do that after playing dead all these years? Why now?

  It could be a trap, he answered himself. He’s tried to get me before, and failed. He figures I’ll take this bait.

  He assembled his weapon and wiped it a last time with a clean flannel. He slipped it into its holster and stretched.

  Decision made.

  If there was even a remote possibility that Sheller would be there, he would be, too.

  72

  ‘I feel like I’m imposing on you,’ he told Meghan the next day when he arrived at the Columbus Avenue office.

  ‘We’ll tell you when you’re a pain in the butt, hotshot,’ Beth grinned.

  Her smile faded as she checked him out. ‘What you’re planning is madness. None of us would go alone in such a setup.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice,’ he threw his hands up. ‘If Sheller does come there, I can alert the cops. If he doesn’t, there’s nothing lost.’

  ‘Except maybe your life.’

  ‘Which is why I’ve come to you. How can I get out of there alive?’

  Three hours later, after poring over building plans and the club’s layout—items not available to the general public—he had mapped out three escape routes.

  One was straightforward: through the basement kitchen and out the service door.

  The other was through the laundry room, hidden in one of the automated trolleys that rolled beneath a drying window, from which he could climb out.

  The last was through the air-con ducting.

  ‘First is obvious.’ Meghan tapped her pen against her teeth. ‘They’ll block that off. The other two they might disregard because of your size. You’ll be a tight fit for either of those routes, but you will get away.’

  ‘There’s a fourth.’ He leaned over their shoulder and toggled the touchpad to bring up the roof. ‘I can go up to that balcony, climb to that window that overlooks the roof.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Break through the glass and escape.’

  ‘Escape how? That’s a hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. That building is tall. No drainpipes, no window ledges, which seem to be your preferred mode these days,’ she snickered.

  ‘I know how you got away in Tehran.’ It was his turn to smirk at the look on their faces as he referred to the covert mission they had carried out in Iran.

  * * *

  The delivery man had his head down as his foreman yelled orders. It was a white-glove service that brought the best ingredients from select food retailers to The Elitist. Chicken breasts, pork chops, spices, organic veggies, butter and spreads—whatever the club needed, the firm provided.

  The delivery man was a last-minute replacement, since one of his regular employees had fallen ill. The foreman had a list of manpower providers to address such a contingency, and the newcomer had come from such a company.

  ‘Don’t look in anyone’s eyes. Don’t talk,’ he shouted at his assembled men. ‘Don’t remove your gloves, ever. Take those crates and stock them where you are told. Go!’

  The men got to work like a well-oiled machine. They went to the rear of the truck, collected the deliveries and went to the service entrance, where a uniformed man stood aside to let them through. An assistant manager directed them inside the club to place the stock.

  Cutter, the delivery man, stacked several crates of ingredients in the storeroom over multiple rounds. On his last trip, he went to the club official and showed him the label on the crate.

  Window Wipes and Cleaners.

  ‘Put that in the storage room as well. Separately from the food.’

  ‘This goes up, usually. On the balcony.’ He spoke softly. Meghan had checked out the staff in the club and found that the assistant manager was new. He wouldn’t know much about its operations. I hope, Cutter thought, crossing his fingers mentally. ‘I place it there each time. Makes it easy for the cleaners. They start from the top windows and work their way down.’

  ‘You know your way up?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Go quickly.’

  Cutter hurried away before the man changed his mind. He wasn’t worried about the cameras. The twins had arrived earlier and flown a drone near the club, which had EMP-blasted the security devices. He could see uniformed technicians from a well-known protection services firm checking them out.

  He climbed the grand stairs that ascended from the side of the central room to the balcony that ran around the top. He checked out the various windows quickly and found one that opened to the sloping roof. The city’s skyline was visible through the clear glass. He placed the crate beneath it and wiped his hands. Looked around to check that no one was watching him.

  He went to the nearest curtain and slashed with his knife to tear away a large chunk of its inner lining. Repeated the act until he had a substantial pile of fabric. He bundled it up and stuffed it in the crate. Checked that he had everything he needed in it. Glock, magazines, the Benchmade that he tossed in it, and a bottle of lighter fluid.

  He paused a moment to admire the inside of the club. A transparent cupola of colored glass at the top, admitting natural light. Chandeliers dangling from a high ceiling, paintings on the wall and artwork
on display stands. A polished wooden floor, a small stage for intimate performances. The club could easily hold five hundred people, standing.

  Cutter returned the way he had come to find the foreman glaring at him.

  ‘You’re late!’ the man stormed. ‘We’ve got more deliveries to make.’

  He climbed inside the van silently and joined the other stockers on a bench. He smiled to himself as it drove away.

  His getaway mode was in position.

  73

  ‘Circulate these to all your men,’ Gunner told his assembled cell leaders. It was a rare moment, his meeting all of them in person, in the Harlem bar. The more people who knew he was alive, the harder it was to maintain his cover. But there were times when he had to show himself. He was confident his personality and their fear of him would ensure their silence.

  He handed a set of printouts to each leader. ‘Some of you might have seen him on TV. Cutter Grogan. Calls himself a Fixer. Claims to help people—’

  ‘What’s he done, boss?’ his Queens man inspected the first photograph.

  ‘Nails knows what he’s done. He’s been interfering in our Brownsville operations.’ He didn’t tell them about Martinelli. Other cells didn’t need to know that. ‘The first few pictures are of how he looks. The heavyset man in the other drawings, that’s him, too. In disguise.’

  ‘We grab him?’ Nails eagerly asked.

  ‘Yes, if your men see him at The Elitist.’

  ‘He’ll be there?’

  ‘He might.’

  ‘Why will he come there, boss?’ Nails drew back when Gunner glowered at him.

  ‘He’s smart, very capable—some kind of special- ops soldier previously. He’s violent. Try not to get hurt. And don’t kill him. I want him alive.’

  He waved at them dismissively and returned to the counter to join Cray as they filed out of the bar.

  Clint didn’t leave. He hung around until the other leaders had left and went to Gunner.

  ‘That was him, boss? At Crump’s house? We didn’t get a good look. All we could make out was that he was big.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He’s got some skills. The way he got away from us—’

  ‘I told you all. He’s a soldier. Don’t underestimate him.’

  ‘We won’t, boss.’

  * * *

  Darrell tried hard not to tremble when Nails handed him the photographs.

  Cutter’s pictures!

  ‘You’re Darrell, right? Manuel’s friend?’ The leader’s eyes were sharp, probing, as they sized him up.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ he whispered.

  ‘I have my eyes on you.’

  The teenager froze at that.

  The gangster smiled. ‘You’ve been doing well.’

  ‘Thank you, boss. What are these about? Who’s he?’ Darrell congratulated himself on his steady voice.

  ‘You’ll find out in a moment.’ Nails straightened. ‘Listen up,’ he called out his men to gather them close.

  ‘We got our orders.’ He held up the images. ‘There will be protesters at The Elitist tomorrow. We rough them up, but not so much that we start a riot. No, sir. The good people there, they came for a nice evening. Can’t spoil their dinners.’ He got a laugh at that. ‘This dude might turn up as well. Him, we can rough up as much as we want. But we got to take him alive.’

  * * *

  Darrell raced back to his apartment as soon as he got free. Checked his phone. Yeah, it had recorded everything. He emailed the recording to himself and deleted it from the phone. His insides clenched when he glanced at the photographs. He could warn Cutter. He had to. He was reaching for his cell when something stopped him.

  That’s the only time Nails has spoken to me. There was that one moment when the cell leader had patted him, but it had been a fleeting gesture.

  Does he suspect me?

  He shivered in fear. Sweat popped up on his forehead. He forced himself to get up and checked out the street-facing windows. He couldn’t see any watchers.

  Nails would have done something if he knew, he reassured himself. No. There was no deeper meaning in the leader’s talking to him. Still, he had to be careful.

  Which meant he couldn’t warn Cutter.

  He went to bed uneasily and hoped the Fixer wouldn’t show up at the club. Because if he did, there was no way he could escape from the gang.

  * * *

  Cutter stiffened when he saw Darrell’s cell had cloned a phone and there was a recording.

  He played it.

  ‘Clint?’

  He recognized the caller’s voice. Nails.

  ‘Bro, what’s up?’

  ‘What did the boss say? I saw you went back, at the bar.’

  ‘I can’t tell you, dude. You know how we work.’

  ‘Come on, Clint. We’ve been thick all these years.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with you or your gang.’

  A long silence.

  ‘Alright,’ Clint sighed. ‘But you can’t leak this. Ever, to anyone.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Crump. I took him out. This dude Grogan was at the scene. We didn’t recognize him. It was dark. He was big, though. The boss confirmed that it was him.’

  ‘That was some shooting, bro.’

  ‘Nothing to it. You would have killed them if the boss had told you to.’

  ‘Yeah. I was wondering who he gave the order to.’

  ‘This stays between us.’

  ‘Of course, bro. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll get him at the club.’

  ‘I hope so. I want to get my hands on him.’

  * * *

  Cutter kept staring at the phone when the call ended. He roused himself finally and called Beth.

  ‘Can you run a recording for me? See if your—’

  ‘Werner.’

  ‘Yeah, see if it can identify a voice.’

  She seemed to sense something in his voice when she replied, business-like. No teasing, no yanking his chain.

  ‘Send it over.’

  ‘Uploaded to my cloud account.’

  ‘I’ll call you back.’

  * * *

  Cutter prepared dinner without conscious thought. His mind was racing as the call played in his mind.

  He knew Crump’s killer. He could pass that on to Difiore and Quindica. It was a big break.

  Is it, though?

  There’s still no link to Sheller. They referred to some boss.

  It proves these cells aren’t the independent gangs the NYPD thinks they are.

  So what? What can they do? There might be other dirty, senior, cops who might alert the Lions.

  No, it was better he kept the call to himself. The last part of the conversation returned to him. They were talking about him. His guess had been right. Sheller had set a trap.

  Does that mean he won’t turn up?

  He thought about it as he ate hastily and cleaned up.

  The Sheller he knew from his ADX days wouldn’t back out of a challenge.

  He will show up. Briefly. Disguised, maybe, but he’ll be there. He’ll want to see me captured.

  * * *

  ‘Clint Knowles,’ Beth called him. ‘He’s got a police record. Voice analysis on his NYPD interview.’ She sensed the question in his silence. ‘I’ve sent you a package. His photograph, his cop file, the works. He hangs out in Brooklyn but is no longer at the address the NYPD have for him.’

  ‘You can place the locations of those two phones? Nails and Knowles?’

  ‘Nope. I looked up the cloned data. Nails’ phone went off-line the moment after this call. Knowles’s too.’

  ‘You know where they were before? They mentioned a bar.’

  ‘I checked that out. Nada. These dudes are smart. They turn on their devices briefly. They seem to switch burners frequently.’

  ‘They can’t keep using a new throwaway phone each day.’

  ‘Yeah, no one can.’ She pondered that for a moment. ‘The way I
see it, this was a new burner for Nails. That’s why the software got only this call and it was so important that he junked it and used another one.’

  He heard an indistinct conversation at her end before she returned. ‘Sis thinks the same.’

  Sis. Meghan. Elder by a few minutes. Who came on the call, her voice sharp. ‘Cutter, they refer to some boss. Is that Sheller?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘We’ll keep trying, but I don’t think we’ll get anything more. These people have some smarts. Way beyond an ordinary street gang.’

  ‘Want us to send this to your cop friends?’ Beth asked slyly.

  ‘How?’ he growled frustratedly.

  ‘Leave that to us,’ she said sweetly. ‘It could be an anonymous tip.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘They might figure out it’s you they’re talking about.’

  ‘If that brings them to the club, great. They’ll get Sheller.’

  ‘If he shows up.’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’

  74

  Cutter went as an elderly man, using an invite the twins had conjured up for him.

  ‘It’s legit,’ Beth told him. ‘We hacked into the club’s member directory and found him. Old man, as you wanted.’

  Vance Trent, the member he was impersonating, had made his money in banking, back in the days when Wall Street was like the Wild West. He was a reclusive millionaire and seldom turned up at The Elitist’s events.

  Silvery hair, leathery cheeks, black eyes, a cane for walking, a smart-suit—that was his getup. No Glock, Benchmade or any other weapon. He couldn’t risk their being discovered at the club’s entrance.

  I’ve got backup weapons in that crate. Whether I’ll be able to get to them … he grinned sardonically as he exited the limo he had hired for the evening and ascended the stairs to The Elitist’s entrance.