Break

by Ty Patterson

  ‘We need to meet. Same place.’

  ‘Cray,’ he yelled on his next call, ‘why haven’t you found where Grogan is?’

  ‘Boss, he’s gone off the radar.’

  ‘GONE OFF THE RADAR?’ Gunner roared. ‘He was on TV, live, just a few minutes ago. Didn’t you see that?’

  ‘I did, boss. I’m checking with hotels to see where it took place.’

  ‘He would have already left by now. Reach out to our contacts in TV. They’ll know. What about that snitch? Why’re you taking so long?’

  ‘None of Nails’ men called Grogan. I checked their call records. Our rat must be using some other phone or meeting Grogan somewhere. I’m checking out his office—’

  ‘Why would they meet there?’

  ‘Hiding in plain sight, boss. Like you’ve done all these years. It’s so effective.’

  ‘Find him. I don’t care how. AND FIND GROGAN.’

  * * *

  Darrell texted his mom to say he would be late and shook his head when her usual reply came back. Anxious. Concerned. Angry.

  It won’t be for long, Mama, he told himself. He wasn’t so sure about that, however. Cold dread filled him whenever he thought of Nails’ hit. The store’s owners seemed like nice people. I should warn Cutter. But not yet. I need to know when it will happen.

  He ducked behind a car when Nails, whom he had been tailing, stopped to take a call on his cell. He had hung around discreetly after the gang split up in the evening. Finding out who the boss was would be his ticket to witness protection. For which he had to follow the gang leader and see if he met the mysterious person.

  The gangster hadn’t been in any hurry. He had walked the length of Rockaway and spoken to several dealers. Had checked out street corners and parking lots where deals went down and had then disappeared into a restaurant.

  Darrell was worried that was where the boss would be, but when he saw Nails alone at a table, he was reassured. He brought out his last snack bar and had a cold, unsatisfactory dinner while the gang leader feasted on chicken thighs and lamb chops.

  * * *

  It was two am when Nails finally made a move. He walked back on Rockaway and took a circular route to Mother Gaston.

  Darrell followed him from a distance, which wasn’t difficult since he was small and could blend into the shadows. They passed their usual hangout and arrived at a fenced-in yard littered with trash.

  A shadow moved and approached Nails.

  Was that the boss?

  No. The gang leader said something, climbed over the barrier and disappeared from sight.

  There were a few abandoned vehicles right in front of the yard, but there were also some men who seemed to be a protection unit.

  Darrell breathed shallowly as he crouched low and stepped off the sidewalk. No vehicles in sight. Store signs and dim street lighting cast a glow, but the sentries, four of them, were alert for vehicles and cops, not a small-sized teenager.

  His heart in his mouth, he got as close as he could and rolled swiftly underneath a truck when a guard looked his way.

  Had he been spotted?

  He heard a chuckle and a soft murmur. A lighter flicked. A passing car illuminated him, but no one was paying attention.

  Darrell crawled on his hands and knees and came to the hood of the vehicle. Checked the coast and found the next vehicle was an SUV. He held his breath and crept forward quickly and squeezed beneath it.

  The yard was to his left.

  He inched forward until he had the best view and let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

  He could see Nails’ faint outline as he shifted weight from one foot to the other.

  He’s alone. Did the boss leave? Why would the sentries still be there if he had?

  The darkness in the yard seemed to part half an hour later. Something large and big moved.

  That’s the boss!

  He was huge. He clapped Nails on the shoulder.

  He seemed to be bald; his head gleamed faintly.

  Darrell clawed at his chest and extracted his phone from the tape. He froze when his head bumped against the chassis. The guards’ murmur stopped. It felt like the earth stopped for long moments, and then a laugh reached him.

  He relaxed, held up the phone with trembling fingers, and aimed its camera at the two men in the yard. He zoomed in as much as he could and turned on video recording.

  * * *

  ‘Have you got everything for the hit?’ Gunner rasped at his cell leader.

  ‘Yesterday was our first recon, boss. There’ll be another run later today, and we hit tomorrow.’

  ‘No time for that. Take them out today.’

  ‘Boss—’

  ‘You heard me. IT HAS TO HAPPEN TODAY,’ Gunner repeated loudly. His guards glanced his way, prepared to come with guns blazing, but he stood them down with an angry wave.

  ‘It’s risky, boss,’ Nails protested. ‘Grogan nearly got me the last time.’

  ‘I want him to come, don’t you get it? It’s a trap to sucker him. I thought I explained it to you. Are you stupid—’ He broke off and breathed out harshly and then said calmly, ‘Do it today. Around lunchtime.’

  ‘There could be customers.’

  ‘Don’t care. I’ll send more hitters. They’ll grab Grogan when he shows up. They’ll have getaway vehicles and fire on cops, too. We’ve done this before.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Who will you take?’

  ‘Marv and Chino. The three of us are the best shooters in my cell.’

  ‘Don’t fail. That Jew and the Chinese should die tomorrow.’

  And if everything went to plan, Grogan would be captured. Once that happened, it wouldn’t matter if Nails or Cray couldn’t find out who the snitch was.

  Gunner would extract the information from the Fixer.

  Slowly and painfully.

  84

  Cutter stopped taking calls at ten am. They had started after his interview. Journalists, bloggers—everyone in the media who knew him rang to get more details on the story.

  He got tired of saying, I said everything I had to say, or, you saw the interview. I’ve nothing more to add.

  Rolando and Jamison messaged to check how he was doing. Still alive, he replied.

  Difiore displayed her tender, loving side with: We’ll assume you’re dead if you don’t reply.

  Sorry to disappoint you, he messaged her.

  He yawned and stretched and climbed out of his SUV, in which he had spent the night parked near Javits Center in Hell’s Kitchen. He checked into a tourist hotel and showered, then drove to Times Square, where he parked illegally. He went to a fast-food joint where he had breakfast and, for a moment, forgot about his assignment and Sheller and the world and watched tourists snap photographs. That reminded him of Riley, and he shut down those thoughts and glanced at his watch.

  ‘Key and access code are in a downtown lockbox,’ Meghan replied crisply when he called.

  ‘This is a mansion,’ he protested when he checked out the place on his maps application. He had gone to them for help and the Petersens had come through.

  ‘You want it or not?’ Beth’s impatience coming through plain and clear.

  Cutter studied the images they had sent. A townhouse on Henderson Place on the East River. Red brick front. Sturdy door with knocker. Four bedrooms and equal number of bathrooms, but those didn’t interest him. Five floors. Terrace on the floor that overlooked the street. A fire exit at the back of the house opened into a central yard, from which there was egress.

  ‘We’ve used it several times,’ Meghan said, seemingly reading his thoughts. ‘That’s almost like a private street. It’s easy to seal off and protect.’

  ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘Why do you need to know?’

  ‘He’s worried we’ll send a bill,’ her sister snickered.

  ‘Cutter,’ Meghan replied impatiently. ‘That’s a good place. Secure. It can house an entire NYPD precinct—’


  ‘I’ll take it,’ he said hurriedly, before she changed her mind.

  ‘That lockbox has everything. Keys. Security codes, camera locations.’

  * * *

  Cray had images to sift through. He had hacked into the security cameras around Grogan’s office and copied two months of their feed. He ran a social media face-recognition algorithm that matched everyone who entered the building to those who had online accounts.

  He eliminated the building’s occupants and other office residents by looking up the tenants and working out the employees. He checked off delivery drivers, too. He could circle back to those later if he found no one suspicious.

  It wasn’t easy. He had to write programs, some of which were to hack into the DMV database, the Social Security one. He got out of his chair, massaged a crick in his neck, and went to make coffee. The search would work in the background and create a list of possible suspects whom he could investigate.

  * * *

  Darrell took up his position a bit later than the previous day. He had to escape from school, and then he had to shake off Manuel, who kept asking annoying questions.

  The bodega owners were there, visible through the windows. A customer walked in as he watched, and placed an order. The teenager’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he imagined the smells of fresh baking. He searched his pocket for his usual—What the?

  Nails! What’s he doing here? Marv and Chino, they’re there too.

  Fear gripped him as the three gangbangers walked up the street, apart from one another, as if they were strangers. The Brownsville leader slowed when he took a call, finished it quickly, searched the sidewalk and found him. Gave him a hard stare and made a discreet gesture.

  I have to keep watch and alert them.

  His mouth went dry when the implications hit him.

  They’re going to kill the owners.

  85

  Luck played a role.

  Cutter was back on Lafayette, drinking coffee on the sidewalk, leaning against the storefront, checking out the outside of his building and the street for surveillance when he got the call.

  ‘IT’S ME. DARRELL. NAILS IS GOING TO KILL YOUR FRIENDS. HE’S MINUTES FROM THE STORE. MARV AND CHINO—’

  ‘HEY!’ another voice broke in. ‘Give my phone back. How dare you—’

  The call cut off, but it didn’t matter anymore. Cutter had moved before it ended.

  His coffee cup fell to the street. He was several feet away when the liquid sloshed out and spread across the concrete. He was racing at full sprint, shouting, urging, cursing and pleading for people to make way for him.

  He tried the bodega. Got a busy line. Called Difiore and Quindica. Got their voicemails. It was a repeat of the holdup.

  SHOOTING’S GOING DOWN AT THE STORE, he said in a terse message. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and ran. His eyes scanned the sidewalk crowd, found gaps through which he could slide, a brush against a body here, a leap over a trash can there, a startled squawk from someone. He ran heedlessly, working out how it would go down.

  He’ll make them suffer. Beat them up. Sheller will want that.

  It was also a trap to draw him out. Which meant the Lions’ founder would send more hitters.

  Cutter cut across Lafayette recklessly as brakes jammed, horns blared and windows rolled down to let out angry swears. He continued down Howard Street, turned left on Center Street and sped up.

  Towards the back of the store.

  Rear entrance. Window on the low, sloping roof.

  That would be his way in.

  He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  86

  Nails took the call just as they neared the street.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  He straightened when he recognized Gunner.

  ‘Are you—’

  ‘Boss, we’re outside the bodega. The hit’s going down.’

  ‘Call me when it’s done. Support’s on its way.’

  The Brownsville leader pocketed his phone and nodded imperceptibly at his men. No change to the plan. They had worked together for so long that words were unnecessary.

  He searched for Darrell and found him. The teenager shook his head, which meant the coast was clear. No cops in sight.

  His two shooters went inside the store.

  Chino went to the counter with a smile on his face. The grin remained in place as he leaned over and yanked the phone so hard its cable slipped out. He flung it to the floor and caught the Chinese man by his collar and spat on him.

  ‘WHAT—’ the Chinese woman shrieked. She ran from behind the dessert counter and slid to an abrupt stop when Chino and Marv produced their guns.

  The Jew came from behind an aisle, his eyes sharp. He slowed down and raised his hands when Nails shut the door, locked it from the inside, turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and lowered the blinds.

  ‘Last time was a holdup,’ he said with a chuckle when the owners seemed to recognize him. ‘This one’s a killing.’

  He shoved a stand and sent it crashing against the wall display. That made more space in front of the long counter.

  ‘Get over here,’ he ordered.

  ‘PLEASE DON’T DO THIS. TAKE OUR MONEY—’ He slapped the woman so hard she reeled against the counter. Blood flowed from her split lip.

  He caught her, heaved her across the counter, then shoved her against it.

  ‘You two,’—he waved his gun at the husband and the Jew—‘join her.’

  ‘PLEASE—’ the Chinese man began but cut himself off when Nails raised his gun.

  They shuffled over to flank the woman, all three of them standing with their hands raised.

  ‘She’s quite a babe,’ Marv leered.

  ‘She’s old, isn’t she?’

  ‘They’re the best.’

  ‘You want to have some fun?’

  ‘We have time?’

  ‘Go ahead. Darrell will warn us. Boss is sending support. Chino, check the rear.’

  ‘All good here,’ the hitter called out from the back. ‘Door’s closed.’

  ‘Stay there. Watch out for Grogan.’

  Nails stood back and grinned as the woman moaned and made to escape, but Marv slapped her again and ripped the front of her shirt.

  Front and rear were secure. Grogan would most likely come down Lafayette, where he would receive a warm welcome. They needed to stall until he showed up, however, which was why he had encouraged Marv to assault the woman.

  His loins stirred at the sight of her full undershirt. Never had a Chinese before. Nope. He couldn’t get involved. Make it spectacular, Gunner had told him. And then kill them.

  Raping the woman in front of her husband was spectacular enough.

  ‘You,’ he prodded the Jew, who was impassive, his dark eyes still, watchful. ‘You don’t look scared. You haven’t said anything. You haven’t begged. BEG!’ he roared and slammed the barrel on his forehead.

  The Jew fell back with a small groan, but he didn’t speak. The Chinese man swore and lunged at the leader. He skidded to a halt when Nails jammed his gun against his mouth.

  ‘You can die right now. You want that?’

  The man raised his hands and backed off, venomously. Nails’ smirk turned to a laugh at the sounds of a scuffle. The woman struggling furiously, silently, with Marv.

  ‘You can’t control her, bro?’ He sneered and looked at the window when tires squealed outside. He covered his captives with his gun and shuffled to the window to peer through the blinds.

  Two SUVs at the curb in front of the store. Both of them filled with hard-faced white men.

  ‘Help’s here. Take her, Marv.’

  87

  Cutter was still several doors away when he took to the roof.

  He planted a foot against a white-painted wall and leapt into the air. Grabbed a drainpipe and clambered up the side of the two-story building and ran down the length of its roof.

  A rooftop sunbather leapt and grabbed a towel
to cover herself. She yelled at him, but he was past listening.

  He reached the edge of the roof and looked down. The line of buildings broke down to a row of stores, with lower roofs. The bodega was the fourth from where he was. Center Street visible from his vantage point. Busy as usual. No gun-toting thugs outside. No cops, either.

  He got to his knees, hung off the roof by his fingertips, and let go. Slid down the vertical wall with his feet jammed tight to slow down his fall, then pushed away. He landed on the lower roof and rolled smoothly. Increased surface area to absorb the impact. Muscle memory triggering automatically from his parkour training.

  He got to his feet and sprinted, conscious of the clock ticking. Straining his ears for the sounds of gunshots. First store roof navigated. An assistant at the back entrance looked at him and gawped.

  Second roof had air-con equipment that he lost precious seconds circling around. The third roof was smooth and obstacle-free, and he slowed there and crouch-walked.

  Rear of the store was empty. Next roof was the bodega. He crossed over to it, his moves liquid-easy.

  The window was wide open to let in air. No signs of anyone at the back, on the outside.

  He got to his belly and crawled forward.

  Peered forward carefully. Back door closed. A shape … yeah, that was a shooter. Gun down his side. Relaxed. Face turned to the inside of the store.

  From where Cutter heard Lin Shun scream.

  88

  Nails, Chino and Marv. Three men, one of them at the back. Another seemed to be assaulting Lin Shun. No shots that Cutter had heard.

  The animal inside him yapped when another muffled shout came to him.

  She’s alive. Chang and Moshe, too. Nails will make them watch, he concluded, and with that, he acted.

  Speed and shock.

  Cutter used them to his advantage as he threw himself through the window, his elbows raised to cover his face.