by Ty Patterson
‘Man,’ the technician mopped his sweat. ‘That was close.’
Ronning punched him furiously in the shoulder. ‘Give us some warning next time,’ she raged, but that turned to laughter when reaction set in, and by the time they reached the NYPD headquarters she was beaming, her phone buzzing repeatedly with messages and calls.
‘You know what we did there?’ she addressed her team. ‘We brought down a leading presidential candidate. On live TV. No one’s ever done that. No one ever will. Why are we here?’
‘You’ll need protection. Until this blows over.’
107
The interview had out-trended every other by the time Cutter made his breakfast the next day. He caught up with the headlines as he ate.
It had come crashing down on Rubin while he was asleep. The Task Force had cracked Cray’s computer. They had found recordings of Sheller’s meetings with Mease and Rubin. They had secured arrest warrants, which had been executed at JFK as the candidate tried to flee on his private jet.
Jamison and Rolando addressed the media jointly, spoke of the conspiracy to subvert American politics, and promised more arrests across the length and breadth of the country.
‘No one is too powerful, no one is out of the reach of the law, no one is more equal than others,’ they said grimly as they signed off.
It’s over, he thought as he turned off the TV and scrolled through numerous missed calls and messages. Only two were important. One was from Arnedra, checking if he was okay.
All good here, he messaged.
Good? She replied with astonished emojis. Is that all you can say?
He grinned and made a mental note to call her later. The other message required a visit, not a reply.
* * *
‘I didn’t know if you would come,’ Carmel Ward said and hugged him tightly when she opened the door.
She led him inside and there Darrell was, lounging on a couch.
‘She made me take a day off,’ the boy said defensively at Cutter’s quirked eyebrow.
‘Quiet,’ his mom ordered her son, directing their visitor to another couch. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Darrell hasn’t?’
‘What he knows. It’s bigger than the Brownsville gang, isn’t it?’ She waved at the TV.
‘Yeah.’ He launched into it.
‘Wow,’ she replied when he had finished, lost for words.
‘I changed the presidential election?’ Darrell’s eyes were like saucers.
‘You sure did, buddy.’
‘What about us?’ his mom asked. ‘What happens now?’
‘Difiore—’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
‘She’s good. I trust her.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, ma’am. What she said will happen. Your name will not be in the media. No one will ever know about Darrell’s role in the gang. You can continue living your life like this. Or you can go into Witsec. The choice is yours.’
‘I am tired of change,’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘I don’t want any more surprises. No witness protection. I’ve discussed it with Darrell. He agrees with me.’
‘What if Manuel asks you to go with him?’
‘I’ll drop him,’ the boy said resolutely. ‘I’m done with gangs.’
‘You’d better be,’ his mother said in a hard tone. ‘If you don’t, I’ll tell the cops to arrest you, myself. Are we clear?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘We didn’t discuss your fees,’ she told Cutter when he was leaving.
He took in the lines and wrinkles on her face, at the eyes, weary but hopeful. A mother who worked two jobs just so she could give her son the best break in life. He looked beyond her at Darrell, who was playing on his phone.
‘My phone’s ringing off the hook, inquiries from new clients,’ he said, grinning. ‘Fees? We’ll never discuss that.’
He held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder.
‘How can I thank you?’ she whispered.
‘You did.’
He didn’t explain that helping folks like her was why he did what he did. Why he called himself the Fixer. It didn’t matter.
Carmel Ward had closure.
That was more important.
* * *
The message came to him when he was returning home.
Meet us. OnePP. Right now.
No signature. An unknown number, but judging by the tone, there was only one person who could have sent it.
108
Difiore led him up the floors to Rolando’s office. Cutter stopped short when he saw who else was in the commish’s office. Peyton Quindica, as he had expected, but sitting across from the commissioner was Bart Jamison.
‘Everything is off the record,’ the FBI director waved him to a chair.
‘We’re taking heat,’ the commish explained. ‘Politically. That Ronning’s interview and your intervention were staged, at our request.’
‘We would have gotten Rubin,’ Jamison spread his hands. ‘Once we cracked Cray’s computer.’
‘How long would it have taken for him to be tipped off?’ Cutter said heatedly. ‘What I did gave you freedom to open an investigation on him. Even if you had found nothing on that laptop.’
‘We get that,’ the commish admitted. His hawk-like eyes gave Cutter a piercing look. ‘Some folks are saying Gina and Peyton allowed their personal prejudices to get in the way. That their investigation was biased.’
Cutter blinked. ‘Detective Difiore and Special Agent in Charge Quindica didn’t know what I was planning. Nothing. I got Ronning to reach out to Rubin’s people and set up the interview. It was all me. I can arrange a press conference and say that. That should take some heat off you.’
‘No thanks. We can fight our own battles. How did you know Mease would be there?’
‘I didn’t. But where else would he be? No politician turns down a Ronning interview. That was the biggest moment of their campaign. I suspected he would want to be close.’
‘You’re damned lucky to get away alive.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Cutter, who was doing the shooting at Melrose?’
He hid his grin. That’s what this is about. Bruce and Bart aren’t happy about that loose end.
‘Some NYPD sniper, sir,’ he replied innocently. No first names. That was only when he was alone with them.
‘Save it,’ Jamison growled. ‘I told you this is off the record. You’re among friends. That was no FBI or police shooter.’
‘I don’t know who it was, sir. I was trying to stay alive.’
He stuck to that, even though they badgered him.
‘We don’t want vigilantes in the city,’ Rolando said at one point.
‘This vigilante saved the lives of Difiore and Quindica, the finest law enforcement officers I’ve worked with,’ he shot back.
The commish narrowed his eyes. He seemed to suppress a smile as he glanced at Jamison. ‘Better than the two of us?’
Cutter got to his feet. ‘Are we done here?’
‘You’re not going to tell us anything, are you?’
‘Sir,’ he replied, straight-faced, ‘I thought I was coming for an award presentation. Not for the third degree I’ve just experienced.’
‘Get out,’ the police commissioner grunted, ‘before I throw you out.’
* * *
‘You meant that?’ Difiore asked him on the way down.
‘Yeah,’ he said, knowing what she was referring to.
She didn’t say another word but surprised him by shaking his hand.
‘Are there cameras here?’ he said, looking about the lobby. ‘Can I get a clip of that?’
‘Go away,’ she sighed.
109
Terry Kobach was escorted into the yard at dusk.
‘Forty-five minutes,’ the guard told him and went to stand by the door.
This had been the routine ever since he was sent to solitary for killing Horstman. The guards cam
e to his cell in the evening, brought him out for his exercise and took him back after his allotted time. It was the only time he got to see the sky and breathe some fresh air.
He lay down on the weight bench and put his hands to the bar.
‘Shall I spot you?’
He jerked upright and stared at the stranger. Green eyes, dark hair.
‘Who are you?’
‘Got transferred from Lewisburg.’
‘How come you’re here?’ Kobach asked suspiciously. ‘There’s no one else around when I train.’
‘Dunno, dude. Guards brought me.’
‘Where are they?’
‘How the heck do I know? It’s my first day out.’ The stranger moved away irritatedly. He picked up a barbell and started exercising.
Kobach stared at him for a moment and looked around the yard. The lack of guards … that had never happened. He shrugged. Who knew what the prison officers were up to?
He got back to his position and lifted the bar.
‘Come, spot,’ he ordered. He was an alpha, even if he was in solitary. A new convict had to know who was boss.
‘What’re you in for?’
‘Rape.’
‘You have a name?
‘Bo Trice. You’re Kobach?’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Everyone does.’
The killer grunted when the newcomer added more weights and helped him lift.
‘Slow,’ he gasped when Trice pushed down with his hands.
‘’WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’ he panted when the felon didn’t stop.
‘Did you stop when Jake Horstman pleaded?’
Kobach’s eyes widened. He took in the convict as if seeing him for the first time. He let the bar fall on its holders and sat upright.
‘Who are you?’
He felt no fear. He could take on any prisoner at ADX; pretty boy was no threat.
* * *
Cutter slammed the twenty-pound dumbbells into Kobach’s chest who fell onto the bench with a groan. He cursed when the convict sprang back to attack with a guttural roar. He had underestimated the man’s capacity to absorb punishment and overestimated his own recovery.
He retreated rapidly as he swung with the weight, stumbled when he stepped on a loose disc, and went crashing down when the felon slammed into him.
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ Kobach raged as he smothered his attacker with his body and clamped massive hands around his neck.
Got … to … finish … him, Cutter panted as he brought the bells down on the convict’s head. His breath was stuttering and his vision was already dimming as the prisoner’s vise-like grip tightened and cut off his air.
He kept going however, hammering away with the weight, which was feeling heavy to lift. Breathing was becoming impossible, but he kept swinging, pounding at Kobach’s head until it turned bloody.
The convict’s eyes faded and his grip faltered but Cutter kept hitting even when the body turned still and heavy, and only then did his hand fall away.
He gasped and panted and sobbed as clean air filled his tortured lungs and his ribs felt as if a tank had driven over them.
Cutter heaved the dead man away and got to his knees. Forced himself to crawl to the bench and sat heavily on it. He sat there until the earth stopped spinning crazily and the lights and colors behind his eyes faded.
He limped out of the yard without a second glance and entered the hallway. Walked through the prison, which had filled with cacophony. Alarms sounded and prisoners yelled as they pounded their cell doors. No guard accosted him. Those at their stations were at their screens, which seemed to be down. He heard snatches of frantic conversation and then he was out, under the enormous canopy of the night sky, where his cab was waiting for him.
They sped off just as the first fire truck nosed inside the prison’s compound.
‘Some kind of fire,’ the cab driver said, relaying the news. ‘In the dining area. It seems to be serious.’
Cutter didn’t reply.
He had called the same three-star general who had arranged for Jake to meet him. The officer had listened silently as he had made his case.
‘It’ll be difficult,’ he had hedged.
‘You can make it happen. If Zaidi could take out Mansoor, this is nothing.’
‘Do you know what you’re asking?’
‘Yeah,’ he had replied.
‘It will cost you,’ the general finally agreed.
Cutter knew what that meant.
The covert world would come calling one day, asking for the favor to be repaid. He wouldn’t be able to refuse.
It was a trade he was willing to make for Jake Horstman.
110
‘Did you have anything to do with it?’ Joe Brodsky asked him angrily.
‘Did I have anything to do with what?’
‘Kobach!’ the warden yelled. ‘He was killed yesterday, just as a fire broke out in my prison.’
‘Huh? You think—’
‘Save the innocent act,’ his friend snapped. ‘My security cameras went down mysteriously. Guards were drawn away from their stations by panic alarms. All of them were false. No witnesses. No one saw anything.’
‘I am a lot of things,’ Cutter said spiritedly, ‘but I am not a magician—’
He grinned when the warden hung up abruptly. He stretched and winced when the aches and pains started all over again.
Good thing, Joe wasn’t on a video call. The way I’m looking and feeling, he would know it was me.
* * *
‘Look who’s here.’ Beth grinned when Cutter limped to their table.
It had been easy to locate Zeb and his team. The crew frequented Kolumbus Koffee, the café near their office, when they were in town.
‘You sure you should be up and about?’ Bwana hugged him carefully.
‘Wheelchair,’ Chloe declared, ‘that’s what he needs.’
‘Nah, he’s too vain for that,’ Meghan smirked. ‘The Fixer’s image will take a beating.’
Cutter gripped the back of Broker’s chair as he took their joshing. He shook his head when Zeb pointed at an empty seat.
‘Got to be somewhere else,’ he said. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘If you hadn’t taken those shots …’
‘I was the sniper? What makes you think that?’
‘I thought—’
‘You thought what?’ Beth jibed, ‘That only Zeb can shoot?’
‘No, that’s not what I meant—’ Cutter floundered. Every one of the Agency operatives was a crack shot.
‘After all we did for him,’ Meghan scowled, ‘he thanks Zeb. As if we were twiddling our thumbs.’
‘Men are like that,’ Chloe agreed. ‘They think we women can’t—’
‘Sorry,’ Cutter said hurriedly, addressing them all. ‘I am grateful,’ he insisted, ‘truly,’ and retreated as gracefully as he could.
* * *
Meghan snorted and burst out laughing when she caught sight of him hurrying away, red-faced in embarrassment.
‘That was good shooting,’ Zeb told her.
‘Teamwork,’ she said, bumping his shoulder.
Bear and Chloe had been the drivers in two getaway vehicles. Beth had been her spotter. Broker, Bwana, Roger and Zeb had been in the shadows on the ground, to provide forceful support in case the fight went south.
The elder twin could have taken out Sheller if she wanted. They had agreed, however, that Cutter needed to end the gangbanger’s reign.
‘Should I delete the software on his phone?’ Beth asked. ‘We can track him even now and see if he’s in trouble.’
‘Leave it,’ Zeb said. ‘He’s one of ours.’
They would always have Cutter’s back, even if he wasn’t Agency. That was how they worked.
* * *
Cutter grinned wryly at the way his friends had suckered him as he made his way across the city to Lafayette. Serves me right for assuming it was Zeb who was the mystery shooter.
; He had known the moment the first shot had taken out Cray, that his friends had come to the rescue.
He pulled out his phone and inspected it. Beth and Meg must have been tracking it, that’s how they knew where I was. He thought about getting a new phone and number. Considered it for several moments and then shrugged.
Let them track me. He worked alone, but it was good to have friends watch out for him. Friends? he snorted. They’re family.
* * *
It was evening by the time he reached the bodega, where Lin Shun was stocking up the counter with a fresh batch of baking.
‘Just in time,’ she greeted him. She placed two slices on a paper tray and handed them over. ‘Pineapple and lemon tarts.’ She cocked her head when he took the first bite.
He rolled his eyes in delight when the sweet-sour flavor hit his taste buds and gave her a thumbs-up. Moshe appeared silently and shook his head at Cutter’s condition. He went to the door and turned the sign to Closed. Chang lowered the blinds and pulled out a table and four chairs. Lin Shun brought steaming trays of food, and they were digging in when there was a pounding at the door.
Moshe went to get it and returned with Difiore and Quindica, both impassive and hard-faced.
‘Room for two?’ the detective asked. They dropped into the two chairs that Chang and Moshe returned with.
‘Difiore,’ Cutter greeted her.
She nodded regally and reached down to bring out a bottle of wine.
‘I don’t drink.’
At that, Quindica held up a bottle of juice and poured into a glass for him.
‘Peyton,’ she said, pointing at herself. ‘And she’s Gina, from now on.’
‘Don’t read too much into it,’ the detective warned him, impassive as ever. ‘We’ll still nail your ass to the wall if you give us reason.’
‘But,’ the SAC added as she slurped her noodles, ‘since we’re on first-name terms, we’ll cut you some slack.’