Blood Conspiracy (Brooklyn Shadows Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “It sounds like they picked the wrong guy to fuck with.”

  “His buddy is gone, and he thinks this guy, who did a good job of matching your description, killed him.”

  “You think I could take out three thugs all by myself?”

  Castillo leans in. “I remember what you did in that cell. I don’t know what you’re capable of, but I know what I saw.”

  “Let’s suppose I did get jumped by three hooligans and stomped their heads in. Why do you care? Three guys try to mug someone in the park. Sounds like they got what they deserved.”

  “I didn’t say anything about a mugging, and I sure as hell didn’t mention it was in a park.”

  “I’m a detective, I deduced. One man isn’t going to take on three criminals, so obviously they initiated the attack. Most nighttime muggings take place in a park, so I naturally assumed that’s where it happened. Besides, you seem to have a fixation on park-related violence. Maybe I got confused.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Regardless, I have an alibi. I also have a dirty, cheating husband to find, so unless you have a warrant, or better, probable cause to take me in, you’re trespassing.”

  Castillo’s posture says she wants nothing more than to slam me to the ground, slap cuffs on me, and bring me in, but she takes a step back out of the doorway.

  “I’m watching you, Malone. I will bring you in and, when I do, I’ll have enough evidence to put you away for life, and you won’t weasel your way out of it.”

  “You know, when you took your oath to protect and defend, they meant the citizens of New York not bad clothes and a shitty haircut.” I slam the door in her face before she can reply. “Where’s your car?”

  “I hid it inside one of the buildings around back. It is nice having a silent vehicle sometimes.”

  “I don’t think Francis would agree with you. Marvin, let’s get you suited up. Lesile, how long will it take to charge up your Barbie dream car enough to get us to Philly?”

  “It wasn’t drained, but at least four hours.”

  “Shit, I was hoping to leave sooner than that.”

  “I can take it back to my hotel. They have a rapid charger in the parking garage. We can leave for Philadelphia in an hour.”

  “All right, Marvin and I will meet you there. Look around before you leave. I wouldn’t put it past Castillo to stake me out.”

  Marvin makes a stabbing motion at my heart. “Ha, stake. Get it? Because you’re a vampire.”

  “Shut up, Marvin.”

  “Someone got up on the wrong side of the coffin.”

  I restrain my urge to strangle Marvin and open my armory. This is going to be close-quarter combat within a confined area, so I pick out a pair of Brügger & Thomet TP9 and an MP5, all suppressed to the max. I slip the weapons, half a dozen spare magazines for each one, and a few concussion grenades into a duffle bag and return to my loft.

  “Marvin, what kind of equipment are you going to need once we’re inside?”

  “I gave Yuri a list. He said he’ll have it waiting for us in Philly.” He nods toward the bag in my hand. “Is that our gear?”

  “Yeah.”

  Marvin abandons his nerd corner and strides across the room. “Let me check this out.”

  I slap his grasping hands away. “They’re not toys. I’ll issue you your weapon when we’re ready to deploy, not before.”

  “Yes sir. Captain Killjoy.”

  “Come here, I do have something you can wear now.”

  I cross to the large antique wardrobe where I keep my jackets and pretty much my entire mono-stylistic apparel. I hand Marvin a ballistic vest and pull out one of my Miguel Caballero trench coats. Marvin slips the vest over his head, cinches down the Velcro straps, and shrugs on the coat.

  “Damn, this stuff is heavy.”

  “I have some black cotton tees if you prefer to go in light.”

  “No and hell no. Not only am I partial to not getting shot, I am totally rocking the coat look. Tell me I don’t look like a thinner, younger, smarter, better-looking Morpheus.”

  “You need to take this seriously, Marvin. This is not a game or a movie. This is real.”

  “What is real? How do you define ‘real’? If you're talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then 'real' is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain,” Marvin quotes.

  I slap him on the side of the head. “Was that real?”

  Marvin rubs his stinging cranium. “Yeah, a real dick move. Hey, what if someone shoots me in my head?”

  “I suggest you keep your head down and out of the path of bullets.”

  “Oh, that’s great advice. I might be a genius, but that is truly brilliant and insightful. I never would have considered that as part of my overall strategy.”

  “Your strategy is to do exactly what I say. You got it?”

  I grab Marvin’s wrist before he can bring his hand up to salute. “Yeah, I got it,” he says and pulls his arm from my grip.

  The cab takes almost half an hour to reach my place after I make the call. The only reason I can get one here at all is due to my frequent customer status, otherwise no cabby with an ounce of sense would come down my dark streets for a fare. This isn’t exactly the West Village. I continually check our six, but I don’t spot a tail. Castillo seemed to be a bit more reserved than usual, and Angel wasn’t with her. I think that maybe Will convinced her superiors to get her off my back before he sued them into Third World poverty. We draw some looks from the few people populating Lesile’s opulent hotel lobby. Dressed in black trench coats and carrying a bag full of automatic weapons and explosives, I can’t help but think about the firefight in The Matrix thanks to Marvin’s constant movie references.

  “Don’t say a damn word.”

  Marvin looks at me and grins. “You were thinking it, weren’t you? Yeah, you know you were. Epic!”

  I struggle to endure the elevator ride to Lesile’s suite while Marvin chatters away as if he’s reading the movie’s screenplay to me. Only the thought of soon getting to shoot people I currently find more deserving to die keeps me from strangling him. That and the fact I need him to get the job done.

  Lesile answers the door in a black, form-fitting jumpsuit. “I wasn’t sure if you had your own vest, so I brought you one.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Bulletproof vests are not part of my regular wardrobe.”

  “Huh, they are mine.”

  “Okay,” Marvin interjects, “I know I’m not the only one who notices we look exactly like Morpheus, Neo, and Trinity.”

  “Jesus Christ, Marvin, would you get off that goddam movie?”

  “It’s not my fault we got a white guy and a black guy in black coats, a hot chick in a tight outfit looking all catwomanish, a bag full of machine guns, and we’re on our way to storm a government building full of secret agents! I mean come on! Tell me the guy’s name isn’t Agent Smith.”

  “It’s not. It’s Snow.”

  “Still starts with an S. Does he call you ‘Mr. Malone’?” Marvin asks in a monotone voice.

  “No…he uses a little more inflection.”

  “How much more?”

  “Not much.”

  “See.”

  “Shut up, Marvin.”

  “You know what, I’m going to start translating ‘shut up, Marvin’ as: You’re right, Marvin. You are as insightful as you are smart and good-looking, and I am only mad because your genius reminds me how mean and dumb I am.”

  “Shut up, Marvin!”

  “Thank you.”

  I shove Marvin toward the door. “Get in the goddam car.”

  Lesile is grinning at me and chuckling under her breath as we speed out of the parking garage.

  “What?” I demand.

  “I see why you like him so much.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I understand why you are friends with Marvin.”

  “We’re not friends, we
’re occasional work associates, and there’s only one reason for that: lack of options.”

  “Leonard, it is okay to like someone and for someone to like you.”

  Marvin leans forward and sticks his head between the seat backs. “Yeah, you don’t fool me with all your growling and name-calling. You know you like me. Marvin and Leo sitting in a tree…you know what, I’m going to go ahead and stop, because this is taking an unhealthy turn.”

  “You’re entire life has been a series of unhealthy turns.”

  “It only gets unhealthy when I’m around you! I never had to shoot anyone in the face with a shotgun because he was about to cut my employer’s head off when I worked at the Apple Genius Bar. I’ve been installing computers, surveillance equipment, and security systems in the Russian mafia’s headquarters for the past nine months, and I ain’t so much as gotten a paper cut. I’ve been working with you for like three days, and I’ve pulled you out of the ocean after a plane crash, disarmed a bomb in a vampire’s head, and been a witness to you running over some dude just before decapitating him. As if that weren’t enough, now I’m on my way to infiltrate the government’s anti-terrorist organization, and I cannot figure out for the life of me how the hell I came to be doing all this!”

  “Shut up, Marvin.”

  “Don’t try to flatter me. I’m not in the mood!”

  “Marvin, take a deep breath. Take a few deep breaths.”

  Marvin presses himself back against his seat and breathes deeply. “I should have listened to my grandmother.”

  “She told you to stay in college?”

  “No, she told me ‘don’t ever trust whitey.’ I’m sorry, mama Beatie, I didn’t listen, and now your baby’s gonna die!”

  “Calm down, Marvin! If all goes according to plan, we’ll get in, you’ll kill the security systems and the bomb in Vincent’s head, and we’ll be out without a shot fired.”

  “And if it don’t go according to plan?”

  “Then The Matrix just got real,” I reply.

  “Don’t try using my fantasies to make me feel better about this!”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Marvin crosses his arms and sulks. “Yeah, a little.”

  “Listen, I’ve done this sort of thing before, and I’m pretty damn good at it. My primary focus, other than stopping the knowledge of our existence getting out, is keeping you alive. I will literally be between you and the bullets.”

  Marvin leans forward again, sticks his head between the seats, and grins at me. “You really do like me.”

  “I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. Don’t read into it.”

  “But you would take a bullet for me.”

  “Only because bullets are rarely lethal for my kind.”

  “Yeah! Tell me about this whole vampire thing. Show me your fangs!”

  “I don’t have fangs.”

  “What about all that other shit? Can you turn into a bat or climb walls like a spider? What about mirrors, can you see yourself in them?”

  “No, I can’t climb walls, and why the hell would I want to turn into a bat even if I could? You’re supposed to be something of a scientist, so how could a mirror not reflect my image?”

  “Oh, yeah, that is kind of dumb.”

  “Most of what you see in movies is dumb.”

  “So no stake through the heart either, huh?”

  “Not unless you really want to piss me off.”

  “So you’re just strong, fast, and mean. Kinda like a steroid user.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I’m hoping Marvin is out of inane questions, but I should have known better. He continues prattling on for most of the drive, the majority of his pestering inquiries I answer with a grunt or halfhearted backhand. He takes refuge behind my seat but still rambles on until we reach the fuel depot.

  We drive through the open chain-link gates and creep into the yard. A massive warehouse and office building abuts the naval yard to our left. We follow the roadway past it, a large parking lot, and a few smaller buildings until we navigate to the far corner of the depot. Trucks of various sizes are parked in an area to our right. To the left and just ahead are massive tanks holding what I presume are various forms of petroleum products.

  A man in a yellow hard hat waves us over. We pull up next to a trailer like those often found on construction sites. He leans against my open window ledge and sticks his head in the car.

  “You Malone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yuri told us to expect you and the kid.” He juts his chin at Lesile. “Who’s she?”

  “She’s part of my team.”

  “You can park behind that building there then meet us in the trailer.”

  Lesile parks the car behind a nearby structure. I grab the weapons bag, and we make our way to the trailer. With the three of us adding to the four people already inside, it is a bit cramped. The man who told us where to park stands just inside the doorway. Two more men are playing cards at a small table, and a fourth is lounging on a couch at the far end.

  “I’m Lenny, that’s Rick and Dimitri,” he says as soon as we enter.

  I look to the skinny man on the couch. “And that is…?”

  “Fucking annoying.”

  The guy slinks off the couch with the supple grace of a ferret, sashays across the room, and tilts a wrist in front of my face. “I’m Blaine, Yuri’s transformation genius, and I wouldn’t be so fucking annoying if you people would have brought me the right fucking water,” he says in a lisping, lilting voice.

  “What’s wrong with the water?” I ask, deliberately ignoring his hand.

  “I told them I only drink Veen straight from Finland when I’m on set, and they brought me fucking Aquafina from like Costco or some shit. I may as well drink out of the fucking toilet.”

  “It can be arranged,” Lenny growls. Blaine sucks his teeth and returns to his couch. “Anyway, these guys are due to show up in the next few days. They don’t keep a regular schedule, but it never varies more than about forty-eight hours. Tactically, it’s a good idea, but it made them stand out. It’s one of the things that drew our attention.”

  “And you’re sure these are our feds? I would really hate to get it wrong.”

  “No doubt these are our guys. They’re less convincing as truck drivers than Twinkle Toes over there.”

  Blaine flips Lenny a lazy, swooping finger from the couch.

  “Leo, Yuri’s supposed to have my gear here. I’d like to check it out and get it prepped,” Marvin says.

  Lenny points to the other end of the room. “Yeah, it’s over there behind the desk. Have at it.”

  Marvin starts popping open military-style plastic cases and setting the contents on the table. I don’t know what a lot of the stuff is, but I recognize the signal analyzer he used before. He flips open the lid of a laptop that looks like it could take a bullet and live, sticks a thumb drive into a port, and begins tapping on the keys.

  I tell Lenny, “We’re going to need to block all forms of cellular, satellite, and radio communications once this kicks off.”

  “That broad who seems to be running the show talked to Yuri last night. He furnished her group with some signal scramblers. We got guys ready to take out all the cell towers as soon as you give us the word.”

  “It sounds like you have all the bases covered.”

  “Yuri likes to be thorough.”

  “Who’s going to be driving the truck?”

  “Rick and Dimitri. They look the closest like the feds. They’ve been studying the tapes and have been practicing their voices. They won’t fool someone who knows them well, but they’re getting pretty good.”

  “Let’s hope it’s good enough.”

  Marvin has plenty to occupy his time. I on the other hand have little recourse but to sit and listen to Blaine’s incessant complaining. It takes me less than half an hour before I begin to fantasize about killing him, which I discuss with Lenny and company and learn that I now hold t
he record for tolerance, as their best only managed twenty-two minutes. Only the knowledge that we need him, and Yuri seems to want him around, keeps us from snapping his scrawny neck.

  Marvin never seems to run out of things to do on his computer. I wish I were so fortunate. I manage to sneak out of the trailer once and take a stroll around the depot. There’s a navy ship moored at the dock, which is interesting for about five minutes. My escape goes unnoticed for close to fifteen minutes before Lenny politely tells me to get my ass back inside before I blow our cover. There’s little fear of that. He says they never come before nightfall, but I guess I should be more careful.

  I slip into one of my trances and manage to block out Blaine and his marathon viewing of the most idiotic reality shows ever aired. Even if I wanted to talk to Lesile, which I most assuredly do not, she mentally checked out shortly after we got here and hasn’t moved since.

  Lenny wakes us both up by poking us with a broom handle. I guess he doesn’t want to be too close if we are the sort of people who wake up swinging. Smart man. It’s dark out, but a pair of headlights shines through the trailer window between the slats of the venetian blinds.

  Lenny nods to Dimitri. “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  The two mobsters exit the trailer and approach the truck. I peer between the blinds and watch the scene unfold. The driver and passenger are standing in front of the truck. They are attentive but not on alert.

  Lenny raises a hand. “Hey there, is it time to top off again?”

  “Yeah,” the driver responds, “late like usual. I don’t know why the day shift can’t do it and always leaves it for the night crew to do.”

  “Ain’t that always the way.”

  “Do you need me to pull closer to the tanks?”

  “Naw, you’re fine where you’re at.”

  Rick steps out from behind the trailer, closes to within fifteen feet of the passenger, and puts a bullet in the back of his head. The report from the silenced .22 automatic is a barely audible pop from where I’m standing. The driver reacts instantly, spinning and drawing his weapon before his partner hits the ground. He doesn’t get a chance to fire. Lenny pulls his own silenced pistol from inside his coat and puts one behind the driver’s right ear.

  Lenny grabs the driver beneath his arms and drags him to the trailer while Dimitri and Rick scoop up the passenger. They bring the two dead men into the trailer, lay them out on the floor, and begin stripping them. While Dimitri and Rick swap clothes with the feds, Blaine opens a suitcase containing liquid latex, glue, and a veritable Ralph Lauren mobile warehouse of makeup supplies. Lenny darts back out the door, and I hear the truck fire up.