by Ty Patterson
He ran his eye through the crowd, about a hundred of them, seeking people who stood out, who didn’t belong. He discounted people in nightwear, those in skin tight clothing or those in flip flops.
Hoods will be wearing something loose to cover their guns.
A few men looked possible, but they wrapped their arms around other guests and stayed with the throng. The crowd grew restive and shouted questions at the harried hotel staff and the chaos increased when the first fire truck pulled in front of the hotel.
Three men slipped out from behind the throng when most of the eyes were on the truck. Two of them appeared to be white, the third was Hispanic. They walked swiftly, casting darting eyes at other vehicles in the parking lot. One of them eyed Zeb’s vehicle, but Zeb was deep in the back and the darkened glass at the rear cut off visibility from the outside.
They piled into a dark green Nissan and pulled out cautiously and when they had disappeared outside, Zeb followed. He lost sight of them when he hit the main street, but there were only two options to go.
Left or right? Left is the fire truck, right is free road.
Right. They would want to put distance from the hotel.
He floored the vehicle, overtook slow moving vehicles and when he was on the verge of giving up, he saw a flash of green at a light.
He drifted closer, confirmed it was them and then hung back, leaving four cars in between. He pressed a button on the console and a miniature camera popped up on the roof. The console display split and one half now showed a magnified, front-view feed from the camera. The Nissan stuck out clearly in the traffic.
Not ideal. Camera is good for about ten car lengths. Need a couple more cars to back up. My SUV is too distinctive.
He thought about calling Hall but discarded the idea. A cruiser would be too obvious. A slice of luck came his way at another light. An Escalade, black and powerful looking, pulled up beside him. He fell behind it when the light turned and used it as cover. He jacked the camera another inch to see over the Escalade.
They drove down La Cienaga Boulevard, turned left onto Adams Boulevard and drove for half an hour before entering Huntington Park. By now, the men had rolled their windows down and Zeb could see the occasional elbow jutting through a window.
Relaxed. So what if they didn’t get me? They made out in one piece, they live to fight another day.
They slowed, crossed busy streets and when they reached Walnut Street, a flasher lit and they turned into a residential drive. The house was typical of hundreds on the street, white walls, red tiles, and a yard that had seen better days. Litter lined the sides of the house and beer cans in the small front yard caught the street lights.
Zeb sped on without looking at the men, hung a right at the far end, circled and parked five houses away. He walked casually, just another resident enjoying the warm night, and scoped the house.
It was lit up now and he could hear a pounding beat from within. No shadows crossed the windows, no dogs barked.
He scanned the street swiftly, ducked inside the yard and went up to the door and pounded on it. He darted to a small gate at the side, leapt over it and ran behind the side. A window looked promising, but he carried on to the rear.
House doesn’t have air conditioning that I can see, maybe they left the rear door open for air.
Jackpot!
It was invitingly open. He entered noiselessly, went past a utility room and then into a kitchen. The kitchen opened into a dining room that turned into a hallway that branched out to other rooms. He passed bedrooms and bathrooms and then the living room opened up before him.
He could hear the men arguing and calling out as they stood at the front. He heard them talking for some more time, then one of them swore loudly and the door slammed shut. Footsteps sounded and grew louder and halted suddenly as he came out of the dark and faced them.
Two men were upfront, a third, the Hispanic one, was behind.
They looked at him unbelievingly for a second and then one yelled, ‘Shit, it’s him,’ and clawed at his waist.
Zeb brought his hand from behind and flung the jug of cold water on them.
Shock made them freeze, by then the wicker chair Zeb had hurled, was on them. Its leg caught the first man flush in the mouth; broke his jaw and he went down, out of the fight. He fell on top of the other two and they stumbled and fell.
The Hispanic man was fast, so was the second man.
Hispanic twisted eel-like, grabbed at his leg and a snub-nosed gun came up.
Zeb shot him in the shoulder and he howled. Zeb shot him again in the elbow and the howl became louder.
The second man crabbed sideways, threw a vase at Zeb, threw whatever his hands could find, a side table, a dirty plate.
Zeb ducked and the hood used that opportunity to withdraw his gun. The barrel came up, his mouth twisted in a snarl, the sneer faded as his right shoulder blossomed red and he fell back.
Silence fell broken only by the groans in the room.
Zeb righted the wicker chair and seated himself.
‘Now we’ll talk.’
Chapter 10
The three hoods hadn’t given much to Zeb, They were 38th Street foot soldiers and all they knew was that Zeb had to be taken out. They had been given his photograph, where he stayed and the modus operandi had been left to them.
The hoods had taken out a businessman in that same motel a year back, by hiding in his room, shooting him as he entered. They had escaped through the window. They figured what worked for the businessman would work on Zeb.
How did they know Zeb would be at the motel?
The men sneered despite their pain. They were 38th Street. Nothing happened in the city that they didn’t know.
Zeb kicked the white man in his shoulder, right where he had shot him. That answer wasn’t helpful.
The man shouted and swore at Zeb. He backed off quickly when Zeb raised his foot again and the words spilled out.
The gang figured Zeb would be holed up in a similar motel and then it had been a matter of making calls, describing Zeb and his SUV.
‘Who ordered the hit?’
The three men looked at one another, licked their lips. ‘Fuck you, bitch. We don’t talk. You can do whatever you want,’ one of them said bravely. ‘You’re a dead man walking anyway. You picked a fight with 38th Street. Our homies will come along and run a train all over you.’
Zeb shot him in the thigh and his words compressed into a scream. ‘I can go on all day,’ Zeb said helpfully when he was reduced to soft moans. ‘I won’t kill you, but you’ll die of bleeding.’
He lifted his gun and answers spilled out.
It was Lil Gun. He ran their neighborhood, gave them orders, and took collections off them. ‘He’s like our top dawg.’
‘He’s the toppest dog?’
Hispanic sneered. ‘You think we’re some dumbass gang? Lil Gun has other homies he reports to.’
‘Where does this Lil Gun hang out? Does he have a real name?’
‘You don’t worry about that. Pretty soon he’ll be hanging off your ass, bitch.’ Hispanic laughed, coughed and scrabbled back hastily when Zeb raised his Glock. ‘Zamora Street,’ he yelled. ‘He’s got a pad there.’
Zeb looked at the first man who was nursing a broken jaw, at the baleful eyes blazing at him. He crouched over him, reached down his leg and plunged his Benchmade in the fleshy part of the man’s thigh.
He shrieked, swore and doubled up, cursing. ‘Why did you go do that?’
‘Where does this Lil Gun hang out?’ Zeb repeated, ignoring his swearing.
‘Zamora Street, just like Pepe told you. Fuck, man, you done gone and ruined my leg, asshole.’ he moaned.
‘What’s his real name?’
The three men didn’t answer for several minutes; they were clutching their legs and twisting on the floor. Hispanic finally spoke, ‘It’s Cisco, dunno his first name. You think this is over, bitch? Lil Gun will fry your balls and feed them to you.’
Zeb pul
led his phone out and their eyes widened when he started dialing. ‘Who you calling, thug?’
‘The cops. Don’t you want to report this?’
‘Fuck that.’ Hispanic’s face was desperate. ‘We got nothing to say to them popo. You just bust outta here.’
‘I haven’t decided about killing you.’
The eyes became saucers and the men moved as one, putting distance. ‘You've done enough damage, bro. None of us will be able to use our pegs for a long time. Why don’t you leave us?’ Hispanic whined. ‘We won’t say nothing to no one, not even to our homies.’
‘That’s right,’ the last guy Zeb shot said through gritted teeth. ‘We’ll tell them we got capped by another gang.’
Zeb let the silence weigh on them and when their desperation had reached breaking point, nodded once and left them. He waited in the dark near his SUV and watched their hideout, but the men raised no alarm, no vehicles came rushing, no cruisers turned up.
They’re probably wanted by the cops, he thought as his SUV growled to life and put distance between him and the hoods.
He made a mental note to check out Petrova’s apartment once he had questioned Cisco.
Riyadh first, though, and Prince Abdul. That will also give Broker time to dig through Petrova’s phone and email records. Knowing him, he’ll probably probe her bank accounts too.
Riyadh’s heat hit him even though the sun was setting, when his Lear landed the next day. He donned his shades and the moment his feet hit tarmac, a limousine bearing the royal family’s coat of arms swung toward him. A man dressed in a ceremonial thobe rushed out, bowed at him and shouted orders at a flunky who rushed to take Zeb’s valise.
‘It’s no trouble. I’ll carry it,’ Zeb spoke in Arabic and followed the royal emissary to the limo. The man made small talk as they drove through traffic that parted for the vehicle and let slip that Prince Abdul was keen to meet Zeb.
Zeb was escorted swiftly through the security cordon outside Prince Abdul’s retreat, a sand-colored palace that was concealed from prying eyes by high walls. He was led to an inner chamber in which a sumptuous buffet was laid out. The escort bade him silently to an ornate chair but before Zeb could seat himself, Prince Abdul made his appearance.
He was as tall as Zeb and had the royal family’s signature beaked nose and hawk eyes. He was garbed in a simple robe that flowed loosely around him, but Zeb sensed the steel and power in his body.
Zeb rose silently, aware of the eyes studying him and gripped the hand that was thrust out. The eyes continued to probe silently and what they saw satisfied the Prince who seated himself, Zeb following suit.
‘I owe you my life,’ Prince Abdul said simply and smiled at Zeb’s embarrassment. ‘I had to use all my powers to get your boss to send you. She told me I am the only man outside your world who now knows who you are and what you do.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, Sir. Clare conveys her condolences too.’ Zeb replied formally. The prince grasped his hands in silence and then led him to the spread and when they were seated again, Zeb asked him.
‘How’s your daughter, Sir?’
The smile became a beam; the prince became a dad, as he pulled out his phone and showed several photographs of a lovely, young woman. ‘She’s studying economics at Harvard. She will be back next year and will take up an important role in running this country.’
‘Permission to speak freely, Sir?’ Zeb asked him when he had put away his phone.
‘Of course. I would have it no other way. Even if I did, Clare warned me you are known for your blunt approach.’ The prince was educated in Oxford and it told. His English was fluent, a slight British accent underlined his words.
‘Why am I here, Sir? Clare or our ambassador was better suited to pay our respects for your loss.’
‘Your ambassador was here the next day.’ Prince Abdul leaned back and steepled his fingers. ‘My brother was fifty years old when he died. Heart attack. The stress of a high profile job, not enough exercise ... you know how it goes.’
Zeb nodded, not knowing where the prince was going.
‘But here’s the thing. No male in the royal family has died of natural causes that young. I dug up the entire family history and all males have lived to seventy years at the least. Genetics, breeding, call it what you want, but young deaths are unheard of in the palace.’
Zeb frowned. ‘Surely, Sir, you aren’t suspecting-- ’
‘I am not, at this stage,’ the prince interrupted. ‘We have the best doctors at our command and all of them said the death was natural.’
‘But you’re not fully convinced?’
The prince nodded. ‘I have become paranoid ever since my daughter was kidnapped.’ He laughed. ‘I see conspiracies where none exist; I investigate anything remotely out of the ordinary. I am driving people mad around me. The King has even asked me to seek counseling.’
He sobered. ‘My brother’s death though, I can’t help feeling it wasn’t natural. Unfortunately I have nothing to base my suspicions on.’
‘Why me, Sir? You have some of the best investigative agencies in the world. You can seek the FBI’s help if you wish. I am not sure how I can help you.’
‘That’s where you are wrong.’
The Prince sprang to his feet and beckoned imperiously. ‘Follow me.’
Prince Abdul led him through a labyrinth of hallways and corridors, and down several flights of stairs to a passage that had guards patrolling it. One of them hurried across and bowed and took the two of them to a closed door. The door opened at a coded knock and the two men inside fell back at the Prince’s entry.
The room was refrigerated and on a stainless steel table in the center, a body was laid out.
They’re embalming the body, readying it for the funeral tomorrow.
The Prince nodded and the two men left them alone in the room.
‘I have heard of assassins who kill without leaving any marks. I am told they are some of the most dangerous men in the world and their skills are highly sought after.’
The hawk eyes sought Zeb again. ‘I am also told you are one of those men.’
Zeb met his eyes and shrugged. ‘I’m just a Special Ops agent, Sir.’ I have been also called an assassin, a hitman, a gangster, a thug. Labels don’t matter to me. I will do whatever needed to protect my country.
The Prince smiled knowingly and pointed at his brother’s body. ‘I want your eyes to examine my brother. You live in that shadowy world. You know how certain matters are executed, shall we say? I want your opinion. That’s why I requested your presence.’
‘He had enemies?’
The prince laughed humorlessly. ‘Of course he did. The royal family rules over twenty eight million people. There are several malcontents in that population.’
He continued when Zeb didn’t reply. ‘My brother was a controversial person, as you are well aware. He was our voice on OPEC, but it was his association with terrorist groups that drew a lot of attention worldwide. I am sure a lot of people are happy that he’s no more. Not many know that for the last couple of years he had seen behind the façade these terrorists put on. He saw how they misused our religion. He had begun to distance himself from them.’
‘Did he fund terrorist organizations when he was a supporter?’ Zeb made no move, his face didn’t change, but the air was suddenly heavy.
Prince Abdul looked him squarely in the eyes. ‘We don’t know. I know that the King asked him to desist mingling with those people and threatened to cut off his allowance, but he was a popular man and the King could only go so far.’
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Funding and supporting terrorists is like catching a tiger by its tail. I know that, the King knows it, most of the royal family members know it. I think my brother only realized it too late. We are trying to modernize our country, trying to change people’s attitudes, become more outward looking. My brother was different from us.’
‘Are you saying he was killed for su
pporting extremists?’
Prince Abdul moved restlessly. ‘No. Firstly, I don’t know he was killed, hence your presence here. Secondly, he had many controversial views on the role of religion, the shape of society. He could have been killed for any number of reasons.’
He smiled grimly. ‘His views drove us to rage and I am sure many of us contemplated strangling him in the heat of the moment.’
He sighed and his word dropped away. After long moments, he gestured at the body. ’Will you examine the body?’ His voice was tentative and uncertain.
He’s not his brother. He’s moderate, progressive, and our ally.
Zeb nodded and stepped to the table. At first glance, the body revealed no secrets. The skin was pale and cold to the touch. He looked at the prince and when he nodded in consent, he turned the body over on its belly.
Nothing on the back either. The skin was smooth and unblemished. He rolled the body back and studied it with greater care starting from its feet.
The soles were unbroken; there were no marks between the toes. The calves and thighs were hairy but hid no cuts or abrasions. There were no marks on the inner thighs or on the testicles.
The prince shifted once but made no comment. His face was expressionless and hid any squeamishness he felt. The dead royal’s fingernails were cut neatly and showed no pricks. They were pale in color and unstained.
‘Did he smoke?’
‘No. He didn’t drink either. Fast cars and women were his only vices.’
He smiled at Zeb’s stare. ‘It’s just you and I in this room, my friend. I can say that to you. Outside, we lead a model life.’
Zeb bent back to the body and ran his hands up his arms, the inside of the elbows and his underarms. He felt the skin under the earlobes. It was smooth. The inside of the ears revealed no secrets.
‘I need my backpack, Sir.’
Prince Abdul went to the door and rapped out an order. A flunky went racing up the corridor and was back in fifteen minutes with Zeb’s rucksack.
Zeb flipped it open and withdrew a small flashlight. He turned it on and shone it behind the body’s ears. The skin showed dull brown, no cuts and no pricks. He examined the eyes and eyelids and when he was satisfied, he turned the body on its belly again.