The Warriors Series Boxset II

by Ty Patterson

  Prince Abdul rose, took the necklace reverently and beckoned Zeb imperiously with his eyes. Zeb rose to his feet, recognized the King Abdul Aziz Order of Merit, the highest honor in the kingdom. ‘Sir—’ he started but stopped when the hawk eyes brooked no refusal.

  The Prince placed the award around his neck ceremoniously and embraced him. His hand moved to his waist and he placed his personal dagger in Zeb’s palms.

  ‘This is nothing,’ he said fiercely when Zeb made to speak.

  ‘My kingdom is yours.’

  Chapter 12

  Zeb was in Cheyenne three days later but not before his crew had ribbed him mercilessly when he had texted them about the honor. He had sent the award to them along with the dagger, using a trusted courier and it now hung in a glass case along with other honors they had received. The case wasn’t for public viewing, neither were the awards something they bragged about.

  The twins had sent him extensive reports on Petrova, Perez, and Morrow and during calls with Hall, he had learned that the LAPD had conclusively ruled out Perez’s involvement in Petrova’s death. They had also reached the same conclusion as Zeb, that Morrow was a red herring.

  ‘Those hoods you killed?’ Hall continued. ‘We hauled in the 38th Street’s leaders in for questioning, but they all feigned ignorance. They would, wouldn’t they?’ A grim laugh sounded in Zeb’s ears. ‘We are pursuing a gangbanger called Cisco who those hoods reported to, but so far we haven’t picked him up.’

  The three gangsters I shot were in Cisco’s crew. This is the second time his name has cropped up.

  ‘Any progress on Petrova?’

  ‘Not my investigation unfortunately, bro. That’s still with the Rangers and my understanding is they aren’t making any progress.’

  ‘Say,’ he asked casually, ‘you wouldn’t know anything about three hoods being shot, would you? My detectives said they heard three 38th Street hard cases were involved in a gunfight with unknown persons and came out worse for wear. All three were connected to the guys you killed, and those same three are wanted in a couple of murders. I can’t say the LAPD is displeased with the outcome.’

  ‘Not a clue, Jeff. I’m a law abiding citizen. You know that.’

  ‘Sure do,’ there was a smile in Hall’s voice. ‘Happy hunting,’ he said with an emphasis on the last word and hung up.

  Zeb made another couple of calls to Knowle and Rogers and they both confirmed what Hall had told him. No progress on the Petrova case. They were following up with her employers, her friends and associates, but so far nothing had turned up.

  ‘What about any stories she was working on?’

  Zeb felt Rogers shake his head as he replied. ‘No one knows what she was working on. She sent abstracts of her story to various outlets when she was ready and then went with one publisher.’

  No different to what Parrish said. Cisco or Petrova? Who do I check out?

  He thought for a moment and decided on the reporter.

  Jeff’s men will pick Cisco up sooner or later in any case, and if they don’t, I will. Till then let the hoods stew, wondering where I am.

  He called Broker, voiced his thoughts and Broker agreed with his line of thinking. He would call his media contacts to see if anyone knew what the story was about.

  She was meticulous. She researched extensively. If the story was explosive, she took multiple backups. Zeb recollected Parrish saying. She took more precautions if the story posed any danger to her.

  Could she have left copies of the story at her apartment?

  Petrova’s apartment was a two-bedroom one on the fifth floor of a ten-floor complex, not far from the governor’s residence. The block of apartments was a quiet, residential area and saw traffic only during rush hour.

  It was hot, dusty and windy when Zeb passed the block from the outside and circled it a few times to get a feel for the neighborhood. Behind the block was a large parking lot that had an entrance into the building.

  No concierge inside, no gated entrance to the lot, but I guess this isn’t a high security block. With the governor staying close by, not much security is required.

  He fueled at a food truck at the next street, chatted idly with the vendor and learned that he was a regular on the street.

  ‘Been serving my burgers and ’dogs in this neighborhood for the last five years.’ The vendor’s van bore a sign, Garcia’s Grub and the likeness on the panel matched the vendor.

  Did Garcia know Petrova?

  ‘Sure did.’ Garcia sprinkled various sauces liberally on the burger, placed it in a carry bag added a paper bowl of fries and thrust the bag at Zeb. ‘Nice woman. Shame what happened to her. Hope they find the bastards soon. This is a nice li’l town, such crime is very rare.’

  Did she talk about her stories?

  ‘Nah. We just talked about the weather, politics, sports, that kinda stuff. We both followed the Cheyenne Grizzlies.’ He laughed at Zeb’s look. ‘You aren’t local, are you? That’s our baseball team.’

  He frowned. ‘This neighborhood’s seeing a lot of new faces.’

  What did he mean by that?

  Garcia mopped his face with a red towel. ‘Coupla guys. Been coming here every day for the last few days for a burger ’

  ‘One’s black haired, and one’s brown? My pals and I are looking to buy an apartment here. They came ahead to scout a few places, but my phone’s dead. Haven’t been able to talk to them.’

  ‘Nope. Both are brown haired.’ Garcia ran his eyes down Zeb. ‘Mebbe your height and build.’

  Zeb shook his head gloomily. ‘Those dudes aren’t my buddies. I guess I’ll just hang around till I spot them.’

  He raised the bag in thanks and went back to his ride.

  Those two could be the mystery man’s guys. Waiting for me at Petrova’s apartment.

  Barrow paced Elena Petrova’s lounge. He was lean as a whippet, had short hair and the tattoo of a scorpion on his eyebrow. The scorpion twitched when he was irritated and now it was jumping. Being cooped up in the apartment for a week had left him restless and he was longing for a break outside.

  Their instructions were clear, though. Luca and he were to keep watch in the apartment and if Carter entered, they were to grab him.

  Polks and ‘Gabby’ Porterman covered the parking lot and would either take Carter down there, or warn the apartment’s occupants.

  Wasserman wanted Carter alive; however, he wouldn’t lose sleep if the man died in the takedown.

  The four of them were part of Wasserman’s private army, all of them were former Army personnel, and all of them had served as mercenaries before joining Wasserman’s elite crew. They normally reported to Studelander, who was their ramrod, but Studelander was busy in Los Angeles.

  Wasserman had briefed them on Carter. He was ex-Special Forces and had served in Somalia, Iraq, and various hotspots. The majority of his CV was bland and Wasserman was not sure if that was because the CV was redacted or because the man hadn’t seen much action.

  However, he had survived a couple of gang attacks in Los Angeles, so the men had to be on their guard.

  Barrow and Luca were sure they could take the man down easily enough. Gabby, so named because he spoke rarely, concurred. Polks had no opinion of his own.

  They were well armed. Glock and Uzi for Barrow, a Colt Combat and an AR-15 for Luca. Polks and Gabby had Smith and Wessons and Mossbergs. The shotguns, the Uzi, and the AR-15 stayed concealed as they couldn’t brandish them in the parking lot. In addition, all of them had blades for close combat; Barrow even had a Taser with him.

  The four of them were well prepared hard men and one ex-Army guy wasn’t going to trouble them.

  Barrow walked a well-trodden path on the carpet and glanced irritatedly at Luca as he lounged on the couch and scrolled idly through the TV channels. ‘Anything from Gabby?’ he growled.

  ‘Nope. Relax. They’ll let us know if the dude turns up. You need to calm down, let the inner peace flow over you.’


  ‘I’ll have peace coming out of my ears when Carter is in our hands.’

  ‘Well, burning a hole in the carpet isn’t going to make him come quicker. He’ll come when he comes, or not at all,’ Luca replied stoically and devoted his attention to stock car racing on the screen.

  They both jumped and whirled, their guns at the ready, at the scraping sound on the large, darkened, floor to ceiling windows.

  No one at the window.

  ‘Cover the bedrooms, I’ll call Gabby,’ Barrow ordered as he thumbed his phone.

  Luca disappeared inside, checked the rooms. ‘All clear,’ he yelled.

  He came out and watched Barrow put away his phone. ‘It’s all quiet downstairs.’

  The sound came again and they froze. The two separated and crabbed sideways cautiously and approached the glass. Barrow signaled silently at Luca and covered him as his partner risked a quick glance outside, a longer glance down and then up.

  A frown appeared on his face. ‘What the fuck?’

  He went closer to the window and then relaxed. ‘It’s one of those window cleaners. You know the guys who sit on a crane and wash and wipe the glass.’

  ‘You sure it isn’t him?’ Barrow asked him urgently.

  ‘Yeah.’ Luca relaxed and his gun arm dropped. ‘This guy’s got more fat on him than a ton of butter. He’s alone, too.’

  He craned his neck and called out after a moment. ‘The crane operator’s alone too.’ He squinted his eyes and read out the name of the cleaning company. ‘Ask Gabby to check with the building supervisor.’

  Barry pulled out his phone and rapped out an order. He waited impatiently, gun in one hand, phone in another, his eyes constantly moving between the window and the front door.

  The phone squawked and he brought it to his ear. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked when Gabby spoke into it and then held the phone back as a string of curses issued from it. ‘Watch the crane operator in any case. Carter took out a bunch of hoods in L.A. He ain’t a pussy.’

  Luca raised his eyebrows when he had hung up. ’Cleaner is a regular. He’s working to a schedule which has been in place for years.’

  They watched silently as the cleaner gave them a bright smile through the glass and his face blurred as he sprayed liquid and scrubbed it away. He worked methodically, top to bottom, left to right, his movements practiced and efficient.

  Their gun arms drooped when the cleaner moved diagonally down the face of the apartment and then disappeared out of sight. Luca went to the edge of the window and followed him with his eyes till the man had finished for the day and the crane rumbled away.

  ‘Inner peace,’ he smiled crookedly when Barrow resumed his pacing.

  ‘Two men,’ Manny said as he wiped his face and nodded in thanks at the bottle of water Zeb handed him.

  The idea had hit Zeb when he had driven through the town and had watched window cleaners at work on other sites. He had called Petrova’s building supervisor and got Manny Turner’s details. The twins had dug into Manny and had come back with a couple of nuggets. One was that Manny made regular donations to IAVA, Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America. More digging had revealed that Manny had lost his son in Afghanistan several years back.

  Zeb approached him as the cleaner was readying his truck with his partner, a bald portly man who looked once at Zeb, grunted a greeting and went about his job. Zeb stood silently till Manny had finished and when the short, smiling man turned toward him, he introduced himself.

  Zeb looked in the man’s eyes and took a leap of faith. He laid everything out and watched as the cogs turned in Manny Turner’s head. The cleaner ignored him for a while as he walked around his truck, kicked the tires, and checked the hydraulics and the safety equipment.

  ‘Just report what I see?’ He asked finally after he had wiped his hands on a rag.

  ‘Yeah. Just that.’

  ‘No getting involved and all that shit? It’s hard enough for a man making a living these days. We don’t want any badasses on our tail for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘All I want to know is how many men are in the apartment.’

  ‘Elena was good to us, wasn’t she, Burt?’ he said reflectively, glancing at his partner. Burt nodded silently.

  Manny grinned. ‘Burt's like that. He thinks one word is too many.’ He thrust his hand out at Zeb. ‘We’ll do it. She was a real sweet lady.’

  ‘Those guys … I wouldn’t want a piece of them. They stood watching me; I smiled at them and got stony looks in return.’

  ‘Guns?’ Zeb asked him.

  ‘Yeah. Looked like they were holding something. Windows are dark and I was outside, looking in, so can’t be sure. But it felt like they were carrying.’

  Zeb peeled out several bills and handed it Manny who stuffed them in his pocket without counting them. ‘These will be handy. We missed our payment to the IAVA this month.’ He frowned. ‘You know what…?’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  Manny looked searchingly and bobbed his head. ‘Guess you do.’

  ‘Parking lot’s got a rear entrance to the building.’ Burt spoke for the first time. ‘Two guys were hanging about, one near the entrance, one watching cars come and go.’

  ‘Building has security guards?’

  ‘Nah. This is Cheyenne. Nothing happens here.’

  Manny climbed in his truck, waved his hand and their truck disappeared round a corner.

  Four men. The two men in the lot are the first cut off.

  Zeb stuffed a couple of spare magazines in his pocket, adjusted his Glock and drove the SUV to a block away.

  Take the parking lot guys out first.

  He walked behind a family and slipped inside as they walked on past the lot’s entrance. He took cover behind the first vehicle, a pickup truck, crouched and ran the layout in his mind.

  Square, contained by a six-foot brick wall. Spaces lined up against walls. Two more rows of spaces in the middle. Probably seventy cars. One watcher will probably be between the middle two rows. He’ll be able to cover all the entrances from there.

  The watcher wasn’t in the middle. He was between a couple of spaces backing against the rear wall, standing between a Ford pickup and a Mitsubishi. He heard Zeb slithering behind him and swung round.

  He was startled for a moment and then recognition flooded through him and a yell broke out. Zeb ducked around the pickup and ran.

  No guns. Civilians in the yard.

  He had taken in the man in a second. Big. Swarthy. Belly. Loose jacket. He ducked around a woman wheeling a baby carriage, his strides lengthened.

  Get away from her.

  He broke out in the open. Ahead was the first middle row, the sides of vehicles shining in the sunlight. Footsteps rang behind him, a louder yell broke out. An answering yell came from near the building’s entrance.

  Zeb risked a quick glance back. Swarthy was ten feet away, his face and hair dripped in sweat.

  A Ford Explorer was fifteen feet away, standing tall and proud, roof bars gleaming in the sunlight.

  Zeb slowed.

  Let him catch up. Too much distance and he might use his gun.

  He strained to see the other watcher, but he couldn’t. The parking lot wasn’t the biggest in the city, but it was chock full.

  He heard Swarthy huffing behind him, his feet pounding.

  He’ll want to grab me before I reach the Explorer.

  He slowed even further. Five feet now between them.

  Three feet away from the vehicle.

  Swarthy’s hand reached out.

  Just as Swarthy’s outstretched fingers touched his back, Zeb powered down with his right foot, left foot planted firmly against the side of the vehicle and he flew over the Explorer.

  His left hand shot out, fingers curled and gripped the roof bar in a grip of steel.

  Time slowed, weight became weightless, muscles flowed like liquid. Legs stretched and abdomen flexed and his body swiveled around the left wrist. The wrist and fingers worked witho
ut conscious thought, changed grips, created a pivot point and the swivel became a turn.

  Rushing through the air. Knees jacked up. Now facing the Explorer again.

  Swarthy against vehicle. Swarthy’s face turned. His eyes widened as they took in the figure rocketing through the air.

  Zeb’s knees slammed in the man’s back, crushed him against the vehicle. A window cracked, the Explorer rocked against the momentum of over three hundred pounds of human flesh.

  Zeb landed on his feet, the grey fog dissipating, grabbed Swarthy’s hair and smashed his head against the vehicle.

  He stood panting for a second, watched as the man collapsed, and whirled at a sound behind him.

  The second man stood there about ten feet away, panting, and staring disbelievingly for a moment before his hand started heading to his jacket.

  He’s seven or eight feet away. Don’t let that gun come out.

  Zeb stooped, grabbed Swarthy by the back of his jacket, added a second hand to the man’s waist and heaved him at the gunman.

  Swarthy shot forward, tottered on two legs and momentarily covered the gunman.

  Precious moments that Zeb used to leave the ground in a dive, again catch Swarthy by his waist and use him as a human cannonball to ram the second shooter. Swarthy’s shoulder caught the shooter in the belly, trapped his gun arm and the three men went down. For the second time Zeb smashed a head, this time on concrete.

  He pushed himself upright, turned to see the mom with the baby staring at him. ‘Some men never learn, ma’am,’ he said and watched her hurry away.

  He caught his breath and looked around.

  The parking lot was empty; there was no movement from within the building.

  Not more than a minute since the first guy spotted me. Story of my life. A few seconds of adrenaline and explosion, long hours of nothing.

  Out of his pocket came flex cuffs; he secured the men, taped their mouths and pocketed their guns, knives, and phones. He dragged both men to the rear of the lot and dumped them under the shade of a van. He walked out briskly, not hurrying, returned with his vehicle, loaded the men and headed away from the block.