Allegiance (Joe Logan Book 4)

by Michael Kerr

  “Stay put. Logan is probably parked nearby, waiting for her. I’ll drive over there. I need for you to call me back when she leaves and tell me her every move. If she’s on her own she may take the subway. Don’t lose her, Nick.”

  Dusty ended the call and left his apartment with his silenced nine-millimeter pistol in the deep inside pocket of the knee-length leather coat he’d decided to wear. Sonny Gilmore was outside the door, armed and standing guard, just in case Logan decided to make a house call.

  “Let’s go, Sonny,” Dusty said, walking over to the elevator. “We’ll take the Nissan. You’re driving.”

  Nick waited for over thirty minutes. He shouldn’t have had coffee, because now he needed to take a piss. There was a bathroom for the disabled just six feet from where he was sitting, but he held on for another ten minutes until his bladder was pounding. Jesus! He had to go. There was no way he would be able to follow the broad far if he didn’t. It would only take him a minute. It was a good odds gamble that she wouldn’t slip past him.

  He opened the door and went into the accessible toilet. It was designed to accommodate wheelchairs and had grab bars for people with disabilities. Turning to lock the door behind him, he was taken completely by surprise as a giant of a man grabbed him by the throat and exerted enough pressure to stop him being able to breathe.

  Logan had followed the slightly-built, balding man along the corridors and was positive by his furtive demeanor that he was tailing Margie. When the guy got himself a cup of coffee from a vending machine and took a seat, he watched him from an adjacent waiting area. Hospitals are busy places. There were a lot of people milling about, and they were all in a world of their own, too concerned with their own or loved ones’ health problems to notice much of anything else going on around them. He got a break. The guy put his cup down, walked across to a bathroom for the disabled and opened the door.

  As the door to the stall closed to on its hydraulic arm, Logan entered and saw the surprise on the wide-eyed face as he shot his left arm out and grasped the guy around the throat, to exert enough pressure to ensure that there would be no sound emitted from the compressed windpipe. Using his right hand to reach behind him to close and lock the door, he propelled the man backwards and down onto the toilet seat, to frisk him one-handed and retrieve a wallet and cell from his pockets, but no weapon.

  Flipping open the wallet, Logan checked the driver license. Saw the holder’s name and a photo which was a match to the now purple-faced man whose eyes were bulging from their sockets. Next he opened the cell phone and recognized a couple of the numbers in the contact list.

  Marginally easing his grip on the scrawny neck, he spoke to the man.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Nick,” Logan said. “I’m going to let go of your neck, and if you shout out or move an inch I’ll smash your brains out on the wall. Do you understand?”

  Nick nodded. He did legwork for Dusty. He wasn’t like some of the other psychos that worked for the man. He was allergic to pain.

  “Who have you phoned to report that Margie Newman is here?”

  “Quaid. Dusty Quaid.”

  “And what does he want you to do now?”

  “Just follow her and let him know where she goes. If you’re Logan, he thinks that you’re probably parked nearby, waitin’ for her. He’s on his way now.”

  “What does he drive?”

  “A bronze-colored Nissan. I don’t know the model, but it’s sporty. He also has a big, black Lincoln that he gets driven round in.”

  “Describe Quaid.”

  “About six-one, early forties. He’s clean-shaven, has short, blond hair and a scar on his left cheek. The guy keeps fit. I’ve only met him once. It’s usually a heavy by the name of Sonny that I deal with.”

  “What else do you know, Nick?”

  “Nothin’, I swear. I just got given a photo of the woman and was told to report in and keep her in sight if she turned up.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Logan said. “Quaid wants the woman dead, and you don’t give a damn.”

  “I don’t ask why anythin’ needs done; I just do what I’m told.”

  “That’s no excuse. You know that Quaid is a murdering bastard,” Logan said, gripping Nick by his face and slamming his head sideways and down to smash his right temple against the steel grab bar that disabled folk presumably used to lever themselves out of and into wheelchairs.

  Nick was knocked senseless and went limp and slipped down onto the floor. Logan grasped him under the armpits and set him back into a sitting position on the toilet seat and left the cubicle.

  It was time to leave. He made his way to the ICU and asked a nurse in the small reception area to let Mrs. Newman know that he was waiting. Through the small window of the door to the extensive unit he could see a uniformed cop. This was the NYPD looking after its own.

  Margie was sat next to the bed holding Arnie’s hand. She told him everything that had happened, especially about Logan, and how he had turned up out of the blue to visit, and was now looking out for her.

  She gasped. Arnie’s fingers tightened around her hand for a second, and then relaxed again. A doctor had just told her that the results of all the tests were encouraging. Nothing else.

  “Help me out here, Doc,” Margie had said. “Do you think that my Arnie is going to make it?”

  “Off the record I’m cautiously optimistic,” Dr. Megan Wells had replied. “Your husband isn’t in a normal coma now, but in a medically-induced one.”

  “Why?”

  “In the case of traumatic brain injury, such as the bullet wound sustained by Gabrielle Giffords the Congresswoman, back in 2011, shutting down function can give the brain time to heal. Being shot in the head can seriously alter the metabolism, impeding adequate blood flow to some areas. The coma gives the brain time to heal and for the swelling to go down.”

  “How long will he be like this?” Margie asked.

  “I would think another week at least. And you need to realize that we have no idea yet exactly what long-term effects he may suffer.”

  “Such as?”

  “Motor function: walking, coordination in general. Or maybe difficulty with speech. There will be a long period of rehab if…when he gets past the initial trauma.”

  Margie now had hope. The doctor had been talking about recovery, not death. When Arnie regained consciousness they would deal with whatever health problems he had and get past it, together.

  The doctor’s bleeper had sounded and she had given Margie an encouraging smile and left the room.

  “You’re going to be fine, Arnie,” Margie said. “One way or another we’ll deal with this and make it down to Florida. Your days as a cop are over.”

  Nurse Audrey Carden entered the private room and said, “There’s a gentleman waiting for you, Mrs. Newman. He asked me to tell you that it’s time to leave.”

  “Thanks,” Margie said and leaned over to kiss Arnie on the cheek before standing up, reluctant to let go of his hand.

  “We have company on the way,” Logan said when they had left the unit. “You were spotted coming in, and the guy had already made a call before I got to pass the time of day with him.”

  Margie didn’t ask for details. She was sure that whoever Logan had spoken to was in a sorry state.

  They missed seeing what had become of Nick Roach by several minutes. An elderly man by the name of Paul Steiner had opened the door to the toilet and discovered Nick slumped on the seat, still unconscious and covered in blood. Paul had backed out; almost losing control of the crutches he relied on to walk with, and called for help. An orderly had rushed over, examined Nick and determined that he was badly concussed and had probably sustained a fracture to his skull. Nick came round as he was being examined, but was in pain, confused, and had no clear memory of what had happened.

  Logan led Margie through the first floor warren of corridors of Bellevue to the rear of the newer part of the building, to exit into the south parking lot
and walk back up 26th Street to First Avenue.

  There was a coffee shop on the corner. Logan made the decision to eyeball Quaid when he arrived, so told Margie to go for a coffee while he watched the front of the hospital.

  What Logan had no way of knowing, was that Quaid had made a call en route and had two other cars converging on Bellevue.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sonny stopped and put the Nissan in Park. Dusty got out and walked briskly to the main doors of the hospital. He couldn’t contact Nick by phone. Something was wrong. But with another two cars now in the area, cruising like sharks, he was sure that Logan and the woman would be contained. He was not to know that fifty yards away on the busy sidewalk, Logan watched him exit the car.

  Sonny just stayed where he was, parked illegally. If he was moved on he would just circle the block until Dusty came out.

  The driver’s door was pulled open as Sonny checked the rearview mirror and, with no time to react, he was knocked sideways over the center console by a devastating blow to his left side. Had his spleen not been protected by his ribs, then it would have most likely been ruptured, such was the impact of the fist, that caused him to cry out like a kicked cat as he collapsed with his head on the passenger seat.

  Logan removed the key from the ignition and then reached over to quickly, professionally search the man and relieve him of his holstered pistol, his wallet and cell phone.

  To anyone passing it would appear as if Logan was just leaning over in the car and talking. And most New Yorkers minded their own business and didn’t get involved. Even if they thought that something was off beam, ninety-nine out of a hundred citizens would look the other way and keep walking.

  Within five seconds Logan had checked the guy’s driver’s license. “It’s your lucky day, Gilmore,” he said to Sonny. “My name’s Logan, and I want you to tell Quaid that I stopped by to talk with you. Tell him that I’ve eye-balled him, and could just as easily have taken him out. He needs to know that this is his one and only chance to back off. If he keeps coming at me he’ll die. That’s a promise. Whatever security he has won’t be enough to save his skin. If I’m followed I’ll know it, and that will mean that he’s too dumb to take good advice. Are there any other assholes looking for me?”

  “Two cars,” Sonny said, knowing that if he lied he would suffer for it.

  “Makes and color?”

  “I think they’ll be in a dark-blue Kia Optima and a gray Toyota Prius.”

  As Sonny stopped talking, hard, scarred knuckles smashed into his temple and dazed him.

  Thirty seconds later a street cop opened the Nissan’s door as Sonny was attempting to push himself up into a sitting position.

  “You okay, sir?” patrol officer Hal Fletcher said, noting that the man was obviously dazed and in pain.

  “I just got mugged,” Sonny said. “A young Hispanic guy pulled the door open, slugged me and stole my wallet.”

  Hal accepted that. There was no smell of alcohol on the man’s breath. “Best go in the hospital and get checked out,” he said. “You’ve got one hell of a lump on your head.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Sonny said.

  “Your call, sir. You’ll need to drop by the precinct and give a statement.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  The cop nodded. Decided not to take details or get involved. He was hungry and tired, and didn’t need the hassle. “Stay parked till you feel fit enough to drive,” he said, then ambled off.

  Sonny took a few deep breaths and reached for the key. It was missing. Logan had taken it. He was stuck where he was. Quaid would be pissed.

  Sure that he was not being followed by anyone on foot, Logan walked back to the corner, crossed 26th Street and entered the coffee shop. Margie was sitting at a table in a far corner nursing a cup.

  Sitting across from her, Logan caught a waitress’s attention and ordered coffee. He then told Margie what had transpired as he removed bills totaling four hundred bucks from the wallet he had taken from Sonny Gilmore.

  “Will Arnie be safe?” Margie asked.

  Logan nodded. “Yeah, I’m the person of interest now. It’s us that need to watch our backs.”

  “I can’t find the words to thank you enough,” Margie said.

  “No need for words,” Logan said. “Arnie would have done the same for me.”

  “That’s true. He really missed you when you quit and left the city. Where have you been?”

  “Everywhere and nowhere, Margie. I like to keep on the move. I spent too many years of my life with a sense of duty ruling my every action. I climbed out of bed for every shift and got involved with other people’s misfortune. Crime isn’t going to stop happening, it’s never-ending.”

  “But that’s what you’ve done now; got involved with our problem.”

  “You and Arnie are as close to family as I’ve got. I’m implicated by choice, not because its part of my job. Every now and then I walk into situations that I get caught up in. But this one is special, because you’re both more than strangers in trouble that I decide to help out. This is as personal as it gets for me.”

  “You’re a good man,” Margie said and got up walked around the table and gave him a crushing hug.

  Logan smiled. It wasn’t something that he did very often.

  “How do we stop them from coming after us?” Margie asked.

  “By persuading Patrick Fallon to call his dogs off.”

  “You think that you can?”

  Logan nodded. “After I’ve dealt with Quaid, I’ll talk to Fallon. Convince him that it would be in his best interest to quit while he still can.”

  Logan paid the check, and as they approached the door he stopped and watched as a gray Toyota Prius passed the coffee shop at not much more than walking speed. There were two guys in the front, and they were scanning the street.

  After another four vehicles had gone by, Logan steered Margie out, across the sidewalk and the street, to keep near the store fronts with a wall of milling pedestrians as a shield between them and the watchful eyes of the searchers. He had to lean forward, hunched to make himself appear to be smaller. Being well above average height was in many ways an advantage, but not in a situation when he did not want to be seen.

  After only fifty feet they entered a side street and made their way back to the garage. Della and Benny were relieved to see them approach the car.

  “How did it go?” Della asked Margie.

  Margie smiled. There were tears in her eyes. “They think that Arnie is going to make it,” she said. “He isn’t in a coma now…well, he is, but it’s drug-induced while the swelling to his brain goes down.”

  “That’s great news,” Della said.

  “I hope that when he’s back on his feet he’ll give me a break for bein’ responsible for what happened to him,” Benny said.

  “If you thought it was just a meet for them to get information from Arnie, I think he’ll understand that you were pressured into arranging it,” Margie said.

  “Yeah, but I lied to him,” Benny said. “He thought I’d be at the pier on my own. I was scared of what they’d do to me if I didn’t con him into turnin’ up.”

  Margie almost felt sorry for the young man. He seemed to feel genuine guilt for putting Arnie in harm’s way. A part of her wanted to hate him, but she realized that he was just someone who got by anyway he could, and that her husband had used him and even paid him as a conduit between the law and what Arnie always referred to as scumbags.

  Logan walked a few yards from the car and took the cell that he had confiscated from Sonny from his pocket, found Quaid’s number and made the call.

  “Yeah, Sonny.”

  “It’s not Sonny. I left him a little worse for wear in the Nissan. I also took the key, so you’ll need to call one of your other lapdogs to give you a lift.”

  “Logan?”

  “Who else?”

  “You’re on borrowed time, pal. Give up what you have on a certain party and leave the ci
ty or I―”

  “We both know that the certain party is Patrick Fallon, and I’m anything but your pal, Quaid. Any threats you were about to make are not worth the time it would take you to think them up. I’m only calling you to inform you that I know all about you, Dalton and Trask. I know that you won’t back off, so I want you to be aware that I’m your worst nightmare. You just don’t know it yet, but will very soon.”

  “That’s big talk, Logan. We’ll find you, and when we do I will personally cut your balls off, stuff them in your big mouth and sew it shut.”

  Logan chuckled and ended the call. He didn’t even bother to switch the cell off, just wiped it and dropped it on the concrete floor and returned to the car.

  Dusty had not been able to locate Nick. He had walked past an examination room, unaware that Nick was inside it being checked out. The call stopped him in his tracks, and after he had spoken with Logan he made his way back out to the street. Sonny was still there, sitting behind the wheel of the car with a lump the size of a goose egg on the side of his head.

  “Boss,” Sonny said as he opened the door. “Logan appeared out of nowhere and cold-cocked me.”

  Dusty clenched his teeth, and the muscles in his cheeks hardened and bulged. He had the urge to take his gun out and gut shoot Sonny. The busy street was all that saved his driver’s life. He breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly from his mouth three times, and felt a tad calmer.

  “Logan just called me on your fucking phone,” Dusty said. “Told me that he’d taken the car key. Do you have a spare?”

  “Not with me,” Sonny said.

  “You’re a complete waste of space,” Dusty said as he used his own phone to call Jake Demski, who was driving the Optima, and told him to meet him outside the main doors. “Stay with the car. I’ll get the key to you. And then drive it back to my place.”

  “Okay,” Sonny said.

  “What did you tell Logan?”

  “Nothing,” Sonny lied. “He just hit me, took the car key and my wallet and gun, and told me to tell you that he’d seen you arrive, and that he could have taken you out, and that this was your only chance to back off.”