Allegiance (Joe Logan Book 4)

by Michael Kerr

  The Optima slid to a stop next to Dusty. He climbed in the rear and told Jake to take him home.

  Logan was now much more than a minor problem to be dealt with. He had become a dangerous threat of the worst kind; a man on a mission with the bit between his teeth and the background and experience to hit and run with impunity, thus far. Until he was eliminated, none of them could afford to feel safe. Having the manpower was of no practical use against an enemy that they could not locate.

  Back at the apartment, Dusty told Jake Demski to stay with him. He felt relatively safe. There was a CCTV camera mounted at an angle to cover the corridor and the elevator. Logan could not get to him here, but he had no intention of staying behind locked doors and under siege. He phoned Max and spelt it out; that they had a driven and extremely capable man on their case.

  “You think he could be just talking the talk to make us back off?” Max said.

  “No. He knows that we won’t let it go, and so he’s decided that attack is the best form of defense.”

  “That’s not acceptable, Dusty. Find him and kill him.”

  “Easier said than done. He was a Marine, then a homicide detective. By all accounts he vanished without trace. No one he knew has any idea what became of him. He cut all ties and became a ghost.”

  “He isn’t a fucking ghost now. He’s in the city. A big guy like him should be easy to find. I want the word on the street. Offer whatever reward necessary to whoever locates him. He’ll be staying in some fleapit hotel under an alias.”

  “Do you want him alive?”

  “No. Get the flash drive and any copies he has of it, and then whack him.”

  After Max had rung off, Dusty made coffee and a dozen phone calls. He put the word out across the city. Someone would want to pick up the bounty he had put on Logan. Now all he could do was wait, and dream up the most brutal scenarios he could imagine of what he would personally do to the man who was causing them so much trouble.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Della drove. Margie was sitting next to her, and Benny was in the rear. They had dropped Logan off on Park Row within sight of 1 Police Plaza, then crossed Brooklyn Bridge, heading back to the motel on Staten Island.

  Logan had only taken a copy of the flash drive with him. He walked along the sidewalk and stopped at the hot dog stand that he had used two or three times a week, back when he’d been a homicide detective.

  “Do my old eyes deceive me, or can that be Joe Logan standin’ there as big as a tree and about to order the best dog in the Big Apple, which means the best dog in the world?” Ric Angelo said with a cheek-stretching grin on his wrinkled face.

  “Hi, Ric,” Logan said. “Load me up a chilidog. The smell of your cart has given me an appetite.”

  “So what brings you back?” Ric said, handing Logan the dog, the grin now gone from his face. “Because of what happened to Arnie?”

  Almost word for word the same question that Hoagy Marks had asked him. “I guess a little nostalgia kicked in. I was going to visit with Arnie and Margie for a couple of days. I didn’t know about what had gone down till I got here.”

  “How is he?”

  “Could be worse after catching a bullet in the head. Looks as though he’ll make it, but they don’t know if he’ll be the way he was.”

  “So you’re on it, right?” Ric asked.

  “Unofficially, yeah. I’m going to have a word with whoever’s heading up the case, but I doubt they’ll know as much as I do.”

  “I hope you get the sonofabitch, Logan. Arnie is top of the heap in my book.”

  “And in mine, Ric. Take care my friend.”

  “And you. The streets can be mean.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Logan said as he ambled off, demolishing the dog before he reached the entrance to what a lot of cops still called The Puzzle Palace.

  Logan entered the building and made his way through a crowd of people to the long desk that was manned at intervals by uniformed officers. It reminded him of a check-in for a major airline.

  “Yeah?” a young female cop said. She looked a little wild-eyed and flustered. Hadn’t grown into the job yet. Another few weeks and she would learn to concentrate on one problem at a time and not let much of anything hassle her.

  “I need to see the lieutenant assigned to oversee the squad investigating the attempted murder of Detective Arnie Newman,” Logan said.

  “And you are?” Officer Gwen Mercer asked.

  “Logan. I used to be a homicide detective here.”

  Gwen made a call. Told someone what he had said, listened to the reply and cradled the phone. “An officer will be down to talk to you shortly, if you’d like to take a seat,” she said to Logan.

  He was still waiting fifteen minutes later, not sitting but standing in a corner near an archway watching the stairs and the elevator doors. His heart sank a little when he saw Lieutenant Travis Reynolds appear at the bottom of the stairs and make a beeline for him.

  “If I had sore eyes, then the sight of you back in this building would definitely not alleviate the pain of seeing you again,” Travis said by way of greeting. “Say what’s on your mind and then get the hell out of here.”

  Logan had five inches on him, so looked down into his narrow face and smiled. “You haven’t changed, Reynolds,” he said. “You always were a supercilious jerk in a cheap suit, with a second asshole that masquerades as a mouth.”

  “And you were always a loose cannon. You and your sidekick Newman careered around the city streets like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, in an old pool Ford instead of on horseback.”

  “Be careful what you say about Arnie,” Logan said in hardly more than a whisper. “Being a desk jockey, white shirt cop with no commendations doesn’t impress anyone. You were always easy to just ignore. But if you badmouth my ex-partner again I’ll hit you so hard that you won’t wake up for a week.”

  Travis couldn’t help himself from swallowing hard. He knew that Logan would back up his words. He always had in the past.

  “We’re all sorry about what went down,” Travis said. “But Internal Affairs are looking at Newman. Being at the pier was on his time, unofficial. A known felon was shot dead. It looks like he had a meet.”

  “So IAB jump to the conclusion that Arnie was what, on the take?” Logan said, now finding it hard to remain calm.

  “You know the procedure. They need to be sure that he wasn’t mixed up in any criminal activity.”

  “He was meeting his CI, who’d been coerced into luring him to the pier.”

  “By whom?”

  “One of Fallon’s mob. Arnie had been digging. There were at least four murders that he believed Fallon was behind.”

  “There was no proof to link the man who will almost certainly be the next mayor of New York to any crime. All Newman had was circumstantial evidence that no DA in his right mind would have taken seriously. Fallon has a lot of clout, Logan. And he also has cast-iron alibis for the murders that you’re talking about.”

  Logan reached into a pocket, withdrew the flash drive and held it out. “I only came to give you this,” he said. “I expect you to check it out. And it’s only a copy.”

  Travis took it. “What’s on it?” he asked.

  “Enough of what you deem to be circumstantial evidence to merit another very close look at Fallon. And there are the names of lowlife that work for him: Max Dalton, Dustin Quaid and Jack Trask. Trask shot Arnie. He’s in a clinic recovering from wounds that he got when Arnie returned fire. I’ve put details on a separate file for you to read.”

  “And what do you propose to do?” Travis asked, and immediately added. “Don’t tell me. I’m sure that you’d lie.”

  Logan said nothing, just turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Travis said. “I need to know where I can contact you.”

  “No you don’t,” Logan said. “I’ve got your number if something comes up I think you should know.”

  “You’ll probably get yourself killed, if you
go it alone.”

  “Maybe, but I know you wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. And one way or another about sixty thousand New Yorkers die every year, so I wouldn’t make a blip on the statistics.”

  Back out on the street, Logan decided to take the subway down to Battery Park and catch a ferry to the island. It amazed him that the Staten Island ferry service was still free. Very little in this age of greed came cheap, and almost nothing but the polluted air was free of charge. He considered that maybe his decision to quit the city and crisscross this great land, usually with no fixed destination in mind, was so that he could appreciate the beauty of the mountains, wildlife, forests, deserts and a way of living that seemed to move at a snails’ pace compared to the people and vehicle-packed cities that no longer held any fascination for him.

  As Logan walked out of 1 Police Plaza, Travis Reynolds followed him to the door and made a call to the detective squad room upstairs as he watched Logan head south along the sidewalk.

  “Put Ellery on,” Travis said to Detective Third Grade Paulie Neilson.

  Within seconds Dave Ellery was on the line.

  “Remember that big ox Logan?” Travis said.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “He just walked out the door. Get your ass down here and tail him.”

  Dave grabbed his coat and hurried down to the first floor. Saw Reynolds at the door and strode over, jostling his way through people that were in his way.

  “There, up at the corner,” Travis said to Dave. “See him?”

  “Yeah. Whadya want me to do?”

  “Stick like glue, but don’t get made. Logan is sharp. We need to know where he’s staying. I’ll get Neilson to catch up with you to track him. You can keep in touch by phone till he reaches you.”

  Dave crossed the street and kept Logan in sight. He knew how to tail people, but was glad that he would be part of a two-man team, so that they could be positive that the mark didn’t get chance to see the same face twice.

  Logan took time to have a cup of coffee in an Italian café that he had always enjoyed using, back in the day. The aroma of the roast coffee beans, Parma ham and cheeses was a magical and almost intoxicating mix to him. Some things took you back, like it or not. Smells, sights and sounds dug past memories from cobwebbed corners of your mind; good, bad and ugly ones. They surfaced unbidden from the subconscious to make you smile or sadden you.

  “Long time no see, Detective,” Carlo Minardi said, approaching the table that Logan had chosen to sit at; one with a view of the street through the plate-glass window that was partially obscured by the gold leaf writing that proclaimed in large fancy script that this was Minardi’s Bistro.

  “I’m just a civilian now, Carlo,” Logan said.

  “Once a cop always a cop,” Carlo said with a beaming smile on his broad, mustachioed face. “And you were one of the few that didn’t expect free coffee, even though it was always reassuring to have cops in my establishment.”

  “So let me have a gratis one now for old times’ sake,” Logan said.

  “You got it, Detective,” Carlo said and headed back to the counter.

  Dave Ellery was pleased to see Logan enter the bistro. It gave Paulie time to catch up.

  “How’re we gonna play it?” Paulie asked.

  “With you as lead,” Dave said. “Logan knows me. I’ve put on a few pounds and lost some hair, but he might recognize me. I’ll keep on the other side of the street, up ahead of him. You stay well back.”

  It was little more than a sideways glance, but Logan saw the paunchy figure pass between parked vehicles directly opposite, unable to refrain from taking a quick look, even though all he would see were reflections, due to Minardi’s interior being low lit to generate a warm, homely ambience for patrons.

  He recognized the detective. It was Dave Ellery, looking just as ugly as he always had been; fatter and going bald, but unmistakable. That meant Reynolds would have sent at least two after him. One would stay well back, and Ellery would keep up ahead. They would be in phone contact, but because he knew they were tailing him, losing them was a given.

  He let them sweat. Had another coffee, then asked Carlo if he could leave by the rear door. It led out into a yard and an alley behind it. Losing them had been easy, once he knew that they were following him. At the end of the alley he poked his head out and looked both ways. There was no sign of Ellery, so he set off down the street, took the first left and decided to take the subway.

  Dave Ellery was waiting at the corner of the block and got lucky. He stepped out just in time to see Logan walking in the other direction. Phoned Paulie and told him to follow, saying that Logan had obviously decided to take precautions and had left the bistro by the rear door.

  Logan saw the globe lamps denoting a subway entrance and went down the stairs; used a booth to buy his fare and walked over to a turnstile to swipe the card and continue to the five-hundred feet long platform, where he used one of the tiled support pillars to hide from view. He was sure that he had lost the tail, but took nothing for granted. Being head and shoulders taller than average commuters was a drawback when endeavoring to remain unseen.

  The sound of a train approaching was music to his ears. He’d almost forgotten the unmistakable noise of metal-on-metal as the wheels thundered over the rails, and the clanking of the cars as the train blasted free of the tunnel to screech to a stop. He took one last look towards the turnstiles and then stepped quickly forward as the doors slid back with a loud hiss.

  Dave and Paulie made it to the nearest car and entered it as the doors wheezed shut. Their run of luck was holding. Dave had caught a glimpse of Logan a split second before he was swallowed by the stairs leading down to the station. And Paulie had seen the big man step onto the train.

  Logan took a seat and looked straight ahead, not really aware of his own reflection in the window opposite as the train plunged into the tunnel like a rat in drainpipe. A couple of teenage girls were just a few feet from him, talking loudly about some boy band, debating which of the unattainable pop group would be their first choice to fuck. It saddened Logan that a great many of today’s generation were so disappointing with their crude vocabulary and small-mindedness. But he supposed that there were an equal number that would have more about them and go on to enjoy productive, worthwhile lives. And who was he to judge? He was just a guy that had done what he did for many years and then opted out and headed for the hills. He had nothing material to show for his life, by choice. His most valuable possessions were memories, which he didn’t spend a lot of time reflecting on.

  When he reached the terminal at Battery Park and boarded the ferry, he did not notice Paulie Neilson a couple of dozen passengers back from him. Nor did he see Dave Ellery, who had given a guy on the subway twenty bucks for a sweat-stained Boston Red Sox ball cap, and was now wearing it and keeping his head angled down so that the bill hid his features.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Della stopped for gas at an Exxon station on the outskirts of Jersey City. It was on a strip mall that had a variety of other businesses around a parking lot at its center. All three of them were hungry, so after Della and Margie had used an ATM to max out their credit cards, they walked over to a Perkins restaurant and ordered an all-day breakfast. While they waited for the food, Benny went back outside and lit a cigarette. It started to rain, so he stepped back under the overhang and leaned against the wall. He was becoming agitated. Maybe staying with Logan and the two women was a dumb idea. The people that were looking for them were as dangerous as the Mafia. They would somehow find Logan and kill him, and that went for anyone that was with him. If he had any sense he would just walk away. He was no threat to them, and they knew it. In fact they would be all but sure that he’d drowned.

  “Food’s on the table,” Margie said, appearing next to him.

  Her sudden appearance broke his train of thought. He dropped the end of the cigarette and followed her back inside the restaurant.

  It was a slow drive b
ack to the Blue Heron. The rain intensified and they stopped again at a supermarket to pick up some toiletries.

  “What’s the problem, Benny?” Della said a few minutes later as they crossed the bridge to the island. “You haven’t said a word since we left the diner.”

  “The problem is that a lot of people will be lookin’ for us; the type that gets what they want by blackmailin’, maimin’ or killin’ anyone that pisses them off.”

  Margie frowned. “Logan will—”

  “Logan will get himself killed,” Benny said, interrupting her. “He’s just one guy. They probably know where he is now. He went to the police, and Fallon has cops on his payroll. When he left he’ll have most likely been followed. They’ll turn up at the motel, and if we’re still there they’ll whack us all.”

  “If someone tries to follow him, he’ll lose them or deal with them,” Margie said. “He won’t come back to the island if he doesn’t know for certain that he’s in the clear. If you knew him a little better, you’d have more faith in his abilities, Benny. I trust him with my life because I know that he will keep me safe from harm.”

  Benny said nothing. He knew that Logan was competent, but the word would be out on the street, and a great many people would be doing their best to find them. And they wouldn’t stop looking. One way or another it was just a matter of time before they were discovered. Temporarily laying low at an out of the way motel would not save them forever. And if Logan went head to head with the people that Trask worked for, then he would not survive the encounter.

  It crossed Benny’s mind to make a call and get back on side. Giving up Logan and the women’s location would be rewarded. Selling them out would enable him to get on with life without waiting for a bullet. He was torn between doing what was right and what would save his ass. And he was jumpy; needed a joint to calm him down and help him think straight.

  The big yellow ferryboat powered its way across the chop of upper New York harbor, and ten minutes after it had left Battery Park, Logan was out on deck at the stern with his fleece zipped up and collar raised. The exterior bulkhead was protecting him from most of the strong gusts of cold wind and the whipping rain. He was oblivious to it, allowing himself to just absorb the sights and sounds around him. He loved the view of the statue, which seemed to erupt from the waves with a backdrop of the cityscape. It was a sight that was fixed in his mind like an engraving, and had been there for as long as he could remember. As an eleven-year old he had watched as the twin towers had been erected, to pierce the sky and take the attention of onlookers away from the Empire State and Chrysler buildings. And then as a thirty-seven year old he had sat transfixed in front of a TV, to be horrified beyond words as first one and then the other tower was hit by planes that had been hijacked by members of the Islamic terrorist group al-Qaeda.