The Reluctant Warrior (Warriors Series Book 2)

by Ty Patterson

  ‘Young hoods are desperate to join us. Some rob, some sell drugs, many sell their sisters and mothers. And some kill. To prove themselves to us. You just walked in. Not logical. Jose does not like things that are not logical.’

  He paused, his eyes black holes in his face.

  ‘I’m an enforcer. You know what that means?’

  ‘People shit in their pants when they see you?’

  Diego hit him again on the other temple. A thicker stream of blood started running down Shattner’s head.

  ‘You think you’re smart. How come I’m holding this gun and you’re at the other end?’

  Diego extended his forefinger and touched the blood streaming down Shattner’s face. He inspected it for a while and flicked it away.

  ‘That’s my business,’ he said, nodding at the copper droplets flying away.

  ‘I am number two. I am also the enforcer of our chapter.’

  He paused, enjoying the fear in Shattner’s eyes.

  ‘I looked into your past, your history, and your time in the army. I spoke to your previous garage in New Jersey, your landlord… everyone who knew you. You are a criminal, just like us. But I told Jose, better to kill you. Your joining us did not feel right,’ Diego continued without any inflection. He could be reading the weather.

  ‘But Jose is smart. Smarter than me… is why he is boss. He said we need Anglos. Less suspicious.’

  ‘He said we didn’t need to worry about you. You got kids. Lisa very pretty, no?’ Diego smiled a feral smile.

  Shattner went cold.

  Diego smiled thinly. ‘Relax, Anglo. You are alive; your kids are safe… for now.’ He leant back in his seat and gestured at Shattner to drive.

  Rajek clicked his tongue and looked disappointed. Maybe happiness for him was Shattner’s brains splattered over the windshield.

  His involvement in the gang increased. He was used the most as a driver, but soon started distributing baggies to the street vendors and making collections for the gang.

  The garage, while a front, was not very successful. The people who brought their cars in were known to the gang even if they weren’t gang members themselves. Shattner figured out the hierarchy of the gang over time. Cruz ruled it at the top, with Diego as his second in command as well as its chief hit man. Then came a handful of Rajeks – the senior members of the gang, and then there were the doers… those who ran the drugs, the rackets, the women.

  In his arms trading, Shattner had dealt with many gangs, but this one was different. This one ran like a smoothly oiled machine, a strong chain of command linking the hierarchies and utter ruthlessness shown to those who disobeyed or challenged the gang. Like a military machine. Shattner learnt over a period of time that most of the gang members, including Jose, Diego and Rajek had military experience, some in European armed forces, some in South America or Africa.

  Most of those armed forces must have been happy to see the backs of these guys, he thought.

  A month after his close-up with Diego’s gun, he drove Diego to a hit.

  Chapter 3

  It was at two in the morning.

  He drove Diego to an office block, killed the engine, and nervously waited for instructions.

  Diego was silent and motionless, his dark eyes seeing nothing and seeing everything. His phone beeped after half an hour, and after a murmured conversation, Diego straightened. In another fifteen minutes, they saw a car make its way from the opposite end of the street, stop about a hundred feet away, and kill its lights.

  Two people stepped out of the car and approached theirs, and Diego met them halfway. He bumped fists with them, took wads of cash from them, gave them baggies in return, turned his back on them, and returned to Shattner.

  Ten feet away from them, he turned smoothly and drew.

  So smooth and balletic was his movement that it took Shattner a couple of seconds to make the gun in his hand. The two reports were muted, hitting the other two in the back of their heads. Shattner didn’t hear the bodies falling; he saw Diego step up to the bodies and fire into their heads again for good measure. He grabbed the baggies and walked back to Shattner leisurely, a thin breeze ruffling his hair slightly.

  Shattner felt the cold touch of the barrel to his neck when they reached the first set of lights on their way back.

  ‘You are too calm, chollo. Maybe you’re a cop?’

  Shattner broke. He swerved into the darkness between streetlights and turned back to Diego.

  ‘A cop? Wouldn’t I have brought the whole force on you guys by now? Remember I’ve seen a lot of shit you guys do and know a lot.’

  Diego didn’t say a word but continued pointing the gun at Shattner.

  Shattner leaned forward and pulled the gun to his forehead. ‘If in doubt, pull. That’s your motto, isn’t it? Go on, then. Pull.’

  Black pools of nothing stared back at him, and then slowly the barrel moved.

  ‘You have got balls, chollo. Si, I grant you that. Now drive.’

  Shattner drove back in silence, gripping the wheel hard to hide the trembling in his hands. Diego sat motionless behind him, expressionless, bars of light and dark moving across his face as the car made its way to Blake Avenue. Probably thinking when he can kill me, Shattner thought savagely.

  The next week, two gang members were busted by the police as they were selling drugs to street vendors near a school. The same school Shattner had driven Diego to. The week after that, a gang member was arrested as he was carrying out a hit on an MS-13 gang member.

  The first arrest was shrugged off by the chapter as the price to be paid for being in business; the members were soon bailed. Just like most businesses of this size, Jose had lawyers and PR agents on retainers. The second incident caused uneasiness given its proximity to the first.

  The third arrest happened in the subsequent week.

  Ten gangbangers were flushed out after the police ran an elaborate sting operation on a prostitution racket owned by Jose. The uneasiness exploded into suspicion.

  There was a snitch in the gang.

  And Shattner was its newest quasi member.

  Diego was with Shattner on every gang business errand now, watching him from behind his lizard-like eyelids. He didn’t care if Shattner knew he was under suspicion.

  The gang still used him, and he wondered about that. Maybe all the members are known to the cops and they’re using me as a foil, he reasoned.

  His phone vibrated on the table, bringing him out from the past. The text message stared back at him.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  He went to the bedroom window and stared into the dark street below him, wondering if he would return home the next day.

  He had heard rumors of a large deal, and it was likely Diego wanted him as the getaway driver.

  That, or the summons was for his execution.

  He washed his face in the bathroom and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was even thinner now, his cheeks hollowed out, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hands trembled constantly, and he had to jam them in his pockets whenever his kids were around.

  He took a deep breath, pushing away his constant fear, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom.

  Diego was awaiting him at the garage entrance the next day, sitting inconspicuously in an anonymous Toyota Corolla. Passersby did not give him a second glance, unaware that they were a few feet from the most ruthless killer in Brooklyn.

  He jerked his head at Shattner, indicating for him to get in and drive, and Shattner obliged, taking them down Rockaway Avenue, onto Linden Boulevard and into a deserted industrial area on Wortman Avenue.

  He parked beside a Ford Transit, and as soon as he had turned off the ignition, the rear doors of the Transit opened.

  Rajek jumped out, followed by another heavily tattooed and armed man. Diego stepped out and opened the trunk of Shattner’s car, and Rajek and the other man started loading burlap sacks in the boot from the Transit. Shattner stoo
d for a moment watching the activity and then helped the transfer. He reckoned there were two hundred kilos that got loaded in the car, and from the smell, he suspected the sacks contained crack.

  Rajek and his companion drove off without a word, but not without Rajek grinning at Shattner. Maybe he was wondering how long Shattner had to live.

  ‘You think this is a picnic?’ Diego growled when Shattner stood staring at the back of the Ford Transit.

  Shattner got behind the wheel and followed Diego’s directions, taking the Belt Parkway, moving out of the city and southwards. His suspicions were confirmed when they took the I-95 and merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

  ‘New Jersey, huh?’ He turned to Diego and received a stony look in return.

  He shrugged and continued driving without stopping at any of the services. Conversation wasn’t Diego’s strongest point.

  Southport in Gloucester City, New Jersey, on the Delaware River was once the site of a nineteenth- century shipyard and later was an industrial site. Now it was abandoned and fenced off, industry and shipping deserting the city, and this was where Shattner guessed the crack was heading to.

  A brilliant choice for a deal to go down since law enforcement never ventured there, and the only people that visited were the odd fisherman or jogger.

  They drove through the city, driving normally so as not to attract any attention, and Diego relaxed beside him. Relaxed like a snake. Down they went on Klemm Avenue and through to Market Street, the town, a very small place that industry forgot and where everyone knew the other.

  On Water Street, Diego made him drive all the way from the waterfront to an abandoned industrial site where power stations, chimneys, and buildings defined desolation.

  Shattner parked in front of an enormous opening to a long, dilapidated structure that ran for a mile on either side of the entrance, its roof partially blown away, exposing an intestine of girders and frames. From the inside of the structure came the sound of an engine revving, and another drab Ford Transit emerged from the maw of the building and rattled across towards them. The Transit reversed so that it was back to back with Shattner’s car.

  Four heavily armed men emerged from the rear of the Transit and headed towards Diego.

  Through the rearview mirror Shattner could see the men sported assault rifles and handguns; one had an M203 grenade launcher hanging from his shoulder. All four of them sported the tattoos of 5Clubs; Shattner suspected this was a trade between Cruz’s chapter and whichever other chapter these four belonged to.

  Diego opened the trunk, and the four men swiftly began transferring the crack to the van. He stood at one side, talking into his mobile, his gun hand casually resting inside his jacket.

  Shattner, taking his cue from Diego, felt around his back, pulled out his Glock and placed it in his lap. He angled the mirrors so that he could see everyone behind him.

  And then everyone heard it. Their arrival could be heard a long way away, the throbbing of powerful engines approaching fast.

  Chapter 4

  One of the armed men ran out to the road leading to Water Street, jerked his head both ways, and came back shouting urgently. Diego started yelling back, and the tension ratcheted up.

  Shattner couldn’t make out the shouting from inside the car, but the men speeded up the transfer. He stepped out of the Toyota as, at a sharp command from Diego, the four abandoned the transfer and ran towards the Transit.

  ‘Cops,’ shouted Diego to Shattner, and that was enough for him to follow Diego into the back of the van.

  The van was already moving when they reached it, and rough hands drew them in the back. As soon as they were inside the van, it took off, its tires squealing in the dirt. The van careened on the road and then righted after a tight right took it onto Water Street, away from the industrial site.

  Through the half-open door, Shattner could now see the reason for the escape; three New Jersey State cruisers were about half a mile away, their bars flashing, followed by a Police Command Vehicle, the roar of their engines growing louder by the second.

  The air in the van felt thin to Shattner, everything jacked up and tight, and sound came to him at a distance, adrenaline drowning out normalcy. The cruisers turned on their sirens when they spotted the Transit making a getaway, and a loudspeaker called out, but the commotion in the van drowned out the words.

  Shattner held onto the side of the van desperately as it rocketed down the street, its souped-up engine releasing all its horses. He glanced nervously at Diego, who was directing the men to fire at the cops.

  Shattner shouted above the racket, ‘You’re not going to fire at them, are you? That will make this worse.’

  Diego looked at him contemptuously, and before he could answer, the gangbangers opened fire. They didn’t see if their shots had any effect as the van turned a corner and then immediately slipped into another street and took yet another turn, where it slid into an open slot. The four men jumped out, took the remaining stash, and ran away, disappearing in the traffic.

  Diego pushed Shattner ahead of him, the two walking briskly but not noticeably hurrying, blending in the ebb and flow of the street. He nudged Shattner into a park, where they sat, outwardly relaxed, till it grew dark.

  Smart move, thought Shattner. Parks won’t be the first place the cops look at.

  They broke into a run-down Honda Civic when night set in, and drove out of Gloucester City.

  Diego hit his phone as soon as they were clear and back on the I-95, calling several numbers, speaking rapidly and angrily in Spanish.

  ‘How many kilos did we leave behind?’ Shattner asked him once Diego had fallen silent. Instead of answering, Diego pulled his gun and pointed it at Shattner.

  ‘How did they know?’ he screamed. The sudden move made Shattner swerve, and when he finished steadying the car, Diego screamed again. ‘Are you the snitch? How did the pigs know?’

  ‘I don’t know, and fuck you, I’m not a snitch,’ Shattner screamed back.

  He turned to face Diego fully, ignoring the car, ignoring the traffic.

  Rage flooded through him, string-tight nerves and adrenaline needing a release. ‘Kill me, you bastard, and get it over with,’ he screamed, spittle spraying on Diego.

  ‘You are the enforcer, right? Hot-shot hit man, feared by all? You all suspect me of being the grass, don’t you? Come on, kill me, you motherfucker.’ He pushed his face to Diego’s, forcing the barrel tight against his head, his eyes looking into the killer’s eyes.

  Diego’s finger tightened on the trigger as Shattner looked at him fully, one hand on the wheel, one foot hovering over the precipice.

  A long-haul truck overtook them in the fast lane, its horn blaring contemptuously, penetrating the car and cutting through the adrenaline.

  Diego lowered the gun and said, ‘Drive,’ and fell silent.

  Shattner turned to the road, his hands trembling slightly against the wheel; if Diego noticed them, he didn’t say a word. After a while Diego wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘If you spit on me again, I will kill your son and Jose will fuck your daughter in front of you,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  It took a long time for Shattner’s heart to start beating normally after that.

  Diego made him drive all across Brooklyn, making random turns as he resumed his calls, speaking in a calmer voice.

  It was past midnight when they reached the garage, no lights burning and no movement. Yet, when they entered the garage, a shadow detached itself from the other darker shadows.

  Jose Cruz.

  Diego went over to him and had a low conversation while Shattner waited in the Honda. Shattner didn’t know what to expect now and had his Glock between his thighs, his hand on its grip, ready in case either Diego or Cruz or both opened fire on him.

  They didn’t.

  After a very short conversation, which featured no cursing or yelling, Diego came over and got in. He made Shattner drive to Coney Island, to a car
-recycling and salvage yard that Shattner suspected the gang owned. Diego disappeared in the depths of the yard and came back with a can of lighter fluid.

  They doused the interior of the car with the fluid and lit it with a match.

  It was the early hours of the morning by the time Shattner got to his apartment. He entered quietly and paused outside the bedroom, listening to Shawn and Lisa asleep, both of them accustomed to his absences, his children fast-forwarding to adulthood without him.

  The weight of the day and the sight of his children brought him to his knees. He dimly wondered why he’d not been shot by the gang. If he was in their place, he would’ve shot a suspected snitch without a second thought.

  Maybe I’m not the only one under suspicion. Or Diego wanted a white face around him to get away from that place, and now I can be killed.

  He sat there for a long while trying to think in their shoes, and then gave up and dragged himself to the bathroom to clean up, and when he came out, his children were up and getting ready for school.

  Lisa ran over to him, and he scooped her up, crushing her tight, feeling her small heart beat against his. ‘I missed you, Daddy.’ Her voice was muffled against his neck.

  ‘I missed you too, princess,’ he replied, his face in her hair, and the warmth of her breath and the fresh smell of her hair brought back the cold determination to set things right for them.

  Once Shattner walked them to school, he made his plans. He wasn’t sure how long his employment at the garage would last. He smiled grimly at that thought.

  Heck, he wasn’t sure how long he had to live.

  He returned to their apartment, to the closet in the bedroom, and pulled out the lowermost section, right out of its slide. Taped to the rear of it was a thick wad of cash. He pulled out the drawer above it and removed another Glock 30 taped to its rear and three magazines of ammunition. He went to the kitchen and removed another stash of cash, another gun, and more ammunition.

  He packed them in an anonymous satchel and caught the subway to Manhattan. He stowed one cache at a baggage locker near the Port Authority bus terminal and another at the cruise ship terminals. He then went to his regular small arms supplier and bought extra magazines and other odds and ends.