OUR SECRET BABY

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OUR SECRET BABY Page 54

by Paula Cox


  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Kirill’t lose the car. And make sure the guys don’t get any further than this when they come. And if I’m not back in twenty, sound the alarm and give them hell.”

  “No—don’t think about it that way. You mustn’t get yourself shot until all this is over. You’re still my employee and no employee of mine dies when I’m still paying for his time.”

  “Should I consider that the nicest thing I’ll probably ever hear from you?”

  As an answer, Theo hands me the magnum. Then, he leans over my seat, unlocks and opens my door. “Be careful, Quinn.”

  “I’ll give it a try, sometime.”

  I step out into the cold and squeeze the door tightly shut, careful not to make a slam. So now this is it. Just Oren, me, and a few guards to wade through before getting to Maya. I’m calm, I tell myself. Calm. Calm. Direct your airflow. Good. Steady yourself. Remember that you are invisible and quick. Remember that you already know what the other guy is thinking even before he’s thought it. Remember who you are. Remember what you do.

  Then I go.

  I run to the end of the street, and the first thing I do is look left to make sure no one’s waiting at the mouth of the entrance for us to stumble through. But the street’s blank. Not a single car along the curb. No one waiting outside with telltale pocket bulges or bulky coats. All these places look untenanted anyway, same as last time. Good. No distractions.

  Tucking the magnum in the back of my belt, I jog to the side of the fence of number sixty-nine. It’s a little more than eight feet, but with a running jump I clamp my hands over the top and swing myself over, quick and easy, onto the adjacent lawn. Each of the apartments has got this little segment of a backyard for gardens or a back porch or whatever. There’s a whole vista of them with gates in between to cross from one to another, which makes my job that much easier. No more climbing over big fences. It’s always better going the back way when it’s an option.

  I cross through three, four more lawns, careful to keep track of the house numbers so that I don’t stumble in too close by mistake. Seventy-three. Seventy-five. Seven. Nine. Then we’re in the low eighties. Eighty-five.

  I stop once I’m in eighty-seven. Maya’s place should be right across the street. And if everything’s gone like we’ve expected it to go, there ought to be a black BMW right smack dab in the front, the same as last time. I crouch down, finding a hole in the wood of the fence through which I can spy to the next side. But I don’t look right away—not before a good long pause to take stock of the situation. This is it. This is where everything we’ve planned and thought through will be proven right or wrong. The make or break moment. Best not to take these things too lightly, or too heavily.

  I give it another second before looking. And sure enough, the first thing my eyes are drawn to is that goddamned BMW like a giant, black magnet. That’s it then. That’s where Maya is, and that’s where I’ve got to go.

  Having a definite purpose, even if it’s difficult or, hell, even if it’s impossible—it’s still better than a rumor, or nothing at all. Mine’s facing me down across the street: that sure as hell isn’t impossible.

  I keep my eye glued to the keyhole and move around to the left to see if I can make out the porch. There’s the first pillar. The second. Then a tree, and my vision through the keyhole cuts out halfway through the porch. Nothing on the right-hand ground-level side, which means they’ve probably got the second story covered. No way to check that and avoid being seen. I’d have eyes trained down on me long before I caught anything with my own. We won’t attack from the right-hand side. Now for the center.

  I give the back of the apartment I’m standing in a once-over, which is plenty to determine if you can climb the back or not. Sheer wooden walls you can’t get a foot on, but this one has a little covering over the back porch, with another roof above this and a third—the main, above that—plus railings you can stand on to lift yourself up and swing over.

  I shimmy up the first roof, about ten feet from the ground, move a bit down the tiles to give myself leverage for the second roof, and then lift myself up onto this one. One more and I’ve got a view twelve houses down to my left and right, with Theo’s car just barely visible in the distance.

  There’s a chimney sprouting up in front of me, a little to my left, which looks like it might provide some cover to get an eyeball down at the center of number eighty-eight. I move to it and peek around. The apartment’s a little smaller than this one. Just two levels, with a wide circular window at the front that has silhouettes cut out in them like patterns from paper, two bulky guys with submachine guns. I look down and see if I can make out anything near the covered porch, but I can’t. Best to assume the worst and plan for it. Three guys, then. And if they’ve got two out in the front, then I’m going to assume two on each side. Seven guys, plus Oren. Plus whoever’s hiding out inside.

  I go back down to the lawn and jog back in the direction of Theo’s car, trying to think of the best means of attack. Coming in from behind and we’d have all of three minutes before getting shot to shit by the guys on the sides. That’s not even considering the idea that they’ve got two guys out back with blasters just waiting for that kind of thing. A guy who gets what he wants by kidnapping a girl is sure as hell gonna make sure she’s protected.

  So, what then? Run in screaming, shooting off rounds like a bunch of cowboys? Hope we can just scare the guys into giving up their territory? But that’s all just variations on a theme of getting yourself mowed down. We need a distraction to direct the line of fire. And then we need a sharpshooter to plug the two out front. Strategy. Big weapons. An army. That’s what it came down to.

  I hoist myself back over the fence and stop.

  “What the hell?” I actually say it out loud. It was maybe seven minutes ago since I saw Theo’s car. It’d been the only car there. There are seven others now. And milling around the place, no less than twelve Stitches. But that’s not what I’m stopped here for, standing like an idiot with my mouth open.

  “Caught a fur ball, Q?”

  Leaning against the hood of his car and looking as relaxed and carefree as any other time I’ve seen him, is a grinning Palmer Glass.

  Chapter 31

  Palmer Glass—in the flesh, but wrapped up in bandages from the waist down like a mummy not quite finished.

  I’m too surprised to move. Just yesterday I saw this guy taking pellets from a shotgun and go down screaming. Just yesterday I’d thought the next time I saw him he’d be hooked up to a spider web of IVs being force-fed chemicals in a hospital. I never thought I’d see the same guy again, but there he is the same as ever, just a little out of commission.

  “You gonna move any time today, Q? Or you really expect me to go over to you?”

  “Son of a bitch,” I say, and throw my arms around him. “Never thought I’d see you looking the same way after yesterday.”

  “You really expected that I’d let those assholes keep a piece out of me and get away with it?”

  “That was a hell of a lot more than a piece.”

  “Pieces, then. But nothing more than B-B gun stuff. Honestly, Q, you’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

  “Bolt said the doctors thought it’d be eight months.”

  “Doctors. What the hell do they know? You ever known a doctor take a bullet?”

  I let him go and turn around to look at all the guys we’ve got lined up. Crash is over on the side, talking with Nail. Bolt and Kirill are with a group of four other guys I’ve only seen maybe one other time. Young ones from the looks of it, just fresh out of their teen years. And next to these guys, another three I’ve never seen before.

  Bolt sees Palmer and me with each other and comes over, putting out an arm that I take.

  “Good to see you in one piece,” he says. “Mob man said you’d gone to do recall.”

  I nod and look over at his little group of four. “Who’ve we got?”

&n
bsp; “One contract kills. Took down a coke dealer just a few weeks ago. They may look like kids, but they fight like animals.” He points, naming them off one by one. Dephonso. Saint. Chisel. Vat. I memorize the names and run them through my head a few times to make sure they’ve stuck.

  “And over there, the real kids. Plenty of practice at the firing range, but they’ve never seen the field before.” He runs through the last few guys for me. Ash. Blondie. Key. And Theo, talking to one of them in a voice I can’t hear. Prep-talking.

  “They look nervous.”

  “Weren’t we all the first time? Anyway, I’ve already said something to them. They’re a lot less antsy than they were an hour ago.”

  “You think they’ll pull through?”

  “I wouldn’t have brought them here if I didn’t. They’re excited to be working with you and mob man. You guys are practically celebrities to them, you know?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Hey, Q!” Nail catches me scanning the guys and comes over. The hand he slaps on my back almost knocks me over. “Watcha got for us? The guys are getting curious.”

  “Get them all over here, and I’ll tell you.”

  Bolt motions to the two groups of guys to come gather over by Theo’s car. I go through the basic layout of what I’ve just inspected. Number of guards. Entrance points. Objective. The works. No one says anything until the very end.

  “That’s it, then?”

  “From all that I saw, yeah,” I answer Palmer.

  “Eight guys with automatic weapons. One confirmed psychopath and one girl.” I catch a side grin from Palmer. “We’ve had worse.”

  “In terms of numbers and size. This is different—we’ve never had to do a rescue before.”

  “You think it’s much different? It all comes down to shooting the bad guys.”

  “While not shooting the good one. But it’s not you guys I’m worried about. It’s Oren.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “If he gets wise to the fact we’re there for Maya; if he gets pinned down with her, first things he’s gonna do is put the gun barrel to her head to keep us from getting any closer. And if he thinks even for a second that he’ll lose her, you can be sure he’ll put a bullet in her head sooner than have us come and take her.”

  Everyone goes quiet. Probably thinking what a whole new can of worms this is compared to other times.

  Finally, Bolt pitches in, “You said these guys probably got all four sides covered, yeah? I don’t see how adding the girl changes anything. The best bet is to bring their attention to one side heavy enough that they forget about the others. You keep that up long enough and keep it up hard, they’re gonna put all their strength in one corner instead of watching their backs. So when they do that, we’ll have a guy standing ambush at the back. That way when your guy tries to escape, we’ll be there waiting for him.”

  “Flush him out, sure.” I nod. “We’ll do two teams of five and six on either side. Sandwich him in. Right team will go first to draw fire and left team after that.”

  I look at Palmer, and he shakes his head. “I’ll have to be a cheerleader for this one, Q.” He says it like a joke but I know how disappointed he is. No one likes getting left out of a fight when he knows his brothers are going to be in danger.

  “I know,” I say.

  “But that still leaves my daughter in danger,” Theo interrupts. “Are you telling me the best option you have for her still amounts to putting her right in the middle of a hail of gunfire? This is absurd.”

  “Bolt is right, unfortunately,” I say. “This is still the best option for getting Maya away from even more gunfire. Isolate her and Oren.”

  “But now you’re going back on what you said before. Do you honestly think she will be in less danger with Oren than in the house?”

  “No—not at all. Which is why we need to make sure we take him down as soon as we can. Flush him out into an ambush. Give him no time to turn on her. That’s the reality.”

  Theo gives me a look that could rip steel. I face him right back. “It’s a choice between a bad decision and a worse one. That’s the best we can do.”

  He stares and starts to shake his head slowly. “I don’t want to accept that,” he says, quieter. “I can’t accept that. But it would appear I have no choice.” His eyes get softer. “I’ve put my trust in you to keep my daughter safe these past few months. Not once have you given me reason or cause to doubt your confidence.”

  I nod. “Then it’s settled.”

  “Almost,” Theo says. “Maya may be your charge, but she is still my daughter. Fathers must look after their children. I will be the one to shoot down Oren Kroll when the time comes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I have to be. Although it’s not often that those who have been wronged the most are the same who have the ability to administer justice.”

  It’s difficult to know where this is coming from. If Theo is acting out just because he wants revenge or because he thinks he can deal it. But I can’t argue. It’s his daughter.

  “Okay. Bolt—you’ll go with him and make sure all goes well?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “The apartments have these little lawns in the back, with covered porches. I betcha once we get inside the building Oren’s going to try going out that way. That’s where you need to be when things get hairy.”

  “Okay.”

  “Alright then.”

  Everyone waits like they’re expecting some last inspiring speech or motivational words or something Hollywood like that. I even start to expect something, even though I sure as hell don’t like speaking in front of other people. And when you’re about to go light up a house—when you know you’re going to be rushing into a bunch of bullets flying all around you—how do you even start to describe all that in a few words?

  The simple answer is, you don’t. You let your guns speak for you.

  “Greenhorns group up with the experienced ones. Make sure you’ve got plenty of ammo. Pack Items for close range: it’s going to be crowded in there. We head out in ten.”

  Chapter 32

  You always get an adrenaline rush before a fight. Any fight. It comes from a lot of things: from knowing that in just a few minutes, or seconds, you’re going to be turning your body into something capable of breaking another person. Sometimes just seeing the other guy you’re about to break is enough and you feel it like an injection. A slick, sour taste at the bottom of your tongue. You get that, and you know you’re unstoppable. But the second you doubt that or try to convince yourself that you don’t have a hand in this fight, that’s when you’re finished. There’s no room for thoughts or doubts. There’s only just enough room to tell your brain to squeeze the trigger, to throw the punch, to duck or move aside or take cover.

  That’s what I try telling the greenhorns before we move in. It’s them: Ash, Blondie, and Key, plus Nail and Crash, and we’re all packed into the entrance room of number eighty-seven where we’ve come after kicking the back door in. I figure it’s better to have a base here than climb over walls or over rooftops to get to the place across the street.

  “Kirill’t doubt yourself. Just be cool. And make your rounds count—none of this spray and pray stuff, it’ll throw off everything. You got it?” I take out the Item Bolt gave me—another glock—and load it. Fifteen rounds.

  All three of the new guys nod. And it really looks like they do. I know fear and hesitation when I see it, and although these guys are feeling it, there’s no mistaking their focus.

  “It’s going to be quick and bloody. Make sure you got somebody covering your back. Communicate. Clear out the ground floor first—I’m talking every room. Kirill’t leave yourselves exposed but don’t get into corners. Best thing to do is to keep the pressure on them. If not, they’ll think they’ve got the advantage, and we don’t want that. Team two will be here in five—we can do a lot in that time. We can finish this. You got it?”

  Nods.

  “G
ood. Crash and I will go first and get behind the car. We’ll unload on the window with the two shooters in it. Once we do that, you come running. Find shelter out front as soon as possible, and then move in when I sign you. Good luck.”

  Crash shoulders up to me and points out the window, towards the round window of number eighty-eight where the two guys with submachine guns are sitting. “They’re not looking,” he says. “We could try popping them now.”

  “But we won’t. Car first. Then shoot. You got it?”

  “Sounds like a plan, boss. Just tell me when.”

  As an answer, I open the door a crack. Cold winter air. A few flakes falling, lazy, like pillow stuffing. No wind at all. Everything absolutely still.

 

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