Choked Up

by Janey Mack

  “What? I met only one of Grieco’s lieutenants, Alfonso Javier Rodriguez, in the company of Stannislav Renko.”

  Walt smiled. “Long enough for El Cid to find you intriguing.”

  I cocked my head. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It has come across our desk that El Cid has been inquiring after you.”

  Wow. Jaysus. That’s really not good.

  “I apologize, sir. I think—”

  “You will proceed, thus.” Walt closed his eyes for a moment. “You will extricate yourself from Stannislav Renko with the barest minimum of strife. Upon satisfactory accounting, you will return to supervising the collection of evidence by your fellow parking enforcement agents.”

  So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?

  I’ll make sure to hustle ass so as not to let the door hit me on the way out.

  Or not.

  Hank’s Law Number Twenty: The most dangerous enemy is the one with nothing left to lose.

  I sighed. “Are you having an affair with my mother?”

  Walt Sawyer’s whiskey-colored eyes met mine. “No.” The momentary flicker of longing attested to his truth.

  For the moment.

  “Any thoughts on how to break up with The Butcher?” I held up my left hand.

  Walt’s lips thinned. He frowned. “A fake engagement?”

  “Yes. But Stannis won’t part with me easily. He believes I’m his good luck charm.”

  Sawyer folded his hands atop his desk. “I have no compunction terminating your employment with Special Unit.”

  Hardball. In all its badass glory.

  I may be a rookie, but you brought me to the big leagues just the same.

  “Stannis knows I’m close to my family.” I shrugged. “I suppose I could come clean with my mother. Maybe ask her to pretend she’s terminally ill.”

  Walt cupped his chin in his hand, appraising and assessing. “You’re exactly like her, you know.”

  What a lovely thing to say.

  I blushed. “Quite a compliment, coming from the man about to terminate my employment.”

  A slow smile curved up the edges of his mouth. “Perhaps you’ve been mishandled. A thoroughbred needs a steady hand. To be willfully guided. Danny has a tendency to be choppy at the reins. Yes?”

  I nodded.

  He changed tack. “Which man of Renko’s switched trains?”

  “Chyornyj Yastreb. Russian for Black Hawk. A Russian hand selected by Goran Slajic for Renko’s operation. Stannis treats him as an equal.”

  “What is he like?”

  “I haven’t seen him. But he’s smart. Cunning. All his conversation is vox modified. He told Stannis he was concerned Eddie Veteratti is out to cause him trouble. Which I think he is. But after Black Hawk switched the trains, he tweaked something I said to give me credit for the heist’s success.”

  Walt straightened. “Black Hawk’s either setting him up or trying to move in. Either way, I think perhaps it’s time you work directly for me. You need money, equipment? Talk to Edward. Danny’s out of the loop for now.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Stay close to Stannis. Take no chances. The next move will be ours. And we will manage the situation.”

  Chapter 43

  I left the clean and bright Silverthorn Estates building, feeling relieved and excited and dark and dirty. And sad.

  Gorilla idled in the Explorer across the street at the center island. I trotted across the street, trying to shake the guilt raven off my shoulder.

  The hulking bodyguard was out of the Explorer and around the hood before I got to the median. “No!” he said. “You were to wait until I came for you. Not safe.” He opened the rear passenger-side door. He took my elbow, crowding me as I stepped onto the running board.

  I heard a sound like a bare hand slapping a wall.

  He fell on top of me, crushing the breath from my lungs and knocking me to the floor of the SUV.

  He jerked spasmodically as two more shots struck him.

  He wasn’t moving. I got one arm free and raised his head.

  Gorilla was dead.

  I squirmed and wriggled my legs out from under him. A round hit the bulletproof window on the open door and went right through it into the headrest. The Lexan was no match for the high-caliber sniper round. Another came right through the open door into the backseat.

  Pinned down.

  I couldn’t close the rear passenger door. Gorilla was half-in, half-out of the car. I braced my feet, grabbed his suit by the shoulders, and heaved. A bullet tore a hole through the floor inches from my foot.

  Holy cat!

  Terror pumped strength through me I never knew I had. I adjusted my grip on Gorilla and hurled myself backward, dragging his body into the car. Blood burbled out his mouth, onto my jacket and pants. Crouching, I started forward to pull the door shut.

  Bad idea.

  I threw myself against the driver’s seat.

  Hank’s Law Number Four: Keep your head.

  Duh. There’s more than one door in an SUV.

  I slipped out the side door, opened the driver’s door, and scooted behind the wheel. The key was in the ignition. I turned it, grinding the starter, popped the car in Drive, and stomped on the gas.

  Two more shots hit the car as I tore down the street. The interior alarm bells bleeped and pinged like crazy from my lack of seat belt and the still open door. Tires screaming, I took a sharp right at 40 mph, and let gravity close the door for me.

  I took a hard left and pumped the gas. Weaving in and out of traffic, head on a swivel, I juiced the gas, my breath coming in short pants.

  Hank’s Law Number Three: Don’t let your lizard brain go rogue.

  Gotta calm down. Stay fluid.

  I sucked in a deep breath through my nose.

  Huge mistake.

  My stomach roiled.

  Gorilla was dead. The stink of his bodily fluids mingled with blood . . . the stench so heavy it coated the back of my tongue and throat, like gagging up an old penny.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  Call the BOC? My brothers?

  I passed a car on the wrong side and adjusted my grip on the wheel.

  The blurp of a siren sounded.

  The blue and red lights of the CPD flashed in my rearview mirror. They rolled the siren again.

  There’s a dead guy in my car.

  I pulled over.

  Shite! Shite! Shite!

  The cop driving lumbered out and cracked his neck before starting toward the Explorer.

  No way a cop wouldn’t recognize the stink.

  Cripes. I scrambled out of the Explorer and took a step toward the officer. At least the blood didn’t show on my black suit.

  The cop’s partner got on the loudspeaker. “Get back in the car, ma’am.”

  I raised my hands, closed my eyes, and stopped walking.

  “Ma-am, please . . .” His voice died away. “Your hair is red?”

  Brilliant observation, officer. I opened my eyes and almost closed them again.

  Tommy Narkinney.

  My arch-rival from the Police Academy and all-around rat bastard who almost got me killed, looking more ’roided-up than ever. “Officer Narkinney.” I said.

  “Maisie-Daisy McGrane.” He waved at his partner to stay in the car and came closer. “You were speeding.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not going to give you a ticket, but that’s it. No more free passes.”

  Whatever thread of sanity I’d been clinging to snapped inside my brain. I stepped into him, chest-to-chest. “Are you feckin’ kidding me?”

  “Maisie—” He blanched and rocked back on his heels. “Geez. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  I didn’t recognize the voice that came out of me. “The fact that I didn’t let Hank kill you makes you my forever-always bitch.”

  His cheeks quivered.

  What in God’s name am I doing?

  I stepped back. “Y
ou better go. Shots fired at Silverthorn Estates.” I pointed in the general vicinity.

  His face crinkled in confusion.

  His partner clicked the loudspeaker twice and hit the lights. Tommy turned to see him furiously waving him to come back to the car.

  Tommy looked at me.

  “Go,” I said.

  He jogged back to the car, got in, and took off, siren blaring.

  I got back in the Explorer. The smell was overwhelming. I reached back and pulled my purse out from under Gorilla’s shoulder. I undid the bloody zipper, got my phone out, and called Hank.

  “Mr. Bannon’s office,” his secretary said, somehow able to make it sound risqué. “Good afternoon, Ms. McGrane. I’m afraid Mr. Bannon’s in conference—would you like to leave a message?”

  I hung up without speaking. “Siri,” I said. “Text Walt. Okay. Will call.”

  I dialed Stannis. No answer. I called the penthouse. Kontrolyor answered the phone. “Da?”

  “This is Maisie. We have a problem.”

  “With car?”

  Bingo!

  “Yes.” A giant sigh of relief burst from me. I knew exactly what to do. “Get a message to Stannis. Tell him to meet me at Christo Keck’s Garage.”

  “Da.”

  “And Kon? Tell Christo I’m coming in hot.”

  “Hot?” he said in confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “The car’s on fire.” I hung up.

  The drive was beyond excruciating. I wouldn’t let myself even contemplate the corrosive deluge of hydrofluoric acid that would storm down on my family if I got in an accident or, God forbid, got stopped again.

  On the plus side, I now knew intimately the nervy adrenaline rush that a killer feels carting a body around.

  Finally, I hit Albany Park.

  Taking it extra slow, I hit my turn signal well in advance of Keck’s alleyway. I pulled in to the narrow passageway, mouth-breathing in short pants.

  A man in coveralls unlocked and rolled back the covered chain-link entrance to the rear parking lot. I drove in and he shut and locked the gate behind me.

  I got out of the car.

  Three men in coveralls glared at me. Keck approached the Explorer, noting the enormous bullet holes in the car. He looked through the broken window and saw Gorilla sprawled between the seats.

  In two quick steps he was on me, hand knotted in my hair. He jerked my head back. “Why the fuck do you bring this mess here? To me?” Still holding on to me, he turned to the men. “Wrap him in a tarp. Chop the car.”

  The men sprang into action, as Keck forced me into the chop shop. He let go with a slight shove toward the counter. He went over to the vending machine, dug out some change, and brought back a Dr Pepper and a Hershey bar.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I may not have a choice over you bringing a fucking dead body into my garage, but you will do as I say until Renko gets here. Eat it.”

  The soda tasted bitter. The candy bar equally so. I forced them down, eyeing my watch. Within twenty minutes, Christo Keck buzzed Stannis and Kontrolyor into the garage.

  Stannis took one look at me and laid his fist over his heart. He rattled off a stream of very pissed-off Serbian at Keck, then, in Russian, snapped an order at Kon, who exited the garage into the rear lot, presumably to check on Gorilla and the Explorer.

  Stannis strode up to the counter. He laid a hand on my head and stroked my hair.

  “Big holes.” Keck tossed a chunk of metal onto the counter. “Went through Ivanović’s vest like butter.”

  “Leave now.”

  As Keck grabbed his keys and hustled out of the building, Stannis picked up the spent round and examined it. “.308. A pro.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then took out his phone, laid it on the counter, and called Chyornyj Yastreb.

  “Go ahead.”

  “New assignment,” Stannis said. “Hunting.”

  “Who?”

  “Sniper.”

  “Importance?” Black Hawk said.

  “Critical. Ivanović is collateral damage.”

  “Any trail?”

  “.308 rounds.” Stannis set the bullet on the counter. “A pro. Of middling skill.”

  “You know this how?”

  “A hired sniper misses target two occasions,” Stannis said. “Should not be difficult to find.”

  “You?”

  “No.” Stannislav’s hands curled into fists. “Anđeo.”

  Talk about luck o’ the Irish. I’m alive because of the ineptitude of a second-tier hitter.

  A high-pitched whine of feedback from Black Hawk’s vox creased the air. “Why her?”

  “She belongs to me,” Stannis said simply.

  “Who guards her now?”

  “Kontrolyor.”

  “Is better than Ivanović,” Black Hawk said.

  “You say because he is Russian.”

  “No. I say that because he is better.” The robotic voice didn’t make him sound any sweeter. “Regular rate?”

  “Double.”

  “Done,” Black Hawk agreed. “I call you when the job is done.”

  “No,” Stannis said. “Find. Call.” He looked at me. “We discuss.”

  Chapter 44

  The Range Rover was running. Kon shielded me into the vehicle. Stannis strode purposely around the rear of the car, scanning the area in defiant anger before getting in.

  “The rounds were not slowed by the light armor of Explorer,” Kon said from the front seat. “.308?”

  Stannislav’s eyes filled with tears. “Ivanović.” He shook his head. “If only we had taken the Explorer.”

  Or I had stayed home.

  “Where did you go, Vatra Anđeo?” Stannis took my hand. “Where did this happen?”

  “Ivanović was wrecked from last night. I took him to breakfast at Hollywood Grill.” My voice came choppy and short. My breath in short pants. “He drove me to Silverthorn. It happened there.”

  “What is Silverthorn?”

  A slick, clammy sweat coated my entire body.

  “Assisted living. Nursing home.” Saliva ran down my throat. “See my uncle.”

  “How long?”

  “Two hours.”

  Kontrolyor glanced back over his shoulder. “Enough time to set up.”

  Stannis gripped his head with both hands. Kon’s unspoken reproof of Ivanović was almost too much for him to take.

  If I wasn’t such a Grade A screwup, I would have figured out a way to debrief over the phone. To not put a hungover bodyguard in the crosshairs.

  My crosshairs.

  My stomach heaved. “Stop the car.”

  Raw Chicken didn’t flinch. He just kept driving.

  I clicked the electric windows. Locked. “Stop! I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Use floor,” Kon said. “Too dangerous to stop.”

  For feck’s sake. Vomit roiled in my throat. I grabbed my purse—with Ivanović’s blood still on it—dumped the contents onto the car seat, and threw up in it.

  Soda and chocolate. Cold sweat plastered a strand of hair to my cheek.

  Dizzy, I zipped the purse and set it on the floor. I leaned my head against the cool bulletproof glass and concentrated on breathing out of my mouth.

  Kon made a call as we neared the penthouse. “Okey,” he said to Raw Chicken. “Is clear.”

  We drove into the underground parking garage of Stannis’s building. Two of his men were at the entrance, two more inside.

  I got out of the Range Rover with my purse full of puke, knees wobbly, sweating ice cubes. Kon took my handbag from me. “I will see—”

  “No. For the love of God, throw it away. Please.”

  A searing hot shower left my skin red, and me still shivering. I put on yoga pants, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, and wrapped up in a blanket before I went to find Stannis.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, alone. Drinking rakija. The things from my purse were in a ziplock bag on the counter.


  “I buy you new handbag,” he said and I almost started crying.

  “I don’t want one.” I sat down next to him.

  He didn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely. And I was. Sorry for Ivanović, sorry for Stannis, and sorry for my own sorry self.

  “You shoulder no blame, Anđeo.” He swirled the rakija in his glass.

  He put his hand over mine. “Look at me.” I stared into his pallid face and burning blue eyes. “It is I who is sorry. For my sins to touch you.”

  “No, moj đavo,” I said softly. “This was not your sins.”

  “You will be avenged in blood.”

  I laid my head down on the table and wept.

  At Stannislav’s insistence, I went to my room to lie down. I still couldn’t seem to get warm. The pressure of knowing I needed to talk to Walt Sawyer was like an anchor strapped to my chest.

  I needed Hank. Hell bad.

  I heard the men arguing in low voices with Kontrolyor over Ivanović’s death, and a tide of torment broke over me. I couldn’t bear another minute in the penthouse.

  I put on my shoes and went into the kitchen. “Where’s Stannis?”

  “His office,” someone answered.

  The door was slightly ajar. I gave a soft knock and peeked in. Stannis was on the phone. He waved me in.

  I stood at the corner of his desk.

  He frowned and put his hand over the mic of his phone. “What is it?”

  My lower lip trembled. “I want to go home.”

  “No, no,” Stannis said. He removed his hand from the mic. “Chyornyj Yastreb? I call you back, yes? Anđeo is wanting to return home. And this cannot be.”

  Black Hawk said something.

  “Okey,” Stannis said and put the phone on speaker.

  “Vatra Anđeo?” said the electronic voice. “You made Stannislav Renko very proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The gods always smile on brave women.”

  I hope you’re right.

  “She has suffered much shock,” Black Hawk said. “Perhaps a night with her family is a good idea.”

  “No. Safer here,” Stannis said.

  “They will not expect her to move. Let Kontrolyor accompany her.”