The Tanner Series - Books 1-11: Tanner - The hit man with a heart

by Remington Kane

  Richards spoke to her, but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Leave, Madison, and don’t ever mention your mother again. If you can’t do that… then you’re no longer my daughter.”

  Madison sat on the curb and cried as Richards walked away with his bodyguards flanking him.

  When Richards entered the MegaZenith Building on Broad Street, Al Trent was waiting for him in the lobby. Trent was twenty-one, but he had graduated Harvard at nineteen.

  Trent was the son of one of Richards’ friends and he had taken him under his wing and found a kindred soul. Al Trent was as cold and merciless as Frank Richards, and he had become a confidant and advisor.

  They exchanged greetings and then remained silent until they were alone together in Richards’ office on the top floor of the sixty-story building.

  Richards settled in behind his desk, fired up his computer, and bade Trent to sit across from him.

  “Fill me in on what’s been happening.”

  Trent pushed his glasses up farther on his nose and began his report.

  “Tim Jackson is still out there somewhere.”

  “And have we learned who was helping him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He certainly didn’t dispose of those men himself.”

  “No, he must have hired a group of mercenaries.”

  Richards looked up from his keyboard. “Find him again. That little piss ant should have been dealt with easily. And make certain we take care of whoever is helping him as well. What’s next?”

  “The Summervale problem has been solved. We’ve replaced the strikers with Chinese laborers.”

  “Yes, but what about the strikers?”

  “Their leader, a man named Jerome Green, is still in a coma. That seems to have taken the fight out of them and ended the picketing. Also, the local police have no way to tie the company to the attack.”

  “Excellent, anything else?”

  “Just the usual—Tanner. We still have no idea where the man is, but he can’t hide forever and when he sticks his neck up, we’ll chop it off.”

  “Contact Johnny R and tell him I want to see progress on that. Tanner disobeyed a direct order from me. That can’t be allowed.”

  “I’ll tell him, but you know he wants Tanner dead as much as you do. The man killed his uncle.”

  “Find Tanner, Trent. Find the man and have him dealt with.”

  Trent nodded his understanding and headed for the door, unaware that Tanner would soon make himself not only easy to find, but impossible to forget.

  59

  That Would Be Best

  The following morning, Tanner entered Johnny R’s Cabaret Strip Club in Manhattan and saw the bartender’s mouth drop open in shock.

  It was early, so the place was closed for business, but the bartender was restocking the shelves with bottles, as an old man swept the floor.

  Tanner knew the bartender slightly. His name was Carl, and as Tanner took a seat on a stool, Carl whispered to him.

  “Tanner, get the hell out of here, man. Johnny R has a contract out on you.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty G’s is what I hear,” Carl said. He was a middle-aged man with sandy-colored hair and a pleasant face, although his eyes always looked sad.

  Tanner tossed his head toward a hallway. “Is Johnny in?”

  “This early? Not hardly, but that kid Richie Sullivan is here, still here. Actually, he’s been with one of the girls in Johnny’s office since closing time.”

  “Sully’s kid, what’s he like?”

  “He’s an even bigger prick than Sully was, God rest his soul, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “What’s Richie do, run this place with Johnny?”

  “The kid has his own crew. They do a few heists, rough up the late payers for Johnny R, stuff like that.”

  Tanner stared at the bartender. “I know there’s a sawed-off shotgun kept under the bar; don’t get any ideas about collecting that contract on me.”

  Carl backed up with his hands held high. “Tanner, that never crossed my mind. Listen, if I had those kind of balls I wouldn’t be a bartender.”

  “But as soon as I walk away you’ll call someone, won’t you?”

  “I… if I didn’t they’d kill me.”

  “Make the call while I go see the kid.”

  “Are you going to kill Richie?”

  “That’s up to him.”

  “I guess. But hey, don’t hurt the girl. She’s just trying to get by, ya know?”

  “I’ll send her out.”

  “Good, you got class, Tanner, and balls too, to come in here like this, huge balls.”

  “Just stay away from that shotgun,” Tanner said, and Carl swallowed hard.

  He left the bartender, strode down the hallway, and kicked in the door to the office.

  There was a large wooden desk across from the door, but on the right was a green leather sofa and atop the sofa was a naked redhead and a kid that had punk written all over him.

  The woman didn’t scream, but her eyes went wide with fright when she saw the gun in Tanner’s hand. She licked at lips that had suddenly gone dry.

  “Out!” Tanner said, and the woman grabbed a silk robe from the floor and scurried past him and down the hallway.

  On the sofa, Richie Sullivan yawned and brushed back his jet-black hair with one hand, while the other reached for his cigarettes. He was wearing a pair of red boxer briefs and nothing else. His skinny chest was pale, but hairy.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Tanner.”

  Richie paused with the cigarette halfway to his lips, but after blinking fast several times, he placed it in his mouth and lit it with a match.

  “You’re worth a lot a money, Tanner; Johnny R has a hard-on for you. Did you really kill that fat fuck uncle of his?”

  “I want you to pass on a message to Johnny R and the Conglomerate.”

  “I’ll bite, what’s the message?”

  “I’m coming for them. I’ll kill Johnny R and Frank Richards and if anyone gets in my way, I’ll kill them too.”

  Richie laughed around his cigarette. “I heard you were a badass, but nobody told me you were crazy.”

  “Just give them the message.”

  There was a door behind the desk. It opened onto an alleyway that led to the street. Tanner headed for the door. Just as he unlatched the lock, Richie bent down and grabbed a gun that was lying beneath the sofa. As he was bringing it up to fire, Tanner shot him. The bullet hit Richie’s hand, all but severing the thumb and Richie wailed as the gun tumbled back to the floor.

  Tanner left him without a backwards glance, walked down the alley, and past stacks of empty liquor bottles.

  The alley faced a tall wooden fence that stretched its length, while it had a chain-link fence on both ends with gates in each of them. Tanner opened the gate at his end and went out onto the street.

  Three doors down and across the road was a coffee shop. Tanner walked inside and joined Tim Jackson at a table near the front.

  When Tanner left Jackson, the boy genius was on his second stack of pancakes. Upon his return, Tanner found him eating an omelet. Tim Jackson weighed 150 lbs. at most and Tanner wondered where the kid put all the food.

  The waiter brought Tanner a cup of coffee. As he took his first sip, a black Cadillac came to a skidding stop in front of the strip club. Five young men emerged, two of which carried shotguns and all five of them rushed into the club.

  Tim Jackson wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to sit here?”

  “It is for now. They’re used to people running and hiding from them. They’d never think that I would sit and watch them from across the street.”

  “Why are we watching them?”

  “I’m gathering info. I now know what Richie Sullivan’s crew looks like. I also know that they’re stupid enough to run in a pack instead of spreading out. If I had stayed at the bar,
I could have cut them all down as they entered the club.”

  “This guy, Richie, did you kill him?”

  “I shot him in the hand when he pulled a gun. He’ll live… for now.”

  Tim Jackson squirmed in his seat. “How many people have you killed?”

  “I don’t count.”

  “When you take a contract, will you kill anyone? I mean, if a guy wanted his wife dead so he could collect her life insurance, would you do it?”

  “I don’t take domestic contracts. The people I kill are all guilty of something, even if that something is just bad judgment.”

  “Does it ever bother you, the killing?”

  Tanner placed his cup down atop the table and stared into Tim’s eyes.

  “We’re not that different, it’s just that I have a lower threshold than you do.”

  Tim swallowed once, as Tanner’s intense gaze unnerved him.

  “Lower threshold?”

  “You would kill to protect someone you love, or to save your own life. With me, the threshold is lower. I’ll kill for money.”

  Tim broke eye contact and Tanner went back to watching the club.

  “But it’s not just money though, is it?” Tim said. “You don’t kill for money any more than I hack into accounts and steal for money. It’s more about what the money buys, the freedom, the time to live and not just slave away at some job. And it’s also about being who you are. I’m a hacker because I’m good at it and I love doing it, love figuring my way around security measures and firewalls, and you’re a killer for the same reasons, I’d guess.”

  Tanner said nothing but gave a slight nod.

  Tim gave the subject more thought and asked a question.

  “I justify what I do because I only steal from large institutions. I guess your justification is that you only kill the guilty, am I right?”

  “Somewhat, but everyone dies sooner or later, whether they cross my path or not. It’s inevitable.”

  Outside the window, an ambulance arrived, and Richie Sullivan came out of the club surrounded by his crew. They were young guys who had the cynical and cocky look that all inexperienced thugs wore.

  Tim wiped more sweat off his brow. “There are six guys there; you can really kill them all?”

  “I will, and then they’ll send more, and they’ll die too.”

  “But they’ll get tougher and tougher?”

  “Yeah, and while I’m keeping them busy, you’ll get what we need.”

  “What if I can’t break their encryption?”

  “Eventually, they’ll find you and kill you.”

  “And you?”

  Tanner drained his coffee cup. When he sat it down, he locked eyes with Tim again.

  “If I have to, I’ll just keep killing them, Johnny R, Frank Richards, and whoever comes after that. I’ll just keep killing them until I kill them all.”

  “Or until they kill you?”

  “Or that, yes.”

  “I’ll break that encryption, Tanner, somehow.”

  “That would be best,” Tanner said, and signaled the waiter for more coffee.

  60

  I’m Not Normal?

  Al Trent answered the phone on Frank Richards’ desk, said, “Send him up,” and placed the receiver back in its cradle.

  “Johnny R is here.”

  “Meet him at the freight elevator and escort him here, but only him. If he has any of his toughs with him, make sure they wait by the elevator.”

  “Yes sir, and would you like me to sit in on the meeting?”

  “Of course, and from now on, you’ll be the only one interacting with him. I shouldn’t be taking this meeting at all, but I want to make it very clear that Tanner must be handled quickly.”

  Trent went off to greet Johnny R and found him standing with a fat man wearing a bad suit, who Trent knew was his driver.

  Trent hated Johnny R for the simple reason that Madison Richards had once looked at a photo of the thug on the cover of a weekly news magazine and mentioned that she thought he was “hot.”

  She had never said such a thing about the nerdy Trent, so Trent hated Johnny R. He also loved Madison Richards, whom he had known since childhood, but Madison did not return his feelings.

  Johnny R had recognized Trent’s animosity toward him, but normally ignored it. To Johnny, Trent was just a corporate lackey and nothing more, someone beneath his notice.

  Johnny Rossetti, Johnny R, stood a head taller than his late uncle, Al Rossetti, and Johnny was also slim, while his uncle had been rotund. A handsome man who tended to dress well, Johnny R had become a favorite subject of news photographers. Although he would never admit it, he liked seeing his picture in the paper.

  He’d been arrested more than once but had only done time as a juvenile offender, and at thirty-six, he was in a position of power where he never had to dirty his hands again.

  Johnny R was the new Underboss of the Giacconi Crime Family, a position that placed him only one rung below its leader, Don Sam Giacconi. But Sam Giacconi was elderly and thought to be senile, leaving Johnny R as the Family’s perceived leader.

  However, that was the old hierarchy. In the new hierarchy of the Conglomerate, Johnny R was mid-level at best.

  In the Conglomerate, prissy college boys such as Al Trent were considered his equal, while blue bloods like Frank Richards thought themselves his superior.

  Frank Richards, who had placed a contract on Johnny’s Uncle Al, and started the whole Tanner mess in the first place. That hit had been sanctioned and later rescinded, but Johnny R had a long memory. Someday, he would pay Richards back. Someday, but for now, he’d play the game.

  Trent pointed at the driver. “He’ll have to wait here.”

  Johnny turned to his man. “Stay here, Mario, this shouldn’t take long.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  As they walked to Richards’ office, Johnny voiced his displeasure at being treated second-class.

  “I don’t like this freight elevator shit. Richards doesn’t think I’m good enough for the front door?”

  “He doesn’t want anyone snapping a picture of you entering the building like a normal person.”

  “What? I’m not normal?”

  “No, you’re a petty street thug and Mr. Richards can’t be associated with you in public.”

  Johnny smiled. “Petty street thug? Are you trying to hurt my feelings, kid?”

  “I just call them as I see them.”

  They reached the office and went in past an empty receptionist desk. The woman who sat there was given an unexpected break from her duties and sent down to the building’s commissary.

  Johnny R shook Richards’ offered hand and sat to the right of Al Trent, as the two of them settled into leather wing chairs in front of Richards’ desk.

  After brushing a hand across a wrinkle of his blue Armani suit, Johnny R started things off.

  “I guess you heard Tanner’s message or we wouldn’t be meeting.”

  Richards curled his upper lip in a gesture of disgust. “Tanner is insane, delusional, or both. I don’t know what he hoped to gain by coming out of hiding and issuing that ridiculous declaration of war. However, now that he’s back in New York, I expect him to be handled within the week.”

  “My man, Joe Pullo, he tells me that it’s no joke. He says if Tanner said he’s coming for us, then that’s exactly what he means to do.”

  “This Pullo, does he know Tanner well?”

  “Not well, no one knows Tanner well, but he’s known him longer than anyone.”

  Al Trent spoke up and asked a question. “What’s Tanner’s first name?”

  “Even Pullo doesn’t know that. He says Tanner has always gone by that name alone. He also says the man has never had a woman that he cared about, or at least no one he’d risk himself over.”

  “How reliable is this man Pullo?” Richards asked Johnny R, but was answered by Trent.

  “He and his men handled that labor dispute in North Caroli
na last week, sir, along with a number of other things.”

  Richards nodded. “Ah, that man, yes, he seems more than competent. Will he be going after Tanner?”

  “Yeah, him and everyone else,” Johnny said. “Tanner will be hunted down and killed like the dog he is. The word has been put out to every hooker, junkie, dealer, and bookie there is that Tanner is worth money to whoever fingers him. If he rents a room, buys a drink, or takes a cab, we’ll hear about it, and God help the bastard if they take him alive, because then I’ll get to him and I’ll make him pay for what he did to my uncle.”

  “I spoke to Tanner in Las Vegas and tried to talk sense into the man, but he insisted on killing your uncle. Perhaps it had become personal to him, but I did try to stop it.”

  Johnny R lowered his head and stared at Richards with his coal black eyes. “After you ordered it.”

  Richards cleared his throat. “Yes, I ordered it, your uncle had been… uncooperative, but we settled things without violence and Tanner should have stepped aside.”

  Johnny R stood. “Anything else?”

  “No, but I meant what I said. I want Tanner dead within the week. His type of insubordination might give others ideas.”

  “He’ll be dead soon, count on it.”

  Al Trent escorted Johnny R back to the freight elevator. When he returned, he leaned in the office doorway.

  “I don’t think Johnny has forgiven you for ordering his uncle’s death, even though you attempted to stop Tanner.”

  “I realize that,” Richards said.

  “If his animosity persists, maybe we should do something about that.”

  “Perhaps, but with any luck, Tanner will kill him before dying himself.”

  “That would be the best of both worlds,” Trent said.

  Richards grinned. “Wouldn’t it though?”

  61

  They Should Have Stayed For The Concert

  That evening found Merle and Earl parked atop stools inside Johnny R’s Midtown strip club. They were hoping to learn something they could take back to Sara.