“She got drunk and ran her car into that gnarled tree. That’s what happened.”
“What?”
“I think you heard me.”
“No, you said the tree was gnarled, and it is, I’ve seen it. I leave flowers there sometimes. But why would you go there? Have you seen photos, visited the site?”
Trent wiped his glasses again, but this time he was also sweating.
“It’s just a phrase, gnarled tree, just a phrase, nothing more. Goodbye, Madison.”
He rushed to his car and started the engine.
Madison shouted at him through the closed passenger window.
“You know something, don’t you? Tell me, Al!”
The car sped off and Madison had more questions than ever about her mother’s death.
72
Comfy, But Smelly
Before Merle and Earl could return from the coffee shop and pretend to find Vince, he was discovered by two members of the club’s kitchen staff.
Joe Pullo was roused from bed after barely getting any sleep, and he questioned a revived Vince, as they waited for an ambulance to arrive.
“Where’s the woman, Vince?”
Vince opened his mouth to lie, but when he met Pullo’s gaze, he knew it would only make things worse.
“I tried to get friendly with her.”
“Don’t tell me.”
Vince shrugged. “You saw her, the bitch was hot as shit. I thought I’d help myself to her while she was handcuffed. Johnny didn’t say not to.”
“He didn’t say not to because he’s not scumbag enough to think of it. She was cuffed? So how did she get away? Did you pass out when you got that lump on the side of the head there, or maybe she hit you with something?”
“Shit, Joe, I don’t know, but I’ll find her again. Tell Johnny I’ll find her.”
“No. You leave her alone and you’d better hope that she doesn’t go to the cops about this.”
The ambulance came, and Vince was loaded aboard.
Knowing that he’d never get back to sleep and feeling hungry, Pullo ate Vince’s ham and eggs, as he sat at the bar with Merle and Earl.
“Listen up you two, Johnny usually gets in here around four. From that point on, I want you two to sit here at the bar and keep an eye on the door. If Tanner shows, raise the alarm.”
“Yes sir,” Merle said.
“Remember, watch the door, not the dancers, and stay sober too.”
“We gettin’ paid?” Earl said.
Pullo laughed, put down his fork, then peeled off several bills from the roll in his pocket.
“That should hold you for now, and if you want to catch some sleep before we open for the lunch crowd, there are couches in the VIP lounge where they give the lap dances, but I warn you, they’re smelly.”
“Thanks, Mr. Pullo, and don’t worry, if we see Tanner we’ll holler all right.”
“Good men.”
“That woman that got away, what’s gonna happen to her?”
Before Pullo could answer Merle’s question, his phone rang.
As Pullo listened to his caller, a strange look came over him. When the call ended, he turned to Merle and Earl.
“You boys might get the night off after all.”
“Why’s that?”
“A cabbie thinks he spotted Tanner and followed him to where he’s staying.”
“Are you gonna kill him?” Earl said.
Pullo stood up in a rush and knocked his stool over.
“Yes, I’m going to kill him, goddamnit. Isn’t that what they pay me to do?”
And after saying that, Pullo rushed out, leaving the brothers to wonder just what it was that had made him so angry.
73
The Enemy Of My Enemy
As Pullo left the club, Rafe Green followed him.
He was convinced that Pullo was one of the men who had hurt his brother ever since he talked to Merle and Earl.
But when Pullo arrived at the club in a black Hummer matching the license plate number that Robin Murphy had written down, it cinched things for him. When he got the chance, Rafe planned to interrogate Pullo and discover who the other men in his crew were.
Joe Pullo stayed on foot after leaving the club and Rafe assumed he was headed for the subway entrance three blocks away, but when Pullo stopped in front of a coffee shop, Rafe ducked into the doorway of a boutique that had yet to open.
Pullo was only feet away and pacing in a short back-and-forth motion. He was so close that Rafe could hear him breathe, but unless Pullo walked in front of the boutique, neither man could see the other, because the glass enclosures that bordered the doorway were filled with displays of handbags and shoes.
At one point, Pullo muttered the word, “Stupid,” and Rafe realized that the man was agitated by something.
“Joe!”
The shout came from a burly man who was crossing the street against the traffic while still tucking his shirt in his pants.
Rafe pressed himself far back into the recesses of the doorway, but the man was so busy navigating the traffic that he never spotted him.
When the man joined Pullo, he spoke in an excited tone.
“Is it Tanner? Do we really know where he is?”
“It’s Tanner all right. He’s in an apartment building on East 6th Street.”
“Is he still worth fifty K?”
Pullo answered with a grunt and Rafe thought it was further evidence that the man was upset.
The second man spoke again. “Here’s Carmine and the boys now.”
An instant later, a vehicle came to a hard stop at the curb and Rafe heard two doors open and close as the men climbed in. When the vehicle drove off, he saw that it was a blue Cadillac Escalade.
Rafe guessed that the SUV was likely stolen and would be used for the sole purpose of taking them to and from a hit. They were going after Tanner, a man that the Carter brothers had told Rafe was a paid assassin. They also told Rafe that Tanner was at war with the Conglomerate. That meant that Tanner was going after the very people who had hurt his brother.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Rafe thought.
He left the cover of the doorway and hailed down a passing taxi.
74
More Men Than The Black Death
Rafe had the taxi driver move along East 6th Street until he spotted the blue Escalade, and then he had the cab drop him off a block past it. After that he walked back to a deli, placed an order and sat by the window, drinking coffee.
Joe Pullo and his men were parked near the corner of 6th Street and Avenue B. Rafe could tell that they were staring at the apartment house on the opposite side of the street.
The apartment house was four stories tall, with a Hungarian restaurant on the ground floor, which was closed until two, and a small parking lot on its 6th Street side. There was a fire escape with its ladder raised and the windows all had bars on them.
If Tanner made it to the roof, he could run along for only half a block before reaching the outer wall of a ten-story building that towered above its neighbors.
And other than the roof, there were only two exits. One sat to the left of the entrance to the restaurant, while the other was on the parking lot side near a row of hedges.
Both of these were in plain sight of the Caddy and Rafe wondered why Tanner had chosen such a hiding place, one where he could easily be trapped.
Across the street, Joe Pullo was wondering the same thing.
He knew Tanner as well as anyone, and if there was one thing the man wasn’t, it was stupid.
The hood driving the stolen Cadillac was named Carmine. He tapped his fingers atop the steering wheel as impatience showed on his face. Carmine was the youngest member of the crew, and a gambler.
He was in the hole for five grand with his bookie, and once they bagged Tanner and claimed the reward, all his financial worries would disappear.
“What are we waiting for, Joe?”
“Are you sure he’s in the fron
t apartment on the fourth floor?”
“Yeah, I sent my girl, Angie, in there to snoop around and the old lady on the second floor about talked her ear off. There are two apartments up there on the fourth and the chick that lives in the front one is on vacation, while the rear one is empty because the last tenant had a fire.”
“Where’s Angie now?”
As if in answer to Pullo’s question, Carmine’s phone rang. It was Angie calling from around the corner. She confirmed that Tanner was still in the building and Carmine told her to leave and wait for him at home.
“No one’s left the building by either exit?” Pullo asked Carmine.
“No. So Tanner must still be in there.”
“Angie didn’t go up there though, did she?”
“Hell no, but the old woman said that there was a man staying up there who said he was vacation chick’s brother. From her description, it sounds like Tanner.”
“She believed he was her brother, just like that?”
“Angie says the old woman bought the story because Tanner showed up with a family photo. The old lady said it was framed and showed the two of them as kids, real sentimental stuff.”
“That part sounds like Tanner. By pretending to be the girl’s brother he avoids renting a room. That’s why he’s been so hard to find. Still, he’s just about trapped up there and that doesn’t sound like Tanner.”
Carmine shrugged. “He screwed up.”
“Or it’s a trap.”
“What trap? There are five of us. He’ll never make it to the roof or the stairs and there are only a few rooms to hide in.”
Pullo stifled a yawn. He had been up most of the night, and then it occurred to him that Tanner had also been awake.
He couldn’t have gotten much sleep, if any, between the time he killed Richie Sullivan’s crew and his appearance on Pullo’s doorstep.
Tanner could even be asleep right now.
“Carmine.”
“Yeah, Joe?”
“You’re with me and Frankie, while Davey takes the side exit and Christopher covers the front, but we’re going in silent, dead silent. I think there’s a chance that Tanner might be asleep.”
Carmine patted his gun. “If he’s not asleep, he soon will be.”
“Don’t get cocky; Tanner’s killed more men than the Black Death.”
“Bullshit, he’s just a guy.”
Pullo sighed. “Yeah, just another guy to kill, that’s the way to look at it.”
When Pullo didn’t move, Carmine opened his door.
“We’re doing this, right?”
“Yeah, but we’re not walking over. Drive into that parking lot and back in on an angle. That way, the Caddy blocks the street view of that side door.”
“You got it,” Carmine said, and within seconds, they were at the building.
One man was left to guard the side door while Pullo and the others walked toward the front of the building.
And on Pullo’s face was a resigned expression. The look of a man doing a job he hated.
75
A Man Well Versed In Killing
Tanner was in a deep and dreamless sleep as Pullo and his men left the Caddy.
He had returned to the apartment on 6th Street after talking to Tim Jackson and settled in for a few hours of rest.
Beside him in easy reach, was an Atchisson Assault Shotgun, otherwise known as an AA-12. Tanner had a 32-shell drum magazine attached to it, while lying beside it was a bulletproof vest and a holstered gun.
He slept fully dressed. Once awakened, he could be on the move within seconds.
He had been staying in the apartment for two days but planned to move into another vacant apartment he had scouted out the day before.
He thought he was safe where he was for at least a few more hours, but he would discover that he was wrong.
From his position inside a nearby deli, Rafe watched as Pullo and his men drove across the street toward Tanner’s hideout.
The Glock on Rafe’s hip held fifteen rounds. For a moment, he wondered if he could sneak up and cut Pullo and his crew down like dogs as they got out of their vehicle.
He immediately discarded the idea. For one thing, it was cowardly, and for another, it was likely to get him killed. He might kill three of them, possibly even four, but at least one of them would return fire before their wounds disabled them.
Speaking of cowardly, it did not escape his notice that five men were sent to kill one, but then what would he expect from a group of men who nearly beat his brother to death with baseball bats.
He had to help Tanner. Had to warn his only potential ally that Pullo and his men were coming, and he had to do it in such a way that it would still leave him anonymous and off Pullo’s radar.
Rafe left the deli just as Joe Pullo made it to the third floor, and he headed toward the man guarding the side exit.
On the stairs, Joe Pullo held his breath as they neared the fourth-floor apartment where Tanner lay sleeping.
He looked over at the two men with him, Carmine and Frankie. Frankie looked intense, but calm, but Carmine looked nervous, and the cockiness had left him.
Pullo whispered. “Carmine.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got point; you follow Frankie in and don’t fire until I say so.”
“Right Joe, and don’t worry, I’m cool.”
Pullo sent him a wink. “Good man. Now, no talking from here on.”
They moved on, slowly climbing stairs, while being careful to step to the left or the right of each tread, because the worn middle might creak, and a creaking step could warn the man they were after, a man well versed in killing.
What should have taken just seconds, took over a minute, but at the end of that careful, cautious climb, the three men were just feet from the apartment of Miss Claire Harper, a young woman vacationing in Mexico.
Ms. Harper would return in three days’ time to find her apartment not only a crime scene, but also a place of bloody slaughter.
Pullo eased closer while glancing at the door to 4B. There was yellow caution tape zigzagging across it along with red tape from the fire department that warned, FIRE DAMAGE - DO NOT ENTER.
Pullo wrinkled his nose at the faint odor of smoke in the hallway, then focused once again on the door of 4A.
After taking in a deep breath, Pullo raised a booted foot and readied himself to kill a friend.
76
Everybody Likes A Fat Pickle
Davey Corelli cursed when he saw the black delivery guy headed toward him carrying a box of food from the deli. Davey was thirty, had dark-red hair, and was husky.
Damn it! This guy has got crappy timing.
Corelli was holding a Beretta; he slid it behind his back to keep it from view.
“Yo, my man, this entrance is closed.”
The black man smiled, and Davey noticed that the guy was big and looked to be in shape.
He must not eat the deli food too often; the dude is really cut.
“Closed? But I always come in this way.”
“Yeah well, things change, but if you leave the food I’ll make sure it gets delivered.”
“It’s for the guy in 2B.”
“Yeah yeah, he’s my cousin, now just leave the food.”
“That’s fine by me, but it needs to be paid for, thirty dollars.”
Davey frowned, but the aroma wafting up from the food was making him drool and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten breakfast.
“What’s that I smell, corned beef?”
“Hell yeah, with mustard on rye.”
“Any pickles?”
“Yeah, two big fat ones and a cannoli for dessert, the kind with the chocolate chips.”
Davey’s stomach overrode his brain, and he slipped the gun in the waistband behind his back and took out his wallet. He opened it, lowered his eyes to look inside and that’s when the world went dark.
Rafe Green was smashing his gun into Davey Corelli’s forehead at the same
moment Pullo and his men were reaching the fourth floor.
After Davey crumbled to the ground, Rafe gazed about to see if anyone had witnessed the assault.
Out on Avenue B, the cars and people moved along, oblivious, and no one on 6th Street had seen them because the Caddy blocked the view.
Rafe dropped the box of food into a nearby dumpster before walking back over to stare down at Davey Corelli, who had seen his face.
I have to kill him.
It was a cowardly act, killing an unconscious man, and he pushed it aside and moved into the hallway to warn Tanner.
And as Joe Pullo raised his foot to kick in the door of Apartment 4A, Rafe Green fired a shot off in the rear hallway.
The reverberating blast echoed throughout the building and Tanner awoke from his slumber with a start, just as Pullo kicked in the apartment door.
Tanner gripped the shotgun, but before he could even lift it from the floor, Carmine fired three shots, and death came to the apartment of the vacationing Claire Harper.
77
You’re Never Too Old For Toys
Sara was watching the news when the story came on about the pile of bodies she’d seen in Brooklyn the night before.
There was speculation that the multiple homicide was the result of a gang war. Sara chuckled without humor.
Yeah, a gang of one, and his name is Tanner.
Her paper, Street View, covered the story and put forth the accusation that the killings were the work of one man who was warring against the mob. She refrained from mentioning the Conglomerate before she could gather more proof and hoped that the story would put pressure on Tanner.
The Tanner Series - Books 1-11: Tanner - The hit man with a heart Page 22