by LJ Vickery
Dammit. What were they doing? Did it have any connection to the puzzle box and Solina’s disappearance? When he finally had numbers, he clarified. “Twelve,” he clipped out. “Nine loading and three drivers.”
While he watched, one of the tangos slammed a trunk closed and gave the back a loud knock. The driver started the car and pulled around the large paved circle, driving toward the front gate.
“Del, a blue Buick Verano just left, the skanky dude driving your way. I’m curious as to what a delinquent like him and his buddies are doing here…and what they’re loading into these cars. Can you follow him?”
“Yup. About to tail one tango,” Del established. “Everybody able to sit tight until I get back?”
“Affirmative,” each of them replied.
Wiley hoped his boss could get some intel. He settled down to mentally sketch a diagram of his side of the house.
****
Del pulled in behind the nondescript blue sedan, hanging back a few hundred feet to remain unnoticed. He’d see where the guy headed, and if he got the chance, he’d corner and question him. He’d like to pull the bastard over right now, but he had no jurisdiction to do that, and if the tango made a run for it, civilians could be injured. Better to tail and find out his destination.
Twenty minutes later, they entered a swanky Boston waterfront neighborhood bursting with posh complexes and penthouse suites, all fronting a marina boasting enormous yachts. Del’s radar twitched. If the package in the guy’s trunk―one of many, according to Wiley―was a delivery, there weren’t too many things a lowlife from the burbs would be peddling here.
Del laid low as the guy pulled over to a massive yacht, got out of his car and popped the trunk. He reached in and extracted a box, bringing it to the floating palace. Del watched a pair of hands on the gangplank relieve the man of his burden, handing him what looked like a wad of cash in return.
Shit. If it was what he thought, Del needed bigger guns to confront this guy.
Once the man took off again, Del continued to follow. He picked up his phone to make a call.
“Steven,” he greeted.
“Hey, Del. I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.”
“Didn’t expect I’d need you so soon. Listen, I’m in your territory, on the waterfront…” He gave the approximate address and description of the tango’s car. “The dude I followed from the burbs has something suspicious in his trunk, and he’s acting like Santa Claus. I’d love somebody with jurisdiction to help out…off the record, initially.”
“This is your lucky day, my friend. I’m in the North End. See you in five.”
It took only three and a half before Del spotted Steven coming up behind him in an unmarked gray sedan. As Del waved him by, the detective pulled in behind the perp’s car and flipped on his blue lights.
He could almost see the thoughts in the guy’s head as the car initially lurched forward. Should he run for it or play nice? Del heaved a sigh of relief when their target picked the second option.
The car pulled over. Steven stopped his and got out cautiously. One hand went to his sidearm, the other unfurling his badge. Del didn’t wait for an invitation as he jumped out and moved up to the rear of the passenger side.
“Boston PD,” Steven barked.
The man in the car rolled down his window and put forth his best, obsequious voice. “Yes, Officer? I wasn’t speeding, was I?”
Del wondered how Steven would play this. He hadn’t given him anything to go on.
“No, you weren’t. However, your right rear tail light is out.” Steven gave Del a quick look and a slight tilt of his head.
Easy-peasy. Del surreptitiously pulled his Ka-Bar knife from an inside pocket and popped the lens, muffling the smash of the bulb with his glove as he crushed it. One disabled tail light.
“License and registration,” Steven requested. Damn, the guy was good. Playing it by the book.
Del stood by and watched as his buddy went back to his car and ran the plate, hoping something would come up that would prolong the encounter. When a smile broke out on the detective’s face and he flashed a thumbs up, Del knew they had him.
Steven exited his car and strode up to the perp’s window. “Benjamin Lerkin, step out of the car, please. Hands where I can see them.”
The man actually whined. “What did I do, Officer?”
“I’m sure you’re aware, sir. Your license was revoked two months ago for DUI. Step. Out. Of. The. Car.”
The man slowly did as he was told, and Del finally made himself visible, moving to the rear of the driver’s side.
“You want to pop the trunk so I can have a look at your wiring?” Del asked, forcing himself to be polite.
“No,” the man growled. “And you can’t open it without my permission. You don’t have a warrant.”
Screw that, Del was about to growl, but Steven beat him to it.
“Benny, you might want to rethink that,” the detective offered.
“Why?”
“Because there’s also a warrant out for your arrest for missing your last two court dates. If you cooperate with us on this, I’ll put in a good word and make sure those disappear.”
Despite the cold, Del could see the guy sweating. He wondered if it was a nervous reaction or if he was coming off some drug he’d been taking. Either way, it didn’t matter. The guy would cave. Del could see it.
“B… But the boss…,” he sniveled.
“The boss won’t know,” Steven spoke with soft control. “My friend here saw someone else put a package into your car, then you drove away. You have no idea what’s in that package. You were just doing what you were told.”
The man considered for one moment. “Yeah. That’s right,” he agreed. “I was. I don’t know what’s in those boxes.”
“Good man,” Steven commended. “Now, hit the button, put both hands on the roof and stay put.”
Benny did as he was told and the latch clicked open. Del raised the lid and looked at five brown boxes. He proffered his Ka-Bar to Steven. “You want to do the honors?”
“Yeah, but as soon as we find out what kind of shit he’s carrying, you’ll need to give me the whole story.”
“After I get a little more info from our man Bennie, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Del agreed with a smirk.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wiley waited, his gut on fire, for Del to call. If they didn’t receive intel from the guy he followed, they’d be going in blind, which sucked. The scouting reports from the perimeter had all been the same. There were blackout shades drawn on every window, Sarge couldn’t get close enough to scan for heat signatures and they didn’t dare use their drone because of too much outside activity. It sucked on every level.
Solina was somewhere in that house. He could almost feel her presence. She’d be scared―maybe hopeful―that Wiley and his team would rescue her, but there was no way she could be sure. He wanted to storm the place and retrieve her, but that would only put her in danger before they reached her position…which was unknown at this point.
The phone in his pocket vibrated.
Hell yes. Del.
“Good news first,” Del barked. “I’m on my way back and I got what we need. The man in charge is indeed Pietro Anestis. He’s got Solina, along with Mary, his sister, locked in a basement room on your side of the house, Wiley, although the mule doesn’t exactly know why.”
“What the fuck? A mule? This whole thing is about drugs? Wait… The guy has his own sister locked up?” Wiley might understand Solina’s incarceration, if incriminating evidence about drugs had been in the puzzle box, but the guy’s sister?
“Yeah. FUBAR, for sure,” Del concurred.
“And the bad news?” Wiley almost didn’t want to know.
“The bad news is I had to get Steven, my detective buddy, in on the traffic stop. We found the trunk full of coke and heroin…in premeasured bags.”
“Speedball?” Wiley came back, incredulousl
y. They’d dealt with all kinds of drug cocktails while deployed in South America, so the team knew their chemicals.
“Yup. A one-two punch for a shitload of high-rolling clients Pietro’s drivers are delivering to. Presumably, all the cars are filled with the same.”
“Aw, shit.” Wiley punched his fist into the snow-packed ground, understanding the subsequent ramifications, even before Del verbalized them.
“Shit is right. Now Steven has to follow-up with his own department, and the DEA has to go in and clean things up.”
Wiley growled. Solina would be caught in the crosshairs.
“Don’t panic yet,” Del mollified. “He’s giving us a few hours leeway to go in and look for Solina. Not much, but enough. His raid won’t go down until zero hundred, so we’re moving our timetable up.”
Midnight. Wiley blew out a deep breath. The team had originally decided to wait until zero dark thirty to do their extraction, after all activity had died down, but shit happens. Wiley couldn’t say he was sorry they’d have to go in sooner.
“What time then?” Wiley asked.
“We go in at twenty-two hundred.”
“Copy that.”
“I’ll give you more when I get back.” Del disconnected.
“Did everybody get that?” Wiley barked into his mic. He’d held the phone close so Del’s voice activated the device.
“Affirmative, Wiles,” Sarge said first. Everyone else followed, with Prez voicing Wiley’s thoughts.
“I can’t say as I mind getting this done,” he grunted. “Lying in the snow half the night wasn’t on my Christmas list.”
The sun was high in the afternoon sky, and with no wind, the air was relatively warm at the moment. But as soon as night fell, he knew the temperature would plummet back into the teens and lying on the frigid ground would get old pretty damned fast.
“I know what is on your Christmas list,” Billboard snorted, breaking some of the tension.
“Yeah? What, asshole?” Prez played along, a smirk in his voice.
“It begins with a ‘b’ and ends with ‘job’. We’re all aware of your preferences, Prez.” If Wiley could see Sarge, he knew the man would be one hundred percent deadpanned as he provided the answer.
“You guys are just fucking jealous,” Prez snorted. “While your present is the palm of your hand, I’ve got Mrs. Clause ready and willing to clean out my chimney.”
The guys all groaned, and even Wiley cracked a smile. “Chimney, Prez? Really? You’re going there? Are you going to lay a fire and warm Mayg’s hearth, too?”
“Only after he’s stacked enough wood, Wiles,” Billboard offered. “Which might be tough for him.”
The innuendos went on, getting more and more ridiculous, but Wiley didn’t mind. His crazy-ass teammates were just trying to distract him, for which he was thankful.
A couple hours later, Del’s voice livened the comm. “So, did you miss me?”
That started a whole new round of shit, and Wiley listened while darkness fell.
He shifted on the snow and looked at his watch. Five more hours. He hunkered in. It wouldn’t be long now.
****
“Well, hello,” Wiley said a mere ten minutes before zero hour. The house and grounds had been very quiet for a while, and the team was about to move in.
“What do you have, Wiles?” Del asked immediately.
“An HVAC truck, pulling up the driveway.”
“You’re shitting me. A free ticket in?” Sarge interjected.
Del made up his mind in a flash. “Wiley, Billboard, intercept the truck. Go easy on the men inside, but I want you to take their places.”
Wiley didn’t have to be told twice, and neither did Billboard―who had his six to the immediate right.
The pair burst out of the brush, kept low and sprinted across the darkened yard, reaching the truck just as it pulled up. Readying the tranquilizer darts they’d originally packed to take out the bad guys, they positioned themselves on each side of the van and yanked open the doors.
Two startled individuals got no more than one syllable out before gloved hands covered their mouths and sedatives were injected into their jugulars. The process was quick. The team had been trained to miss the more dangerous carotid artery and deliver the drug that would render the victim unconscious within thirty seconds.
Holding the struggling men and keeping an eye on the door of the house, those thirty seconds ticked by damned slowly, but the guy in Wiley’s arms finally went limp. Sarge ran up behind him to retrieve the man, with Perk doing the same for Billboard. Between them, they quickly stripped the two out of their company jackets and hats.
Although the clothing was tight, especially on the enormous Billboard, they lucked out that the winter gear had been oversized for their two hapless victims.
While Sarge and Perk dragged the pair of techs to cover, Billboard reached in and turned off the van before they went around back to retrieve the rest of their disguises.
Less than a minute later, toolbelts on, the pair stepped up and rang the doorbell.
****
Wrapped in a blanket, shivering, Solina choked down the last of her stale toast and peanut butter sandwich. The furnace trick might have backfired on them. According to Mary, there should have been raucous laughter going on above their heads. Instead, there were muffled curses, pacing footsteps and slamming doors.
It can’t be the heat problem. Something else must have gone wrong, Mary scribbled on her paper. There’s always celebrating. This is too quiet.
“What happens now?” Solina deferred to the older woman. “Do we do it anyway?” She hoped the answer was yes. If they waited for the next night, Solina might not be alive. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Of course we do it, Mary affirmed. Just because Pietro and his men aren’t wasted doesn’t mean they’re not distracted. Whatever’s happening up above might be even better, since their minds will be on a possible deal gone wrong.
“Yeah…as long as that screw-up doesn’t have anything to do with us,” Solina agreed.
I can’t imagine they’re thinking about us at all, Mary wrote as she chewed. And we have a plan if one of the guards catches us, so we should be okay.
Solina and Mary both knew, despite their preparations, that the odds weren’t good. The alternative, however, was much worse. Solina could be…disposed of, and Mary would spend the rest of her life in the cellar. They had to take the risk.
“So, are we ready?” Solina rose from the couch, dropped the blanket and brushed the crumbs from her t-shirt. Ten o’clock was just minutes away.
Mary nodded and joined Solina, each gathering the items they’d previously laid out.
Without another word between them, they approached the door where Solina applied her lock-picking skills again.
She didn’t get as lucky on her second time around. The minutes ticked by. Cold, nervous sweat ran down between her breasts.
“Come on… Come on…” She continued to jiggle the letter opener while keeping gentle pressure on her file-hook. “We can do this. Come on,” she spoke to the lock. As if it heard her desperate words, the final pin clicked free. “Yes!”
Solina slipped the knife from the lock, holding it tightly as she slowly turned the knob. She glanced behind her to see a look of resolve on Mary’s face.
“We’re all set,” Solina whispered. “Same as before. Straight to the bulkhead and out.”
Mary nodded.
****
An ugly-ass guy opened the door. “It’s about fucking time,” the short man with a face like a bloodhound snarled.
“Mr. Anestis?” Luckily, Wiley had found the work order for the job, so they knew who had called it in.
“That’s me. Now, don’t waste my time. Go around to the back and find the bulkhead. I’ll have it unlocked for you by the time you get there,” he barked.
“That will be fine, sir.” Billboard could sound like a fucking choirboy when he wanted to. “We hope to h
ave things cleaned up here in no time.”
Wiley had to bite back the snicker at Billboard’s straight-faced promise. Yeah. They’d have everything cleaned up here, all right. And what they didn’t take care of would get an additional scrubbing from the Feds in a little under two hours.
“Just fix the fucking thing and leave,” Pietro ordered. “Don’t try to find me when you’re finished. I’ve got business going on here tonight.”
Wiley had little patience for the prick who’d taken Solina. It was a good thing Billboard still had control of his tongue.
“We’ll write up the bill and have the office mail it to you,” the big man easily agreed. “Don’t worry. It shouldn’t take us long.”
When the asshole closed the door in their faces, they quickly skirted the building, dropping the HVAC gear on the way around, and readied their guns.
“I can’t wait to see the jackoff’s face when he gets a look at these tools,” Billboard chuckled, holding his beloved Beretta M9 aloft.
Wiley shook his head.
They easily found the bulkhead and waited for it to open.
****
So far, so good.
Solina and Mary crept across the middle chamber of the cellar without incident. Upon entering the furnace room, Solina once again picked up the flashlight. She shined it on the underside of the bulkhead, locating the stout metal bar that lay across it, and went up two steps, placing her hands firmly underneath to push. It didn’t budge.
Dammit. The thing was as heavy as it looked.
“Mary, can you give me a hand?” she whispered.
The older woman moved forward, and between the two of them, they moved the impediment inch by inch until it cleared one of the brackets. They took a few seconds to rest and were about to go for a second try when they heard the click of a door.
“Shit.” Panic flooded Solina’s body. “Somebody’s coming. Back to our room. Quickly.”