Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  If these bozos believed he was about to drive them off into the night, only to be shot in the head and left for dead when it suited them, they were even dumber than he assumed they looked under their masks.

  42

  As the echo of the front door slamming filled the front entrance, Elizabeth Semenov pulled her daughter to her, both of them sobbing.

  Dimitri put a supportive hand on his wife’s shoulder. This time she didn’t shake off his touch.

  McLennan ran back into the living room and threw a Heckler & Koch MP5 to Ty, who caught it one-handed. Peeking through a gap in the drapes, Ty could see Lock and the three men starting down the townhouse steps. Time was critical now. He turned to Dimitri.

  “Take Elizabeth and Anastasia back upstairs. Stay at the rear of the house. Keep away from any windows.”

  Elizabeth was still lost in a mixture of shock, grief and relief.

  “Now!” barked Ty. “Go!”

  Dimitri began to shepherd them out, Ty and McLennan moving fast past them and into the hallway, heading for the front door. Ty checked the weapon, making sure the lever was flicked to single shot rather than three-round bursts. This was going to take precision rather than spray and pray.

  “You sure about this?” said McLennan, as they hit the door.

  “Yeah. You?” said Ty.

  “Hundred percent,” said McLennan. “Fuck those guys.”

  Ty liked the math. Three of them with handguns. Him and McLennan with rifles. A narrow New York street. Lock in the middle of the kill zone, the wild card.

  Lock stumbled forward as the man escorting him shoved him hard in the small of the back. He’d been slow-rolling his way to the vehicle ever since the front door had closed, trying to give Ty and McLennan time to get into position for what was to come.

  On the top step he’d made a show of not having the key fob. That earned him a couple of hard punches, one to the kidneys, and one to the back of the head.

  “Hurry up or I’ll shoot you,” his escort told him.

  Yeah, I don’t think you will, asshole, thought Lock.

  Instead he fished out the key fob and held it up. “Here it is. Relax.”

  His suggestion earned him a stinging open-handed slap to the side of his face, and the barrel of his own gun jammed painfully into the back of his head.

  The Suburban was parked on the other side of the street, about thirty yards to the left of the townhouse entrance. The passenger doors faced the street, and the driver’s door was on the side of the townhouses, a crucial detail that Lock had factored in.

  He needed one of the two other men, and ideally both, to stay on the passenger side. One man he could deal with. Two or three of them drawing down on him and he’d die. It was that simple.

  Ty and McLennan stood at the front door, MP5s in hand. Both men watched the small TV screen that offered a view of the other side of the door and the street beyond.

  Lock and the three men exited the top of the frame. McLennan cursed as they lost sight of them walking to the Suburban.

  For this to work they needed a visual of Lock. Open the door a fraction too early or a fraction too late and it wouldn’t work. Like any other fight, whether it involved fists or firepower, precision trumped power, and timing beat speed.

  Ty stood, pressing himself against the door and looking through the door viewer. The fisheye lens distorted what he could see, but if he shifted his eye up and to the left it afforded him a view of the street beyond range of the camera mounted outside.

  “You see them?” whispered McLennan.

  “Just about. They’re almost at it.”

  “You think this is going to work.”

  “No idea,” said Ty.

  Lock stopped as they reached the Suburban. He held out the key fob to the larger man.

  “You want to drive, or should I?”

  “Funny man,” said the big guy.

  “I’ll drive then, shall I?”

  “Open it!” the big guy shouted, reaching for the handle of the rear passenger side door.

  Lock hit the button. The Suburban chirped, the lights flashing. He walked round to the driver’s door, his escort coming with him, the gun still pressed into his head. The third man had stayed on the street side, ready to get into the front passenger seat.

  So far, so good.

  Ty could barely see them. The rear flank of the Suburban was beyond his vision. He could see Lock’s legs, but only just. Then, as Lock walked around, stepping onto the opposite sidewalk he lost sight of him entirely.

  Now it was down to instinct. Ty focused as hard as he could, internally visualizing his partner’s next steps. Moving around to the driver’s door, the gunman with him, the SIG still pressed into the back of Lock’s head, Lock stretching out one hand to open the door and then …

  Lock had already rehearsed the move in his mind half a dozen times on the walk from the door to the vehicle. Click, pivot, level change, then drive back up and take the man behind him to the ground. And pray that Ty and McLennan did their part.

  As he reached out his hand to open the door, Lock pressed the button on the key fob, locking the Suburban’s doors again.

  Click. Chirp.

  Bending his knees, Lock dropped down, shifting his weight onto his left leg and pivoting 180 degrees so that he was facing the man holding his weapon.

  His escort pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  The SIG dry-fired, empty.

  As he pulled it a second time, Lock drove up as hard as he could, his feet pushing up off the sidewalk, his right shoulder slamming into the man’s solar plexus, knocking him off his feet. He brought his hand up, grabbing for the man’s right wrist, levering it back at the joint. The gun tumbled from his hand, sliding underneath the vehicle.

  As the Russian dove after it, Lock moved around him, wrapping his arms around the man’s back, and lifting him from the ground before slamming him down onto the sidewalk. He landed with a thud.

  The Russian’s hand moved, not under the vehicle this time, but to his waistband, seeking out his own gun. Lock followed him down, diving for his arm again as the man fumbled for the loaded weapon.

  As Ty popped the door open he heard the chirp of the Suburban and saw Lock make his move, then disappear with the gunman as they struggled on the driver’s side of the hulking SUV.

  Ty stepped out onto the step as the two other men turned toward him and McLennan.

  Dropping down into a squat, McLennan to his immediate left, Ty raised the MP5, caught the larger man in his sights, and squeezed off a single shot. It caught his target a little wide, smashing into his left arm just below the elbow.

  Ty re-sighted as the man tried to raise his right arm and take aim at the door. Squeezing off another shot, this one found the larger man’s neck, blowing through his throat and sending blood arcing in all directions. His gun fell from his hand as his fingers raked at the hole.

  Next to him McLennan fired off two rounds in quick succession, both slamming into the rear panel of the Suburban as his target sprawled to the sidewalk and tried to crawl under the vehicle.

  McLennan took his time, scoping out the man’s backside and firing anew. This one found its target, burying deep into the top rear of the man’s groin.

  Next to McLennan, Ty instinctively winced as the man screamed in agony.

  Moving down the steps, Ty rushed toward the Suburban as finally in the background he heard the whoop and peal of sirens.

  Drawing back his fist, Lock slammed it as hard as he could into the man’s face, shattering his nose, twisting the cartilage to one side. The Russian’s hand came up with the gun. It went off, the sound deafening. Lock felt the heat from the barrel and saw the flash.

  If he’d been shot, he couldn’t feel it. But that didn’t mean too much. This was no time to look down and see if he was bleeding.

  Lock brought back his arm for a second time, this time using his elbow to smash into the Russian’s nose for a second time. The man let
out a yelp. Lock brought his knee up into the man’s sternum, finding the sweet spot, and forcing the air from the man’s lungs.

  Reaching down with both hands, he went for his gun hand. This time he managed to secure his wrist. Gasping for air, he slowly peeled the man’s fingers from the weapon as a shape loomed behind him, and a long barrel appeared over Lock’s shoulder, pointing down into the Russian’s head.

  “Drop it or die,” came Ty’s familiar, bass-rich voice.

  43

  The turret lights of a half-dozen NYPD vehicles splashed the block in an undulating red. Yellow and black crime-scene tape was draped at either end. The bodies of the dead Russians still lay where they had fallen. CSU techs moved among them, marking bullet casings and photographing the scene.

  It was a rare triple homicide that saw the suspects waiting patiently for the cops to arrive and question them but that was what the first responding officers had found. Weapons made safe, Lock, Ty and McLennan had sat on the bottom steps as the first of many NYPD units rolled in to assess the carnage.

  All three men had been cuffed before the cops had gone inside to speak with Dimitri and Elizabeth Semenov. Ty had waved off the first paramedics to arrive, insisting that first they go inside and check on Anastasia. They had come out a few moments later with the news that she was badly shaken but hadn’t suffered any injuries.

  It was only at that point that a handcuffed Ty had allowed himself to be led into the back of an EMS unit to have himself assessed. He winced as the paramedic shone a light into first one eye and then the other.

  “Never mind that,” said Ty. “You got any Tylenol in here? My head is killing me.”

  Satisfied that the three men offered no immediate threat, Lock’s cuffs were removed as Dimitri emerged and walked over to him.

  “How are the ladies?” Lock asked him.

  “Shaken. There’s no way Elizabeth’s going to stay here for another night. She’s already screaming at me about how we should have been at the other house instead of here. Anyway, how are you?”

  “Well,” said Lock, “my ears are ringing like I just spent a couple of hours with my head in the speaker bins at a Metallica concert. Besides that I’m okay.”

  “I owe you and Ty my life.”

  “Don’t forget McLennan. He redeemed himself big-time.”

  “And Neil, of course. Rest assured you’ll all have whatever legal support you need.”

  Lock wasn’t overly concerned about that aspect. It would be a very reckless police department that would charge someone for killing three men who had held a ten-year-old girl at gunpoint during a botched home invasion.

  New York being as liberal as it was, Lock didn’t expect that either Ty or he would be invited to the mayor’s mansion for wine and canapés but he doubted they’d be charged. As far as he could see it was justifiable homicide. More than justified. At no point had any of the three men so much as attempted to surrender.

  They had got exactly what they’d had coming. Lock wasn’t going to shed any tears for them. He doubted many others would either.

  Glancing down the block in either direction, he smiled to himself.

  “What?” said Dimitri.

  “Looks like we got our crowd control barriers back,” said Lock.

  It was true. The metal barriers and wooden sawhorses had been restored to their previous positions, sealing the block at either end.

  “If I wasn’t popular with my neighbors before …” Dimitri joked.

  “Hell of a block party,” said Lock, as a CSU photographer moved around the Russian whose throat had been blown away leaving the ground a mass of blood and gristle.

  “Too bad about Hoyle,” said Dimitri.

  Lock agreed. But this was a job in which you operated on razor-fine margins. It only took one momentary lapse of judgment to pay the ultimate price. Stepping out of the doorway had been one such lapse. It had cost him his life, but it could easily have cost someone else’s.

  A guy in a suit stopped in front of them. “Mr. Lock?”

  Lock knew what was coming. “Where do you want to do this?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “Fine, but can you guys stagger this? We’d like to have someone with our client here at all times. Unless, of course, the NPYD wants to step up and offer him round-the-clock security.”

  Lock already knew the answer to that.

  “We can post some officers outside the property for a time and make sure there’s a presence here, but personal protection is for visiting dignitaries and city employees such as the mayor.”

  “Good enough,” said Lock. “I’ll be happy to answer whatever questions you have.”

  44

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Lock, Ty and then McLennan were finally able to return to the residence. To their credit, the NYPD had been as good as their word, posting two uniforms at the door, and keeping the barriers in place at either end of the block.

  The bodies had been removed from outside and inside the residence. The street had been washed down. The Suburban had been removed for forensic examination.

  Word in the media was that the cops had also identified all three of the home invasion gang, although they weren’t yet releasing their names until the families had been contacted and informed. All three came from one of the many Russian émigré neighborhoods close to the city. Rumor was that they were all connected to Russian organized crime.

  Lock was starting to think that there was more to this than a Kremlin shakedown. A lot more. He also suspected that Dimitri knew more than he’d shared.

  Neither Lock nor Ty was about to walk away. He doubted McLennan was either. Not now. Anastasia had made sure of that. Some jobs weren’t about money. They became personal. But Lock needed some answers, and as he walked past the two cops and back into the townhouse, he planned on getting them.

  Even though he’d only been gone for a matter of hours, it was an eerie experience to walk through the house again, stepping on the section of floor where a man had bled to death.

  Her face pale and drawn, Madeline showed Lock into Dimitri’s home office and left them alone.

  “You want some coffee?” said Dimitri, lifting the phone to call through to the housekeeper.

  “No,” said Lock. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours’ sleep as soon as I have the chance.”

  “Of course. Listen, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful we are to you for what you did last night. If you hadn’t been here who knows what would have happened?”

  “Thanks,” said Lock. “I appreciate it.”

  Dimitri leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask you something, Ryan?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How many people have you killed?”

  “A few. Probably more than a few. I don’t really keep a tally. It’s not something I’m proud of. Any time it’s happened it’s because I’ve had no alternative in that moment. Usually because the person was trying to kill me or someone else.”

  Dimitri didn’t say anything to that. He pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. “Is it difficult to carry that with you?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” said Lock. “If I did I couldn’t do this job. I try to take each day as it comes.” He remembered something. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the tiny USB stick that the private investigation firm had given him. He passed it to Dimitri.

  “Take a look at this when you get a moment. I hired an external investigator to go through and take a fresh look at some of the people who work for you.”

  “And?”

  “They didn’t seem to think there was anything. Certainly there weren’t any unexplained payments or anything that would be a red flag. But they don’t know these people as well as you do so maybe have a look through what they gathered.”

  “Okay,” said Dimitri. He took the USB drive and plugged it into the side of his computer. A folder popped up on the screen.

  He clicked on it, revealing a s
eries of sub folders. Each sub folder had someone’s name.

  “Madeline, really?” said Dimitri, clicking on the sub folder with her name. “She’s been with me for years, long before any of this became a problem.”

  “And she’s overseen all the background checks. If it makes you feel better they didn’t turn anything up on her.”

  “That’s good,” said Dimitri, closing her folder. “I’ll go through all this later.”

  He turned his chair back around. “Elizabeth has cleared us moving Anastasia to the Hamptons’ house with the doctors. I think they were as keen as she was to get her to somewhere safer.”

  Lock took a breath. “This might sound crazy and I doubt it’ll convince your wife, but right now this house is one of the safest places you could be. They found a loophole in the security with the roof, but that’s been closed now. Plus the cops are back outside.”

  “Elizabeth’s adamant. She doesn’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want Anastasia here either.”

  “Look at it this way. When was the safest time in this country to get on a commercial flight?”

  Dimitri didn’t offer an answer.

  “Right after Nine/Eleven. Everyone was on high alert, and security was massively heightened. The terrorists knew that. There was no way they could pull a repeat performance, not using that method, or anything even close. They’d taken that shot, and it worked. They were going to ground for a while. That’s how I look at this. Last night, whoever is behind all this stuff gave it their best shot.” Lock paused. “Assuming it was the same people as everything else.”

  “But this shot didn’t work.”

  “Correct,” said Lock. “It didn’t work here last night, which means there is almost zero chance it would work here if they tried again.”

  “I’m not the person you have to convince,” said Dimitri.

  “I can speak with your wife.”