Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  His battery was good. He tried Ty. The call dropped before it could connect. McLennan threw him his radio.

  “Here, give this a shot.”

  There was no luck with the radio either. Meanwhile, he could see McLennan eyeing Ninel, the cogs turning.

  The sooner they got back to land, the better. He knew exactly what was on McLennan’s mind. The same thing he’d have been thinking about if she’d killed Ty. Payback.

  And payback in the world that Lock, and McLennan inhabited tended to be a final arbitration with one man serving as judge, jury and, ultimately, executioner.

  60

  The fog was lifting, the shoreline visible. Lock pulled out his phone and tried Ty again. This time it connected.

  “Ryan, where are you?”

  “Heading back in. What’s the word?”

  “We’re all good. The Coast Guard found Dimitri. He’s here now talking with cops.”

  “If you can, get him for me. Make an excuse if you have to, but I need to speak with him, and keep it on the down-low that it’s me. I don’t want law enforcement overhearing any of this.”

  “Okay, hang on,” said Ty.

  There was some muffled conversation in the background. As Lock waited, he kept an eye on Ninel. She wasn’t moving, but she seemed to be shaking off whatever concussion she’d suffered from the blow to her head.

  “I got him for you. Here he is,” said Ty. “Dimitri, it’s Lock.”

  “Yes, I’m here,” said Dimitri. “I’m sorry I had everyone worried, I decided to take a little―”

  Lock didn’t have the time or the patience for whatever nonsensical story he was about to be spun. If the cops bought it that was on them. “Listen,” he said, “we’re not coming back in alone. We picked up some driftwood floating out here. I’m assuming you may know something about it.”

  “Hang on,” said Dimitri.

  The voices in the background faded. Lock guessed he was making sure he was well away from the local cops.

  He came back on the line. “I can’t explain right this second, but I will. I’m sorry I put you in this position. Now, is McLennan with you?”

  Without all the details, Lock knew enough to sketch in what might have gone down. The only part that surprised him was them having to fish Ninel out of the drink, not Dimitri.

  Lock turned to McLennan. “Someone wants to speak to you.”

  He stepped down the boat to McLennan, passed him the phone and walked back to keep an eye on Ninel, who was watching all this unfold with increasing interest.

  For his part, Lock didn’t want to have any knowledge of what Dimitri was saying to his original bodyguard. He could take a guess at what it might be, and it was unlikely to be anything good.

  McLennan had a hurried whispered conversation that wrapped up quickly and handed the phone back to Lock.

  “So?” said Lock. “We’re taking her back in, right?” There was only going to be one acceptable answer, but it seemed polite to pose the question.

  “Of course. Take her back in, hand her over. What else would we do?”

  The way McLennan said it offered scant consolation. A slow feeling of dread crept over Lock. He was going to need some extra insurance to make sure they didn’t suddenly head back out into the ocean and return Ninel to where they’d found her, which he imagined was McLennan and Dimitri’s preferred option.

  He called Ty back.

  “What’s up?”

  “Ty, we have a woman on board. Early fifties. Russian. I think it’s Ninel Tarasov.”

  “No shit?”

  McLennan had abandoned his duties and was walking up to Lock.

  “Ryan, we may not want to,” he said, reaching for the phone.

  Lock gave him a one-handed shove, pushing him back. “Don’t,” he said to McLennan. “You don’t want me as a problem. Believe me.”

  “Lock? You okay?” said Ty.

  McLennan retreated, muttering something under his breath.

  “I’m fine. Anyway, she has a head injury and she’s going to need medical attention. I’m guessing local law enforcement are going to want to meet us at the dock, so make sure they don’t leave.”

  “Roger that,” said Ty.

  Lock stared hard at McLennan. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” said McLennan.

  “Oh, yeah, why is that?”

  McLennan didn’t respond.

  “Just so I’m clear,” said Lock. “This isn’t Iraq or Afghanistan. There are rules.”

  “Yes,” said McLennan. “There certainly are.”

  61

  At the dock, a heavyweight reception committee awaited their arrival. Lock counted six uniforms, including the local chief of police. An ambulance had driven down, parking as close as it could to the dock, and a little further back sat a fire truck. He could also see Ty, standing on the deck at the rear of the property.

  It was a fairly impressive turnout. Lock guessed that a multimillion-dollar property, and the high property taxes that came with it, pretty much guaranteed this kind of response.

  They were maybe a thousand meters out from the dock. McLennan was at the stern, and Lock was up near the bow, guarding Ninel, who studied him with weary eyes. “I’ll make sure they look at that head wound before they take you in, okay?” he said.

  She glared at him and kept her own counsel.

  He dug out his phone and called Ty. “Hey, do me a favor. Make sure Dimitri stays inside until our cargo is safely out of the way. I don’t want any more excitement.”

  “You got it,” said Ty. “Everything good your end?”

  Lock swept the boat from Ninel to McLennan. “Yeah, all good.”

  “Okay, see you in a few.”

  Lock killed the call as McLennan eased up on the engine, the boat slowing as they began to cruise slowly into the dock.

  “Hey, Ryan,” said McLennan. “Can you take this for a second? I just need to grab a rope so we can tie up.”

  “Sure, I got you,” said Lock, stepping gingerly down the boat, half an eye still on Ninel, not that she had anywhere left to go.

  Lock and McLennan squeezed past each other on the narrow craft, Ninel studying them with apparent disinterest. Lock took control of the craft, not that there was much to do other than maintain the present course.

  Near the bow, McLennan grabbed a rope, and hunkered down close to Ninel, making a show of tying a loop. He shifted his weight and crouched.

  He was close to Ninel. Too close for Lock’s liking. And something about the way he was behaving set off alarm bells. He didn’t know what he was up to, but whatever it was he didn’t like it.

  McLennan dropped the rope and rubbed his hands together as if forcing the cold out of them. He was crouched down, side on to Lock. He inched a little closer to Ninel and then it happened in a tumbling rush of motion.

  Ninel’s hand shot out, snatching at McLennan’s waist and coming up with his weapon. At the same time, she half stood, kicking into the back of McLennan’s knee and sending him tumbling over.

  McLennan fell towards Lock, his hands splaying out to catch himself as her hand came up with McLennan’s gun. She aimed it at McLennan’s back.

  Lock had already drawn his own weapon, his SIG pointed over the top of the fallen McLennan at Ninel.

  Shouts came from the dockside. They were close, but not close enough for any of the cops standing there to have a clear shot at Ninel. Not without risking taking out Lock in the process.

  There were two clear lines of fire, Ninel on McLennan, and Lock on Ninel, although a fractional adjustment and she could as easily shoot Lock.

  At the bottom of his vision, he could see McLennan. He was staying stock still, legs and arms splayed.

  “What the hell was that?” Lock asked him.

  “I don’t know. She just grabbed it,” said McLennan.

  In one sense, he was right. She had grabbed it. But he’d let her. No one in their right mind, and certainly not som
eone with McLennan’s experience, allowed an unsecured prisoner that kind of easy access to their weapon. Not unless they were a complete idiot, or they meant to.

  Even as she’d reached for it, McLennan hadn’t reacted. He was lucky not to have been shot. Then again, maybe he’d factored in that Ninel wasn’t dumb enough to take him out and risk Lock immediately shooting her.

  It seemed to Lock like McLennan had manufactured this. But if he wanted rid of Ninel before they reached dry land, why hadn’t he shot her himself?

  Lock suspected he knew the answer and he didn’t like it. McLennan wanted rid of Ninel, but he didn’t want to face the consequences of doing it himself. Not with a bunch of cops standing on the dock as witnesses.

  “Like hell she did,” said Lock.

  McLennan twisted his torso so he could look up at Lock.

  “What? You think I let her have it?”

  “I don’t know. Did you?” said Lock, his gun never leaving Ninel’s chest. “So what’s it going to be, Ninel?

  He could tell that she was thinking. She’d been handed a lifeline that wasn’t one. Even if they dove overboard and let her have the small craft, she’d be picked up in no time. She didn’t have an escape route so much as the appearance of one.

  Escape.

  Was this how McLennan had done it last time? Back when he’d been in the military? Had he engineered a situation where he could kill someone in such a way that his hands were clean?

  If it was, if this was some kind of replay, Lock didn’t plan on being his patsy. Not if he could avoid it.

  “Put down the gun,” Lock ordered Ninel. “There’s no way out of this for you. Even if you shoot both of us, look at all those cops. You really think they’re going to let you get away?”

  She didn’t move.

  “Look, if something happened out there,” continued Lock, “if Dimitri left you in the water, and you want to get your own back, make his life difficult, then this is your chance.”

  Something shifted in her expression. It was small. Almost imperceptible. But Lock caught it. It flickered across her face for a second. A look that suggested revenge might still be on her mind.

  She nodded in the direction of the dock. “They’d believe me?”

  Lock shook his head. “I can’t say. But it’s not like back home. You’d get a hearing. People would listen.”

  She started to lower the gun. Lock’s shoulders slumped with relief.

  As she brought it down, McLennan made his move, launching himself across the boat to low-tackle her.

  Ninel’s gun came back up, pointing at Lock.

  Instinct kicking in, Lock fired. His shot hitting her flush in the middle of the chest. He fired again, this one punching through the ribcage and finding her heart.

  She fell back, her shot going high and wide. Slumping to one side, her arm fell into the water, her hand trailing through the waves.

  Lock lowered his weapon, pointing it at McLennan, giving his next move some serious consideration. Part of him, the dark part, told him to squeeze the trigger one more time. McLennan had almost got him killed.

  Lying flat on his back, McLennan stared up at him.

  “I thought she was going to …”

  Lock pointed the SIG straight at McLennan’s head. He stopped talking. He could hear Ty calling to him from the dock.

  “Ryan, you okay?”

  Lock held up his free hand to indicate he was. He stared into McLennan’s eyes and saw nothing. No humanity. Only cold calculation. If it was a look intended to chill him, it failed. It sickened him. That was all.

  Refusing to break McLennan’s gaze, Lock removed his index finger from the trigger and pointed the barrel of the gun into the bottom of the boat.

  “You and me, we’ll talk,” Lock told him. “But not here and not now.”

  62

  Declining the opportunity to get some sleep, Lock accompanied the local cops back to Headquarters and gave them a statement. In terms of Lock shooting and killing Ninel Tarasov, it was, on the surface, straightforward.

  It helped that the local cops, including the chief of police, had stood on the dock and watched it play out. Lock could tell that they had no appetite to give him a hard time. The Hamptons relied on their wealthy visitors, and the local cops wanted this squared away as quickly as possible.

  After giving a bare-bones rundown on finding Ninel, and what had happened during the final approach, Lock had submitted to questions.

  “And you’ve no idea why your colleague got so close that this individual was able to grab his weapon?” the detective in charge asked him.

  Lock absolutely did, but he wasn’t about to share his suspicion in this forum. Instead, he settled for an attorney-like, “You’d have to ask him what he was thinking. I couldn’t tell you.”

  As he sat there in an uncomfortable chair that squeaked every time he shifted his weight and drank bad coffee, his resentment built. It was one thing to sit there and defend a decision you had taken yourself. It was quite another to defend killing someone when the decision had been taken for you.

  After another period of going around in circles, they finally wrapped things up. Lock stood, stretched, and shook the detective’s hand. He walked out of the building into a hazy early-morning sunrise.

  He thought about calling the house to have someone pick him up but decided against it. Ten minutes later an Uber driver pulled up to take him back.

  On the way, he called Ty.

  “You good?” Ty asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. How about everyone there?”

  “Still sleeping,” said Ty.

  “Perfect. What about McLennan? Is he back?”

  McLennan had been brought in by the local PD. Lock imagined the statement he’d given would have been the same BS he’d tried to palm him off with in the boat. He couldn’t imagine the cops would have bought it either. The man had all but handed over his weapon.

  “He’s here,” said Ty.

  “I’ll be there in ten,” said Lock. “Ask him to meet me out front. Make sure he’s not carrying. One accident is plenty.”

  “You got it,” said Ty.

  The Marine knew the drill.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Lock pulled up in his Uber. He thanked the driver and got out.

  McLennan was standing close to the gate, arms folded, Ty a few feet from him.

  Lock waited until the Uber driver had left and walked slowly down to confront McLennan.

  “Listen, Ryan, I did what I had to do,” said McLennan.

  Lock’s reply came in the shape of an arcing-over slap that caught the left side of McLennan’s head. Cup your hand, catch someone flush on the ear, with sufficient force, you could burst their ear drum.

  McLennan staggered back a few steps, caught off guard. He put up his hands, falling into a boxer’s stance, side on, left foot forward, right foot back. Unfortunately for McLennan this wasn’t a Marquess of Queensberry type contest. Lock wanted to hurt him, bad.

  Circling to the outside, Lock bided his time. As McLennan moved in with a snapping jab, Lock’s right foot came up, then down, the sole snapping hard on McLennan’s shin.

  Angered, McLennan lunged forward, all rage, no technique. Lock came reached up, grabbing the back of McLennan’s neck and pulling him forward. Only rather than falling into a boxer’s clinch, Lock snapped his knee up hard into McLennan’s face, breaking his nose before pushing him away.

  McLennan swiped at the blood running down his face with the back of his sleeve. “What’s your problem, eh?” he said. “You’re not exactly a choirboy.”

  Lock circled him again. “True, but there’s one difference between us.”

  “Oh, yeah, and what’s that?”

  “I do my own dirty work,” said Lock, aiming a fresh kick into McLennan’s chest.

  McLennan staggered back again and Lock followed in, under-hooking both of the other man’s arms and linking his hands before tripping McLennan, and sending them both to the ground.


  Lock landed on top. McLennan tried to kick at him as he landed, but Lock rolled to one side. McLennan’s hand came up, open, and he jabbed a finger hard into Lock’s left eye.

  His vision blurred, Lock climbed on top of McLennan and began to rain elbows down onto the face as McLennan did his best to cover it.

  Lock kept going, alternating punches and elbows, smashing them as hard as he could into McLennan’s face until he struggled to catch his breath.

  Finally, he felt Ty grab him from behind.

  “That’s it, dude. Much more and you’ll kill him.”

  Exhausted, he allowed Ty to pull him back to his feet. He looked down at the bloodied mess of McLennan’s face. He was barely conscious, bleeding from his nose and several cuts around his eyes.

  As Ty ushered Lock away, he shook himself free, and circled back to deliver a final kick straight into McLennan’s side. He groaned with pain. Lock held up his hands, signaling that now he was done, and walked away.

  Looking up, he saw Dimitri standing in the doorway, watching. Lock had expected to feel better, but in truth he felt worse. He hadn’t quite fallen to McLennan’s level, but he had lost it.

  It wasn’t just what McLennan had done on the boat, or the position Lock had been placed in. That was just a symptom of a wider malaise. It wasn’t why he did his job. To protect wealthy men who saw everything as a game.

  Dimitri Semenov had used all of them, even his own daughter, knowing that he and Ty would never turn their back on a sick child. Lock was sick of it, the whole thing.

  Along with Ty, he pushed past Dimitri and into the house, McLennan still writhing around outside.

  “You’re fired. Both of you,” said Dimitri.

  Lock turned back to him.

  “Good. Saves me quitting,” said Lock.

  “I can take care of the handover to the new guys,” said Ty. “I can’t leave the kid with no security.”

  That was fair, thought Lock. He didn’t have the stomach for a second more of this, but Ty was right: Anastasia was an innocent in this, and even with Ninel dead, there was no guarantee that her father wouldn’t come under a renewed threat.