by Ty Patterson
Snarky eyed the bills and wet his lips. They were enough to feed him, or his habit, for months.
‘Shit, man, why did you go and do that? Tempting me like that. What you’re asking me to do is too dangerous. Word gets to them about me, I’m dead. In their world, you’re either minding your own business, or theirs. If theirs, you’re doing it for them else you’re dead. And you don’t die easy. That family… I heard whispers… they’ve disappeared.’
He shivered and, wrapping his coat tightly around his skinny frame, tipped his bottle back and took a long pull.
His eyes shone brighter as he looked into Broker’s for a long time, knowing very little of what Broker did, but knowing enough, and his shivering slowed.
‘They’ve no idea, do they? No idea of the dragon they’ve poked,’ he whispered.
Broker said nothing, kept looking back at him.
Snarky caressed the bills, picked them up, and smelt them. His voice was steadier when he spoke. ‘How do I contact you?’
Broker gave him a number. It was a toll-free messaging number, totally unreachable by the gang. ‘Call that number from a pay phone. Where are their other hides? Their businesses?’
Snarky bared his lips, his version of a smile, the roll disappearing from his hand, and recited a long list of names. Some of those, the strip club and a couple of others, tallied with Broker’s intel.
Broker kept looking at his back when he left, the door swinging in the shadows.
I should warn him, but he’s survived the streets a long time. He knows what he’s getting into.
Broker walked back the way he came, deep in thought. Much later, that would be his excuse for not noticing the shadow across the street, behind him.
Chapter 27
The strip club had an anonymous façade, its sole distinguishing feature the full-size cutout of a nude woman. Its front had limited parking spaces, and small darkened show windows stared out either side of the large door.
The strip club had a narrow alley at one side, which led to a walled and valeted parking lot at the rear, a rear entrance linking the lot to the club. Parking was important. Business types didn’t like walking, and the rear parking offered anonymity. The alley side had an entrance, presumably for supplies.
The front of the strip club merged into storefronts for salons, convenience stores, Mexican take-aways… everything that men would need on the same street.
‘Three cameras facing the street, one in the alley.’ Bwana was driving, Chloe was in the front, Roger and Bear were taking notes in the rear. Bwana turned left at the lights at the end of the street, another left and a right, and he was driving up the street on the same side as the entrance.
Chloe glanced inside the alley as they drove past. ‘Can’t see much. It’s a dead end with just one drive leading to the lot. The camera is right on top of the alley entrance.’
Bwana drove to a gas station a couple of streets away and pulled into a vacant lot. He swiveled as Roger and Bear opened the building plan for the club.
‘Broker said it might not be recent, but this’s the only plan he could get.’
They studied it in silence for a moment. The front and rear entrances led the patrons to seating and the stage to the right, while a bar, changing rooms and restrooms took over the left.
‘Three entrances, the rear doubles up as the fire exit.’ Chloe traced them with a lacquered finger. ‘I bet the alley entrance is also the staff entrance.’
‘Night?’ Bwana asked hopefully.
‘Nah. Too many people and there’ll be enough goons to outnumber us,’ Bear replied.
‘So when?’
‘Evening, around four. They open at six, so that’s when they’ll be stocking up and have enough cash in the place, but not that many heavies.’
‘I was them, I’d have heavies round the clock,’ Roger commented.
Chloe turned off the iPad and handed it to Bear. ‘Which’s why we’ll recon all day tomorrow, hit the day after.’
Roger winked at Bear. ‘She bosses you all the time?’
Bear pulled a long face. ‘I’m not allowed to say.’
Roger arrived early the next day driving a cab and left it parked on the street, in the opposite lane, and placed an ‘NYPD. Impounded’ card on the dashboard with a number on it. Broker had tossed him the keys with an all-taken-care-of grunt in the morning.
He locked the cab and walked without a backward glance down an alley and behind the street. He thumped twice on a black Escalade and hauled himself inside when it opened.
The cab had a hi-res, hi-zoom camera rigged in its advert canopy, swivel mounted, with a sixty-degree turn capability and a parabolic mic. It fed images wirelessly to base and relay stations they had mounted the previous night, leading the feed and controls to the Escalade. Bear looked up when he entered and turned back to the display and control panel. He nudged the joystick, watched for a few more minutes, and then pushed back.
‘These gadgets would have saved us a lot of grief in Iraq and ’Stan.’
Bwana, lying on the rear bench, opened one eye and snorted. ‘You’d have ended up fat and lazy, a bottom broader than this truck.’
Bwana caught the balled-up napkin thrown his way and went back to snoozing.
‘Where’s Chloe?’
‘Should be back soon. Coffees and all that.’
When Chloe joined them, they seemed to be asleep, an impression that had cost many an ambusher dearly. The Warriors were used to recon and could go for hours, days, in silent stillness. Zero to lethal in a second, she thought as she surveyed them, glanced at the monitor, and settled herself next to Bear.
They broke off the surveillance late at night and watched the feed from the start.
The first employees at the club arrived close to midday, the kitchen staff, via the alley entrance. Then came a series of deliveries, drinks, groceries, maintenance guys, cleaners, the invisible operators of the club. At half-past three, a Camry rolled up, low on its wheels. Four toughs inside would do that. Three of them hopped off at the alley entrance, one carrying a heavy backpack. The fourth drove the car behind, to the parking lot, and disappeared from the recon cam.
Bear paused the video and zoomed in so they could see the bag, its shape and weight, and resumed the feed.
At four, the girls started arriving and a fifth heavy, who escorted them. Roger looked at the girls and started to say something… and kept silent when he felt Chloe’s steady gaze on him. At seven p.m. the last heavy arrived, this time at the front entrance. He rapped on the door and withdrew red rope barriers and their stands and laid them out in the front, went back inside, and the lights and hoarding on the front came on.
The club was ready for business, and its patrons started arriving at six.
They continued watching the feed till midnight, though there wasn’t much more to watch. During its busy hours, two of the thugs came to the front and acted as bouncers.
‘I count about ten staff not including the girls, and seven goons,’ Bwana said when Bear turned off the feed.
He looked around at all of them. ‘Let’s hit them when they’ve just the four heavies. I suspect we’ll have about twenty minutes before the other goons come in and maybe backup hitters rush to the club.’
They all nodded. ‘Yup. If we aren’t out of there by then, we’ll be in a whole heap of trouble.’ Chloe tapped a polished fingernail on the laptop. ‘Where would you guys position yourself, if you were them?’
‘At the rear. Most people go for the front entrance, and hence that’s always the one heavily manned. At this club, I’d go for a force at the back,’ Roger replied promptly.
‘Way I figured. So, assuming that, I’ll take the front; Bwana, you take the rear; and Bear will take the staff entrance.’
She noticed Bear frowning. ‘Don’t agree?’
‘They’ll be expecting us, won’t they?’
She nodded. ‘They won’t know when, but yeah.’
‘Let’s do the unexpected,
then. Same approach, but different tactics.’ He outlined his plan.
They waited for the Camry to make its deposit the next day and then made their move.
Chloe, a leather coat cinched at her waist and large shades covering her face, fluffed her blonde wig and rang a discreet buzzer on the front entrance. Lots of cleavage did the trick.
She heard rattling at the door, and it opened a sliver to allow suspicious eyes to peer out. ‘Yeah? We open later.’
She tossed a grenade through the crack. The suspicious eyes tracked her, then the object, grew wide, and the door slammed shut. From inside she heard a muffled shout, sudden voices, and the door was flung open.
The people rushing out reversed suddenly, and the door slammed shut even quicker when she fired just above their heads, pockmarking the door horizontally.
‘Back,’ someone screamed from inside.
The back had Roger and Bwana, in their trademark black and masked.
The rear entrance was shut when they approached it. Positioning themselves either side of the entrance, Bwana, on the left, knocked on the slat. It opened a few minutes later.
Roger wordlessly tossed three grenades inside and stepped back, away from the line of sight of the door. Bwana stayed where he was, hugging the wall.
There was deep silence for a second, and then they heard the first deep yell from inside, and others followed.
The double doors flew open, and the stampede began, all of them screaming and cursing. Bwana let the staff go, grabbed the first thug by his collar and rammed his face in the side of the building. The second thug turned around, startled, his mouth wide open in a silent shout, his eyes seeing but not comprehending, and he folded when Bwana’s Glock met his temple.
Roger joined him and pulled the other two bouncers from the fleeing crowd. The first one didn’t give him any trouble once his mouth had opened to receive Roger’s SIG; the other needed a little more persuasion, like a knee in the nuts.
Minutes later they had the four thugs lying on the concrete, plastic-tie cuffed. Bear and Chloe, having sent the staff home by pointedly waving their guns, joined them and wordlessly hauled the men up to sitting positions and looked at Bwana, giving him the cue. Bwana nodded at Roger, who disappeared inside, and minutes later they heard the sound of furniture crashing. He came back lugging a heavy plastic sack. ‘Stuffed with bills, mostly small notes. Emptied the till under the counter too. Retrieved all the grenades.’
They gave one last look at the four. One of them had his nose smashed and was bleeding heavily, another was looking at them with glazed eyes, and a third was doubled up and moaning softly.
The fourth glared at them balefully. ‘Feel like men, huh? Guns in your hand, bet you do?’ he sneered.
Roger tossed one of the grenades to Bwana, who held it up in the air for the four to see. ‘Feeling stupid that you didn’t notice its pin was still in? Bet you soiled your pants.’
They often used sudden, simultaneous attacks to create pressure-cooker environments that left no time for rational thought. Animal instincts, fight or flee, kicked in. Even battle-hardened soldiers lost the fighting instinct when they saw a grenade clattering in, and these were thugs. Former soldiers, but still thugs.
The man flushed angrily as Bwana’s words registered. ‘If I wasn’t–’
Bwana didn’t allow him to finish. Tossing the grenade back to Roger, he glided across, and hauling him up, he cut him loose.
He pushed the man forward. ‘Tell you what. Since you’re such a man, I’ll take you on. No guns, no knives, nothing. Just you and me.
‘You man enough for that? Or do you prefer fighting women?’ he goaded the heavy. ‘If you beat me, we’ll let you go free. Not only that, we’ll cut all of you free and walk away. Without all that money.’
The gangbanger was gym fit, his arms and legs heavily muscled, his shirt tight against his chest. He boxed and honed his skills whenever the gang needed to control a recalcitrant victim. He had a couple of inches over Bwana’s six-three, and he was confident. He bared his lips and feinted.
Bwana stood still, watching him through half-lidded eyes. A bee buzzed in front of him, decided it wanted no part of him, and flew off.
The man feinted again and swung a tentative left and, as Bwana ducked easily, snapped a wicked right… at the air.
‘What’s the matter, boy? You ever been in a real fight? A fight for your life?’ Bwana asked him softly.
Jab, hook, jab, feint, and still Bwana floated lazily, not even raising his hands. Through the corner of his eyes, he saw Chloe look at her wrist and drop it. The man advanced again.
And Bwana didn’t retreat.
Approaching the man swiftly, he dropped suddenly to his hands and executed a blurring, crouching spin kick, knocking the thug off his legs. Completing his kick in one smooth, round motion, back on his feet, he reached out and grabbed the falling man by his left hand, pulled him forward and, with his right hand, slapped him on his face, open palmed.
Two hundred pounds of Bwana, all loaded at the end of his arm, met his face, delivering the most humiliating blow a man experiences, rocking his head sideways, staggering him two, then three steps back.
He fell and lay there, offering no resistance as Bwana cuffed him again and dragged him back to the other captives. Roger, who’d been interrogating one of the heavies, looked up and nodded.
They met trouble as they were leaving.
Chapter 28
Bear was nosing their Yukon out of the alley, joining the street, when a tan Ford and a black Nissan surged from their right, the Ford edging ahead of them. Faces swiveled in their direction, eyes widened as they took in their masks, the driver gesticulating furiously at his companions.
Its rear window rolled down, and they could see hands reaching down or inside jackets and shirts.
Bear T-boned them.
Thousands of man-years of workmanship had gone in the Ford, but it crumpled like a crushed can against the Yukon, and shuddered again when the Nissan rammed it in the rear.
Bwana slipped out of the reversing Yukon and roared out loudly in a voice that could wake the dead, ‘NYPD. Stay down.’ Cops didn’t wear masks, but the more deception, the more distraction.
He reached back inside, tossed two of those mock grenades through the rear window of the Ford, and shot out its visible tires. The Glock in his right hand was steady and looked like a cannon to those in the Ford, but they weren’t offering resistance, the shock of the crash bleeding it away.
Roger was running to the Nissan, whose rear doors had opened, and two men were climbing out. Running and then flying as he launched in an aerial kick that took out the closest one to him, and landing on the roof of the Nissan, he slashed with his SIG at the second, and again, this time a reverse swipe.
Roger leapt back to the rear as the two in the front shot blindly through the roof of the car, and then the Nissan’s windshield shattered first and then its windows as Chloe fired, double and triple taps, extreme penetration, bonded bullets first punching holes in the windshield, spiderwebs around it, the other bullets following through, hours of practice of firing against different targets and combat experience coming together without conscious thought.
And then they were away, Bwana and Roger leaping to the running boards of the reversing and then surging Yukon, silhouetted for just a moment against the concrete and glass storefronts of the street, their forms slicing through the air, and then the Yukon disappeared in the traffic and they in it.
Tony removed his hand from his backpack, pulled his door shut, relaxed, and tasted his coffee. It had gone cold.
Broker had sent him as insurance, and he had watched the takedown from his anonymous van parked down the street. He’d parked early in the morning, his van bearing the signage of a utility company, his coverall bearing the same signage. He’d a work order clipped to a board in the passenger seat in case anyone was nosey enough to ask.
He wiped his palm against his coverall and let his backpa
ck slip and fall to the floor of the van. It fell with a muted thud, a Colt 45, spare magazines, stun grenades, a flashlight, blood pack and emergency kit weighing it down.
If the Yukon had been attacked, he would have let loose with his Colt, a gun not for stopping people, but disintegrating them. He thumbed a button on the steering wheel, and when the phone connected, he said simply, ‘All clear,’ and fired the van up.
‘Roger,’ Broker answered and smiled. The others didn’t need to know that Tony would have been their cavalry, if required.
On the other side of the street a tramp shuffled to his feet and staggered away. The street had thin traffic, which had further dispersed on Bwana’s warning. The drunk had lain against a storefront through all the action, heedless of uncaring bullets, gripping his half-empty bottle as he stared sightless.
He bounced against storefronts and half fell into an alley and straightened and dropped the bottle in the nearest trash can. The Watcher wiped his face and slipped on shades from deep inside the blanket over his body.
Tailing them was easy now, though not required. His bugs did that job, and even when they switched vehicles, he was onto them. He walked a couple of blocks to the nearest subway and smiled inwardly when he got a seat despite the rush hour. Funny how BO can clear space.
Broker had a bemused look and was putting down his phone when they went to his room.
‘What?’ Chloe asked him.
He shook his head and poured coffee for them, taking his time, allowing their adrenaline to subside, the sounds and smells of a crowded and hot city to calm them down.
‘Any problems?’
‘Nah.’ Bear took a long gulp of his drink, letting it burn his mouth. ‘Some gangbangers showed up as we were leaving. We read them the riot act, and they calmed down.’
Broker grinned. ‘And the take?’
‘About fifteen thousand dollars. Big Brothers Big Sisters will be happy tomorrow. So what happened here? Why that face?’