The Warriors Series Boxset I

by Ty Patterson

  ‘Got a message from Snarky.’ He explained who Snarky was. ‘He had info on the chapter and was getting to it when the call got cut. He did say he was running out of change. Guess I’ll have to go and meet him.’

  ‘Is that safe?’ Roger asked him doubtfully.

  ‘Safer than your walk in the park.’

  Broker left their company after dinner and made his way to the same street and heard Snarky before he could see him. Snarky was slaughtering Nat King Cole’s ‘When I Fall in Love’ enthusiastically, yet his hat was gleaming with coins. Broker shook his head in disbelief and dropped his loose change in the hat.

  He was well into his Newcastle Brown Ale by the time Snarky joined him, downed his beer in a smooth swallow, and pushed his glass toward the bartender for a refill. The balding bartender, a dirty towel across his shoulder, looked questioningly at Broker and filled one for Snarky at Broker’s nod.

  ‘Took you long enough to get here,’ Snarky accused Broker. ‘I called you, like, hours back.’

  ‘If you had some change with you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,’ Broker shot back.

  ‘Man, you know how I am with phones. They’re spying on us, besides if I used my change for calls, what would I use for drinks?’ Snarky fervently believed that THEY were spying on all of them and every phone in America was tapped. He went a bit vague when pressed about THEY.

  ‘Get to it,’ Broker reminded him.

  ‘Cruz comes around midnight, with about five guys, stays for a couple of hours, and then leaves. He’s with his enforcer always. The two are never seen alone. Man, they’re evil. The things they’ve done and will not stop at doing…’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘So why did they move there?’

  ‘A deal went wrong, cops came to the party. Hurt them a lot. Next day garage’s empty, laundry got new owners.’

  It was good to have Broker’s jigsaw being corroborated.

  The third beer flowed inside Snarky and so did the bills Broker slipped in his palm.

  ‘One other thing.’ His eyes cleared the way they did when they needed to. ‘They lost a strip club; some masked hoods came and took it apart. That you? If so, they’re madder than a hornet and are looking for you. Word’s out on the street. They know your name and are also looking for a black guy, a woman, and some others, along with you. Those with you?’

  Broker was unperturbed. This was something they were expecting and, if anything, were expecting the gang to have discovered them earlier.

  ‘That’s all right, don’t answer. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not just you they’re looking for. They could have found I was asking… guess I’ll have to find another empty storefront to rest my ass against.’

  Broker laughed incredulously. ‘Snarky, if they’re looking for you, you need to get the hell out of here. Leave town. Disappear.’

  ‘And what? Be a drunk in another town? I’ll take my chances here. Besides, if they’re looking for me, what do I know about you? Your description they already have. I guess I could give them that number you gave me. Much good it’ll do them.’

  Broker persisted. ‘Your life won’t matter to them. Get out of town. Now.’

  Snarky shrugged. ‘Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. I’ve lived my life on the street and survived. Whatever kind of bad these guys are, I can handle it.’

  He turned away and stopped short suddenly.

  The bar had cleared out silently and in the dim light stood two men facing them. Both olive skinned, one short and stocky, and another bald and thin. Baldy was smiling thinly, knowing they had the advantage over a drunk and an older dude.

  Broker followed Snarky’s gaze and then whipped back to the bartender. No one.

  The two spread out, and Shorty signaled with his hand. ‘Come with us.’ He looked at Baldy. ‘Call the–’

  Broker hurled his glass at Baldy, and Snarky rushed Shorty and tackled him. Broker was moving even as the glass hit Baldy over his right eye. Skin split and blood flowed freely over his face, and then Baldy doubled over as Broker’s knee sank into his belly. Broker followed it up with an uppercut, and Baldy was out of action.

  Snarky’s initial advantage was long gone, and Shorty had gripped him by the throat and was squeezing the life out of him when a bar stool broke over his head. Broker smashed another bar stool over his head for good measure.

  He looked down at the two. Not bad for an old guy and I’m not even panting. These are my bragging rights for a month.

  He shoved a heaving and wheezing Snarky outside the door and fast-walked him a block away and stopped in the shadow of a poorly lit street.

  ‘Get out of here. Go someplace else and lie low. You might be a drunk in another city, but you’ll live to have more drinks.’ He shoved another roll of bills at Snarky, who had sobered by then. Snarky pocketed them and swayed for a moment.

  He grinned. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll surface somewhere like those Whac-A-Mole creatures. Maybe we’ll take down some gang somewhere else.’

  Broker stood in the darkness, thinking back to the bar. Bartender must’ve called it in. I wasn’t followed… would have been difficult to shadow Snarky, given that he lay there most of the day.

  He pulled out his phone. ‘Get outta there, now! Tony or I will call you with rendezvous details.’ He hung up on Chloe, knowing they would act. He dialed another number.

  ‘Tony–’

  Tony interrupted him. ‘Boss, they’re looking for you. Chatter is high.’

  ‘They found me, got out with my skin intact. We need to move. Can you find us a place, a different one now, not the kind we’ve been staying in so far.’

  ‘Roger. You okay?’

  Broker chuckled. ‘Never felt better. Kicking ass, kicking young ass, always feels good.’ He told Tony briefly what had gone down and took his time walking back to a subway station. At the subway, he caught trains randomly, switching them at whim and taking any line that caught his fancy. He was sure he hadn’t been followed, but precautions never hurt.

  It was while riding the Red Line downtown that his thoughts turned to Zeb.

  He liked riding the rails, especially at night. The play of light and dark as the train moved, the blur, the crowds and the space… he liked them. He used to say you were always alone in your bubble in the subway, no matter how crowded or empty it was. That was Zeb. He never spoke much, but when he did, there would be a universe of meaning.

  The subway car was empty that night save for Broker at one end and a cuddling couple at the other. She noticed Broker, a bit older than them, but the strength in his body, his carriage, his hair, drew attention. She saw him faintly smiling at something, and her lips curved in a small smile involuntarily. They stepped out at the next stop, and she turned back to glance at him again.

  She noticed his cheeks were wet.

  Broker was wrong. He’d been shadowed.

  The Watcher had followed him once he had left the others. The Watcher’s technique was simple and the most difficult to master. He kept his Ki, his life force, so low and muted that it merged in the Brownian motion of six million other people. The inner radar of those he was shadowing, so finely tuned, failed to spot the Watcher, and the only moments when they felt a twinge was when the Watcher had to come closer or when his Ki had risen.

  The Watcher had spent a long time observing Snarky before concluding that he was just that, a drunk. And Broker’s snitch.

  He had seen the gangbangers enter the bar. There weren’t two. There were three.

  The last one was a couple of steps behind, and just as he was entering the bar, he had been grasped by the collar and sucked back, a giant vacuum pulling him. The Watcher rammed his face on the wall, glanced indifferently at a passerby who was standing shocked, and dragged the now unconscious man away. He found a trash can and heaved the man inside it. He had seen Broker dispatching the other two heavies and, seeing no other gang members nearby, had made himself invisible.

  He lip-read Broker. Not the k
ind we’ve been staying in so far. The Watcher didn’t need to know where they would be staying.

  They could hide their trail better than anyone; they were the best.

  The Watcher was better.

  Chapter 29

  ‘All white guys, a father and son in one room, and single occupancy in the other rooms. This way, they hack the hotel, they won’t find a couple and a black guy.’ Tony handed Broker his room card and stifled a yawn. He had found them an upmarket hotel very close to Central Park, had checked in, using their names with a few other guys, and had stayed back to hand them their room cards so that they would have no interaction with the desk.

  The hotel had a fancy restaurant, and Bwana and Roger were attacking it the next day when the others joined them. Breakfast was a serious business to be attended in silence, and it was much later when Bwana, with a wooden face, asked Broker, ‘Heard you nearly got your ass whupped?’

  Broker growled, ‘You heard wrong. My well-shaped ass could handle two like those in its sleep. They could’ve sent three and wouldn’t have made any difference.’

  Bear wiped his mouth with a napkin and stretched in his chair, which creaked in protest. ‘What do we hit today, and who do we shoot?’

  ‘We visit an old friend tonight, and tomorrow we go back to Elaine Rocka.’

  Chloe grinned. ‘We shooting her?’

  Broker rolled his eyes. ‘Nope. It’s time we asked her to go to the police. The NYPD will turn a blind eye to our doings, but we still have to report the missing man. They also have more feet on the ground and more resources and will be able to help.’

  ‘And who’s this old friend we’re meeting?’ Roger asked curiously.

  ‘Connor Balthazar.’

  Connor Balthazar was a journalist, but he was no ordinary journalist who reported on snowstorms and ‘dog bit man’ stories. Connor headed the International and Special Features desk at the New York Times, where he oversaw the largest stories in the national and international editions.

  It was Connor’s wife and son, Lauren and Rory, that Broker and Zeb had rescued from Carsten Holt. Connor knew what Zeb had meant to them and also knew some debts just were and could never be repaid.

  Connor passed a bottle of Shiraz to Broker, who studied it, nodded and handed it back to Connor. Connor, his dark curly hair thinning but still thick enough to frame an intelligent face and piercing eyes, went to the sideboard and took his time pouring the wine in their decanters.

  They had been greeted with heartfelt warmth when they arrived, Rory rushing into Bear’s arms when his frame filled the door. Despite their protestations, Lauren had taken charge and had insisted on their staying for dinner.

  ‘You’re all growing boys, I know.’ She had laughed in Bwana, Roger and Bear’s direction.

  Connor knew this was no social call and had waited for his wife and son to go to bed. ‘Looks like you’re all loaded for bear.’ He chuckled mildly.

  ‘Nature of our job.’ Broker smiled briefly and handed over a slim folder to Connor, who skimmed through it quickly. ‘I know most of this… common knowledge. Proof, of course, is a different matter, and hence the NYPD hasn’t been able to do much.’

  The folder was a summary of the gang’s activities and structure in the city.

  ‘You cover them still?’ Chloe asked him.

  ‘Not me personally. I’m more of a desk jockey now, but we’ve got reporters who cover them. You need some info on them?’

  Desk jockey or not, Broker knew the reporter in Connor was very much alive and loved the scent of a big story. ‘You know this place they operate from downtown. It might be worth getting your reporters to keep a close eye on it for the next few days.’

  Connor waited for more and got none.

  ‘Something’s going down?’ he asked carefully. He knew who they worked for and the sensitivity involved.

  Broker nodded emphatically. ‘Something will go down and, in fact, has been going down for a few days. Might be a juicy story for those newshounds of yours.’

  He laughed at Connor’s expression and, leaning across, filled Connor’s glass.

  ‘It started off like this…’

  They were still there a couple of hours later after Broker had told him everything. Well, not everything.

  ‘This can’t be printed, I presume,’ Connor asked him, his eyes gleaming with interest. When Broker nodded, he continued, ‘And what exactly is going to happen in the next few days?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise, then,’ Bear interjected gruffly, and Connor let it rest.

  ‘What I would appreciate is anything you have on the Brooklyn chapter. Heck, anything you guys have on the gang will be useful.’

  Connor laughed, and when he saw their puzzled expressions, he said, ‘Broker asking instead of hacking! Got to be a first.’

  The heartbeat of the city had slowed by the time they left his apartment, and dim streetlights reinforced the dark. Roger and Bear glanced once around, and then Bear slipped in the driver’s seat. He waited a while before turning the key, looking at smudges of shadow in his side mirrors. When the shadows didn’t move, he fired up and drew away. Whoever he is, he’s very good, was unsaid and obvious to them all.

  Just after dark the next night, the lights in the garage in Harlem flickered out. In the movies, they flickered once or twice before dying, but real life worked a bit different to the way Hollywood viewed it.

  The streetlights in front went out too, and four shadows slipped over the walls of the garage. Five gangbangers who stood watch at night became instantaneously alert and pulled out their cell phones, to find there wasn’t a signal. Before they could raise any other alarm, they were overpowered, cuffed and gagged.

  Later, they would swear that the shadows were darkly clothed and masked and didn’t utter a single word. It was as if they communicated telepathically.

  They weren’t blindfolded, and they saw one of the shadows scale the camera mountings and spray-paint it. Another hung what looked like banners all over the garage. The men looked at one another, their anger in being overcome so easily giving way to puzzlement. No one hung banners in a gang hideout. It was too dark to see what the banners said.

  Another shadow made its way to the garage office, paused at the locked door, and returned. Two shadows took some kind of a can and climbed to the roof of the garage and disappeared. Two others spent a long time moving slowly, bent over the paved surface of the parking lot of the garage.

  The shadows from the roof joined the ones on the ground, and they all disappeared as noiselessly as they had come. The streetlights were restored in minutes, but the garage remained dark all night while the night around it lived and breathed.

  Phones rang in the early morning, the air turned blue with swearing, and the garage turned into an attraction for a few hours as TV and newspaper reporters crowded around the police tape and camera lenses chased anyone wearing NYPD colors. Not satisfied with the standard, ‘No comment,’ they ran down any passerby who approached the garage for sound bites.

  A blonde journalist was breathlessly reporting, ‘No one knows who put up these banners and posters over night. The NYPD has said they are actively pursuing all leads but are refusing to divulge more. Some of the cops have struggled to keep a straight face as we interview them. The garage owners have not responded to our calls and comments. The question remains on everyone’s lips. Are these banners true? Or are they an elaborate joke? If you have any information, call us on…’ She patted her hair down in the breeze as the camera cut in to show close-ups of the posters.

  There was a giant poster on the main gate of the garage:

  Your Friendly Neighborhood Gang has opened for business.

  Come to us for drugs, kidnapping, murder, extortion, carjacking

  and any other criminal activity.

  Another poster read:

  Money Back Guarantee.

  If we fail to deliver to your satisfaction, we WILL refund your money. Call Dieter Hamm, NOW!


  Yet another went:

  Don’t steal, murder, blackmail, or kidnap to feed your drug habit. We will do that for you.

  There were many such posters all over the garage, all of them signing off with Dieter Hamm’s name and phone number. There was even one that had a rate card, and this was the one Broker was chuckling over when the others joined him in his room.

  They could see the southern line of Central Park from the window, office workers rushing across with no thought in mind except the day ahead, a few cyclists enjoying the sunshine, parents and babysitters letting their children play, and the usual traffic snarl. Another day in New York City.

  Except it wasn’t for 5Clubs.

  They had returned late at night and had already made arrangements to check into another hotel, this time under different genders and ages. Broker had looked into setting up safe houses a while back but had discarded the idea quickly. Hotels had their risk, but the benefits far outweighed them for their kind of business. Anonymity, multiple escape routes, vantage points, all these had convinced Broker that when needed, hotels and motels were where they should hole up.

  The others laughed at one of the posters, interrupting his thoughts.

  ‘They’ll be hunting us now with a vengeance. From now on, we travel in two vehicles and split up in two groups and stay in separate hotels. Bear, Chloe and I in one group, and Roger and Bwana, you guys in another.’

  He got a thumbs-up from all of them, and as they were leaving his room, his phone rang. Not many had that number.

  He frowned as he listened briefly. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘NYPD,’ he said to the others. ‘They want me at One Police Plaza.’

  Chapter 30

  ‘You know anything about this?’ Detective Lee Chang asked Broker, leaning casually against a filing cabinet. Chang’s creased suit, thinning hair and weary eyes spoke of a detective who had seen it all and worse. Broker had heard of him and knew he was a good cop. Chang didn’t jump to conclusions and allowed the evidence to lead him to wherever it took him.