The Warriors Series Boxset I

by Ty Patterson

  They’ll get there.

  ‘Which means observing them, planning, all that shit.’ Beth said slowly.

  Excitement laced Meghan’s voice. ‘Someone could have spotted him!’

  ‘Exactemente.’ Broker flung his hands in a grand gesture. He had his affectations. ‘So what should our next step be, Mesdames?’

  They turned to the screen as Meghan scrolled through the profiles swiftly.

  ‘One of the victims, Bob Curtis, worked as a laborer and forklift operator in Brooklyn. They might have security cameras.’

  Beth glanced at Zeb and Broker. ‘We should go back to Lester’s convenience store and ask again. A lot of their business is from regulars so strangers might stand out.’

  Zeb returned her glance. ‘We?’

  Her chin came out stubbornly. ‘Yeah, we. Meg and I will cover the store, you guys make yourself useful and check out Curtis’ workplace.’

  Zeb saw the plea in their eyes. ‘Sure.’

  Meghan bowed elaborately again while Beth fist-pumped.

  Broker watched Meghan. ‘Bowing to elders is good. Broker likes.’

  He got a finger in return.

  ‘There’s something else.’ Zeb said.

  They stopped their celebration, looked at him then at Broker - who winked at them - and turned back to the profiles.

  Meghan’s fingers worked the keyboard furiously as she scrolled through the profiles, zoomed in and out on the photographs.

  ‘Got it,’ Beth yelled triumphantly.

  ‘All of them are loners. Single, with no wives, girlfriends or boyfriends. None that we know of.’

  The sun shone through their smiles when Broker gave them a thumbs up.

  ‘Yeah, so how did the killer choose them?’

  Beth looked at her sister. ‘He couldn’t have randomly identified them on the street, followed them and checked out that they lived alone. Not if he was planning to kill seven in four months.’

  Her sister looked at her laptop and a smile spread across her face. ‘Our guy must have crawled the internet searching for such people.’

  Zeb flowed out of his seat, signaling it was time to move. ‘Don’t discount the hard way. He could’ve planned this months or even years in advance. In that case he could have picked strangers off the street, followed them and built their profile.’

  ‘Wise One, you’re truly a genius. We’re blessed to be in your orbit.’ Meghan said worshipfully.

  They had given Zeb that title in the previous mission, once they’d gotten used to his silences. He was stuck with it for life.

  Emilio reddened under the intense gaze of two pairs of green eyes. ‘Yeah, most of our business is repeat customers, but I can’t say I remember any specific stranger.’

  The twins were in the convenience store the next day and found Emilio behind the counter. His resistance to talking about Lester and the store vanished when the sisters turned on the charm.

  ‘You are investigating his death?’

  ‘Investigating is overstating it. We work with Zeb, who visited you a while back. We are just looking into all possibilities.’ Beth drawled.

  ‘He was a friend of a friend and in Zeb’s world that’s big stuff.’ Meghan added.

  Joe emerged from the inner door, wiped his hands on a towel looped through his belt and joined Emilio.

  ‘Lester would’ve been the one to know if any stranger was lurking around. He was in the store the longest. The two of us helped on the days we didn’t have college or work stuff and on weekends.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ He shook his head when Meghan directed the same question to him. ‘This isn’t the busiest store in the city, but it’s busy enough for us.’

  Emilio and he broke off to attend to a customer, Emilio nodding at Meghan, in reply to her, ‘is it okay to look around?’ glance.

  No cameras, Beth mouthed at Meghan as they walked inside the door, through the inner entrance to the small storage.

  When they returned, a dark-haired, ebony-skinned woman, in a Columbia Business School hoodie, was talking to the men. Her eyes narrowed when Joe introduced them.

  ‘Your friend Zeb accosted me some days back. He as good as accused me of murdering Lester to get this.’ She waved her hand. ‘I had nothing to say to him. The same goes for the two of you. I’m sure Joe and Em are busy with the store and won’t have time for your questions. We’ve told everything that we know to the cops.’

  She turned her back on the sisters dismissively and walked out of the store to take a call.

  If Zeb had accosted you, you wouldn’t be walking. Beth stared at her back, took a deep breath when Meghan squeezed her arm.

  The boys shrugged in embarrassment. ‘She’s the boss,’ Joe murmured.

  Beth nodded. She noticed Meghan’s look and followed it.

  Alisha was hunched over her phone as if protecting herself from blows. She shouted something that they didn’t catch and hung up. She stood for long moments staring at the ground till a passing vehicle broke her reverie. She donned a pair of sunglasses, yelled in the boys’ direction, waved at them and walked away.

  ‘Boyfriend problems, she was semi-serious with a guy who suddenly proposed to her last week and is now urging her to sell the properties.’ Emilio explained.

  ‘She came to us to ask our opinion. This proposal was from left field; she’s not sure whether he always intended to propose or is motivated by her inheritance.’

  Joe chimed in. ‘She’s a millionaire now.’

  ‘You know who her boyfriend is?’

  ‘Some guy in her class. She didn’t give details.’

  Beth looked at Meghan. They had inherited their family home in Jackson when their father died. Property prices being what they were in Jackson, they’d become instantly wealthy at a young age. Their father’s service benefits added to their net worth. The sisters knew what Alisha was going through; they had come across their share of gold-digging boyfriends.

  The twins left half an hour later and walked into the neighboring store, a pawn shop, that had a security camera that faced the street.

  The owner shook his head at Beth’s query. ‘No, ma’am. The cops asked me the same thing. That camera’s been dead a long time. I keep it as a deterrent. This is a quiet neighborhood and nothing’s ever happened here.’

  The killer’s email chimed.

  He opened it and looked at the attached images for a long time.

  These could be interesting.

  The warehouse where Bob Curtis worked was an ugly square building on 42nd Street, with three large shuttered entrances, all open and showing a hive of activity inside. Men in forklifts shifted pallets, while others carried trash cans.

  Zeb paused across the street and observed the men working. The street had various businesses, most of them warehouses. The company Curtis worked in had a contract with the city to collect curbside waste, sort the material into various categories, and ship them out. They sold the waste to various manufacturers as raw material.

  The warehouse had four cameras facing the street and another four on the three other sides of the square. There was enough coverage there to see what’s happening in their yard and beyond. Assuming the cameras are active and they record.

  Zeb waited till the morning shift neared its end and once the shift workers spilled out in the street, he drifted to the warehouse. A burly man in a forklift thumbed ‘inside’ when he asked for the manager. Another man spat on the yard and jerked his head at a short, balding man when Zeb asked him.

  Hector Gomez his nameplate read. Hector regarded Zeb blankly through his thick glasses as Zeb produced a badge that identified him as an investigator – Broker had lots of those - and a light glimmered in his eyes.

  ‘Curtis, yeah I remember. Guy was killed, right? Worked in our afternoon shift. Good guy. Worked hard, kept to himself. No complaints.’

  He droned on about Curtis’s qualities as Zeb looked around and a thought struck him.

  ‘You get a lot of walk-ins?
People who just turn up seeking a job?’

  ‘Yeah, most of them are laborers and we use them for manual work such as sorting, packing. Those like Bob, the forklift operators, we interview.’

  He broke off and stared at a pair of huge men who lumbered past giving them hostile glances. Zeb felt their vibe, glanced curiously at the men, at Gomez, who ignored his questioning look. Gomez kept watching them till they disappeared through the exit. He cleared his throat and turned back to Zeb.

  ‘We have a hundred workers here at any point in time; about thirty of those are walk-ins. The walk-in guys generally don’t stay long. They work for a few days or weeks and then drift.’

  His eyes sharpened. ‘You think one of those guys was the killer?’

  Zeb didn’t think so, but he shrugged. ‘I go where the trail leads me.’

  ‘Who did you say you were with? The cops came round when Curtis was killed, questioned us for hours, and found nothing.’

  ‘I’m working directly for the Commissioner. You can call his office and verify my credentials.’ He gave Gomez the number. Gomez started writing it down and then stopped.

  Human nature, most people didn’t bother verifying when given the opportunity.

  He motioned for Zeb to follow him and trotted to his office, a cabin that had glass windows through which he could watch the activity in the yard. He tapped a couple of keys and a printer whirred.

  ‘Those are the temp workers who joined a month before Curtis’ death and who left a month after. I can send this electronically if you have an email. What else you need?’

  Zeb stared at him.

  Gomez read his thoughts and grinned. ‘Mr. Carter, I am short, fat, and balding. I am not stupid. I have some idea of how investigations work.’

  Zeb looked at him with respect. People can still surprise me. I pegged him wrong.

  He decided to take a leap of faith. ‘Sir, it’s possible the killer observed Curtis for a while before killing him. These will help.’ He pointed in the direction of the printouts. ‘How long do you keep your security camera footage for?’

  Gomez smiled and went to his computer. ‘You’re in luck Mr. Carter. I keep the footage for three months. Some of the trash can be valuable and pilferage is not unheard of, hence that long.’

  He punched keys, inserted a blank DVD in its slot and beamed at Zeb when the machine spat it out a few a minutes later.

  ‘Three months of footage before Curtis’s death, and one month after, from all the cameras.’

  ‘I wish everyone was as cooperative as you.’ Zeb meant it. ‘Did you give these to the cops?’

  ‘Nada. They didn’t ask. I didn’t offer.’

  Zeb’s steps slowed as he headed out. Not my problem.

  He stopped, turned around. I’m going soft.

  ‘Mr. Gomez.’

  Gomez looked up from his sheaf of papers.

  ‘Those two guys, what’s the story?’

  Hector Gomez looked at Zeb for a long while.

  ‘They were threatening me.’

  He thrust a cup toward Zeb. Coffee, hot, black and steaming swirled in it and filled the room with its presence. Heaven for a few moments.

  They were back in his cabin. Gomez leaned back in a chair that squeaked in protest, crossed his arms behind his head and regarded Zeb over the tendrils that bent around his face.

  ‘This is a family firm. My grandfather started by picking up trash on the streets of the city and slowly built up a business. My father then took it over and contracted with the city directly. Recycling became a big business a few decades back and the city contracted to large firms and we ended being a sub-contractor. We not only pick up and sort the trash on their behalf, occasionally we provide them with manpower. Integrity and Professionalism, those words mean a lot to us.’

  His words sounded like those on corporate brochures, but his voice was earnest. Zeb listened and he thought he knew where this was heading, but let Gomez tell his story.

  ‘Manpower is our biggest need and our biggest cost. We have processes in place to screen people, even the walk-ins, but on a couple of occasions we inadvertently took on illegal immigrants. I let them go immediately as soon as I discovered their status.’

  He removed his glasses and polished them. ‘Last year, I was approached by a man who said he could provide me with labor cheaper than what I was paying. I turned him down. Four months later, he popped up again and made the same offer. He got the same response from me. Cheap isn’t what interests me. Good does.’

  ‘He kept coming back every three or four months and during the last visit, he became less subtle. He threatened me. He said if I was a good businessman, I would take his deal.’

  ‘I showed him the door. I got a couple of calls and I finally told him I would report him to the cops if he didn’t stop harassing me.’

  ‘Those two guys ... they were from him, to convince me to take on illegal people, and not to go to the cops. They threatened me and my family.’

  Gomez looked at a photograph on his desk for a few seconds and when he turned to Zeb, his eyes were wet. ‘Mr. Carter, I don’t have a family. I lost my wife and my son several years back in an automobile accident. These guys can threaten me all they want, they can do what they want, and it won’t make a difference to me. This firm is my life, my family.’

  He took a deep breath and smiled thinly. ‘Those two guys were angry that a fat, short, balding man was bucking them.’

  Zeb watched him as he straightened the photograph and polished his glasses again. Gomez’s eyes had a knowing look when he gazed at Zeb.

  ‘I think you have some knowledge of losing everyone. You cloak it well, but I can tell.’

  Zeb ignored his expectant gaze. ‘Was Curtis involved in any way in these threats?’

  Gomez frowned. ‘He was there when the men came a few months back. I wanted a witness and he was nearest.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You don’t think?’

  Zeb stood. ‘I don’t think, but we will check it out.’ He held the DVD up. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr. Gomez. A word of advice, you should report those threats to the cops.’

  He walked round the site, looked at the cameras, their angles, before he left the warehouse.

  Once on the street he gave a last glance at Gomez.

  Courage comes in many shapes.

  Gomez’s words came back to him when he was in the subway as the metal tube carried thousands of private islands to their stop.

  When you’ve lost everything, you still have yourself.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Nothing. Those boys don’t remember anyone hanging around the store.’ Beth threw herself on the couch in Broker’s office, making it teeter perilously before it settled back.

  Broker had given them a free hand to re-furnish and it now sported couches, exotic-looking chairs, a catcher’s mitt and a baseball bat. A corner of the office, overlooking Columbus Avenue, had a small strip of lawn which was actually a miniature golf putting hole.

  Broker loved the changes. He frequently putted – he called it thinking time – and his wardrobe now sported golf wear.

  He swung gently and the golf ball rolled smoothly and plopped into the hole. He retrieved the ball, put the putter away and looked at the twins and Zeb.

  The sisters were tossing a ball at each other. Zeb? Zeb was being Zeb.

  He was sitting motionless watching the world go by.

  Broker grinned. Zeb was his best friend. There was no one on the planet that Broker was closer to. But heck, the man needed to lighten up. Maybe the twins would work their magic on him.

  Yeah. And pigs will fly.

  Meg snorted. ‘I doubt if those guys would’ve noticed if the killer wore a board around his neck, held a knife, and stood in front of the store.’

  Beth chuckled and at that Zeb spoke. ‘Curtis’s manager gave a list of temporary workers. We should run those down, see which fit the timeline and dig into those.’ He tossed the printouts at Meg and the DVD to Beth.<
br />
  ‘The DVD has his security camera footage.’

  Meghan rolled her chair to a computer. ‘I’ll feed all these to Werner. Oh, yeah, Alisha Jones is having boyfriend problems.’ She explained when Zeb looked askance at her.

  ‘Run him through Werner too.’

  The victim was a financial advisor who worked out of a cubbyhole office on 53rd Street, Sunset Park in Brooklyn, with dreams of hitting a golden run on the markets. His dreams had spelled the end of two marriages and resulted in a string of short affairs.

  He hit his office at seven in the morning every day and left it at eight in the evening. He bought a Philly cheesesteak sandwich from a diner on the way home, and spent his evening watching a ballgame with a beer to wash down the sandwich. After dinner he went for a short walk, returned home by nine, hit the bed by nine thirty in the hope that the next day would be the day. It was his routine. He never deviated from it.

  His walk took him down the length of his block, along rows of cars parked on the street, under dim streetlamps that gave the neighborhood the feel of an old Hollywood movie.

  He burped gently and patted his belly. Once he hit the big time he would hire a personal trainer. Until then, the thoughts of making it big would have to burn his calories.

  He stopped and swung round.

  A sound.

  The street was empty behind him. He peered hard in the light, saw nothing and shrugged.

  He turned back, turned his attention to his favorite oil stock and brought its chart up in his mind. He knew the buy signal and was waiting for it to form in his mind when the bat struck him from behind.

  He staggered, turned with the blow, his head bobbed drunkenly on his shoulders. He still retained enough muscle memory to duck instinctively when he saw something flash in the lamp.

  The killer felt the thing surge through him, down his arms, come alive at the edge of the bat as it made contact with the man’s head again.

  The man fell to his knees.

  Thwack.

  The man fell forward.

  Thwack.

  The killer stood breathing heavily as he watched the man die. It had been surprisingly quick. Or maybe he was wielding the bat better.