The Warriors Series Boxset I

by Ty Patterson

  He looked at Zeb curiously. ‘I don’t get this mobster. Why does he kill Lester after all these years? What’s in it for him?’

  Zeb shrugged. ‘I think the clue’s in a line Lester wrote. The store wasn’t worth the agreed value four years back. Recession. Or maybe he couldn’t get the organs. A heart and a pair of lungs, at the same time, that match the criteria, aren’t very easy to procure even illegally.’

  He held his phone up. ‘I’d messaged Alisha with a query yesterday. A lawyer contacted her on the second day of Lester’s death and made an offer for the store. The figure he quoted was the same offered by the Russian. Any guesses who the lawyer was representing?’

  ‘If she hadn’t sold?’

  ‘They would’ve started with threats. You know how gangs work.’

  He gestured at the diary. ‘Can we take the journal?’

  A grin split the Bwana’s granite face. ‘On one condition. I come along with it.’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ Zeb looked doubtfully at Bwana the next day as he drove them back to the airport.

  ‘Never surer, bro. My life’s done here. We’ve got a family lawyer who’ll tie up the loose ends. Dad always wanted me to get back to you and now it’s time.’

  He looked at Broker in the mirror. ‘Maybe if I’d been there....’

  Broker cracked. ‘The best days of my life were in that hospital. Free from Zeb and his nagging ways. If you’d been there, I’d have missed that pleasant holiday.’

  ‘Well, you’re resuming that holiday. You’re going right back to the hospital,’ Zeb told him.

  Broker’s chin jutted. ‘Like hell I am. I’ve had enough of that place. My lungs are working just fine, the head’s all right, arm is as good as new and shoulder’s just fine.’

  ‘This isn’t a debate,’ Zeb told him impatiently. ‘You’re in no condition to be out. Until your doc gives the all-clear, you’re moving back to your room.’

  Zeb’s eyes flared. ‘Look kid –’

  ‘Whoa.’ Bwana shouted as he parked the vehicle. ‘You guys need to chill. My dad passed away just two days back and instead of respecting that, you guys’re tearing off each other’s heads.’

  He chuckled at the sudden silence. ‘I missed this. It’s good to be back, Zeb.’ He ducked the punch Broker threw at him and laughed. ‘Let’s do this my way. Zeb, let this lug come back. I’ll make sure he doesn’t move an inch out of the office. I’m sure we can get an agency doc to check his insides.’

  That’ll work. ‘Any trouble from him, just toss him out of the window.’

  ‘Now that we’re a happy bunch again,’ Meghan drawled, ‘how do we find this Russian?’

  The Russian found them.

  Bossman had been in a raging fury ever since he’d discovered that the assassin had fled. He screamed at the ever present five thugs around him. He hurled about the furniture in his office and snarled at the phone when he got the cutout on the other end.

  ‘I’ll put a contract on him. I’ll cut him to pieces and serve him in my bar.’

  He threw the phone against the wall when the cutout hung up and roared in anger. He calmed down for a notch and raised a stubby finger at one of the men. ‘Find out where Carter is. Find out how much he knows. Don’t show your face unless you have something.’

  The goon showed his face after six hours. Bossman and he had faced down gangs in Moscow and he’d killed his first man when he was sixteen. Bossman in a rage wasn’t someone he wanted to cross.

  ‘They’ve gone to Tennessee.’ Bossman looked up at him and on cue, so did the other four.

  ‘Who told you? Who or what the fuck’s in Tennessee?’ Bossman wasn’t screaming yet.

  ‘Twyzcek.’ Twyzcek was a low level cop in the NYPD on their payroll. ‘He didn’t know, but he did some favors to others. All he could find was Carter and his team went to some small town in that state.’

  Bossman’s fingers whitened and the man hurried on. ‘Someone died.’ The words rushed to spill out as he told what little the crooked cop had told him.

  Bossman sat motionless for a second and then hurled a paperweight at the man. ‘Why didn’t you find this man earlier? Benjamin could’ve told him everything.’

  The heavy weight hit the man on the forehead and a river of blood flowed down his face. He made no attempt to wipe himself as the screaming abuse flowed at him. Another missile followed, a phone. It hit him in the shoulder. Papers came flying and fell limply before they reached him.

  That incensed Bossman even more who jerked open a drawer and four shots rang out.

  He waved his gun at the other four who stared straight ahead. ‘Find Carter and his team. Keep watch on the airport. Pick them up and bring them here.’

  Zeb’s team landed in New York to find Pizaka and Chang waiting for them in the airport’s lounge. Zeb’s call before taking off had alerted them.

  Pizaka riffled through the journal while Zeb briefed Chang quietly.

  ‘There’s nothing here, just references. He hasn’t identified the Russian.’ Pizaka put down the journal and tucked back a loose hair.

  ‘How many Russian mobsters in the city?’

  Chang looked in the distance as he considered Zeb’s question. ‘Several, but the three big ones are Kryukov, Pokrovosky and Borodin.

  He unfolded a napkin, drew a rough map of the city and through it, drew three star-like lines that divided the city equally. ‘Kryukov rules Manhattan and upper Brooklyn, Pokrovosky runs Bronx and parts of Queens and Borodin has his empire in the rest of Queens and Brooklyn.’

  ‘All of them are into drugs, prostitution, extortion, anything that’s illegal.’ He blinked sleepily at a question from Beth. ‘It doesn’t work like that. Crime gangs don’t live in perpetual harmony. These guys are up against Italian gangs, Hispanic ones, East European ones. There’s a constant state of flux.’

  Zak turned around the map and jabbed his finger. ‘Last year we cultivated an informant who gave us good juice for a few months. He went silent and we later found his body parts all across the city. In Brooklyn and Queens. Borodin’s territory.’

  Chang laughed. ‘Zak and I went after these guys hard, but we got nothing other than gray hair.’ He frowned at Pizaka’s sleek and shiny head of hair. ‘Well, I did for sure.’

  The hustle of the airport and the rattle of china in the café filled the silence till Bwana broke it. ‘So you guys don’t have a clue?’

  Chang’s eyes sobered. ‘Borodin. My money would be on him. We’ve heard some chatter that he’s into organ trafficking, but we’ve found no evidence. Borodin is always pushing the envelope. The other two keep a low profile, stick to their territories and are way less brutal and run their gangs like businessmen.’

  ‘Borodin goes by Bossman on the street.’

  Meghan laughed. ‘Bossman? Sounds like a B-movie name.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s A-grade bad.’

  They sat for another hour in the café once the cops had left with a promise to look into Borodin. A second hour came and Zeb ordered more drinks.

  Meghan’s cup clattered as she lasered Zeb. ‘We plan to spend the night here?’ She lurched forward as Bwana’s hand the size of a mitten, patted her on her back.

  ‘We want to be sure those guys are for us.’

  The sisters had been long enough with Zeb not to turn around.

  Beth’s eyes widened. ‘Someone’s onto us?’

  Zeb replied laconically. ‘Four of them. One at the exit, one in a bunch of other folks, two others at car rental counters. There might be more.’

  ‘How did they find us?’ She whispered furiously.

  ‘Million dollar question, babe.’ Meghan chuckled. ‘But I think the Wise One knows.’

  Zeb was punching a text on his phone and minutes later it buzzed in acknowledgement.

  ‘They probably bugged Alisha’s apartment and phone and knew that we were following up on the journal. Someone at the NYPD must have let on that we were in Tennessee and here we are and t
here they are.’

  Beth digested it and moved forward in sudden urgency. ‘Alisha!’

  ‘She’s fine. Chang has a good man on her tail.’

  Broker grumbled. ‘Now, if he only knew the lottery numbers.’ He stood up and stretched and covered a smile when two of the watchers stiffened.

  ‘They’re for us.’ He led the way to the parking lot. ‘They won’t follow us here. Too obvious. A couple of them will cover the elevators in case we fake them, and the others will get their wheels ready.

  Zeb swung to the driver’s side, changed his mind and tossed the keys in a silvery arc at Bwana who grinned silently.

  ‘Lead them around the city. Show them the city.’

  The grin became broader. ‘Roger, Bossman!’

  He led them out to Brooklyn and then to Queens, and across the river to Manhattan and swung back to Brooklyn.

  Meghan turned back to look through the dark windows. ‘You’re not shaking them. They’re still three cars behind.’

  ‘Not trying to. Zeb’s got something cooking.’

  Zeb reached out silently for his backpack and when Beth handed it, he withdrew body armor, donned it and covered it up with a light jacket. He strapped his shoulder holster and left the jacket open for an easy draw.

  Not ideal, but the best in the circumstances.

  He slipped a slim device into his pocket and asked Bwana. ‘Know of any lights with long waits?’

  Bwana thought and shook his head. ‘Most of them are less than a minute. But the bridges usually have a buildup.’

  ‘Head for a bridge.’

  Bwana swung around in a wide circle and headed to the Queensboro Bridge that linked Queens to Manhattan and joined the thickening line at its mouth. Traffic slowed and crawled and moved slower when Bwana nudged into the slow lane at Zeb’s gesture.

  Zeb angled the mirror and searched for the followers. They were three cars behind.

  Too far to see how they’re seated.

  He waited for a slow moving truck to come alongside and when it was parallel, he slipped out smoothly.

  He glided between the moving traffic, ignored the curious looks and the odd ‘Whatcha doing, man?’

  Two cars away, he saw the followers, two men in the front, two in the back, their eyes swiveling. One of them spotted him and his mouth opened in a wordless shout.

  One car away, all four focused on them.

  One of them fumbled beneath his line of sight and his hands dropped away when the driver spotted Zeb’s bare hands and snapped out something.

  Zeb reached their car’s hood, held their stares and one hand smoothly slid inside his jacket and withdrew his Glock.

  The men yelled from inside and automatic rifles swung up and windows rolled down. Before their guns leveled, two reports sounded like one, as he blew out their front tires, bent down and flattened a rear.

  Barrels poked out and people screamed, but Zeb had disappeared.

  He ducked behind a limo, used it as cover, and sprinted to catch up with Bwana.

  He leapt on the running board and they were off. He glanced behind as the watchers grew smaller in the distance, surrounded by the growing sound of angry horns.

  They’d better escape, or else the heat will be onto them.

  ‘Fools.’

  Bossman raged the next day when his men turned up. His spittle flew and bathed the four men, but they didn’t flinch. He slapped the nearest one, his head rocked but he didn’t stumble. ‘One man. Four of you and he left you there floundering like fish.’

  He raised his hands heavenward, dramatically. ‘One man like that with me and I’d conquer the world. Men like you and I’ll always be Borodin, yet another Russian gangster.’ He slapped the second man. ‘Why didn’t you shoot him and throw him in the river.’

  ‘Boss—’

  Bossman slapped him harder and the man fell. He screamed. ‘No excuses.’

  The other two men steeled themselves as they looked ahead expressionlessly. Bossman was working himself up to a frothing rage. Someone usually died at the end of it. Painfully and slowly. Not talking meant not drawing attention.

  Not drawing attention might just mean life.

  Bossman hauled the thug up and rained blows on him. Grunts and roars filled the air.

  Another sound came through. Bossman didn’t pay it attention till it persisted.

  He frowned and swung his head slowly, trying to identify the sound.

  His phone.

  He lumbered toward it and glared at it. It didn’t fall silent.

  He picked it up and his thick eyebrows came together. ‘You? How did you get this number? What do you want?’

  He roared. ‘You call me and ask me, Borodin, to shut up and listen?’

  He winced and held the phone away as a shot sounded through the phone.

  He kept quiet when the voice on the other end continued and his amazement showed on his face. ‘You want to meet? Why?’

  Something crossed his face. ‘Today. Alone in the evening. Just you. Come to my bar. I’m sure you know where it is.’

  He tossed the phone on his desk lost in thought till the stirring of the men roused him. He looked at them, surprised. ‘What the fuck are you doing here? Clean up the everything in the bar. We’ll have a visitor in the evening.’

  Zeb had flicked a magnetic GPS tracker - no bigger than a quarter and thinner than three of them stacked on top of one another – when he’d bent to shoot the rear tire. He was confident the shooters wouldn’t fire at him. Caught in the thick traffic, there was no way they could’ve escaped, if they had.

  They had tracked the vehicle via GPS to a garage which was owned by a shell company. The vehicle itself was owned by a leasing company that hired out vehicles to various small businesses. Among them were several laundry companies that were owned by Russians. Broker and the sisters traced the ownerships of the various companies and matched them against the mobster files Chang provided.

  The trail led to Borodin, or Bossman as he preferred to be called.

  Chang came up with the next break.

  He checked out prisoners in the state – all those who were doing time for trafficking in organs – and came up with a handful of Russians. He honed on one Art Zhirov who was serving a three-year sentence in Sing Sing. Zhirov was a low level thug and had confessed to his crime. He however hadn’t revealed the rest of those involved.

  The detective surmised that he’d taken the fall for his gang in return for favors. Chang made a few calls and found out that Zhirov’s wife was dying. A few more calls later and using Rolando’s influence, a deal was presented to Zhirov. Details of his gang in return for a lesser sentence.

  They all stared aghast when, after Borodin had been located, Zeb told them he was going in and watched in silence as he made the call.

  When he’d hung up, Pizaka said firmly. ‘We can’t allow this. Borodin is not your usual gang leader. He’s a ruthless killer who’ll finish you. You’re giving him opportunity. You’ve already given him motive.’

  Chang agreed. ‘Don’t go by this hot-headed image of his, Zeb. We’ve hauled him in for questioning several times. The man’s hot headed and as psychopathic as Pelling, but he’s also cold as ice and smart. Very smart. We’ve been trying to get him for years.’ He shrugged. ‘Look where it’s got us.’

  ‘He won’t kill me if he knows he’s being watched.’ Zeb swiftly outlined his plan to them.

  ‘It’s iffy, bro,’ Bwana’s brow wrinkled with worry.

  ‘Yeah, but we’ve got to try this approach. Zak and Jerry haven’t had any success in taking this guy down.’

  ‘We don’t even have time to mount a proper surveillance on his bar.’

  ‘We have enough time to check out the exits, besides he too has hardly any time to plan anything.’

  Pizaka swore softly.

  ‘What are you after?’

  ‘A confession.’

  Chapter 24

  ‘You’re insane.’ Bwana smiled to take th
e sting off his words when he drove Zeb to Borodin’s bar.

  ‘So long as you do your job, and Broker’s gadget does its, I’ll be fine.’ Zeb had told them.

  ‘Broker’s toys have always done their job,’ replied Bwana as he neared the bar.

  Bouncers stood in front of its entrance and controlled the surging crowd. ‘Quite a popular place.’

  ‘Yeah. Broker says it’s a pretty decent bar. Good visiting bands, good food. Criminals never seem to work out that they can make good money by going legit.’

  ‘Slow down, hoss! We’d be out of a job if they did that.’ Bwana chuckled.

  He swung inside the small paved area that doubled as a drive and a huge bouncer approached them to head them off.

  ‘Carter to see Bossman.’

  The magic words parted the crowd as the bouncer led Zeb inside, past a well-appointed bar, through a discreet pair of doors, and up a flight of stairs. He knocked at a door, an eye appeared at a peephole and the door opened.

  A short hallway stretched ahead of them that led to another door which was guarded by a pair of hard men. They eyed Zeb as he approached them and silently gestured at him.

  Assume the position.

  He spread his legs and braced his hands against the wall.

  They searched him thoroughly and one of them grunted as he found Zeb’s Glock, knife, back up gun, magazines, a backup blade and his lock pick set.

  Another man crossed his hands.

  ‘Undress.’

  Zeb looked at him blankly and the command was repeated harshly as the hands fell down and the man stepped forward.

  Zeb undressed silently. The first man shoved him against the wall again and probed his lower orifices. A set of clothes were thrown at him silently.

  ‘Wear.’

  Making visitors wear different clothes - that’s a master class in security. Even the Secret Service doesn’t go to that extent. No wonder the cops have failed to get dirt on Borodin.

  Zeb silently donned the clothes and stood patiently while they ran a scanner on him. They examined his mouth, ears and nose, and when they had finished, shoved him inside the room and shut the door behind him.