Stalking Horse (A Tanner Novel Book 40)

by Remington Kane

  “How many times was he hit?” Pullo asked.

  “Just once, but he’s in bad shape. I’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

  Pullo grabbed the man’s lower legs. “Let’s put him in the limo. Your car’s not going anywhere.”

  “I know a doctor we can take him to uptown.”

  “What about your car? Can it be traced to you personally?”

  “No. And we’ll report it stolen.”

  After loading the wounded man onto one of the limo’s rear seats, everyone climbed in with Pullo driving and Tyrese in the front passenger seat to give directions. As they drove, Pullo used a handkerchief to wipe blood off his face. Carrying a handkerchief around was a habit he’d acquired from old Sam Giacconi when he was a teen. The old man had been a sort of surrogate father to Pullo in those days.

  They were a block from the restaurant when the first police car sped past them with its lights and siren going.

  “It looks like the Primeros aren’t relying on the sicario they hired to kill you, Joe,” Tyrese said. “But once I get to L.A. I’ll give them something else to think about.”

  “Do that. We need to fight back instead of being targets. I’ll call Tanner and let him know what happened, and that there might be more kill teams around.”

  “I’m glad his scary ass is on our side. If not, we might already be dead.”

  “I’d be dead if you hadn’t killed that guy who jumped up on the limo’s roof. Thanks, Tyrese.”

  “We’re partners. Partners protect each other.”

  The illegal doctor had an office at the back of a muffler shop in Lenox Hill. After the doc examined the wounded gang member, he told Tyrese that his man would live but take time to recover fully. Tyrese thanked him and rejoined Pullo in the limo. This time they sat in the rear while one of Pullo’s men drove.

  “How’s your man?”

  “Alive and going to stay that way. Thanks for getting him here.”

  “If Laurel wasn’t out of the city, she could have treated him. We need to end this war; I want my wife and kid back home.”

  “It will end, but this shit might never be over. New York will always be a target for the other gangs and the cartels.”

  Pullo recognized the truth in Tyrese’s words. As long as the Giacconi Family had control of Manhattan they would have to fight to keep that control. Wars would keep breaking out, people would die, and his family would be at risk. Something had to change, or sooner or later, they would lose. They were too outnumbered for there to be any other outcome in the end, even with Tanner’s help.

  After dropping Tyrese and his remaining man off in Harlem, the limo wound its way south toward Pullo’s home. Pullo gazed out the tinted windows without seeing the passing scenery. His attention was inward and lost in dark thoughts. The Mafia was dying. In his lifetime, Pullo had seen their power and influence diminish dramatically outside New York. In some cities, they barely had a presence anymore.

  The newer gangs had massive numbers of members and were growing larger each year. The Primeros could disappear and there would be other gangs just as large and powerful to deal with, and that wasn’t even counting the cartels.

  Yes. Something had to change, but what that something was, Pullo had no idea. He returned to his empty home and settled into a chair to call Laurel and speak to his son, Johnny. He had never felt more alone or apprehensive about the future.

  9

  New Plan

  Stone Hayes had known that Tanner’s eyes were often described as being different and intense, but upon meeting the man he was shocked by how Tanner’s gaze seemed to bore into him.

  Accompanying Tanner was a teen named Henry. Stone hadn’t been expecting anyone else and it made him doubt himself. If he killed Tanner from behind as he planned, he would have still had to deal with Romeo afterwards. With Henry along, he’d be facing off against two armed men.

  He wanted to kill Tanner and gain the reputation that would bring, but he didn’t want to die doing it.

  Stone grinned stupidly at Tanner as he pretended to be a starstruck fanboy. Tanner returned the smile and offered his hand. Stone realized that he was slightly taller than the man and that, although Tanner was definitely in shape, he hardly gave off the vibe of being a great physical threat. Then again, there were those eyes of his. As much as Stone hated to admit it, gazing into those eyes had sent a chill down his spine.

  Tanner felt the strong grip of Stone’s handshake as he took in the young man standing beside Romeo. The four of them were at a private shooting range in Orange County and had it to themselves for the day. There was no one else around for miles to hear the reverberation of their rifles and handguns.

  Romeo said that Stone needed to work on his long-range shooting skills. Henry, although already quite good as a sniper, could use the practice as well.

  Tanner was aware of the attack on Pullo and Tyrese that took place at the rear of the Italian restaurant. He agreed with Pullo that there might be more kill squads out there and had a plan for dealing with them. For the strategy to work, they would need the assistance of the person inside the Primeros who was passing Pullo information. Pullo told Tanner that he would reach out to the anonymous informant and ask for their help.

  Before beginning their shooting practice, Tanner, Romeo, Henry, and Stone sat at a picnic table and drank coffee from thermoses. During the conversation that followed, Stone learned something that amazed him.

  “Henry is Tanner’s apprentice?”

  “Yeah, dude,” Romeo said. “Someday Henry will be the next Tanner.”

  “The next Tanner? How many have there been?”

  “I’m number seven,” Tanner said. “Henry will be number eight.”

  “There have been seven Tanners. So that talk about you being around for over a hundred years is true?”

  “I wasn’t around, but yeah, there’s been a Tanner for that long.”

  Stone looked at Tanner, then Henry. “Is he your son?”

  “We’re not related.”

  “No? So how did you pick him to train?”

  Henry answered that. “We met when I was a kid, then Tanner helped me again when I ran into trouble a couple of years ago.”

  “That’s it? It sounds like anybody could be picked to be a Tanner.”

  “Not just anyone,” Tanner said. “Most people wouldn’t be able to do what we do.”

  Stone nodded his agreement. “No, most people wouldn’t.” But that was not true of him. He was already an assassin. And now he knew that it was possible to become Tanner. Or rather, a Tanner. Tanner Eight.

  Stone looked over at Henry and smiled. “You’re going to be a legend someday.”

  “I hope so,” Henry said. “But I still have a lot to learn.”

  Tanner drained his plastic cup, shook it free of any remaining drops of coffee, then screwed it back onto his thermos. “Let’s get some practice in.”

  The others agreed and they left the picnic table to begin their shooting.

  As Stone walked along, all thoughts of killing Tanner had fled from his mind. He had a new plan. He was going to become Tanner Eight. The only thing better than killing Tanner, would be to become Tanner. And the only person standing in his way was Henry.

  O’Leary had woken up after sleeping in his car all night. He’d fallen asleep after draining the bottle of whiskey. He cursed himself for being so stupid, but then smiled as he looked up to see a car leaving the hotel parking lot. Amber was in the passenger seat of that car.

  O’Leary started his engine and followed from a distance. It wasn’t hard to do because it was Sunday, and the morning traffic was light. He didn’t have to follow them for long either, as the car pulled into a nearby park.

  No one went into a park in the early morning hours unless they were going to run or perform some other sort of exercise. O’Leary was not a runner. He’d have to wait until she returned from her jog before confronting her.

  He drove into the park in time to watch Amber a
nd the man she was with walk over to a bench and start stretching. O’Leary kept going as if he was cutting through the park on his way to somewhere else. Three minutes later, he returned to the park and settled his car in the lot near Amber’s vehicle. She was gone off on her run by then.

  With his bladder about to burst, O’Leary left his car and walked behind a bush to relieve himself. Afterward, he returned to the car and grabbed the gun from the glove box. He had a simple plan in mind. He would kill the man with Amber then take her hostage until she either gave him drugs he could sell or money he could use. After that, he would kill Amber too.

  A van pulled into the parking lot and an older couple got out. They were dressed in matching tracksuits, but the woman’s sneakers were pink while the guy’s were white. They weren’t joggers, they were walkers, and as they walked, they swung their arms while holding sets of small colorful weights in their hands.

  O’Leary hoped that no one else would show up while he was dealing with Amber. If he slaughtered too many the cops would be under greater pressure to find him. Whoever Amber’s friend was, the guy likely had a record and was involved with drugs. The police wouldn’t wear themselves out looking for his killer. As for Amber, once O’Leary was done with her, he’d leave her body somewhere out of the way, where it would never be found.

  His right hand trembled as O’Leary thought about killing her. He’d once shot a man to death while a border patrol agent because the man had pulled a gun on him after being caught trying to smuggle people across the border. He had also stabbed a guy to death when he was in prison but had never killed a woman. He removed his last bottle from the glove box and took a swig from it, to build his courage. After several swallows, his hand stopped shaking.

  Morelos had covered six miles during his run. He had gone at a slower pace than usual because he had Amber running at his side. She had been panting when they’d stopped running but his breathing was almost normal. If he’d been running alone, he would have covered eight miles in the same amount of time.

  It didn’t matter. A mile or two made no difference overall as long as it didn’t become a habit. Once he was successful in New York City, he could return home to Mexico and resume his regular routine.

  Amber’s breathing had calmed down during the walk from the running track to the parking lot. Her thoughts had turned to breakfast and she was looking forward to ordering from room service.

  There was a man seated in a car that was parked near theirs. He didn’t have the look of a runner and had the reddened nose of a drinker. Morelos had a small gun tucked into the pocket of the athletic pants he was wearing. He palmed the weapon and kept watch on the man from the corner of his eye.

  When they reached their car, Morelos embraced Amber and whispered in her ear. “There’s a man sitting in the car behind us. Do you recognize him?”

  Amber peeked over Morelos’s shoulder to get a look at O’Leary. The man had changed so much in the years since she’d last seen him, that she couldn’t identify him. Morelos was keeping an eye on O’Leary by using the side-view mirror on his car. When O’Leary left his Chevy and headed for them, Morelos noticed that he kept one hand hidden behind his back.

  “When I say, ‘Now,’ I want you to drop to the ground and lie flat.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Trouble,” Morelos said.

  He waited until O’Leary was less than a dozen feet away before giving Amber the signal to get down. At the same time, he’d spun around and pointed his weapon at O’Leary’s face.

  O’Leary had been in the process of bringing his right hand forward from behind his back. It was holding his gun. When he saw Morelos’s weapon aimed at his face, he froze with his gun pointed downward.

  “Drop it,” Morelos said.

  O’Leary complied while licking at his suddenly dry lips. Morelos moved forward as the gun hit the ground and buried a fist into O’Leary’s gut that doubled him over. That was followed by a punch to the side of the head that staggered O’Leary and made him sit down hard.

  Amber got up and pointed at him. “I do know this guy. His name is O’Brien? O’Conner? Something like that. He used to be a border patrol agent. He got busted for helping the Sandoval Cartel and went to prison a while back. Damn. You did not age well.”

  “My name is O’Leary. And fuck you, bitch.”

  “Did someone pay you to kill me?” Morelos asked.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are, buddy. I was trying to rob Amber. I figured she had drugs or money on her.”

  “Do you have a partner?”

  “No.”

  O’Leary got to his feet slowly, then weaved in place unsteadily. Between the booze and the blow to his head he had trouble keeping his balance.

  Morelos claimed O’Leary’s gun from the ground before grabbing him and pulling him toward his car. “You’re in the back seat with me. Amber, you drive. I’ll give you directions.”

  “I’m not getting in that car,” O’Leary said.

  Morelos slammed a knee against O’Leary’s testicles. It took the fight out of O’Leary and shut him up. While O’Leary moaned and waited for the pain and nausea to subside, Morelos shoved him into the car and climbed in beside him.

  “Hand me your keys and your phone.”

  O’Leary glowered at Morelos but did what he said. There was a gun pointed at his midsection.

  Morelos remembered a scenic overlook they had driven by on their way into Knoxville. He gave Amber directions to it. As he suspected, they were the only ones there at such an early hour. He made O’Leary get out of the car and walk toward the bordering trees. As Morelos followed him, he called back to Amber.

  “If anyone else shows up, blow the horn once. If it’s a cop, blow it two times.”

  Amber nodded. Her face was pale, but her eyes were bright with excitement. She understood that O’Leary would not be making the trip back to the city with them.

  O’Leary was talking fast and making little sense as he tried to convince Morelos not to hurt him.

  “I was a federal agent once. You kill me and every cop in the country will be looking for you.”

  “I’ll risk it. You were disgraced and served time. No one will care about you.”

  “Money! I can get you lots of money.”

  “If you have so much money, why were you trying to rob Amber?”

  “I figured she had coke. I only wanted the coke.”

  “So, you figured she went out for a run while leaving kilos of coke behind in the hotel room? Or did you think she was carrying it around in the pockets of her jogging outfit?”

  O’Leary said nothing as he realized he hadn’t thought things out before acting. He blamed the booze. It was addling his brain. He stopped walking, turned around, and held out his hands in a gesture of pleading.

  “Hey, buddy. I don’t want to die.”

  “Too bad,” Morelos said. He rushed forward, jammed O’Leary’s gun against the right side of his head and pulled the trigger. O’Leary’s knees gave out and he fell in a heap upon a bed of old leaves. Morelos used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe the gun clean, then he pressed it into O’Leary’s hand, making sure to have his index finger make contact with the trigger. When he turned away from the body, the gun was lying beside it. When the corpse was discovered, suicide would be a natural assumption.

  When Morelos returned to the car. He told Amber to drive back to the park. She stared at him.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Maybe I should drive.”

  “No. I’m good. Wow. Just like that.”

  When they arrived back at the park, there were more cars than before but no one in sight. Morelos drove O’Leary’s vehicle back to the scenic lookout with Amber following behind. Before getting out, he had to drop O’Leary’s phone in the center console. Before doing so, he went through it. It was easy,
because the phone was unlocked. While searching through the photos, he made a discovery. It was the picture that the man delivering the room service had taken of Amber. Morelos realized where it must have been taken and who had done it. They would be staying in Knoxville longer than expected. There was a loose end to tie up.

  He deleted the photo, wiped the phone clean, and dropped it into the center console. The keys were in the ignition and the doors were unlocked. If someone stole the car and was later caught by the police, they might have a lot of explaining to do.

  Morelos told Amber about the photo after she had slid over into the passenger seat.

  “You could see the collar of the robe I was wearing last night?”

  “Yeah, and it was taken at an upward angle instead of straight on.”

  “I bet that room service guy took it when I wasn’t looking. He had his phone out while we were checking the food to make sure the order was right.”

  “Yes. It had to be him.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “O’Leary probably paid him to, because he wasn’t certain if you were who he thought you were. You said that he hadn’t aged well. When was the last time you saw each other?”

  Amber gave it some thought for a moment. “Maybe ten years ago, back when I was muling cocaine.”

  “The hotel worker knows that O’Leary had an interest in you. He has to be taken care of.”

  “Taken care of? You mean… you’ll kill him too?”

  “We can’t risk him talking to somebody, like a cop.”

  Amber was quiet for nearly a minute, then spoke.

  “Morelos.”

  “Yes?”

  “When you do it, you know, the room service waiter… can I watch this time?”

  He stared at her in silence before speaking. “You’re curious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know what they say about curiosity?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not a cat.”

  “True,” Morelos said. He would let her watch him commit murder. She was already aware that he had killed one man and could someday testify to that fact. Once she served her purpose in New York City, Morelos would kill her. It was unfortunate, but it had to be done.