Blood From A Shadow (2012)

by Gerard Cappa

  “The fucking shit has hit the fan now, boy, so I need you to keep cool, don’t go fucking crazy on me, for fuck’s sake, you hear me?” he said.

  The cops prowled the other side of the street like hyenas slobbering for dying prey. I kept watching them, I was ready.

  “An Emergency Response Unit was called to an apartment on McLean Avenue this morning, your fucking apartment”, Gallogly said. “Found a man, answered to your description, he had been roughed up, and contaminated with some shit nobody recognised. He wouldn’t tell them his name, wouldn’t tell them what the shit was. Ok? Forty five minutes later, two foreigners walk into the ER and fucking heist him out of there. They disappeared, shot a security officer in the knee, fucking walked out of there with the man and the fucking shit! That was Ferdia fucking McErlane, right?”

  “Yeah, that was him, maybe our friends here will take me seriously now,” I said.

  “Too right they’re taking you fucking seriously! The word on the street is that you are a terrorist threat, anybody sees you, they take you down. That’s off the record, but that’s what they’re telling me,” he said.

  My knuckles were white against the laminated double diamond Kimber grip, the red and black cops were moving towards me, the other two watched, arms folded, feet planted wide apart.

  “These two aren’t a problem,” Gallogly said. “But it’s just cost me an extra ten grand to keep it that way. You just need to keep your head together Con, understand me? If you black out into one of your fucking psycho rages we are all fucked, ok? You still hanging in there?”

  I was hanging in there, but I knew Gallogly’s money wouldn’t be enough to make the problem go away. These cops couldn’t ignore me, if they wouldn’t go for it themselves they would gas to their friends, either way, I couldn’t stick with them. They were beside the SUV now, standing at a 45 degree angle behind me, the black one behind the red one, I knew he had a weapon primed for action. The red one spoke across me, to Gallogly, in the passenger seat.

  “Maybe there is something to this fucking story after all, Jack,” he said. “We’re going to look into it, like we said, but our friend here has to disappear,” he nodded at me, “our guys are looking for him, we can’t get be with him when they find him.”

  The black one stuck his face forward, level with my ear, “I don’t know who you are, you fucking shitbag, or where you came from, but if I were you I would fucking get back there quick, because you have no future in this city, that I do know.”

  The grunge was still tapping messages, in and out, as I launched the SUV into the traffic, made the two cop fuckers jump back, made me and Gallogly laugh. I watched them shrink in the rear view mirror, merged with the other cops on the sidewalk, chests thrust forward, animated heads, looking after me. I could still laugh, I was still hanging in there, but time was running out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Gallogly directed me back up 10th Avenue, left into West 49th Street.

  “You’re becoming even more dangerous to know than usual, Con. You gotta lie low, let the heat die down,” Gallogly said.

  We pulled into a private parking space, he pointed across to an apartment block across the street.

  “That one, 6th floor, somebody’s there to let you in,” he said. “Stay put until it’s over, we’ve got it covered now, ok?”

  I knew he was right, I attracted danger, he could buy an edge with a handful of cops, but there would always be a tipping point, after that, he would be a target too.

  “I know, Jack, but there’s Rose and young Con. Ferdy’s crew have them, I have to find them before anything happens,” I said.

  “Fucking McErlane!” he slammed the heel of his fist into his thigh.

  We sat there, neither of us knew what to do, weren’t used to being helpless. If there had been someone in front of us, we could have grabbed them by the throat and turned things our way. We would take what we wanted, and everything would be right, how it is supposed to be. But we just had to sit there, because now we were pathetic little nobodies, somebody else got to decide what was right, and we knew, deep down, that was how our world had always worked, guys like us could only fool ourselves so far, after that, we weren’t important.

  The grunge lent forward from the back seat, scrolling through the replies he had reaped.

  “I think I know why they picked tomorrow,” he said. “There’s a ceremony down there, 11am, at the 9/11 memorial. Some Brit Royal is gonna be there, ceremonial head of the Royal Marines, it says here.”

  Gallogly and I screwed back in our seats to see his iPhone screen, read the message, just as he said, with an image of an old guy, red and white cap, white gloves, red trouser stripe, chest heavy with gold braid and medals.

  “Fuck, that would sure hit the jackpot, imagine the fucking firestorm that would cause,” Gallogly said, almost gleeful.

  I saw the red faces of the two Brits in Istanbul, blood pumping through knotted veins, frantic for life, within a breath of killing me. And I saw Didar’s broken face and body.

  “Yeah, the Brits would cream us for revenge for that one,” I nodded.

  Gallogly led me up to the apartment, the grunge kept the messages going. We took the stairs, clean, neat, no ammonia fumes. The door was open before we got there, he went in first, somebody was moving around the kitchen. Expensive furniture and tiny sound system, all minimalist, bare white wood, phony European. Eddie came out of the kitchen. Jeans and a pinstripe Tug McGraw Phillies jersey, looked different outside the bar, but still a grumpy bastard.

  “Eddie will fix you up with anything you need. Here’s a new cellphone, my number is on it, but don’t overdo the calls, you know?” Gallogly was shifting backwards to the door.

  “Thanks Jack, I don’t know what I would have done without you, I really don’t,” I said.

  He stalled at the door, gave me a look as if he was trying to figure if I was having a crack at him, but I wasn’t.

  “Just keep your cool, Con, I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything, you just do us all a favour and keep your head down, ok?” he called as he disappeared into the hallway.

  “Anything you need?” Eddie said, following orders.

  I had the 45 in my belt, that was all I needed, except for some fucking clue where Rose and Con were, and who was with them.

  “No thanks, Eddie, I’m fine,” I said.

  He nodded his sour face and went into the bedroom. I heard the TV go on as he closed the door on me. I stood at the window, watched until Gallogly crossed the street, saw the silver SUV pull out, disappear towards 11th Avenue. The Royal Marines, huh? Wouldn’t it be something if my Belfast bodyguard was down there, gunning for me like everyone else?

  I pulled Gallogly’s cellphone and tried Rose’s number again. Her voice, leave a message, tempted, but who would hear it? Went through the numbers from Ferdy’s cellphone, no answer, no answer, unavailable, unavailable, no answer.

  If Eddie heard me leaving, he didn’t come out to investigate. The cranky bastard probably hoped I would get nailed, was maybe in there right now, touting to a NYPD wallet. So long, Eddie, catch you later.

  I hung inside the doorway until I was sure there was no-one watching, then turned left for the subway on 8th Avenue, kept looking as I walked, slowed down, stopped, walked into a bar, walked out again. Nobody there, but yet I felt it, somebody’s eyes on my skin, like a tumor. A blue and white patrol car idled past, I dodged into a shop, the assistant jumped straight away, I bought some socks, fussed about until the coast was clear. Got to the subway, knew CCTV had everybody covered, but unless they have you fingered, you are just a shape in the crowd.

  Got out at Chambers Street, didn’t really have a plan, but I had to do something, so walked down Church Street, just keep moving, something will happen. The new towers filled the old space. Plenty of NYPD uniforms around here, making the tourists feel safe, but I wasn’t worried about them. It would be a plain clothes guy, one I didn’t spot, maybe Israeli, would walk up and blo
w me away, unless I kept moving. Plenty of tourists too, but what did an Iranian fucking look like? Different than Iraqis, or Turks, or Israelis? I could be walking straight past them right now. A good chance they were on the ground now, too. If zero hour was 11am tomorrow, they would have been rehearsing before 11am today. It was almost 4pm, they should be running thru the routine again, before dark. And dark was good for me too, anybody hunting me down, the Israelis, the NYPD, wouldn’t see me, I felt safer, the dark made me free, stronger.

  Gallogly’s cellphone rang, I was at the corner of Church and Vesey St, rested against the railings of the church to take the call, the new towers black against the sky.

  “I knew you didn’t have the sense to keep your fucking head down!” Gallogly said. “Where are you now?”

  “I need to be doing something, Jack, any word from your side yet?” I said.

  “Maybe. I’ve had people talking to hotel workers around there all day. Think we’ve hit the jackpot, Con. Two guys, supposed to be Israeli, but they stand out, half the fucking hotel is Jewish, they know these guys aren’t right. Our guy tells us, if these two are Israelis, he’s a Nazi.”

  My head nearly exploded on the spot. A million things running through my brain at once. It was them, I knew it was.

  “Where are they, Jack? Which hotel?” I said.

  Gallogly hesitated, tried to stall me.

  “Now wait, Con, don’t jump in to this. The cops are still looking for you, there was a young guy murdered outside your apartment as well. You’re in too much shit right now, just stand back, I have it covered,” he said.

  “Which fucking hotel is it, you fucker! Tell me or I’ll fucking tear your head off!” A Japanese tourist almost fell over, kept looking back at me as she walked on.

  “Look, I’m not sure about this, Con, I’ll phone you back, ok?”

  He cut me off. I was seething, I knew they were close-by, he knew where they were, fine, they were dead meat, but they might know about Rose and young Con. If somebody else got to the Iranians before me, Rose and Con could be sacrificed, that wasn’t going to happen, not while I still had breath.

  I started walking again, phoned Gallogly back. Engaged. I kept walking and kept phoning, always engaged. I was down at Zuccotti Park when he phoned back.

  “Fucking tell me, Gallogly! I’m not fucking about here!” I screamed at the cellphone.

  “Cornelius, it is me, take it easy, son.”

  Artie McCooey.

  “Artie, get off the fucking line, I need to get to Gallogly!”

  His voice was calm, he thought he could manipulate me, thought he was educated enough, sophisticated enough, to handle me.

  “Now slow down, Con, do your breathing, take control, slow everything down,” he said.

  “Fuck you, Artie, get off the line!”

  “Where are you now, Cornelius?”

  “I’m in the Bronx, why?” I lied.

  “Jack Gallogly called me, he thought I might be able to help you see sense. He said the NYPD and Israeli special forces are hunting you. Don’t you think it would be better if you stepped back, let the authorities take over? You have done more than anyone could expect, but it’s time to let go now,” Artie said.

  “Too late, Artie, they brought my wife and son into it, I’m going nowhere until this is over,” I said.

  “Perhaps you are putting Rose and your son in danger, Con. Gallogly tells me the terrorists will be caught soon, wouldn’t it be sensible if you just removed yourself from that environment?” he said.

  “Yeah? which terrorists? Lutterall? Conroy? It was our self appointed guardians that decided Ferdy should be planted in my apartment,” I said. “They took Rose and Con out of there, it wasn’t the fucking Iranians, those poor fuckers are just going to their jihad suicide, they don’t know about anything else.”

  “I’m sure Ferdia would never have allowed Rose and your son to be in any danger, but maybe you are the one who is creating danger for them now, have you considered that?” Artie said.

  “I took your advice before, Artie, that’s how I got into this fucking shit! So just back off and stick to your prayers, you know fuck all about this world!”

  A sharp screech of rubber, I cut Artie off in mid waffle, it was a dark sedan, reverse lights coming back towards me, I turned into the tourists milling around Zuccotti Park, didn’t run, hoped nonchalance would convince them. They stopped, the passenger got out, field of sight obscured, he moved to the sidewalk, the other one speaking into a radio. I walked quickly, don’t run yet. He was back in the car, it was turning into Liberty Street, they had made me, I broke and sprinted through the park, had to keep on the opposite side from their car. Attracting attention now, no hiding place with these rubbernecking fucking tourists, looked behind me, one was running after me, the car was trying to cut me off. Had to double back, get to Trinity Place, force the car against the traffic. At the corner, a different automobile juddered to a halt, blasted the horn, it was the Merc SUV, jumped in, took off. It was Eddie.

  “The boss roasted my balls because of you,” he said.

  “What hotel are the Iranians in?” I said.

  He kept going, didn’t answer, just shook his head in that irritating way that made me want to punch him. He turned into Barclay Street, the new towers to the left, I slipped the 45 onto my lap.

  “The boss will fucking kill me if I tell you,” he said.

  “Which hotel, Eddie?” I stuck the 45 into his side.

  “Gallogly got a tip off. Their car is parked near the Financial Centre Ferry Terminal, at Vesey Green and Riverside Terrace. Those two fucking trigger happy cops have it staked out now,” he said.

  That was straight ahead, they were too close now for me to miss. I called Gallogly.

  “Forget the hotel bullshit, Jack. Where is this jihad automobile?” I said.

  “Keep out of it, Con! It’s under control, you will just be a fucking distraction down there. Let the professionals handle it, for Christ’s sake!” Gallogly said.

  Sure, the professionals, they had created this pile of shit, and probably every other pile my nose had been rubbed in since I was a kid.

  “I’ll be there in about two minutes, Jack. Where are your cops hiding?”

  Eddie ditched the SUV at the edge of Vesey Green and tagged along behind me as I made my way around the Green towards the Hudson River, Gallogly’s cops were in a black Ford on Riverside Terrace, the Iranians had parked their hire car there an hour ago.

  “What if it’s a car bomb, what if they’re not coming back?” Eddie shouted after me. I hadn’t noticed his limp before, but his torso rolled from side to side as he struggled to keep up with me. Good question, Eddie, but I guessed the professionals had that much right, the Iranians were doing a last reconnaissance of the target before tomorrow. They would be back, but I needed them alive, they were my ticket to get to Rose and Con, I wasn’t leaving that in the hands of the red and black detectives.

  Riverside Terrace has modern high buildings on one side, is flanked by the Hudson River on the other, with a ribbon of civic green breathing life in between. I hopped the wall and skirted around the children’s play area, could see a line of parked cars filed neatly along the well lit street, just a normal scene, didn’t look like a killer’s playground. No sign of the two cops, I moved along the Esplanade, Eddie stumbling behind me.

  A swarm of tourists spilt around the corner from Vesey St, a dozen or so, filling the cold air with their breath and laughter. I saw the movement on the Esplanade ahead, two jumbo figures in the greenery behind the wall, two red eyed wolves hot for a kill. Another sudden bustle, a different leisure troupe emerging from a hotel, coming from the opposite direction, the wolves uptight now, concentration intense, sensory overload. Both groups of tourists knitted a tight phalanx, rolling towards each other, only stopping when the first rows funnelled on the sidewalk, confusion then, bunched waves, filtering through slowly.

  But red and black saw them first, alerted me, two
soldiers, it was them, unmistakeable, even with long hair and rough beards, somehow marching through the throng of shoppers. Red and black split, used the tourists for cover, moved their heavy limbs faster than seemed possible, guns clasped, pointed to the ground.

  I was over the wall, couldn’t let these two go down until I knew Rose and Con were safe. Eddie heaved after me, waved a Beretta as he lurched on his skewed axis. The tourists sensed the danger first, herd telepathy of sheep and wolf, they froze or embraced, the Quds Force elite were entangled, nowhere to go. No warning, just skull splitting cracks, seven, eight shots, reverbed in the cold acoustic. I was too slow, the Quds’ red energy blinked away, the world spinning beneath their dead feet, red and black safe behind their shields, dealing divine vengeance to the climax. Probable cause would be rehearsed later.

  Time planked, freeze framed until the crowd sparked, their hearts paddled by spontaneous kickstart to concertina back and forward in waves of ghoulish voyeurism and piggybacked disgust, compelled to witness before they could be repulsed, cry, scream, or just stay numb. I was caught in the tide, the sidewalk flooded now with latecomers to the raw street theatre, appearing from nowhere, fanning the hysteria, cellphones buzzing, flashlight apps exploding, some of them giggling.

  Then I saw two faces peel from the crowd, just a half image in a blue flash. It was the two Israeli guards from the house in Orkatoy, slowly walking away. I plunged through the crowd to get a grip on them, but they floated, the crowd another millstone I couldn’t shake, I was living my nightmare but I knew this was fucking real, the bastards were here, and they were getting away, I was powerless again. Eddie held on to me, pushing and pulling, his fucking limp slowed me down. A car reversed to complete their tactical maneuver, they sauntered towards it, unafraid, unhurried. One looked back and saw me chasing, nudged the other, he looked too, but they still didn’t hurry, just kept looking as they ghosted away from me. They recognised me, had spent days drilling me up and down those stairs, bringing food and drink, watching me, watching Didar. They fucking knew it was me but weren’t surprised, weren’t worried. The car was there, doors opened, they slid in. I was about 60 feet away, knew the car would accelerate off, leave me standing there, but the brake lights flickered, the driver’s door opened, and he got out. It was the Brit, the nice lonely guy, the special fucker who had gorged himself on her like a pig, tearing Didar until she had nothing left. I tripped on my shock, stumbled to my knees, Eddie still hanging on. The bastard beckoned me towards him, a sick grin in the darkness, the Israelis shouted at him, but he ignored them, he wanted me. I rumbled forward, pushed myself on, levelled the 45 as I came up, fired three instinct shots. The fucker didn’t even flinch, just braced himself in the tactical stance, then fired, three shots zipped past my head, I dodged, dived behind a parked car, came up, fired at where I thought he was, but the fucker had moved, was flanking around to nail me. Eddie fired, he was wild, bullets sparking off the street furniture, but it gave the Brit something else to think about, let me squirm around to the front of the car, looked for him again. He was behind the low wall, on the Esplanade, maybe 75 feet away, he fired, Eddie went down, the crowd crested back to panic mode, the red and black detectives charging towards me, the Israelis were out, screaming at the Brit. He jumped over the wall and back into the driving seat, but not before gesturing the cut throat signal to me, his dirty face still with a bulletproof grin. He spun the tires, I could hear him laughing at me, like a maniac.