Manhattan Hit Man (A Tanner Novel Book 18)

by Remington Kane

  Sean O’Doyle went tumbling from the chair and Tanner walked around from behind it and kicked the other side of O’Doyle’s head. O’Doyle was out cold, but the phone he dropped was emitting a tinny voice. By the time Tanner picked it up and placed it to his ear, the line was dead.

  Tanner bound O’Doyle’s hands behind his back, blindfolded him, then stuffed and secured a gag in the punk’s mouth. It took over ten minutes for O’Doyle to regain his senses. When he came to, he began to panic. Tanner had made it impossible for Sean O’Doyle to see or speak, but he could still hear and feel.

  He froze when he felt the barrel of the gun beneath his chin, which was accompanied by Tanner’s voice.

  “I won’t kill you if you do what I say. We’re going to walk out of here with me guiding you by the arm, understand? If you understand, nod.”

  After a hesitation, O’Doyle nodded.

  “Fine, now let’s go.”

  O’Doyle was wearing a hoodie. Tanner yanked the hood up, then pulled the top of it forward, to obscure the blindfold.

  “Keep your head down. Don’t try anything stupid or I’ll knock you out again and carry you.”

  O’Doyle mumbled a reply and Tanner told him to shut up. They rode down to the parking garage in the elevator without seeing anyone, although there was a couple on the other side of the garage talking about a movie they had just seen.

  Pullo had supplied Tanner with a white van that had Massachusetts license plates. Before the thug knew what was happening, Tanner bound O’Doyle’s ankles and shoved him into the rear of the van.

  The van had tinted windows, and its metal walls were lined with plywood that was covered by the type of thick pads used by movers to protect furniture. O’Doyle could kick at the van’s walls to attract attention, but the sound would be muffled. The floor was covered in plywood as well, with an old mattress for O’Doyle to lie atop.

  Tanner drove out of the garage. While stopped at a nearby light, Tanner saw a car brake to a hard stop in front of O’Doyle’s building. Afterward, a young man with red hair got out of the car and ran inside.

  It was probably the person that O’Doyle had been talking to on the phone, coming to see what ill had befallen Sean.

  Tanner drove back toward New York City without incident, other than the occasional muffled sounds coming from the rear of the van.

  All in all, it had been a quiet night.

  Too bad it wouldn’t last.

  Later, back in New York City, Johnny R’s was closing for the night and the dancers were going home. As two of them walked past the bar, a blonde and a brunette, they smiled at Red, the chauffeur, as they told him goodnight.

  Red smiled back, without making eye contact, and one of them, the blonde, pinched him on the cheek.

  “You are going to be so cute when you grow up.”

  “I’m already grown,” Red said, “and I got a girl too.”

  The brunette pretended to pout, then spoke to her friend.

  “We missed our chance, April.”

  Behind the bar, Tamir Ivanov was watching the dancers tease Red.

  “That’s enough, ladies, and have a good night.”

  The blonde stuck her tongue out at Ivanov.

  “We’re just playing, but I meant it, he is cute, bye bye, Red.”

  Red watched them go and Ivanov came around the bar to sit beside him. The former FBI man had taken a liking to Red, and as they were both of Russian extraction, he felt a kinship with the boy as well.

  “Do you really have a girl, Andre, and how come I’ve never met her?”

  Red smiled, leaned in, and whispered.

  “It’s Gina Rossetti.”

  A look of surprise showed on Ivanov’s face.

  “Really, how long has that been going on?”

  “A few weeks, but she wants to keep it a secret, so don’t say anything, okay?”

  “I won’t, but why keep it a secret?”

  “She thinks Mr. Pullo wouldn’t approve of our dating, you know, because I’m just a chauffeur.”

  “I know Joe is like an uncle to the girl, but I don’t think he would try to keep you away from Gina. Anyway, congratulations, that is one beautiful girl. Are you two getting serious?”

  Red shrugged.

  “We’ve kissed, but you know, that’s it so far.”

  Ivanov smiled.

  “It sounds like you might have yourself an old-fashioned girl there.”

  In New Orleans, Ricky Valente sat in a folding chair at the rear of his rented trailer and looked across at Julie Ryan. She had stopped wearing the brown wig and dark glasses, but Ricky knew she still placed a hair in the doorframe before leaving her trailer.

  After their first meeting, Ricky had made it a point to be in the park at the same time as Julie, as he tried his best to get her to like him.

  Her dog, Missy, didn’t like Ricky, that was plain to see. The hound growled at him whenever he tried to pet her. Julie told him not to take offense. Missy had been abused as a puppy and didn’t seem to like anyone but Julie.

  For her part, Julie enjoyed Ricky’s company. She had been lonely, and although Ricky wasn’t her type, and she would never think of him as more than a friend, he did ease her loneliness. She had to fend off his advances, while reminding him that she wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone. So far, Ricky had backed-off, and if not for the loneliness, Julie would have kept her distance from him.

  However, she hadn’t been with anyone she could just sit and talk with since before going to prison. Talking with Ricky made her forget what a mess her life was.

  The two shared a love of old movies, and had similar taste in music as well. Over a six-pack of beer, which Ricky had drunk most of, they had sat and talked for hours.

  When they ran out of small talk, Ricky asked a question he’d been dying to ask.

  “Hey Julie, who are you running from, honey?”

  “What?”

  “I can tell you’re on the run from somebody. If it’s the law, that’s cool, but if it’s a guy, I can help you.”

  “Help me, how?”

  “So, it is a guy?”

  Julie stood, as her eyes began to tear up.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She started toward her trailer and surprised an old woman who had been skulking near the side of Ricky’s RV. It was the old woman who had told the Giacconi Family where to find Ricky. Years earlier, a much younger Ricky had broken the arm of a friend of hers over a late payment.

  The ex-hooker had remembered Ricky’s face when she saw him, despite the dyed blond hair. When she spoke to the friend in New York, she learned that Ricky was wanted by the Giacconis for stealing from them.

  The old woman laid a hand on her chest and sighed at Julie. Because of the late hour, the woman was dressed in her robe and slippers.

  “You scared me.”

  “What are you doing over here?” Ricky asked her.

  “I… you need to be quiet. People are trying to sleep.”

  “Were we loud?” Julie said. “If so, I apologize.”

  “All right then, and ah, good night.”

  As the woman walked off, Ricky spoke under his breath.

  “What an old bat,”

  Julie crossed her arms over her chest.

  “How would you help me?”

  “I’m good with my fists, but I know how to use a gun too.”

  Julie wiped at tears.

  “I don’t want him dead. I just want him to leave me alone.”

  “Who is he, an ex-husband?”

  “No,” Julie said. “He’s a madman.”

  By 2:28 a.m., Tanner was thirty minutes away from Johnny R’s and driving along a stretch of highway that had its inner lane under construction. Concrete barriers and orange cones directed the traffic into the outer lanes.

  During the morning rush hour, the delay turned the highway into a parking lot, but it made no difference because of the late hour. The nearest car in front of Tanner w
as thirty car lengths ahead. There were two sets of headlights moving up close behind him, and it was their speed that alerted Tanner that there might be trouble brewing.

  If not for his training and experience, his attention would have stayed focused on the vehicles coming up from behind. Instead, Tanner took a moment to survey his surroundings. He spotted three men dressed in black who were climbing down from a huge yellow dump truck they had just used to block the road a half mile ahead.

  The men then crossed onto the other side of the concrete dividers, where they were steadying their rifles, while waiting for their target to draw closer. The rifles were full-auto Romanian AK-47’s with hundred-round drums attached. Although they’d be aiming at a moving target, they were certain to hit the van with dozens of rounds.

  Traveling between the set of concrete construction barriers, Tanner could neither turn right nor left. He was in a tunnel, with two vehicles at the rear, a massive truck blocking the exit and a virtual firing squad ready to slice him into little pieces.

  So much for a quiet night.

  12

  First Contact

  Ricky had convinced Julie to come inside his trailer to talk, and they did so, while drinking more beer.

  Julie told Ricky about her past, and how she had been framed and served time. Ricky then surprised himself by opening up in return. He didn’t explain why or tell Julie his real name, but he confessed to her that he was on the run as well.

  “This guy, Julie, the nut that framed you, you really don’t know his name?”

  “Shane, I never saw him before, and there he was just calmly telling me how he ruined my life. I truly believe he must be insane.”

  “If he shows up here, I’ll plant him in a shallow grave.”

  “Don’t even joke. I hope I never see him again,” Julie said.

  She stifled a yawn, looked at her watch, and was shocked at how late it was.

  “Wow, we’ve been talking a long time, and I have to get up early.”

  “Why, you don’t have anywhere to be, do you?”

  Julie smiled.

  “I volunteered to work at a homeless shelter and I start tomorrow.”

  “What’s it pay?”

  Julie laughed.

  “It pays nothing. I’m volunteering, remember? But I will get a free meal that will help me stretch my money.”

  “Back in New York City, some of those volunteers at the UN pull in good dough, thousands a month is what I hear. There are other volunteer jobs like that too. They call it a ‘stipend’, but I say money is money.”

  “I’ve never been to New York City. Did you live there for long?”

  “Born and raised,”

  Julie stifled another yawn. As she walked by Ricky to return to her trailer, he reached out and took her hand.

  “You could stay here tonight.”

  Julie sighed.

  “Shane…I—”

  Ricky released her.

  “You can’t blame me for trying, Julie, and someday you’ll give in.”

  “Goodnight Shane.”

  “It could have been,” Ricky mumbled.

  Julie laughed, leaned over, and pecked Ricky on the cheek.

  “See you tomorrow, and stop drinking so much beer. I thought you were on a diet?”

  “Oh, right, but man I love beer.”

  Moments later, Julie and her dog, Missy, disappeared into her trailer.

  Less than a hundred feet away, in the shadows, Victor Fenner watched and waited.

  Tanner released the steering wheel and dived into the rear of the van.

  He landed on the side of the mattress, facing the gagged and blindfolded Sean O’Doyle. Tanner gripped O’Doyle by his belt, and wiggled against the passenger side of the van. That was where the sliding side door was, and where the floor of the van was lower and contained a built-in step.

  Without a steady hand at the wheel, the van veered to the left and bounced off one of the concrete dividers. The impact sent it to the right, where it hit a divider on that side. The effect made the van slow sooner than it would have, something Tanner was counting on.

  Tanner held on tightly to O’Doyle’s form, as he lowered the left side of his own body down atop the metal step by the side door. That left O’Doyle in front of, and slightly over him to act as a human shield. Once the shooting began, O’Doyle took multiple rounds, while bits of glass from the windows filled the air and the tires went flat from bullet holes.

  Although they wouldn’t stop a round on their own, Tanner was grateful for the sheets of plywood lining the van’s walls. The bullets had to penetrate the vehicle’s thin steel walls, the plywood, the furniture pads, then the body of Sean O’Doyle. Every bit of it helped to sap energy from the rounds and kept them from exiting O’Doyle and hitting Tanner.

  The van came to a jarring stop as it reached the dump truck. The vehicle rebounded away, but was halted by one of the dividers, then it drifted back toward the dump truck again.

  Before the van came to rest, Tanner had opened the side door and jumped out as far as his legs would take him.

  He vaulted over the barrier to land on his hands and feet, before sprinting for the trees in a zigzag pattern. Tanner, dressed in black, was a dark shape among the shadows of the night and had gone unseen by his attackers.

  After Tanner’s departure, the van had bumped against the dump truck once more and the impact caused the bloody body of Sean O’Doyle to slide halfway out the side door. Meanwhile, the gunfire continued. The shooters had discarded the spent 100-round drums and reloaded with standard 30-round magazines. Despite the lack of return fire, they sent more rounds into the van.

  While that was happening, the cars at the rear had parked, and a man got out of each vehicle. One of them was the mastermind of the hit on Tanner. His name was Esau Ramirez.

  Esau grinned and slapped the man with him on the back as they moved closer to the van and saw what hundreds of rounds of ammo could do.

  No one could have survived that barrage, not even the man who called himself Tanner.

  Esau was a thug and a member of a street gang, but he was an intelligent thug who was well-read and prided himself on his knowledge of military tactics.

  He had studied the battles of Napoleon and Alexander the Great. He had also devoured the works of Carl von Clausewitz and Sun Tzu.

  Having advanced knowledge of where Tanner had been headed and what he would be driving was all the advantage Esau had needed. He used several vehicles to follow Tanner so that he would never pick up the tail.

  They had lost sight of him only for a short time, when Tanner had driven the van into an underground parking garage in Boston. Even that was good, as it gave Esau time to work out where the hit should take place. It had to take place in New York, Not anywhere in Massachusetts, and certainly not inside the city of Boston, or it could be tied to the Irish mob.

  When Tanner left the garage and headed back towards New York City, the hit was in play, and it had gone down perfectly.

  Esau’s grin expanded as he saw the legs sticking out of side door of the van. Three of his men, the ones who had done the shooting, were firing shots in the air. They had to keep the traffic from coming closer, while dissuading the cars on the other side of the highway from rubbernecking. That meant that dozens of calls were being made to the police, but Esau still had to verify his kill.

  The three men who were firing joined Esau just as he and the driver of the other car reached the van.

  Esau’s smile disappeared when he saw that the corpse’s hands were bound behind it’s back. There had been a blindfold, but one of the shots that passed through the metal body of the van had removed it as the round had exited out of O’Doyle’s left eye.

  “That ain’t Tanner,” one of the shooters said, and then all five men began searching the shadows with their eyes.

  Esau sighed, knowing he had lost the battle and needed to regroup. They had left a vehicle parked up the road, it was a huge black pickup truck they
would use to flee the scene. It was tucked away off the road, between more of the concrete barriers.

  Esau and his men ran around the dump truck with their guns at the ready. Tanner was out there somewhere, likely hidden among the sparse trees where the light from the highway couldn’t reach.

  Esau cursed his luck and damned his negligence. While it was true that Tanner had been fortunate to have a sacrificial lamb to shield him from the bullets, it was also true that Esau should have brought along men and hidden them in the trees.

  If he had caught Tanner in a crossfire, the man would be dead. After jogging past the dump truck, Esau and his men made a beeline for the pickup they would escape in. It never occurred to Esau, that, like Tanner, he and his men were penned-in between two concrete barriers.

  They had left the truck running to make a hasty escape, so no one thought anything about the sound of the engine until it revved up. When the white reverse lights blazed to brilliance it was too late to react in time to escape, and the four-ton truck was rocketing backwards toward them.

  Inside the truck, Tanner kept his foot on the gas. He ran over the first three men and the truck jounced over their bodies, then the fourth man went airborne, to land on his skull, which shattered, spilling his brains on the highway.

  Tanner only stopped the truck after he smeared Esau against one of the concrete barriers. He exited the vehicle to the sound of approaching sirens. But before Tanner ran off into the trees, he and the dying Esau locked eyes.

  Esau had just enough time to register the truck coming at him before hearing the screams of his men. A second and a half later, he was letting out a scream of his own as his legs were crushed and his torso was mangled.

  He couldn’t breathe after that, and the pain that had been so intense an instant earlier was fading away. Looking up past the bumper of the truck that had him pinned, Esau watched, as Tanner emerged from the vehicle. It struck him how average the man looked, that is, until he saw Tanner’s eyes.

  The man had the most intense gaze he had ever seen. Then, Tanner was staring at him, or rather, at his tattoos, the ones on his face. Tanner used the light from his phone to view the tattoos of Esau’s crew, or rather, what was left of them, then leapt over a barrier with a graceful move, to sprint away.