Manhattan Hit Man (A Tanner Novel Book 18)

by Remington Kane

  Esau, who was also a fan of Shakespeare, was shuffling off his mortal coil. However, it wasn’t a quote from The Bard of Avon that passed through Esau’s mind in the final moments of his life. Rather, it was a quote from a famous military strategist, Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke.

  Von Moltke, once said that, “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”

  That quote was never truer than when Tanner was the enemy.

  Esau died on the highway like roadkill, just another in a long line of men who had underestimated Tanner.

  13

  Laundry Day

  Tanner left the chaos on the highway behind him as he bolted into the trees.

  There weren’t many of them, just a strip of land, beyond which lay a city street. He knew he was in Upper Manhattan but wasn’t certain what section.

  The sound of sirens was growing louder and seemed to be coming from several directions. There were six dead men lying back on the highway. The cops would go all out to catch the man who killed them. Tanner had no fear of leaving prints behind, as he had worn gloves, but he knew his image must have been captured on numerous traffic cameras.

  That was all right as well, because the cap he’d been wearing had a long bill in front that would have obscured most of his face from overhead cameras. While he hadn’t gone to Boston on a hit, he had still been there to commit a crime. He was dressed in black from head to toe and looked like a second-story man.

  Any cop crossing his path would detain him, and once they found the lock picks he carried, or his gun, he’d wind up in a jail cell.

  Of course, he hadn’t killed O’Doyle, but he had abducted him and killed five others. Also, O’Doyle’s splattered blood was on his clothing.

  Tanner ran through city streets that was home to sparse traffic, but vacant of pedestrians. The terrain was hilly, and so he reasoned he was in the Hudson Heights section of Manhattan, where the land sat high above sea level.

  After catching a glimpse of the George Washington Bridge between buildings, Tanner dropped to the ground behind a parked vehicle as a patrol car cruised down the street. After the car passed, he looked in the direction it had come from and saw a lit storefront several blocks away.

  Tanner moved in that direction, as his mind raced to formulate a plan. As he drew closer to the store with the lit windows, he passed a donut shop. It was one of the chain stores. When he spotted the bin in the rear parking lot, he headed for it. It was a receptacle that accepted clothes for donations. Tanner picked the cheap lock with ease and found a set of worn jeans and a shirt that would fit him, along with a baseball jacket that had a bleach stain on its back. As he looked around, he caught a better view of the store that was open. It wasn’t a store after all, but an all-night laundromat.

  A plan bloomed in Tanner’s mind. He scooped up more clothes, relocked the bin, and moved behind it to change out of sight. He had done so just in time, as a police car came around the corner of the building and shone a spotlight around.

  Seeing nothing amiss, the car moved on, but as he was dressing, Tanner spotted the search light of another patrol car as it came down the street he’d been walking on.

  He had to get to that laundromat and he had to do it soon, but first, he needed one more thing. There was an apartment house on the next corner. Tanner found the front door unlocked, but had to pick the lock on an inner door.

  Once inside, he considered changing his plan and finding an apartment to hide in. Although, after more consideration, that seemed a bigger gamble than his first plan, as it would risk involving hostages and any number of unpredictable variables, such as unknowingly entering the apartment of a cop.

  Deciding to stick with his first idea, Tanner moved toward the mailboxes on the left. There were only twelve apartments in the building, but he needed a name that might fit him. A narrow table sat before the mailboxes with a trashcan beneath it.

  There was a full-length mirror on the wall beside the door that sat next to a dented umbrella stand. Tanner used a penlight to check his hands for signs of blood, then did the same for his face in the mirror. He was clean of dried blood.

  He sent a quick text off to a phone that Joe Pullo would know to check for messages.

  THE PACKAGE WAS DESTROYED, BUT THE COURIER IS FINE. MORE LATER.

  A look inside the trashcan revealed a lot of old mail that had been thrown out. There was plenty of it, primarily junk mail and advertisements. However, one envelope held a letter from a bank detailing the late charges on a checking account. The letter was addressed to Daniel Swyers.

  Tanner searched the mailboxes. After he found one with the name D. SWYERS taped onto it, he stuffed the letter from the bank into the pocket of the bleach-stained jacket he’d taken from the donation bin.

  He then broke into Swyers’ mailbox and found it empty. He crammed his keys, gun, spare ammo, phone, and lock pick set into the mailbox. He also squeezed the envelope of cash found in Sean O’Doyle’s apartment inside the box. He hadn’t needed the lock picks to get past the tiny lock on the mailbox, a hard tug was all it took. The box locked again, once a hard shove was applied, and Tanner was ready.

  Someone had donated clothes by placing them inside a cloth laundry bag with a tear on its side. Tanner walked into the laundromat with that same bag full of old clothes and waved and said hello to the old woman sitting behind a scarred wooden counter. She was Asian. Her hair was streaked with white and she was smoking a cigarette.

  After getting change from the old woman, Tanner loaded the hand-me-down clothes into a washing machine. With the machine running, he turned to see a cop car moving along slow on the street outside.

  Tanner sat in one of the cheap plastic chairs, picked up an automotive magazine that was a year old, crossed his legs at the ankles, and pretended to read. He also used his fingers to comb his hair forward. He was aware that his eyes were intense, and the unkempt hair would help to distract from them. Besides, it was the middle of the night. Who worries about how their hair looks in a laundromat at three a.m.?

  They came inside four minutes later. Two male cops in their thirties with eyes that searched every corner. As one of the cops, a black man, kept an eye on him, his white partner went toward the rear and spoke to the old woman.

  Tanner looked up from his magazine and pretended to appear dismayed by the attention the cops were giving him.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked the cop standing near him.

  “Kinda late to be doing laundry, isn’t it?”

  Tanner shrugged.

  “I have insomnia, so I figured why not at least get something done.”

  Two more cops entered, and this time they were young, no more than twenty-five. One was a white male who swaggered as he walked, while the Hispanic female had short hair and a pretty, but no-nonsense face. The two of them whispered something to the other cop, and then all three proceeded to stare at him.

  When the cop who had been talking to the old woman joined them, he shared some news.

  “The woman back there says he just walked in a few minutes before we arrived, but that he did have a bag of laundry.”

  “Did she say he was a regular?”

  “No, she’s never seen him before.”

  “What’s going on?” Tanner asked, and was ignored, as he expected he would be.

  Cops asked questions, they rarely answered them.

  The cop who had spoken to the old lady talked in a low tone to his partner. Whatever he said made the partner head back to the patrol car. As the two young cops stood by and stared at him, the other cop spoke to him.

  “Seems a little late to be doing laundry.”

  “Yeah, but like I told the other officer, I have insomnia.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  The cop said nothing more, but gestured for the two young cops to join him outside, where they stood blocking the door. Tanner figured if he were to run for a rear exit, he might make it outside, but then wh
at? There were cops on the prowl everywhere. He just needed to let his plan work itself out.

  After a couple of minutes, Tanner stood. The younger cops went on alert like two English Pointers after a pheasant, but relaxed when Tanner grabbed a coffee from a vending machine and sat back down. As he was walking back towards them, one of the older cops, the black one, was looking back and forth between the computer tablet he was holding and Tanner’s face.

  Tanner understood what the cop was doing. He was comparing video from a tollbooth or traffic camera with his face. He remained calm because he was certain they had no good photos of him. At best, they had pictures of his chin and mouth.

  They were waiting for something, possibly more evidence, a witness, or just hassling him until they found another suspect, but for now, he was their man.

  Ten more minutes ticked by slowly, but Tanner remained calm. Worry would accomplish nothing, and things would go the way things would go. Either his ruse would work or he’d be arrested and held on suspicion.

  He thought his odds were good, so he sat and sipped on his coffee. The coffee was decaf, such as an insomniac would drink. Every so often, he would turn his head and glance at the cops with a look of confusion displayed on his face. Meanwhile, the cops stared back at him with deadpan expressions.

  A third police car appeared. It was an SUV and had the word SUPERVISOR written on it in bold green lettering. An older man came out of the car. He was white and weighed as much as the two young cops combined.

  He spoke to his people, then listened while staring through the window at Tanner. With a nod and a smug look, he waddled inside the laundromat and toddled over to stand before Tanner.

  “You, get on your feet.”

  Tanner did as ordered, then the older cop spoke again.

  “What’s your name?”

  Tanner answered while stuttering a bit. He wasn’t nervous about the five cops glaring at him, but he knew that most people would be, and so he played the role.

  “Da…Daniel, I’m Daniel Swyers.”

  “Swyers, hmm? Let’s see some ID.”

  Tanner reached around to his back pocket and the young male cop’s hand settled on the butt of his gun.

  “Ah crap, I think I left my wallet at home.”

  The fat cop was smiling, and he sent knowing looks to the two older patrolmen.

  “You just happened to leave your wallet home… how convenient.”

  “Wait, let me check my jacket pockets.”

  They waited, and when Tanner’s hand came out of the right-side pocket, he was holding the letter from the bank that he’d salvaged from the garbage. Rather than bring it to their attention, Tanner tossed it into the trashcan that was positioned near the chairs. It was a gamble to discard it, but it would look like the prop it was if he made a show of handing it over himself.

  “Yeah, I guess I left my wallet home, but I live right up the street there at that apartment house.”

  The young female cop reached into the trashcan and took out the envelope. Tanner could have kissed her.

  After reading it, surprise lit her pretty face, then she passed it along to the fat cop.

  “Lieutenant, sir, look at this.”

  The fat cop pulled his gaze away from Tanner to look first at the female cop, then at what she was holding in her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s from the envelope he tossed in the trash. His name is on it, along with an address that’s right up the block.”

  “What?”

  The lieutenant scanned the envelope and its contents. As he did so, his shoulders slumped and a small sigh escaped him. He stared at Tanner once more as if making up his mind about something, and a buzzer sounded, indicating that the wash cycle was completed.

  Tanner looked around at the cops before gesturing at the washer.

  “Is it all right if I keep doing my clothes?”

  The fat cop ignored him and barked new orders to the others. It seemed as if they were going to look elsewhere for their suspect.

  Tanner continued to play his part and moved the clothes into the dryer. When he looked up, the last of the cop cars was leaving the parking lot.

  He sat down in his seat and went back to looking through the car magazine. Once the clothes were done, he walked back to the apartment house and dropped the laundry bag on the floor, near the mailboxes.

  Tanner watched from the foyer of the building, but saw only one police car go by in the next hour. They would come to believe that their suspect had escaped, and the roadblocks would end. The coffee shop where Tanner stole the clothes out of the bin opened for business before dawn. Tanner reclaimed his belongings from the mailbox and walked down for a breakfast of coffee and a whole-wheat donut.

  He’d told Sara that he wouldn’t make it back to her apartment in Connecticut before morning and knew that she’d be asleep. Still, he sent her a text saying that he was all right, then added that he’d like to meet her in the city.

  Once that was done, he texted Joe again, then sipped on another cup of coffee.

  Just about an hour later, Sammy Giacconi pulled up in a black BMW. Tanner settled beside him in the passenger seat and studied Sammy.

  The kid had changed, as Joe had told Tanner. The old Sammy had a playful nature and a ready smile. The man seated beside Tanner looked neither playful nor cheerful. He was a serious person with responsibilities and a heart broken by grief.

  Sammy voiced his own observation about Tanner’s appearance. Tanner was still wearing the worn jeans and stained jacket he’d taken from the box of charity hand-me-downs.

  “You usually dress better.”

  “I know, but it’s laundry day. I’ll fill you in at the same time I talk to Joe.”

  Sammy pulled into traffic.

  “I saw what was left of the van on the news. You’re doing good just to be walking around.”

  “The hitters weren’t Irish, they were Hispanic, maybe Salvadorans. I think there’s a third player in the game.”

  “That’s an interesting development, but what I want to know is how they knew you were in that van. Maybe you were followed?”

  “Possible, but I smell a rat.”

  “We’re going to the strip club. Uncle Joe will be there, and speaking of rats, Rico Nazario will be there too.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan of Rico’s?”

  “I haven’t forgotten that he was working for the man who killed Sophia. If it turns out that Rico is the traitor, he’s mine, Tanner.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tanner said, before staring out the window and watching the early morning commute.

  14

  A Favor For A Friend

  Sara broke into a huge grin as she opened her arms to give Alicia Kincaid a hug.

  The two women were close when they were teenagers, but hadn’t seen each other in over two years. Alicia Kincaid looked like a smaller version of Sara. Alicia’s curves were less generous, her height, several inches shorter, and yet, from the neck up they could pass for twins.

  They caught up with what had been happening in their lives since they last saw each other. Sara’s version of events was so edited and sanitized as to be a work of fiction.

  However, she did tell Alicia that she had gotten over Brian Ames untimely death, had left the FBI, and that she was in love with a man named Thomas Myers. Thomas Myers was the name that Tanner used as an alias, complete with passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, and bank accounts.

  The new identity had been given to Tanner by a genius computer hacker named Tim Jackson as a thank you for Tanner having saved his life.

  Alicia owned a dance studio, was between lovers, and filled with concern for her younger brother, Kevin Kincaid, who was twenty, and a college student.

  “What’s wrong with Kevin? Is he ill?”

  “No, Kevin’s health is excellent. It’s his judgement I’m worried about. Sara, he has money, and I mean a lot of money. I was over at his apartment o
ne day recently and found thousands inside a garbage bag in a closet.”

  “A garbage bag?”

  “Yes, and I wasn’t snooping, I was cleaning. His girlfriend used to keep the place livable, but ever since Kevin broke up with her the apartment is a pigsty. I stop in every so often to clean.”

  “I know you, Alicia. You must have confronted him about it. What did Kevin have to say?”

  Alicia took in a deep breath and held it as she fought back tears. When she spoke, Sara could hear the pain in her voice.

  “He told me to mind my own business, demanded that I give him back the key he let me have, and now he refuses to talk about it.”

  “Has he been spending a lot of money lately, a new car, anything like that?”

  “No, that’s another thing. He’s still the same typically broke college student as far as I can tell.”

  “Alicia, there’s an obvious answer to how Kevin might have come by the money, you know?”

  “I know what you’re thinking Sara, but no, it couldn’t be drugs. Not after what we all went through with Michael. Kevin would never have anything to do with the drug trade.”

  Sara nodded in understanding. Michael Kincaid had been the younger brother of Alicia and the older brother of Kevin. He died a meth addict, but not before devastating his family.

  During his fifth trip to a treatment center, Michael Kincaid reached over the front seat and grabbed the steering wheel from his father’s control, causing them to crash. He had been attempting to make a U-turn, instead, he flipped the car.

  The resulting injuries to his parents ultimately proved fatal, and they died only days apart. Michael had fled from the scene, unharmed, and never contacted his family again. Months later, his body was discovered after a meth lab exploded inside an abandoned building in Paterson, New Jersey.