Rum Runner - A Thriller (Jacqueline Jack Daniels Mysteries Book 9)

by J. A. Konrath

  “Open your legs,” he told me.

  I did. And then his fingers were rubbing something that definitely was not my bullet wound.

  “Phin. I’m trying to find the Demerol.”

  “Give me a break. It’s been a long time.”

  I stopped what I was doing and turned, searching his face. “How long has it been?”

  “About four minutes.”

  He did something that made me press against his hand. “How long before that?” I breathed.

  “The last time was with you, Jack.”

  “You never cheated?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Really?”

  “Jack, you’re my wife, and the mother of my child. If I had to wait for you forever, I would have.”

  I went doe-eyed, my heart went mushy, and I couldn’t get him in my mouth fast enough.

  This time, he lasted longer than twenty seconds.

  Once again, I did not.

  T-NAIL

  A flamethrower.

  When he saw Jacqueline Daniels run outside, spraying fire, T-Nail started to laugh.

  It wasn’t a joyful laugh; Terrence Wycleaf Johnson hadn’t found humor in anything since he was a child. His laugh was the evolutionary result of pent-up stress, so it was more like an involuntary scream than an expression of mirth.

  He sounded like a Rottweiler barking. And probably resembled one as well. No smile, no crinkled eyes. Just curled lips and bared teeth.

  The laugh only lasted a few seconds, and then he stared, expressionless, as the cop pulled what was obviously her husband back inside the garage.

  Had this happened on C-Note turf, he would have executed Del Ray on the spot. Nailed him to a wall and peeled off his face while his soldiers watched. But that would have to wait. Del Ray was insubordinate, and unreliable, but he was still their best chance at getting into that goddamn fortress. Earlier, he’d mentioned a plan.

  It was time to find out what that plan was.

  T-Nail powered the Gyro over uneven terrain, and caught Del Ray sitting on the hood of a Lexus, staring off into the woods.

  “Dynamite is coming,” Del said. “Four cases. On its way from Minneapolis-St. Paul.”

  “When does it get here?”

  “Tough to guess. We’re jamming radio frequencies so I can’t call, and I don’t know how far the wildfire has spread. Their direct route may be blocked.”

  “Guess,” said T-Nail.

  “Could be two hours. Could be ten hours. But it will get here.”

  “And will it be enough to get inside?”

  “It’ll be enough to blow the whole damn house up. We’ll either get in, or bring the roof down on top of her.”

  “I want her alive. I want them both alive.”

  Del Ray met T-Nail’s gaze. T-Nail didn’t see any fear there, which was a bad sign. He knew Del Ray was tough. He knew Del Ray was violent. But for the first time, T-Nail wondered if Del Ray was insane.

  T-Nail had known some crazies. On the streets, and in the slam. They were the ones you had to be afraid of. They couldn’t be bargained with. They weren’t predictable. Only sure way to deal with a crazy was to put them down at first opportunity.

  But before T-Nail could do that, he needed the dynamite.

  “Ramming the house with a truck, that was your idea?”

  Del Ray nodded.

  “Try it again,” T-Nail said. “Use the bus.”

  He waited for Del to protest. To say something about the cost, or the fact that if the bus was cooked, they couldn’t get home. But the dude just nodded again. Playing it cool.

  “When this shit is over,” T-Nail told him, “the Chi-Town Mavericks are looking for a War Chief. Big set. Eight thousand strong. You the man for the job. You down?”

  Del didn’t hesitate. “Hells yeah, I’m down.”

  T-Nail held up his hand, and they shook on it.

  “Let’s kill this cop and get home.” T-Nail turned the Gyro around, motoring away.

  Maybe that would keep the crazy in check until the cop was dead.

  HERB

  After hitching Harry’s secret weapon to the Crimebago, Herb was surprised when they got on the expressway and headed in the wrong direction, back toward Chicago.

  “I’m pretty sure Wisconsin is north.”

  “It still is. But we need to pick up Tom Mankowski. I just got a text. He changed his mind and is coming with us.”

  “Great. So now we’re three against a hundred.”

  “You keep forgetting Homeboy.”

  “HOMEBOY!” squawked Homeboy.

  “How, exactly, is Homeboy going to help?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he will,” Harry said.

  (Author spoiler alert: Homeboy doesn’t help at all.)

  “What about those amazing cheese blintzes you promised?” Herb asked.

  “No time. Jack could be getting gangbanged by gangbangers right now. You want to be the one to tell her she was assaulted for an extra half an hour just so you could stuff your food-hole with tasty, lactose-filled crepes?”

  Herb didn’t want to be the one to tell Jack that. But he really did crave those tasty, lactose-filled crepes.

  As Harry cranked up the music, Herb scooted next to the refrigerator to see what consumables McGlade had stocked. The answer was; almost none. It was packed with about fifty airline-sized bottles of Jagermeister, and half a jar of grape jam.

  “Don’t eat the jam,” McGlade said. “I use that to entertain female guests.”

  Herb shut the fridge.

  He tried Jack’s cell phone again.

  No answer.

  He texted his wife, giving her a vague idea of where he was headed, downplaying the fact that it was probably a suicide mission. Then he picked up the bag of peanuts. When Homeboy saw the bag, he started bobbing his head up and down, screaming like he’d been lit on fire.

  Herb put the peanuts back.

  In the driver’s seat, McGlade was butchering the words to some rock song about keeping your car shiny shiny. His singing ability, like everything else about Harry, was lacking.

  “This band is pretty good,” Herb said. “Be nice to hear them without your attempt at a duet.”

  “It’s The Rainmakers. They rock.”

  “They still around?”

  “I saw them in Kansas City last year. Lead singer is amazing. Listen to that dulcet voice.”

  “I’d like to. You’re preventing that.”

  “I can’t remember his name. Bob Something. Bob Walkenstick. Bob Liverwurst. Bob Rockinghorse. I’ll think of it.”

  “Well, it would be nice to hear him, and not you.”

  Harry stopped singing.

  He lasted a whole two minutes.

  Herb thought about Jack. If they did wind up saving her life, she was going to owe him. Big time.

  “There’s nothing worth fighting for any way you cut it,” McGlade sang.

  Herb hoped that wasn’t true. Then he sighed the sigh of a trapped, unhappy man, and tried to settle in for the long trip ahead.

  PHIN

  The bulletproof vest hurt so much to put on, Phin almost told his wife to forget it.

  But seeing her again had made him more determined than ever to live through this ordeal. So he clenched his teeth and let Jack strap it on him, with only four ibuprofen and a few ace bandages to help with the pain.

  “You’re an idiot for coming back for me,” Jack said, helping him into a shoulder holster.

  “I was waiting for you to say that.”

  After the sex, they’d caught each other up on recent events. Phin didn’t mention how many people he’d dispatched, and Jack hadn’t asked outright. She had an empathy gene that Phin lacked, and tales of killing—even heroic killing in self-defense—tended to turn her off.

  “You could have gone for help,” she said.

  “If there was a cop in town, he would have shown up at the Walmart. And the nearest town is hours away. The fire is keeping the authorities
busy. Even if I did manage to find help, I might not have gotten back in time. I went with my gut.”

  “And now we’re both trapped. And Samantha…”

  Phin hugged her, even though it hurt like hell. “We’re going to defend ourselves. We can’t win, but we can make the price so high that they give up. And if the fire does reach us, I’d rather be in here than out there.”

  Jack pulled away. “I don’t see a happy ending here, Phin. Even if we make it through this. We’re always going to be targets. The Folk Nation is huge.”

  “We’re not fighting the Folk Nation. We’re fighting one old gang member with a grudge. We get rid of him, the problem should go away.”

  “Get rid of him?” She narrowed her eyes. “You mean murder him.”

  “This is a war, Jack. It isn’t murder.”

  “I could make a good argument that all war is murder.”

  “If you’d capped him twenty years ago, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “I don’t murder people, Phin.”

  Phin considered bringing up someone else from Jack’s past, but kept quiet. We all learned to live with the things we’ve done, and Jack was no exception.

  But if Phin had a shot at T-Nail, he was going to take it.

  Hell, if Phin had a chance to wipe them all out, he wouldn’t even blink. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to protect his family.

  “So, while I was valiantly rushing in here—”

  “Stupidly rushing in here,” Jack interrupted.

  “—to save your life and have great sex—”

  “The sex was pretty great.”

  “—did you come up with any sort of plan?”

  “I did.” Jack winked. “It’s all about the balistraria.”

  “You’re kidding. This place has balistraria?”

  “You know what balistraria are?”

  “Doesn’t everyone? Merlons, right? Arrowslits.”

  She frowned. “Maybe I just went to the wrong schools.”

  “How many does the house have?”

  “Eight.”

  “So we can kill them through the holes.”

  “No, not kill. Wound.”

  Phin’s turn to frown. “Jack, we’re fighting for our lives, here.”

  “I know. But you kill one man, you take him out of the fight. But if you wound a man…”

  “You take two people out,” Phin said, getting it and nodding. “Him, and the one helping him.”

  “So instead of killing a hundred, we can wound fifty. Not only can we save ourselves, but we can still sleep at night.”

  He shrugged. “I sleep fine. You’re the one with sleeping problems.”

  Jack placed her hands on Phin’s shoulders. “Promise me you’re not going to start killing kids.”

  “Give a kid a gun and he isn’t a kid anymore.”

  “Phin.” Jack used the same voice when chiding Sam.

  “I’ll try my best. We’re not all expert shots.”

  “Just be careful.”

  Phin put his hands on Jack’s hips, drawing her close. She titled her chin up to be kissed.

  Such a natural position for married couples. But Jack had been keeping Phin at arms’ length for so long, it almost took him by surprise. He touched his lips to hers, lightly, tenderly, and then her tongue was in his mouth.

  Phin pulled away, grinning. “Where have you been?”

  “I think I’ve been so worried about losing you, that I pushed you away. But when I was really confronted with losing you it kicked my ass.”

  “Or maybe you just needed to get laid.”

  Jack’s grin matched his. “Can’t argue with that. Let’s get you a gun.”

  In Harry’s armory, Phin chose an Armalite AR-10 with a twenty inch barrel and a twenty-five round magazine. Jack selected a Vortex scope, attached it to the rail, and then Phin followed her to one of the balistrarias. He watched as she shot a tree and spent about thirty seconds futzing with the optics to zero out the weapon.

  “You’re good to go,” she said, handing him the rifle.

  Phin gave it a once-over, familiarizing himself with the position of the safety, the mag release, the charging handle, and then he adjusted the stock for a comfortable hold. He sighted the rifle through the balistraria and aimed at a knot on a big pine tree. Phin never learned how to accurately judge distance through a scope, but he’d passed that tree while walking among the gang and estimated it to be about sixty meters away. He pressed the butt of the rifle tight into his shoulder, exhaled slowly through his mouth, and before he took his next breath he slowly squeezed the trigger.

  His round took a big chunk out of the knot.

  “Nice,” Jack said. She’d been standing over his shoulder, peering through the balistraria with binoculars. “You’re pretty good, lover.”

  Phin allowed himself a small grin. In a warped way, Jack’s compliment was even more intimate than the sex they’d just had. Maybe Phin’s earlier diagnosis had been correct; Jack was an adrenaline junkie who hadn’t had a fix in years. She’d never admit it, but Jack missed the excitement.

  If they got out of this, Phin promised he’d take her skydiving. Or swimming with sharks. Or maybe he’d take her into the city, and they could rob a few drug dealers. Anything to keep the spark lit.

  Phin squinted through the scope and swept to the right, balancing the gun on the cross T bar of the balistraria, pivoting only a centimeter because the focus was so long. He stopped on a familiar sight.

  The General.

  Not the big guy strapped to the Segway. This was the younger dude, with all the scalps on his vest.

  Phin aimed at the man’s head. Even though Jack insisted on wounding, Phin wasn’t planning on missing this kill shot.

  DEL RAY

  There was gunfire. A single shot. Del didn’t know where it came from, but random shooting had become commonplace since they’d arrived. Some cats just couldn’t help themselves from shooting prematurely.

  He ignored it, and focused on the task presented to him. T-Nail wanted to wreck the bus. Apparently, during his time in the joint, the OG had forgotten the value of money. This operation was already costing a fortune, and trashing the bus would add on forty K. All he had to do was wait for the dynamite to arrive, and they’d be in, and still have a ride home.

  But Del knew this wasn’t really about money. Or time.

  It was a crazy-ass Idi Amin-style abuse of power. T-Nail was doing it, just because he could.

  The next obvious step was for T-Nail to try and eliminate him. Del knew that offer of War Chief was wack. As soon as they killed the cop, T-Nail would come gunning.

  Del Ray had to pre-empt that shit.

  Another shot. Sounded like a long gun.

  Really? Brothers can’t keep it holstered?

  He walked through the woods until he hunted down a gangsta named Spread. Dude was always up for action. And though Del didn’t think his men were expendable like T-Nail did, he knew that Spread was skimming off his street take.

  “Yo, gangsta, wassup?” Spread held out his hand for the C-Notes shake.

  “T-Nail getting restless. We gotta get in there, dog.”

  “Place is like Fort Knox, homes. We need a nuke or something.”

  “We need someone to crash the joint.”

  “In what? A tank?”

  Del Ray held up the keys. “The bus. And you my huckleberry.”

  “Me? Shit, Del. I’m not up for that.”

  “You up for a rum runner?”

  Spread’s eyes got wide.

  “I know you’re withholding, Spread. You think you can play me like that?”

  Spread apparently didn’t know better when it came to stealing, but he knew enough not to lie. “Del, man, I’ll pay the money back. I—”

  Del Ray held up one finger, silencing the man. “Boys are all agitated. Riled up. They’d love to get you in a beat down right about now. Don’t know if you’d even live through it, dog. So what’s it gonna be?
You up for hitting the house? Or we gonna form a circle and blood out?”

  “Out?”

  “How can I trust you anymore, Spread? You stealin’. C-Notes are all about family and honor. You don’t do this, you out.”

  “And if I do it?”

  “Clean slate. We cool. Still gotta take your corner away. But you stay in.”

  “And no beat down?”

  “No beat down.”

  Spread nodded and took the keys. “Thanks, General.”

  Del Ray watched him walk off, heading for the bus. T-Nail was wrong about power. True power wasn’t people fearing you. It was all about give and take. A good leader knew what his people needed. Spread would bust his ass trying to show Del he was worthy to stay in the C-Notes.

  That was the kind of allegiance Del Ray wanted.

  He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, and that was when the bullet hit his head.

  HERB

  I thought Tom had an apartment in Portage Park,” Herb said.

  He was peering out one of the Crimebago’s porthole windows in the rear portion of the recreational vehicle. They were not in Portage Park. They weren’t even in Chicago.

  “Just making a quick stop first,” Harry said.

  Herb pushed down his bubbling anger. Getting into a pissing contest with McGlade produced ample heat, but no light. They still had a long trip ahead of them, and civility was essential if Herb wanted to avoid a homicide conviction.

  “Jack needs us.” Herb kept his voice even, channeling his inner Buddhist monk.

  “I’m aware of that, El Gordo. I’m the one who told you about it, remember? Or have the fat cells clogged your brain?”

  Monks were serene. Zen. Nothing bothered them. “Why didn’t you run your errands before you picked me up?” Herb said, at one with universal calm.

  “Yeah, that was one of the options. But then we would have missed out on all this fun we’re having.”

  “Where are we, Harry?”

  “We’re in the Crimebago, stupid. Watch Homeboy, I’ll be right back.”

  McGlade had parked in front of what looked like an expensive apartment building, or maybe it was a condo. Herb blew out a stiff breath. He checked the GPS on his phone, and saw they were in Skokie.