by Jason Dean
From the unnatural angle of Carlos’s neck, Bishop could immediately tell he was dead. Probably killed on impact. But what had got him so scared? Bishop scanned the sidewalk on the other side and saw numerous pedestrians glancing over. They were talking amongst themselves, clearly curious about what the commotion was. But Bishop’s attention was drawn to a large black man standing on his own. He had his hands in his overcoat pockets and didn’t look curious at all. Bishop couldn’t make out too many details at this distance, but he seemed to be looking directly at Bishop. Then a group of people ran into the street, blocking his view, and Bishop lost sight of him.
He dashed into the street, reached the centre line and looked in both directions, trying to get a glimpse of the man again.
But there was no sign. The guy was gone.
SIXTEEN
Bishop gave the cab driver an extra twenty and got out. The journey had taken less than ten minutes, and he’d spent most of it wondering what the hell Amy had gotten herself into. He still found it inconceivable that she could have done anything that warranted the kind of treatment she’d received. And now two of his suspects were dead. Yuri Vasilyev was his last chance to get some answers. Assuming the black guy hadn’t gotten to him already.
As the cab pulled away, Bishop studied the street. Benchley Place was a short cul-de-sac off the Bellamy Loop, with three imposing, cross-shaped towers looming over it. Bishop moved towards the entrance for Building 23 on the right and went inside. He walked down a long hallway and eventually found himself in another lobby. It was cleaner than the last place, but no less bleak. A young Latino woman with a sleeping kid in a stroller was waiting in front of the elevator bank. Bishop stood next to her. It was another minute before the next car arrived. They entered and the woman pressed 12. Bishop pressed 19. The elevator rose.
When the doors opened the second time, Bishop stepped out onto the landing. He saw a floor plan stuck to one of the walls and went over for a look. Seen from above, the building was shaped like a fat plus sign, with the elevators taking up the central axis and all the apartments running off from the four branches. Bishop saw he wanted the corridor to his immediate right. He walked in that direction and stopped outside the door to 1907.
There was no spyhole in this door, but Bishop stood just to the side anyway. He put on the gloves again, then rapped twice on the door.
About five seconds later, a muffled low-pitched voice said, ‘Yeah?’
‘It’s Carlos,’ Bishop said in his best imitation of the voice he’d heard on the answering machine.
‘Oh, okay.’
Bishop heard the sounds of latches being drawn back. He got himself ready. As soon as the door began to open, Bishop slammed his body hard against it and bulldozed his way in, shoving the door back as far as it would go. There was the sound of something thumping against the wall, and then Bishop was inside. He quickly shut the door and looked down at the figure on the floor.
‘Oh, great,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Just wonderful.’
The low-pitched voice had belonged to a scrawny, petite, long-haired brunette dressed in vest and panties. Bishop guessed she was no older than twenty. Possibly younger. Must have smoked a hell of a lot of cigarettes to get a voice like that. She was also unconscious. That sound he’d heard would have been her head colliding with the wall.
He looked around and saw they were in a small foyer with four doors leading off from it. Straight ahead was the living room. To the left were the kitchen and the bathroom. To the right, the bedroom area. He listened for other signs of life in the apartment, but heard only silence. He checked anyway, and discovered the place was empty.
He came back, reached down and picked up the girl. She weighed practically nothing. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her out on the unmade double bed. She was out of it for now, but for how long? He’d prefer not to be identified if he could help it. He checked the bedroom door and saw a keyhole, but no key. Not a problem. From his pocket, he pulled out his own set of keys and found the one with all the grooves filed down to their minimum settings. This was his bump key. Same principle as the gun, but for simpler mechanisms. It could also lock them, too. You just had to do everything in reverse.
Once the girl was locked inside, Bishop made his way into the living room. It had a similar layout to Whelan’s, but this one boasted a floor-to-ceiling window with a small balcony outside. A couch and some chairs were arranged around an old TV. There was an old mountain bike resting against one wall, and next to that a bookcase filled with piles of magazines. Bishop could guess the subject matter. At the bottom of the bookcase was a set of long drawers.
Bishop knelt down and pulled open the first drawer. Inside were piles of what looked like old bills, with pens and pencils scattered around. There was also a half-used roll of ¾-inch electrical tape at the back. That would come in useful. He put it in his pocket. He was about to close the drawer when he heard the sound of rattling keys in the hallway outside.
Bishop jumped to his feet and ran into the bathroom, closing the door until all that was left was a thin sliver. The bathroom was pretty cramped, with a large sink and a john against one wall. Opposite was a combo bath and shower, with an empty towel rack affixed to the wall further along. Light came from a long, thin, frosted window at head height. Bishop watched the foyer through the crack. He pulled the balisong from his pocket and did his rapid hand flick thing, and the blade popped out. Then he heard the sound of a key being inserted into the front door lock.
The door opened and a Caucasian man stepped inside. He was about Bishop’s height, but stockier. He wore an army jacket and baggy chinos. His hair was cut close to his head and Bishop could make out a tattoo crawling up his neck like a snake.
‘Jeannie, you stupid little bitch,’ he called out, ‘you forgot to lock door again. How many times I have to tell you? You want me to teach you another lesson?’ The accent behind the words was unmistakably Russian, but Bishop thought his English was pretty good. He closed the front door with his foot and said, ‘Where are you? Jeannie?’
Bishop edged back from the bathroom door and coughed softly.
He got himself ready. The bastard wouldn’t know what hit him.
Two seconds later, the door exploded inwards and a freight train smashed into Bishop. He lost his grip on the knife and heard it clatter across a surface as something hard connected with his chin. Then he was down on the floor with the heavier Russian on top of him. Bishop quickly reduced the man’s options by wrapping his arms around him in a bear hold, but the Russian used what little space he had left and started pummelling Bishop’s guts and kidneys with both fists.
One-two-three-four. The blows came in quick succession. Each hit forced more breath from Bishop’s body, but he held on as if his life depended on it. Which it did.
He kept kicking out with his right knee, but the Russian was too close and he couldn’t get any traction. He also knew he couldn’t take much of this. If he didn’t get on top of the situation fast, he was a goner.
The bathroom was too small. No room to move. But he’d been in close-quarters skirmishes before. You just had to adapt and use what you had. Bishop glanced around quickly but couldn’t see the knife anywhere. So no weapons except his hands and feet. Fine. Bishop calculated the possibilities and in less than a second decided a well-aimed frog punch would work best for this situation. He took another hit to the gut. Then he grunted in response to another one in the ribs.
Ignoring the damage being done, he clenched his left hand into a fist, extending the second knuckle of his middle finger outward to form a point. He had to be careful here. He’d seen a man die from one of these delivered to the temple, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he needed to get control of the situation and this was the best he had.
He took another punch to the kidneys, then released the Russian from the bear hold and aimed a left hook about an inch below the man’s left temple. He felt the middle knuckle connect with the soft area a
t side of the man’s skull and the Russian cried out in pain and rolled off Bishop with one hand clasping his head.
Bishop went with him, then flexed his right arm and rammed the tip of his elbow into the man’s stomach with all his weight. The Russian let loose a hoarse grunt and Bishop delivered another elbow punch to the same place. And with the same amount of force. The Russian cried out something and doubled over.
Bishop had raised his arm for another shot when the Russian spun round and swiped at him with a backhand punch. Bishop moved his head back to avoid the blow and felt it connect with the sink behind him. Ignoring the sudden pain, he reached up and grabbed hold of the porcelain with one hand to steady himself and quickly clambered to his feet.
The Russian was on his back now and had one hand pressed to the floor as though about to rise. Bishop didn’t let him get any further than the thought. He pulled his left foot back and kicked the Russian in the balls with everything he had.
While the man writhed, Bishop took a deep breath and shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs, then looked around until he saw the knife he’d dropped. It had fallen into the bathtub. He bent over and picked it up.
The Russian was still doubled over in agony and Bishop crouched down and leaned in close. He pressed the point of the balisong blade against the man’s Adam’s apple and said, ‘You want to die, Yuri?’
‘No,’ Vasilyev hissed. His eyes were shut and his hands were pressed against his groin. ‘I don’t wanna die. Shit. Who are you?’
‘Shut up,’ Bishop said. He quickly patted the guy down with his free hand, but Yuri wasn’t carrying. ‘Okay, on your stomach. Hands behind your back. Now.’
Yuri grunted and slowly straightened himself out until he was face down on the linoleum floor. He pulled his arms around until both hands were resting against his butt. Bishop pulled the electrical tape from his pocket and jammed a knee in Yuri’s back to keep him in place. He tucked the knife in his waistband, found the end of the tape and used most of it to bind the man’s wrists together. It wasn’t as good as duct tape, but it would do. Once he was satisfied, Bishop got to his feet and said, ‘Okay. Get up.’
‘Where to?’
‘Next door. Move.’
Yuri tried to bring his knees up, but the linoleum was slippery. He quickly slid back onto his stomach. ‘I can’t get up. Help me, yeah?’
Bishop grabbed the neck of his jacket and hauled him upright, then pushed him through the doorway and into the living room. ‘Sit on the floor against the couch,’ he said. ‘Legs crossed.’
Yuri stopped just before the couch and gingerly lowered himself to the floor. ‘Oh, my balls,’ he said. He carefully crossed both legs until he was in the lotus position and looked down at the floor. ‘So what now?’
Bishop crouched down in front of him. ‘Now we’re gonna have us a little talk.’
SEVENTEEN
Bishop was in no rush. He let the man get his breath back first. And his own too, if he was entirely honest. The bastard had really put up a fight in there. Bishop would be all aches and bruises for the next twenty-four hours. But then, nothing in life came easy.
He studied the man’s neck tattoo. It showed a snake coiled round a thin stiletto, not too dissimilar to those worn by the old Russian mafia. Another gangster wannabe, no doubt. After about a minute, Yuri finally looked up from the floor and said, ‘I do something to you? Because if I did, I don’t remember it.’
‘What about last night? You remember back that far?’
Yuri blinked. ‘Last night?’
‘Yeah. You and your two pals, Pablo and Carlos, went for a walk in the park. Along with a lady named Amanda Philmore. Except only three of you came back out again. Is it coming back to you yet?’
‘Park?’ Yuri said. Bishop noticed a slight twitch beneath the man’s right eye. ‘What park? Hey, Jeannie let you in, yeah? What you do with her?’
Bishop pulled the butterfly knife from his waistband. Time to get this one focused on the subject at hand. He flipped it open with an exaggerated flourish and said, ‘You don’t want to know. But she won’t be disturbing us. Trust me on that.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘That’s right, Yuri. Oh, shit. You recognize this knife?’
Yuri shook his head.
‘I got it off your pal Pablo. He’s dead in his apartment, by the way. Overdose, if you can believe that. Carlos, too. His death will go down as a road traffic accident, but I can assure you there’s more to it than that.’
Yuri’s eyes grew wide. ‘You kill them both? Why? Who are you?’
‘I’m the brother of the lady you and your pals raped and left for dead last night. You all have yourselves a fine old time out there, or what?’
Yuri’s shoulders slumped. He stared down at the floor again. ‘You kill me too.’
‘Well, that kind of depends on whether I get answers or not. Pablo and Carlos thought they could play me. They were wrong. They were also very stupid. I just hope you’re a little smarter, Yuri, or this is going to be a very brief conversation.’
Yuri looked up. ‘I’m smart. I learned English from book. What you want to know?’
‘Everything. From the beginning. I want to know who hired you, and I want to know why.’
Yuri breathed out. ‘I knew this was all wrong from the start. I just knew this.’ He shook his head. ‘Okay, look, this big black guy, yeah? Two days ago, he comes into this place we go to called Angelo’s and gets talking to Carlos and me. I don’t know where he gets our names from, but he knew we were available for work, yeah? He was a scary bastard, too. No sense of humour.’
‘His name.’
Yuri snorted. ‘You think he give us his name? It don’t work that way.’
Bishop shrugged. It had been a long shot, but he’d had to ask. ‘Go on.’
‘Okay, so this guy, yeah? He says he wants us to get another guy and make sure we ready to move on his say-so. He says there’s somebody causing problem in the city needs to be dealt with. But he isn’t sure when yet. Or who. He’d pay good money for us to be on call, though. Like on standby. What’s this word he used?’
‘Retainer.’
Vasilyev nodded. ‘Retainer. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. We were retainers.’
Bishop didn’t bother correcting him. ‘He tell you why she’d been marked?’
‘No, and I don’t ask. All I care about was being paid, yeah? He said he’d call me soon on the public phone at Angelo’s and wanted us all to be ready at a minute’s notice. So me, Carlos and Pablo were there that night and last night, just playing pool and waiting for the call. Shit, you really kill Pablo and Carlos? And Jeannie, too?’
‘Focus, Yuri. What time did the call come yesterday?’
‘Uh, about fifteen after ten.’
‘The same guy or somebody different?’
‘Same guy. He had this weird accent, too, yeah? Like almost English, but not.’
‘You mean mid-Atlantic?’
Yuri brought his brows together. ‘Mid-Atlantic?’
‘Half English, half American.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah. Mid-Atlantic. Anyway, he said it would be a woman, and she’d be waiting halfway down Fort George Hill at eleven exactly. He gave us description of what she’s wearing and told us to get moving. Pablo drove. We got there just before eleven and she was standing there just like he said.’
‘What were your instructions?’
Yuri looked down again. ‘We chase her into the park, yeah? We beat her up and make the whole thing look like a mugging, and then . . .’ He fell silent.
‘Then kill her.’
Yuri said nothing, just glanced out the window at his right.
Bishop was finding it very hard to stay in control of his emotions. Every part of him wanted to slowly slit Yuri’s throat from ear to ear and watch him bleed out like the pig he was. Just listening to him talk about Amy was enough to make him go crazy. But he couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now.
He showed Yuri the kn
ife again. ‘Who used this on my sister? You?’
Yuri turned back. ‘Hey, not me, guy. I don’t carry knives. It’s Pablo who liked using the blade. Plus he was still pissed at her for using a taser thing on him. She was a real tough bi—’
Bishop had the knife at Yuri’s throat before the Russian even knew what was happening. Yuri pulled his head away and Bishop stayed with him, pressing the knife point until it punctured the skin. A tiny stream of blood trickled down Yuri’s neck. The Russian whimpered. Just an extra pound of pressure. That’s all it would take. Bishop wanted to. He really wanted to. But he pulled back and said, ‘What was that, Yuri?’
The Russian swallowed. ‘Lady. That’s what I was gonna say. She was a real tough lady. She don’t go down easy.’
‘No, she wouldn’t have. The three of you sure taught her a lesson though, right?’
‘Four.’
Bishop’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘Four. He was there, too. The black guy. He must be waiting there in the park already. I don’t know. But I noticed him first. He was standing under one of the trees, watching. Maybe he wanted to make sure job got done right. I don’t know. He just let us work on her. Later he came over and took something from her bag and put it in his pocket.’
‘What did he take?’
‘Hey, I don’t know. It was dark, yeah? But something small. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Then what did he do?’
‘He, uh, he warns us not to get carried away and make sure we finish the job like we agreed. Then he went away.’
‘Uh huh. So the rape was like a bonus to you guys. Who went first on her, Yuri? You?’ Bishop flipped the knife closed, one-handed. Then he flipped it open. The image of Amy’s battered face was at the forefront of his mind. He could feel the rage taking over. Things were starting to turn grey around the edges. Part of him welcomed it, but the logical part told him to keep his anger at a slow boil. He wasn’t done with this idiot yet. He wanted to make absolutely sure he’d extracted every last piece of information from him first. Then he’d place him in cold storage somewhere until he figured out what kind of hell he was going to send him to.