Prince of Killers: A Fog City Novel
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Kane rolled his eyes. “Because that phrase is so much better.” He pushed off the sink and started for the door. “Keep me posted, and stay safe.” Hand on the knob, he paused and glanced back. All trace of humor was gone from his eyes. “All of you.”
Chapter Two
Hawes didn’t have time to linger on Kane’s words, as his phone vibrated with a text from Ray. At the curb.
On my way, he texted back.
But first, he tipped Dante’s business card out of his phone case and into his other palm. Handling it carefully, he snapped a couple of quick photos and shot them off to Holt with a message to commence digging.
Copy that, his twin replied.
Hawes tucked the card back into the case, pocketed his phone, and headed for the exit. Outside, Jodie was standing next to the idling Benz.
Shit. She’d lost Dante.
“Sorry, boss,” she said as Hawes slid into the back seat. “He made a loop around the block and hopped on the fucking cable car.”
No way would she have made it back in the ten minutes Hawes had allowed if she’d followed Dante onto one of those. Also, “fucking cable car” was right.
“It’s fine,” Hawes said. “Holt’s on him.”
That would have to satisfy, including Hawes’s mind, if he was going to be sharp for the job ahead. Granted, all he had to do was press a button, but he could never be too careful, especially when explosives were involved. There was only one other method of assassination Hawes hated more, but while he was confident foregoing a pistol, he wouldn’t ask that of his operatives. “Are we set?” he asked.
Jodie nodded. “Lucas texted. All wired up.”
Tension rippled through Hawes, tightening his insides. He didn’t let it show. “The area is clear?”
“Pier’s deserted except for the warehouse.” The derelict pier was set to be demolished later that month. They were doing the city a favor, taking down the largest of the remaining structures on it, but they had to be sure no one was in it.
“You’re certain the women are out?”
“All of them.” Ray shifted in his seat and passed a tablet to Hawes, two windows open on-screen. “The left one is the security loop Holt hijacked.” Everything looked normal in that window. Two guards sat at a card table eating soup out of sourdough bread bowls. “The right window is the real footage from an hour ago.” The guards’ faces were planted in their food. “Avery got the women out and onto the boat while Lucas wired the place.”
“Reno will be by for his nightly check-in at ten,” Jodie said, “and find his precious ‘merchandise’ gone.” She sneered at the term the cartel transporter used time and again to refer to the trafficking victims he regularly traded in. The warehouse was a layover stop. The only one Reno had left after Jodie and Ray had taken out a winemaker who was letting Reno use his cellars to hide women awaiting transport.
Hawes scrolled through the live surveillance feeds. No sign of activity inside or outside the warehouse. “Only two guards?” Hawes expected more firepower after the winery incident last week.
“Reno thinks he’s flying under the radar with this one,” Ray said. “Doesn’t want to draw attention to it.”
Clearly, neither Reno nor his guards knew Holt had tapped into their webcam. Served them right for broadcasting the “fun” they had with their victims. Not that the trafficking alone hadn’t earned them vetted status. These were the kind of contracts Hawes wanted for the organization. Gray areas and despicable human beings the law couldn’t reach or catch—the Madigans could.
Jodie turned the car down the road to the pier. The street was almost pitch-black toward the end, the city no longer maintaining the doomed stretch. It was a perfect, under the radar hideout for the cartel’s trafficking operation, until they’d been put on Hawes’s radar. The tablet vibrated in his hands, indicating they were within range for the remote detonation app. Jodie wheeled the car around and backed it into a narrow alley between two smaller, boarded-up structures, out of sight for when Reno drove past.
“We should be good to go,” Jodie said.
Hawes’s insides went from tight to knotted as his mind flashed back to another dark night three years ago. To the unintended death precipitated by the weapon of destruction he wielded tonight. He had to be sure.
He cycled through the surveillance feeds one more time. All clear. He moved the monitoring window to the side of the tablet and brought the detonation app to the front. Thumb over the Activate trigger, he’d hit it as soon as Reno was inside. Far enough in to guarantee his death, but before he realized something was amiss.
Motion in the other window caught Hawes’s eye.
“Shit!” He dragged that window back to the center and zoomed in. There, on the edge of view, a man crouched and peered into one of the compartments where Reno had hidden the women. “There’s still someone inside. Looks like he’s checking for the women.”
He flashed the tablet at Ray, who likewise muttered a curse.
“He’s probably one of Reno’s men.”
“Probably isn’t good enough,” Hawes said, even if the man did have a gun holstered on his hip. Hawes had been wrong before; he wouldn’t risk it again. Those were the rules now—his rules. He dialed Holt from the tablet.
It rang once through the car’s speakers before Holt picked up. “I see him too. Facial recognition is running.”
“Call Lucas,” Hawes told Ray. “Have him walk you through exactly what he did to clear the building.”
Ray shoved open the door. “On it.”
Phone to his ear, he paced in front of the Benz while Hawes and Jodie waited for Holt’s update. On-screen, the man in the warehouse gave the two dead men a wide berth as he continued to check the holding cells.
“Scout for Reno?” Jodie asked.
“Possibly,” Hawes said. “Or for a rival cartel, or a fed. Coast Guard has both been snooping around this case too.”
“Strike out here,” Holt said. “Facial recognition didn’t ping.”
Ray braced a hand on the frame of the open car door. “Lucas is certain there was no one else in or around the warehouse when he and Avery cleared out with the women.”
“Reno’s five minutes out,” Holt said, adding to their mounting complications.
The biggest one was in that warehouse. They needed to flush him out and confirm who he worked for. “Holt, activate the comm devices. Give us Reno’s location every ninety seconds.” Hawes lowered the armrest between the back seats and opened the custom-built, foam-lined “tool case” inside. “Ray, you take the north entry. Jodie, you’ve got the south side.” He handed each operative an over-ear comm and hooked on his own. “I’ll come through the front. We herd him toward the center, then out the back.”
“Toward the water?” Jodie said. “We’ll be cut off too if we don’t get him out before Reno gets here.”
“There’s enough of the promenade left for you to skirt around the building,” Holt said. “Security feed shows it’s clear. As soon as you get out of the blast radius, I’ll detonate the explosives from here.”
Assuming they booked it fast enough to do so before Reno caught on to the trap. This was risky, but risking an innocent life was unacceptable. Hawes untucked the garrote from the case’s foam and lowered the lid with a snap. “We wait for Reno and kill him if we have to. So long as the explosion goes off in the end, the evidence will be destroyed and it’ll be linked to the winery explosion, as intended.” It would look like the cartel was cleaning up their own mess.
“Worse comes to worst,” Hawes added, “we’ll have the water.”
“That water’s freezing,” Ray protested.
“Better than burning alive.”
And better than living with more innocent blood on his hands.
“Reno’s two blocks out.”
Holt’s report came just as their hiccup stepped into Hawes’s reach. The man had been so busy yammering on his phone about the merchandise—a scout, then; not an innocent—t
hat he hadn’t realized he’d been expertly redirected by Ray and Jodie, who’d been locking some doors and opening others. Or that Hawes was hiding in the shadows right behind him.
“He’s all yours, boss,” Jodie spoke quietly from her position on the other side of the main room’s entry door. Ready to round it at any second.
Hawes slowly separated the two ends of the garrote, minimizing the hiss of the wire as he unfurled it. No dramatics needed. He inched a wingtip out of the shadows and shifted his weight to step forward.
The scout spoke a name, and Hawes immediately retreated.
“Fuck!” Holt murmured, having heard the same thing. “Stay right there and keep him close. I’m tapping into his wireless signal. I’ll check it against their list.”
“What’s going on?” Ray whispered.
“Rival cartel,” Holt answered, since Hawes could not.
“Acceptable collateral,” Jodie said.
No such thing.
And the rival cartel was not their target. This was not a war Hawes wanted to set off. Yes, war was likely inevitable if the rival cartel was willing to consider such a rip-off, but for Kane’s sake, Hawes wouldn’t be the one to start it. Didn’t mean he’d let this guy get away, or not get his actual target.
“Confirmed,” Holt said. “Abort?”
“No,” Hawes said, at full voice, intentionally. “Capture.”
“What?” The scout whipped around. “Who’s there?”
Hawes lunged out of the shadows. “Bad night to plan a rip-off.”
The scout reached for his gun, but Hawes, moving faster, flung one end of the garrote toward the crook of the scout’s right elbow. The wire looped around, hooked, and Hawes yanked, stopping the scout short of grabbing his weapon. The man cocked back his left arm, preparing to swing. Hawes ducked, and Jodie swept in from the scout’s blindside, grabbing his raised elbow and his gun.
“Good luck with that,” she said with a lethal smile.
She jerked the scout’s arm the opposite direction as Hawes, who was still holding his right arm trapped in the garrote. The pop of dislocating shoulders made Hawes cringe. Add to that the thump of knees hitting concrete—Ray kicking the scout’s legs out from behind him—and even Holt groaned in sympathy over the comms.
Victory, however, was short-lived. Holt turned serious again in an instant. “Reno’s at the gate.”
The scout gasped and grunted as Jodie finished trussing him up. “Who the fuck are you guys?”
Hawes knelt and got in his face, making sure the man got a good look at him. “They call me the Prince of Killers.” He hated the moniker, whispered through the foggy underbelly of San Francisco’s disreputable elite. Hated how it came to be and what it implied, but there was no denying its implication was useful in certain circumstances. Like now, as fear widened the scout’s eyes. Hawes also needed deterrence to penetrate his brain. “Remind your cartel boss who keeps the order in Fog City. Don’t fuck with it. And you remember who saved your life tonight.”
“Saved my life?”
“I’m not leaving you here for Reno to find, or to die. That’s a war none of us needs.” He stood and turned to Jodie and Ray. “Toss him in the Bay.”
“I’ll drown like this,” the scout hissed.
“Better hope you float,” Ray said as he hefted him over his shoulder.
The scout continued to struggle as they exited via the promenade. When the inky water of the Bay was in sight, he tried bargaining. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” But Hawes did know a certain Bureau AD who was investigating the cartel’s trafficking operations. A little goodwill could go a long way. “But I know someone who might be.”
Chapter Three
An hour later, the waterfront was still alight, the fire from the explosion raging, and the fleet of emergency vehicles casting their bright lights on the scene. A stark contrast to the occasional car that passed by Hawes in the midtown residential neighborhood where he’d arranged the hand-off of the scout. Hawes dragged his gaze from the fiery sight, the last such explosion he ever intended to set, and hoofed it up the hill. As much as he would have liked to call it a night, he needed to return to the family fort and debrief with his brother and sister. Needed to find out what Holt, now freed from mission-comm duty, had dug up on Dante Perry.
Ray stood at the mouth of an alley half a block up the hill, backlit by the glare of headlights, fog swirling around his legs. Jodie edged the Benz’s nose out from between the two structures on either side of the narrow street.
“Take me to the house,” Hawes said, turning into the alley.
Mind whirring over Dante, Hawes almost missed the car reversing direction, the taillights reflecting brighter off the house at the other end of the alley, the side-view mirror appearing on the edge of his periphery, the rear door handle moving out of his reach.
Ray’s footsteps closed in fast and loud behind him.
Hawes spun, expecting to see someone chasing them into the alley, only to find Ray’s pistol raised and aimed directly at him. Hawes stumbled back a step, struggling to put the pieces together. “What the fuck?”
Ray’s eyes held his. They were not the eyes of an ally. Not those of the man who’d fought by Hawes’s side just an hour ago. They were cold, intent on death. What the hell was going on?
Hawes patted his pocket for the garrote. Empty. His stomach sank.
Ray grinned menacingly. “Missing something?” The garrote dangled from the fingertips of his free hand.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Better question is, have you?” Ray tossed the garrote behind him, toward the street, then charged forward.
Hawes didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have time to dwell on the boulder of betrayal threatening to flatten him. All he had time to do was react. He ducked, and Ray’s gun crashed into the driver’s-side window. Glass rained down onto the pavement, crunching under Hawes’s feet as he spun and rammed a shoulder into Ray’s middle.
“So much for doing your job,” Hawes said. “You call this protection?”
“Not my job,” Ray grunted. “Said it yourself.”
“Neither is killing me.”
“Except it is.” Ray brought the butt of his gun down on Hawes’s back, dead center and hard as hell, two hundred pounds of muscle behind it.
A spike to his spine, the hit sent waves of pain radiating out to all of Hawes’s limbs. He let loose a shout, then gritted his teeth against the agony, against the urge to drop to the ground and curl into a ball. That would only lead to death. He was sure of that. Dante’s earlier prediction echoed loudly in his head. Fighting through the pain with a roar, he shoved Ray with all his strength, enough to get a foot of separation. Enough to avoid another pistol whip, hike up his elbow, and ram it under Ray’s chin. With his attacker’s head flung back, Hawes kicked a leg up between Ray’s spread ones, foot aimed directly at the traitor’s crotch.
Ray howled, bent forward, and struggled to right himself, hands coming down to shield himself from another kick. Hawes got there first, landing a second kick to his middle. “Consider that your severance pay,” he said, as the traitor stumbled backward out of the alley. A blaring car horn warned of Ray’s impending fate if he didn’t regain his balance soon.
But Ray was no longer the focus of Hawes’s attention.
The driver’s-side door was flung open and jammed against the siding of the adjacent house, the rest of the broken glass from the window—and from Jodie’s skirt—tinkling to the asphalt. It crunched under her heels, but not as ominously as the safety-off snick of her gun or the whoosh of air around the knife she flipped in her other hand.
Not just a single boulder—a fucking landslide of betrayal walloped Hawes. He fought to remain standing. Forced himself to shake out his limbs and prepare for round two. “You too? Did you even bother to follow Perry earlier?”
“Perry’s not my concern.”
Through it was, then, and since Hawes wouldn’t carry a gun and Ray had thrown his best weapon the opposite direction, speed, distraction, and sharp elbows were the only options he had left.
“Were you and Ray planning to make your move tonight, or did Perry accelerate your timeline?”
“Got orders to let you burn,” Jodie said. “Turns out that scout saved you too. For an extra hour.”
She and Ray had been doing a job. They’d been hired to kill him. Someone hadn’t merely wanted to kill him. They’d enacted a plan to do just that. Dante had been more right than he probably knew.
“Orders from whom?” he asked Jodie.
He didn’t expect an answer, but with each word he spoke, Hawes stepped closer to where three wires broke off from the dozen or so cables running horizontally along the building’s exterior. He couldn’t yank the whole bunch off the wall, secured as they were by bolted-in loops, but he could rip free those three vertical-running cords.
More weapons.
“Not to sound arrogant,” Hawes said, inching closer, “but I find it hard to believe you found a better boss.”
“You do sound arrogant.” Jodie spun the hilt of the knife in her hand, her hold loose and flexible. Ready to grip and throw in an instant, like Hawes’s sister had taught her.
Panic streaked through Hawes, sudden and breathtaking.
If Jodie and Ray had moved on him tonight, was someone else moving on Helena? On Holt and his wife and daughter? Was this a coordinated attack on the family? A coup? Or was he the only target? Whipping out his phone and calling home wasn’t an option. Neither was asking the question. He didn’t want to put that idea, if it wasn’t already there, in the head of whoever was behind this.