Green Light (Sam Archer 7)

by Tom Barber

  Despite the fact she stood out, she figured hiding out here was as good a choice as any. She’d been sent to a bar four blocks south of this on several occasions to meet a client but knew Alex and Carlos would surely check there if it was them behind this. Not wanting to take any chances, she’d come here instead, four blocks north. She’d never been in this particular bar before and figured it was a safe place to lay low until she called Karen again to see whether she could stay with her tonight. There were plenty of people here which made her feel more secure; no-one could attack her with so many witnesses around. If Karen didn’t pick up, she could stay here till closing and then figure out what to do next.

  Taking another sip of water to moisten her dry mouth, she noticed a man on the other side of the bar looking at her. He didn’t smile but held eye contact. She immediately glanced away, feeling a sudden chill of fear sweep over her, and drained her glass quickly. However, the amount of water she’d drunk was beginning to have its inevitable effect; she’d been trying to hold off going as it was getting close to the hour when she’d ring Karen back but she couldn’t wait any longer.

  Sliding off her stool, she turned and walked towards the ladies room quickly, feeling the man at the bar watching her. She didn’t look back, readying herself to lock the restroom door behind her the moment she stepped inside.

  In a booth fifteen feet away, his overalls left in the van parked down the block, the driver of the black van looked up from his untouched beer and watched the red-headed escort walk towards the restrooms around the corner.

  Giving her a few moments to get out of sight, he slid out from his seat and hit Send on a text message.

  We’re on.

  On Central Park East, Archer ran out of the exit between West 85th and 86th, the cold air hurting his lungs as he breathed in hard. He stopped for a moment, several pedestrians having to step around him before continuing on their way.

  To his left, he saw a grey-haired African American guy in his sixties sitting beside a series of paintings and framed prints of The New Yorker, his back to the Park. Every now and then he shouted out an advertisement for his work, accompanied by the sound of a saxophone busker down the street; it was that combination which Archer had heard in the background of April’s panicked call to Karen Casey. He’d spent a lot of his spare time around Central Park in the summer with Vargas and had heard the man and the music on many an occasion when he walked past, heading for the subway stops.

  Looking around, he saw that the only likely places nearby she could be were two bars, one three blocks to his right and the other a block north.

  ‘I’ve got to hit the treadmill more,’ he muttered, sucking in another lungful of air as he made a quick decision and took off across the street.

  Inside the ladies restroom, April walked out of a stall and started to wash her hands at the basin, looking at the tired, worried reflection that was staring back at her. If Karen didn’t pick up she could stay here until closing, but where would she sleep? The subway? The Park?

  And then what? Could she go to the cops? She’d been evasive when they’d questioned her about Leann, which wouldn’t exactly help her case. From prior experience, she also knew they weren’t hugely interested when dealing with girls like her. She’d tried to get their help a few years back when a friend of hers had disappeared and they’d pretty well laughed in her face, another hooker with a time-wasting story. Unless she had a long history of drug addiction or there were witnesses to an abduction, a prostitute over the age of eighteen was hardly ever declared missing. She knew the reality; they just weren’t considered people worth spending time and money trying to find.

  Sighing, she dried her hands then moved to the door to get back to her stool at the bar, twisting the handle and pulling the door towards her.

  However, the moment she opened it, she took an instinctive step back.

  A large man was directly in front of her blocking her way.

  Ripping open the front door of one of the two bars, Archer moved inside, rapidly scanning the place to see if he could catch sight of the girl. He’d seen April’s picture in the closed case file on Leann Casey’s murder and knew she had red hair, sea-green eyes and was twenty years old. She’d stand out.

  Looking around, he saw that none of the women here matched her description. Cursing, he turned and headed for the door. Wrong guess.

  However, as he reached for the handle he hesitated and glanced to his right.

  There was an unoccupied stool at the bar. That wasn’t unusual but the cushion on the wood was still partially pushed down from someone sitting there recently and there was an empty glass on the woodwork in front of it which the barman hadn’t cleared. No-one had left the place when he ran towards it or in the last few moments.

  Looking back at the front door, Archer then noticed something else through the glass panel.

  A payphone, ten feet from the front entrance.

  TWENTY SIX

  Inside the restroom, the big man pushed April back and slammed her into the far wall, ramming his hand around her throat as the door swung shut behind him.

  As she clutched at his forearm, desperately trying to loosen his grip, April tried to make a sound in the hope someone in the bar could hear but the man was too strong, his hold on her throat preventing her from making any noise.

  Unable to breathe, pushed up so high her feet were almost off the ground, she saw a smaller man duck into the room behind her attacker then turn and lock the restroom door, making sure no-one else came in.

  Trapped and helpless, she kicked out with her remaining strength but the large guy didn’t even flinch and only tightened his grip, looking at her impassively as he waited for her to lose consciousness.

  A beat after he’d seen the empty stool and then the payphone outside, Archer turned to see where the toilets were located, just in time to catch a glimpse of a shaven-headed man disappear into the ladies’ restroom. The guy had moved furtively, pushing the door open then closing it behind him quickly; there was definitely something wrong here.

  Archer ran forward and tried the handle, but the door was locked. Without hesitation, he dipped his shoulder and rammed into it, smashing the door open.

  As it swung back, he saw a second much larger man strangling April Evans against the wall fifteen feet away, a silenced pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. Judging by his build, he had to be Nina Lister’s companion from earlier, black-haired, wide-shouldered, his head twisting round as he heard Archer crash into the room.

  As Archer reached into the back of his waistband and pulled his Beretta, he was suddenly pistol-whipped hard in the face from his right, stunning him and causing him to lose his grip on the weapon which clattered to the floor. As Archer recovered from the sucker shot, he saw the smaller guy already had his weapon up, aiming it at his head.

  Snapping forward and pushing the man’s arm to one side, Archer jerked his head back a fraction of an inch before the guy pulled the trigger. That first bullet missed him by a hair’s breadth but the man fired repeatedly, the rounds hitting the wall behind him, Archer feeling the hot exhaust from the weapon as he fought to keep the suppressed FN.45 aimed away from his head.

  Kicking the guy hard in the groin, Archer hit him with a flash uppercut, popping his head back and stunning him as he fell to the floor. Following up his advantage, Archer stamped on the guy’s hand, forcing his grip on the silenced pistol to loosen which the blond detective then kicked into one of the stalls.

  Seeing his partner in trouble, the other man released April, who sank to the floor; stepping forward, he swung a meaty right hook which cleaved through the air but Archer saw it coming and ducked under the punch, immediately tackling the guy and driving him back, smashing him hard into a stall. Riding another uppercut that Archer fired off, the larger man connected with a thumping straight left that cut under Archer’s eye, causing him to reel back.

  Hitting the basins behind him, Archer grabbed hold of one as support, leant back
and drove both feet into the guy’s chest just as he lunged at him, propelling him back as he ran at him, buying himself a precious few seconds. As his attacker hit the stall then came at him again, Archer let go of the basin and grabbed hold of a hand-dryer on the wall next to him with both hands. In a burst of strength, he ripped the metal box off the wall and smashed it into his attacker’s face just as he rushed him.

  The man ran straight into the blow, the force of the impact taking him off his feet. As he hit the deck, Archer dropped the box, scooped up his Beretta and turned to April, who was coughing and trying to stand.

  Despite the punishment they’d taken, both guys were already moving which meant Archer was left with one choice and it wasn’t to hang around.

  ‘Let’s go!’ he said to April, reaching out and grabbing her hand as the two men lurched to their feet.

  Running towards the door, he dragged her out of the restroom back into the bar.

  Racing past surprised patrons and bar-staff who’d heard the noise of the fight, Archer and April sprinted for the door, blood running down Archer’s cheek from the big guy’s punch. However, a concerned bartender had moved round from the bar and was blocking their way.

  ‘What the hell is going on? You can’t fight in here!’

  Before Archer could answer, he heard a shriek from several customers behind him as the restroom door smashed open.

  ‘Get down!’ he shouted, pushing April and the bartender to the floor a beat before he heard two muffled gunshots, the glass on the front window shattering ahead of them.

  As he hit the floor, Archer rolled onto his back, Beretta in hand, and saw the large guy from the bathroom aiming directly at him. However, he got there first and fired twice at his assailant, the guy reacting fast for a big man, ducking back into the restroom as frightened patrons scrambled under tables, the gunshots from Archer’s Beretta harsh and loud compared to the muffled shots of the silenced .45 pistols.

  With his gunfire keeping the two men back, Archer pulled April to her feet and they ran through the front exit out onto the street. They made it through the door just as the glass behind them was smashed out from more rounds, the bullets burying themselves in a car parked immediately outside the bar, setting off the alarm.

  Looking left and right swiftly, Archer couldn’t see or hear any cop cars yet; quickly assessing his options, he realised that if they ran either way down the street, they’d be gunned down in an instant.

  Without a moment to spare, he grabbed April’s hand and took off again, the pair racing across the street, weaving through the traffic and heading straight into Central Park.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  With a head-start on the two men, Archer and April sprinted into the Park as rain started to fall heavily, the wind picking up, both of which masked the sound of their running footsteps. The path they were on split into two but without slowing, Archer steered them to the left, the route he’d taken on the way here.

  Suddenly, pieces of wood and leaves sprayed up beside them, bullets ripping into the trees and pinging off a lamp-post to their right.

  ‘Jesus!’ April shouted as Archer pulled her onwards, not allowing her pace to slow.

  The path joined a road with cyclists and joggers, apparently undeterred by the rain. The road stretched out straight either way, offering no cover, meaning they’d be target practice for the two gunmen when they caught up with them in a few moments.

  Knowing they were out of options and time, Archer dragged April with him to the left, the pair jumping over a metal railing and stumbling down into the undergrowth on the side of the road.

  The two men appeared from the path just in time to see the cop and woman disappear. They opened fire again, emptying entire clips, a hail of bullets sending leaves and bark flying into the air as the fleeing pair scrambled out of sight.

  Reloading, the large man nodded to his partner, who stepped over the barrier and pushed his way through the thick vegetation, holding his pistol double-handed, his footfalls muffled by the falling rain which pattered off the leaves around him. Staying on the main road and looking down the sights of his own pistol, the big guy waited in case the cop and woman reappeared, the side of his head pounding from where the blond man had hit him with the dryer.

  Then he heard two barking gunshots, the cop’s unsilenced pistol, and ran forward, jumping over the railing and pushing his way down the small slope.

  Behind the protection of a large tree, Archer fired into the earth again so as not to risk hitting any passers-by. Backed up against the trunk, cursing quietly as the increasingly heavy rain continued to fall around them, his mind raced as he desperately tried to come up with a better plan other than firing the Beretta to lure both men towards him and away from April.

  He looked to his right, at the steep wet slope. It would take him at least ten seconds to make it up to the railing and path, but he’d have more holes in him than Leann Casey’s murder case-file by that point.

  That left one other choice.

  Stalking in the direction of that gunfire, the two gunmen suddenly saw the cop throw himself down the slope to his left. They fired at him, the large guy scoring a hit but realising he’d only hit the blond man’s vest before he slid out of sight. They ran forward and fired again but he’d gone to ground in the thick undergrowth.

  ‘You get him?’ his partner called.

  The big guy ignored him, running forward to check behind the tree. The woman wasn’t there.

  ‘Shit! Where’s the bitch?’

  On road level, having hidden behind another tree as Archer drew their fire, April pulled herself over the railing then put her hands up as uniformed cops ran towards her from the East-side entrance.

  ‘Please help!’ she shouted. ‘Two men are trying to kill me!’

  As two of the officers moved forward and secured her in handcuffs, there was movement from behind them. Snapping around, the officers raised their weapons as Archer suddenly appeared, his hands in the air as he struggled to breathe, having taken a bullet to the vest.

  ‘Drop the weapon!’

  Archer complied, two of the men moving forward.

  ‘Down on your knees!’

  ‘I’m a cop!’ Archer gasped, as he dropped down. Reaching him the guy pushed Archer face to the concrete, taking the pistol from the ground and looking at it.

  ‘This isn’t Department issue. It’s a Beretta.’

  ‘I borrowed it,’ Archer coughed. ‘ I’m with the…Counter-Terrorism Bureau.’

  ‘Where’s your badge?’

  ‘I’m susp…ended,’ he got out.

  ‘Two guys just tried to kill us!’ April said.

  As Archer and April were held, two officers appeared from the other side of the railing.

  ‘Anything?’ the Sergeant called.

  ‘Nothing,’ one of the men said. ‘There’s no-one down there.’

  Frowning as he was dragged to his feet, Archer looked down at the thick vegetation along the side of the road, his hands cuffed behind his back.

  All he saw were wet leaves and branches moving in the wind.

  The two men were gone.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Just over an hour later, a squad car pulled up outside the Counter-Terrorism Bureau, the officer behind the wheel staying where he was as his partner opened up the rear doors to let Archer and April out. Both had just about dried off but the girl in particular was very cold, both from shock and because of her light clothing, her legs bare under her red dress.

  They’d been forced to stay at the scene of the shootout in Central Park for a while, Archer explaining what had happened. His claim that he was a suspended NYPD detective had been quickly verified by the Bureau but now he was in even deeper shit for running around while on suspension with a pistol that wasn’t his and firing four rounds in a public space. Confiscating Josh’s Beretta and bagging it as evidence, the on-site detectives were refusing to let him go but after a very short call from Shepherd, the reluctant cops drove Arche
r and April to the Counter-Terrorism Bureau without further delay.

  After the squad car did a U turn and drove off, Archer walked towards the main entrance, April hurrying beside him. Pulling open the door, he led her inside.

  Marquez was waiting for them beyond a security door and she buzzed the pair in, looking at Archer with undisguised relief as he pushed the heavy glass door back.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked.

  He nodded; she looked at him a moment longer then shifted her attention to April. ‘I’m Marquez. Call me Lisa.’

  April didn’t reply, too busy looking around the interior of the building as the security door shut behind them. The Bureau was a hive of activity 24/7 and pretty overwhelming for someone who’d never been inside before, particularly a woman who in the past had done everything she could to stay out of places like this.

  In the meantime, Marquez studied the side of Archer’s face and passed him a tissue, filling a cup of water from a cooler to her left. ‘Better clean up a bit. Isabel’s next door.’

  Touching the sore bump from where he’d been pistol-whipped, Archer took the tissue and wiped down his face. A few moments later he looked at Marquez, who grinned.

  ‘Much better. Don’t want you frightening small children.’

  Tossing the tissue in the trash, Archer and Marquez started walking towards the detective pit, April following.

  ‘How’s Michelle?’ he asked.

  ‘In surgery. Josh’s there with her.’

  ‘Damage?’

  ‘Two rounds clipped her tricep; one was a through and through. She got lucky; if she hadn’t spun before he fired, it would have gone right through her chest.’