Give No Chance: An Unputdownable Crime Thriller Packed With Mystery And Suspense (A Lawson & Abernathy Novella)

by Lily Campbell

  “We can change that and--”

  “Stand down, Agent Lawson!” Brent yelled, aiming his finger at Brenda again. “I will pull you from your current assignment and get you reassigned to another field office if needed.”

  “I don’t think that is possible, Director.”

  “Keep to yourself or I'll fight whoever I must in order to get rid of you! Is that clear?” Brent's hand began to shake with anger. “We're suits, Agent Lawson, and nothing more. Our duty is to be pawns in a very powerful political game. They are powerful men. If you're smart, you'll get on the winning side!”

  “Unlike you, Director, I actually look at myself in the mirror each morning,” Brenda spoke in a calm voice. “I may not like the woman I see staring back at me, but I can live with her.”

  “And I can live with myself—” Brent slammed his mouth shut for a minute as he stared at Brenda. “Take the day off and think about where you stand, Agent Lawson. When you return to work I want you to focus on the sites I assign you and stay away from 'Dazed' and Joey Curanto. If you refuse to obey my orders, I will ensure that you are promptly transferred.”

  “You can try,” Brenda assured Brent in a brave tone and snapped open the front door. “I'll see you tomorrow, Director.”

  “Why do I even waste my time?” he huffed toward the front door. He paused just before stepping out into a dimly lit hallway. “Go ahead and make him mad. Go after Curanto and see how long you last.”

  “And I'm sure you're going to tell Curanto that, right?”

  “Take the day off and think about where you stand, Agent Lawson. When you return to work… If you get back on track, the FBI will stand behind you. If you veer off track, expect to crash. Goodbye.” Brent stepped out into the hallway.

  Brenda watched Director Summers storm down the hallway. She rolled her eyes, closed and locked the front door, and walked back to the small kitchen just in time to hear her cell phone ringing.

  “Yeah, Mack?”

  “Bad news,” Mack informed Brenda.

  Chapter 3

  “Just got a call. A kid named Alonzo Guinn was found dead in an alley. Alonzo was a tough kid who hung out at the diner a lot. Saw him talking to Vincent Santoro a few times.”

  “I know who Alonzo is. Saw him talking to a few kids yesterday on 'Dazed' before 'Underyournose' showed up and took him into a private chat.” Brenda felt her cheeks turn red. “Alonzo Guinn was only--”

  “Seventeen years old,” Mack confirmed, preparing to leave his office. “The kid's old man is a low profile attorney that handles petty crimes. I doubt he'll make much of a fuss.”

  Something in Mack’s voice stirred Brenda's anger. “Are you implying that—”

  “If Curanto is to murder a seventeen year old kid,” Mack told Brenda in the hard voice, “then I'm going after him.”

  “I can help,” Brenda reached for her coat.

  “Meet behind the diner. That's where Alonzo's body was found.”

  “I'm on my way.” Brenda ended the call, threw on her coat, checked to ensure that her Glock 17 was ready for action, and stepped out of her apartment.

  Two men wearing black ski masks appear in the dimly lit hallway at the same time. The two men spotted Brenda and unleashed a barrage of bullets. Brenda lurched backwards, crashed down into her apartment, and kicked the front door closed.

  “Didn't take him long to decide that I'm better off dead,” she whispered, crawling hurriedly into her kitchen.

  “She's dead,” One of them hissed.

  “Oh, not again,” Brenda groaned as she recognized the voice.

  Vincent kicked Brenda's apartment door open and sprayed a second barrage of bullets. Paulie stepped up beside Vincent and watched as red hot, razor sharp bullets tore Brenda's small living room to shreds.

  “You can't hide!” Vincent screamed after he emptied a clip.

  Brenda answered Vincent by twisting her body around the kitchen entrance just enough to get a clear view of the living room and firing off four vicious rounds. Vincent spotted Brenda and dove backward. But in doing so, he exposed Paulie behind him. Two searing hot bullets ripped into his chest, and—it was like someone flipped a light switch—he was dead before his body hit the floor.

  Brenda didn't leave her secured position. She kept her Glock aimed at the front door and waited for Vincent to reappear.

  “One clear shot, you scumbag. One clear shot is all I need.”

  “Paulie!” Vincent crawled to his dead body, saw blood dripping from the man's chest and mouth. “You're dead!”

  Vincent fished out a spare clip with a shaky hand as he got to his feet and slammed it into his rifle. He stepped into the doorway of Brenda's apartment and began blindly firing towards the kitchen.

  Brenda kept low, hearing one deadly bullet after another fly over her head. When the bullets stopped she fired at Vincent, but missed her target. Vincent dove back into the hallway, grabbed Paulie's AR-15 and decided to crawl into Brenda's apartment and try to gain a closer shooting range.

  Laying low on his stomach Vincent crawled through the front door, using the living room couch to hide his body from Brenda's view. Once Vincent reached the living room couch, he eased around the back, propped his body up onto one knee, aimed the AR-15 he was holding at the kitchen door and began firing. Brenda ducked down and dove under the kitchen table as bullets shredded the kitchen in half.

  “This guy has to die,” she growled under her breath, hearing sharp bullets fly over her head.

  Vincent didn't waste all of his bullets. Feeling confident that he had managed to make Brenda back down and take cover, he popped to his legs with deadly intent and ran for the kitchen, entering the kitchen just in time to see Brenda crawling out from under a bullet-torn kitchen table.

  “You're dead!” he yelled, aiming Paulie's AR-15 directly at Brenda, completely oblivious to the outside world and that every person in Brenda's building was either hiding or calling the cops.

  Brenda spotted Vincent preparing to shoot her. No time...have to kill this scum bag!

  With only seconds to spare at the most, Brenda quickly shoved the kitchen table that was looming over her head as hard as she could with her legs. The kitchen table went flying forward. As the table flew forward, Brenda rolled backwards just as Vincent began firing. A line of bullets chased Brenda's body all the way to the refrigerator. Brenda kicked the refrigerator door open just in time to deflect the bullets chasing her. Vincent exploded in rage, threw down the AR-15 and began going for a Glock 19 that was hidden in his jacket.

  Brenda shot to her feet and fired off two shots just as Vincent's hands cleared his jacket. Vincent dropped low down and avoided being shot as the two bullets Brenda fired screamed over his head, missing his forehead by a mere inch.

  “You're dead,” he hollered, rolling behind the kitchen table that was now spilled onto the floor. “Come on, cop. Shoot me! Come on!”

  Brenda ducked low and slid to the side of the refrigerator, putting Vincent's firing position at an angle to her own defensive position. Vincent, who was mad with rage, high on cocaine, and unable to think clearly, began firing at the refrigerator, pinning Brenda down. Brenda remained low and waited until Vincent fired off an entire clip.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Brenda knew what had to be done. Putting all fear aside, she rolled away from the refrigerator as Vincent began reaching for a new clip to stick into his Glock 19.

  “Shoot me, tough guy!” she screamed.

  Vincent slammed a clip full of bullets into his pistol and peeked over the table. Brenda laid in the middle of the kitchen floor, aiming her gun at the bottom of the kitchen table Vincent was stationed behind instead of aiming high. Vincent grinned, eased to his left a few inches in order to clear Brenda's aim, and began to storm to his legs in order to take a clear shot at his victim. Brenda was prepared. She raised her gun just as Vincent tried to line up his target and slipped off two clean shots.

  The moment Vincent hit the floor, Brenda grabbed
her cell phone, unfazed by the fight. Killing a few street rats was a job perk.

  “Mack, Curanto sent two hit men to knock me off. Yeah, I think they are both dead now. Send a few police that you can trust over to my place.”

  Mack stepped out onto the sidewalk. The dirty snow laced with salt matched the gray of the concrete.

  “I'll send a couple of guys that I know are okay. I'll get over to your place as soon as I can.”

  “See you then.” Brenda let out a deep breath and crawled out of the kitchen.

  “Dead,” she confirmed as she felt their pulses. “Looks like Curanto believed his two thugs could clear me out without needing backup. I'm a marked target now.”

  Brenda checked the hallway one last time and then removed the black masks from the dead bodies.

  “Vincent and Paulie. We meet again,” she said in a sick voice. “You boys should have learned to play nice.”

  Brenda sat in her ruined living room and pondered her next move as she waited for the cops to arrive. When word of this gets out, it's going to be gas on the fire. I won't have much time to play my hand. I have to act fast and somehow stay alive

  ***

  Mack studied the bullet-riddled living room as Jessica, a fifty year old gray woman who had maybe spoken two words in her life, roamed around snapping a few photos that would end up in some dusty basement.

  “Sorry about your place,” Mack blurted out.

  “Yeah, me too,” Brenda replied, leaning against the front door with her arms folded. Jake and Ridge, two middle aged cops who didn't mind remaining on the bottom of the ladder, stood out in the hallway gabbing back and forth about a hockey game instead of the two dead bodies that had been hauled away. They were seasoned cops and had seen pretty much everything New York had to offer. Nothing shocked them.

  “My landlord gave me two weeks to find a new place,” said Brenda. “Seems like the slime bag doesn't like his building being shot up.”

  “Check the obituaries. That's what I do. When a person dies, an apartment becomes vacant.” Mack reached into the pocket of his trench coat and took out his cell phone.

  Brenda shrugged.

  “Curanto won't be happy that you knocked off two of his best guys.”

  “Forget that,” Brenda demanded. “How is it on the streets, Mack? Anybody pointing a finger at Curanto for the murder?”

  “Not yet. And I wouldn't count on anyone loosening their lips, either. The gangs in this area know who Joey Curanto is. No one is going to risk eating a bullet over a dead teenager.”

  “Did Alonzo have anyone else?”

  He ran his hand across the back wall of the living room and examined a set of bullet holes. “A girlfriend named Amy. The girl was home when Alonzo was found.”

  “Parents confirm this?”

  “Mother,” Mack responded. “The mother works nights in Manhattan. Swears that her daughter was home all morning.”

  “Does this woman ever sleep?” Brenda asked in a tone that Mack understood.

  “Amy doesn't have a dad in the house. Mother didn't seem too… grand.” Mack removed his hand from the bullet-torn wall. “She could have been anywhere this morning, but I have to accept her statement.”

  Brenda watched Jessica snap a few more photos and then start to pack up.

  “Finished, Mack,” she said in a dead fish tone. “I'll email you the photos when I get them downloaded.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Jessica.” Mack waited until Jessica walked to the front door before speaking again. “How's your leg?”

  “A leg is a leg,” Jessica answered, pulling a heavy brown coat over her thin body before lugging her black bag of equipment out into the hallway.

  “Nice woman,” said Brenda after Jessica had left.

  “Jessica has had it rough,” Mack told Brenda without offering any further explanation. “Where are you going to stay?”

  “Your place.”

  “My couch rolls out into a bed. Grab your stuff and let's close up shop here,” Mack nodded his head.

  Brenda made her way to a small living room closet, snatched open a wobbly door, and pulled out a green suitcase. “I always keep a bag packed. Let's move.”

  Mack stared at Brenda and, just for a brief second, felt his heart break for the woman. Brenda was too hard on the inside to ever settle down and call a place home. She was always ready to fight. And run.

  Mack walked out into the hallway. “Close shop, guys,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

  “Sure thing, Mack,” Jake agreed and continued grumbling with Ridge without missing a beat. Ridge flicked a quick, sympathetic eye at Brenda before focusing back on Jake. But that one quick glance told Brenda all she needed to know: She was marked for death.

  “Let's move,” Brenda told Mack.

  Chapter 4

  Mack followed Brenda outside into the cold. Snow was still falling from a dark and ugly sky.

  “Hungry?” he asked, leading Brenda to a parked Oldsmobile sitting on a crowded street lined with shabby apartment buildings that cost a fortune to rent. A mixture of old and new snow-covered vehicles lined the street, sitting like dirty tools that belonged in a deranged mafia movie—at least that's the way Mack saw the scene. Mack knew his imagination sometimes had too much caffeine, but he didn't care.

  “Does Amy live close to the diner?” Brenda asked, throwing her suitcase into the backseat of Mack's car.

  “Close enough. Get in.”

  Brenda climbed into the front seat of the Oldsmobile, checked her gun, then buckled up.

  “Did she seem upset at the death of her boyfriend?”

  “No,” Mack answered as he got the car moving, carefully making a tight U-turn in the falling snow while checking the rear view mirror. “We're clear for now.”

  “For now,” Brenda agreed, “but not for much longer. I'm sure Curanto has found out by now that I killed two of his crew.”

  Mack reluctantly nodded his head.

  “Brenda, Curanto is bad news. He's not going to take you slapping him in the face lying down. The guy is going to make sure you're dead before night falls.”

  “I don't see you back down like the rest of the cowards.” Brenda glanced over at Mack's hard face.

  “I don't intend to back down,” Mack reassured Brenda, reaching the end of the street and hanging a hard right. “We all have to die someday, Brenda. I'd rather die being able to look myself in the mirror than die an old man who can't hold his head up. If I walk away from a drug rat and let a seventeen year old kid's murder float into the wind, I'll never be able to live with myself.”

  “And if you let me die—”

  “I don't intend to let that happen.” Mack narrowed his eyes. “Alonzo was a street dealer, a teenage punk working his way toward prison, but he was still a kid. You can get evidence that the person who is going by the user name 'Underyournose' is making contacts on 'Dazed' from Curanto's home, right?”

  “The IP address I traced leads right to Curanto's front door,” Brenda confirmed.

  “All I have to do is tie Alonzo’s murder to Curanto and find a judge brave enough,” Mack continued, navigating his car down another snowy, dirty street.

  “Which won't be easy.”

  “Maybe not, but I do know a judge that still has some guts to him. He's an old timer, hard as rocks. Met the guy two years ago; he took a liking to me.” Mack glanced over at Brenda.

  For a woman who had just nearly been filled with bullets, Brenda was sitting as calm as a cold clam—at least on the outside. Mack wondered how Brenda was feeling on the inside.

  A few months before, after relocating to New York too, Brenda showed up in his office one morning. Brenda was working on a murder case that involved a criminal Mack was trying to take down. Over time, Mack noticed that Brenda had become harder… more distant… than the woman he had encountered on a dark and stormy night years before.

  “You okay, Brenda?” he dared to ask.

  Brenda looked at Mack, read the man's eyes, and
then focused on the windshield wipers that were batting at the falling snow.

  “No worse than you, Mack,” she answered in a low voice. “Let's face it, you and I aren't the life of any party. We're two cops fighting a losing battle while carrying a death wish.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.” Mack changed the subject. Work was all either of them had anymore. “Amy is a pretty, black-haired girl. She's a snippy little brat, too. If she's at the diner, be prepared to catch a little lip.”

  “Understood.”

  Brenda didn't speak again until Mack parked his car in front of the same run-down diner from the night before.

  Brenda checked her gun and then stepped out into the snow. She scanned the area: a few lousy apartment buildings and some seedy businesses that were probably nothing but fronts for drug and gun runners. She then made her way across a sluggish, grimy street toward the diner.

  “Looks like business is slow.”

  Mack glanced around. High Roads Insurance Company had a large sign taped to a dusty window that read 'Closed'. Mack wondered if the business was really closed. He didn't have time to check. Amy Davison was his target for the moment.

  “Maybe not,” he told Brenda, opening a creaky, rusted door.

  Brenda stepped past Mack and slipped into a greasy diner that smelled of burned eggs and hash browns, old coffee and cigarette smoke. Its worn-down brown booths were badly ripped in places, exposing a yellowish stuffing. A skinny old man stood behind the counter wearing a white hat and a white apron, reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette. When the old man saw Brenda and Mack step through the front door, he made a sour face.

  “I don't serve cops. Get out,” he barked.

  Mack knew this place well enough to ignore Frank. He scanned the diner and spotted two hotshot teenage boys wearing fancy leather jackets standing next to a booth where two pretty girls sat. The diner was empty otherwise.

  “Looks like business is good. Let's move,” he told Brenda.