by Dave Daren
“It might be better if you simply passed along any pictures you find,” I said.
Geraldine grinned and crossed her boney arms across her chest.
“Look at you, going all white knight on me,” she chuckled. “But Magnum did that a lot, too. I’ll be fine, and as soon as I remember what’s missing, I’ll call you.”
I took that as a dismissal, and after I issued another warning to be careful about strangers in the apartments across the hall, I found myself back in that same hallway and heading for the stairs. I passed a woman in yoga wear heading up the stairs, her brow still beaded with sweat from her workout. We nodded to each other, though she barely seemed to register that I was there.
Julio was nowhere to be seen as I stepped into the lobby, though I saw the UPS truck pull around the corner and I figured the utility man had probably gone to the alley door to collect the day’s deliveries. I stepped outside the door and stopped for a moment on the steps while I tried to work out what to do next.
As I looked around the street, I spotted a man with dark brown hair, a stocky build, and a nose wrapped in plaster. He was across the street, beneath the sign for a homeopathic remedies store. Though he looked like he might be waiting for someone, his gaze was locked on the apartment building, and when our eyes met, I knew it was one of the men from the parking garage attack.
I had a quick flashback to the sound of crunching bone and a spray of blood, and a tooth that fell to the concrete floor. I had a brief moment of satisfaction as I saw the damage I had managed to inflict, and it was hard not to smirk. But the Serbian’s face turned to stone, and his hand moved towards his belt, and I wondered why I still hadn’t finished that damned paperwork for the license.
Chapter 28
The two of us eyed each other for a moment, a quick exchange of angry glances. But then the Serbian pulled his hand away from his belt and started to walk down the sidewalk. Not exactly at a run, since that would draw attention, but at a fast clip that made him look like a man with a place to be. I risked crossing the street in the middle of the block and took off after him. I didn’t have a plan, really, but I was curious to see where he would go.
The Serbian looked back once and saw I was right behind him. I thought he would stop then and challenge me, and he did hesitate for a moment. But we were in the middle of a busy stretch of sidewalk by then, near the entrance for the subway, and the man scowled and looked around. I was sure he was looking for his buddy who was probably in a car somewhere nearby, so I was surprised when the Serbian suddenly turned around and pointed his index finger at me. He raised his thumb, then pulled it down like he was firing a gun.
I stopped and watched this strange show until the Serbian gave me a nasty grin. I stook a few steps closer to him, even though my brain was screaming that he probably had a real gun tucked into his waistband. The Serbian watched me step closer, then suddenly whipped around and darted down the steps to the subway.
The whole scene was so bizarre that I didn’t bolt after him. I looked around for his partner, but I didn’t see the second Serbian, nor did anyone seem at all interested in the man who had just run down the steps. I shrugged, and mostly because I couldn’t resist a puzzle, I trotted down the steps after him.
I didn’t see the Serbian right away, and the safest thing to do would have been to return to my car and leave the man alone. Instead, I ran my Metrocard through the scanner and joined the hordes waiting for the next train. I walked along the platform, and finally spotted the Serbian near the other end as he followed the sign for the connection to another line. I started to move more quickly then, and I was just a few feet behind the Serb as I darted into the tunnel.
The Serb seemed to sense that I was still behind him, because he looked over his shoulder and scowled at me. He started to push his way through people instead of going around them, and a chorus of complaints followed him as he ran along the length of the tunnel. I followed as fast as I could without knocking people over, though I lost sight of the dark-haired man for a moment.
I burst onto the next platform and saw the Serbian push his way through the crowd and peer into the dark tunnel where the subway would approach from. I could see, just in the distance, the faint light that meant a train was approaching the station. I started towards the Serbian once again, though I walked rather than ran. The man finally turned to look at me again, and I could see the frustration in his eyes. He glanced back along the tunnel again, where the light was growing larger, then finally decided he’d had enough of being followed.
His hand went to his waistband once again, and this time it came out with a gun. I froze in place, and for a brief moment, the rest of the people surged around us, unaware of the weapon that had appeared in their midst.
“He’s gotta gun!” a panicked woman’s voice yelled out.
And then it was just like every slow motion panic scene in every action movie. People screamed and ducked and ran for the exits, only to collide with those who were just arriving, unaware of the man with the gun. Someone knocked into me from behind, and I stumbled forward, only to be knocked sideways by a woman with a stroller. A shot rang out, though I had no idea what the Serbian had actually been aiming for.
The screams intensified, and somehow, the platform started to empty out. The Serbian was still standing, the gun pointed straight up, but with a clear path now between the two of us, he slowly lowered the gun and pointed it towards me. I could have turned and run, which is probably what the Serbian expected me to do, but I refused to give him the pleasure. He hesitated for a moment, and I realized he was trying to time it with the arrival of the train. No doubt he hoped to hop on the train and escape the station before anyone thought to stop service. But if he killed me too soon, the train would never leave the station.
So I ducked behind a nearby column, and spotted an abandoned umbrella nearby. I heard the Serb move closer, his footsteps echoing in the strangely empty tunnel. I snatched the umbrella, unfastened the strap, and waited for the Serb to take another step closer.
“You are a stupid man,” the Serb declared in a heavy accent.
I didn’t respond, but focused on the sound of his steps. It was becoming harder to hear him over the sound of the approaching train, but finally, I knew he was just on the other side of the column. While he tried to decide which side to attack from, I lunged around the corner of the column with the umbrella held out like a sword. The Serb jerked back as the umbrella unfolded in his face, but not before I jabbed it forward and, following the advice given at Bunker Hill, shoved the tip into the white of the eye.
“Fuck!” the man exclaimed as the point made contact.
I scuttled back behind the column as another shot echoed through the tiled platform, but then I heard the sound of the Serb’s shoes scuffling on the concrete of the floor. I risked a quick glance around the other side of the column, and saw the Serb balanced on the edge of the platform. The subway started to pull into the station and the horn sounded to announce its arrival. It was probably also a warning blast from the engineer as the dark-haired man hung in space for a moment, and then the Serb’s momentum pulled him over the edge and onto the track.
The only sound then was the screech of the brakes as the engineer tried to stop the subway. But it was too late by then, and the first car hit the Serbian with a sickening squelch. The train stopped halfway along the platform, and for a moment, nothing happened. Eventually, the engineer stuck her head out the window and looked back along the track. I could see she was talking into a radio, which meant the place would soon be crawling with police and paramedics if it wasn’t already.
I was surprised to see that there were a few other people still on the platform, mostly hidden from view behind garbage cans and posts like the one I had used. As if we had rehearsed it, we all suddenly ran for the exits and joined the last of the stragglers who were trying to escape the station.
There was a horde of people gathered around the exit, many crying and even more on their ce
ll phones. I heard sirens approaching and saw the first transit officers already preparing to enter the station. I made my way to the edge of the crowd, then slipped away as voyeurs started to close in on the area.
I found my car and managed to drive away from the area before the police were able to shut it down. I took the local roads back to Brooklyn, and watched the police cruisers and ambulances fly down the LIE whenever I drove past the span. Nearly an hour passed before I finally pulled into the garage and parked the Volvo in its appointed spot, and I could still feel adrenaline coursing through me.
I forced myself to exit the car calmly and walk towards the entrance to the lobby. I waved blindly towards the doorman without even bothering to check who was on duty. I climbed the stairs and strode to my apartment, and somehow got the door open after only a bit of fumbling with the key. I slammed the door shut, unintentionally, then slumped onto the couch and tried to catch my breath.
When my legs felt steady again, I ventured into the kitchenette for a glass of water and a bag of chips, then returned to my spot. I finally turned on the TV and saw that every local station was reporting on the shooting at the station. None of the reporters had much to say, other than someone had opened fire and one person was dead. How the person had died wasn’t clear, but it was believed to be the shooter. And so it went, over and over again, until I turned the channel and found a fishing show from the Florida Keys.
I was still replaying the Serb’s death and wondering why he had been there, along with all the questions I still had about Archer, when the phone rang. I glanced at it, determined to ignore it, but I saw it was Geraldine.
“Mr. Morgan?” she said tentatively when I answered.
“Geraldine,” I said with a heartiness I didn’t feel. “Did you figure out what was missing already?”
“Oh, goodness no,” she replied. “I was just calling to check on you. There was a shooting at the nearby station and I was worried you might have been caught up in it
“Fortunately, I drove today,” I replied. “Though I did see a lot of police cars and ambulances on the LIE as I was leaving. That must have been what they were responding to.”
“It’s just terrible,” Geraldine sighed. “But it sounds like the only one who’s dead is the gunmen. I guess he must have shot himself.”
“I guess so,” I agreed.
“Well, as long as you’re okay,” Geraldine said. “I’ll just get back to my game shows. Family Feud will be on soon.”
“One of my favorites,” I laughed.
Geraldine said goodbye, and she sounded happier and more reassured than she had when she’d first called. I stared at the phone after she hung up, then decided I needed to fill my client in on what really happened. I also hoped he might be able to provide some insight about the Serb’s behavior.
Anthony was slow in answering, but he did manage to pick up just before the voicemail kicked in. There wasn’t any background noise, so I guessed he was in the office, though he probably could have been in any number of rooms at the Febbo estate. There were whole swaths of the home that I had never seen, including the gardens that seemed to stretch on forever and an alleged vegetable garden that Gulia tended daily.
“Hunter,” Anthony drawled. “Do you have news or more questions?”
It was said in a joking way, but there was an edge to his voice as well. I wondered if he was really alone, and then decided it didn’t matter. Anthony needed to know what had happened, and it was better if he heard it from me.
“Both,” I replied. “Have you seen the local news in the last hour or so?”
“No,” Anthony admitted. “I’ve been on the phone with the hospital. I think they’ve double charged us for some of my father’s care.”
“That’s… not unusual,” I replied. “But I think you should check it.”
Anthony sighed, but I heard a TV come on a moment later. It sounded like a sports event at first, but then I heard the eerie echo of the report I was watching. Anthony was silent for a moment as he watched, and then I heard the chair squeak as he shifted.
“What?” Anthony asked. “Is this another terrorist attack?”
“No,” I said. “It was one of the Serbs who attacked me and Brenda at the parking garage. I spotted him outside Francie’s apartment building when I left, and I followed him to the subway. I was curious about where he was going. He pulled the gun and tried to shoot me, but I used an umbrella to knock him off balance. He fell onto the track just as the train pulled in.”
“Shit,” Anthony muttered.
“The reason I went back to Francie’s apartment was because the neighbor called and said someone was inside,” I added.
“Fuck,” Anthony spat.
“It’s worse,” I replied. “The person was still there when I arrived. It was Archer, the detective on the case. He tried to claim that someone had called him to say that someone was in the apartment, but I’m pretty sure that was a lie. He was in there for about half an hour, according to Mrs. DiMarco, so I would guess that he was looking for something. Maybe something that could tie Marinello to the scene.”
“Damn, Hunter,” Anthony breathed. “What the hell? How do you keep ending up in the middle of this? I’m pretty sure no one ever took a shot at Landis while he was in the subway. Although, I’m also pretty sure Landis wouldn’t have followed a thug into the subway just to see where he was going.”
“I told you I would do the investigation myself,” I replied.
“Still,” Anthony said and then paused.
“I thought you should know,” I said into the silence. “And I wanted to get your take on why both the Serb and Archer were there.”
“Yeah, okay,” Anthony replied. “But first, I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” I murmured.
“Seriously, you have cajones, Hunter,” Anthony laughed. “I’m not sure half the guys in the business would have done that.”
I grunted, though I was secretly pleased with my client’s reaction. I knew what I had done was insane on so many levels, but it had felt right, too. I realized that I had made a statement, albeit unintentionally, about my willingness to fight, not just in the courtroom but anywhere else my foes decided to challenge me. It was, I hoped, a statement they would take seriously, and maybe, if I was lucky, it would earn me a level of protection.
“I guess the first question I have is why he didn’t just shoot me in the street,” I pondered. “It was a lot less crowded and he would have had an easier escape route.”
“He was probably told to keep things low visibility,” Anthony replied. “You know, don’t draw any unwanted attention. You sort of forced his hand by following him though. And he probably figured you had called the police.”
“And he wasn’t expecting me to follow him into the subway,” I added.
“So what would you have done if he hadn’t pulled the gun?” Anthony asked. “Would you have gotten on the train with him?”
“I think so,” I admitted.
“You know he wouldn’t have led you back to some top secret headquarters,” Anthony chuckled. “He probably would have led you to some empty lot and taken care of you there.”
“Good thing he got impatient,” I replied.
Anthony burst out laughing, and I felt myself start to smile.
“Man, I am so glad you’re my attorney,” Anthony finally said. “You’re like freaking Superman when you get pissed off.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I admitted. “Part of me was wondering the whole time why I was being so stupid.”
“Well, you made it out alive, and you added another piece to the puzzle,” he said.
“Could he have been there with Archer?” I mused. “As a lookout or something?”
“Maybe,” Anthony replied as I heard the TV switch back to the sports channel.
“But he wasn’t much of a lookout if that’s why he was there,” I added.
“What makes you say that?” Anthony asked in
a more serious tone.
“I caught Archer off-guard,” I said. “He didn’t know I was in the building.”
“So then the Serbian was there for other reasons,” my client noted. “Maybe the Serbian’s boss was watching Archer.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “But I’m not sure if he was there when I arrived, or when I left with Archer. I don’t remember seeing him then. And if he was following Archer, why was he still there when I circled back to talk to Geraldine?”
Anthony considered that for a moment, and I could hear my client’s chair squeak again.
“Maybe he was sent to find whatever Archer was looking for,” I suggested.
“Did Archer find it?” my client asked.
“Geraldine thought something was missing but she wasn’t sure what,” I replied. “It had to be small, because he didn’t carry anything out. And he was going through her bedroom when I arrived.”
We both thought about that for several moments, and while I wasn’t sure what line my client’s thoughts took, I tried to think about the types of things people kept in their bedrooms that might have evidentiary value. About all I could come up with was an old-fashioned diary or such, but I had no idea if anyone still kept diaries.
“I can’t imagine what it would be,” the younger Febbo finally sighed.
“I don’t suppose she kept a diary or a little black book,” I suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Anthony replied. “She never mentioned it if she did.”
“Is that the kind of thing girls would tell boys?” I asked.
“Huh,” was all my client had to offer.
There was another long silence, and then Anthony huffed in frustration.
“I’m not sure what to make of this,” he admitted. “But I don’t like the implications. If Archer is dirty, then the Serbians may be following him because he works for one of the families, or because he works for them, but they don’t trust him.”