The Mechanic Trilogy: the complete boxset

by Rob Ashman

  She’d hoped Lucas would have caved in by now and returned Jo to the Huxtons. But as yet it looked like he was holding out.

  The phone rang.

  Mechanic looked at the dial details in the small LED window, it was the Huxtons’ number. She picked up.

  Jenny-Jay rambled on about how Jo had enjoyed her mini-break and how Mary-Jay was delighted to have her friend back.

  ‘Is she okay, Mrs Huxton?’ asked Mechanic.

  ‘Oh yes, honey, she’s fine. She’s so pleased to be home and Mary-Jay is over the moon.’

  ‘Did the man with one arm bring her back?’

  ‘Yes, he was ever so nice. He came in for lemonade and we had a nice chat.’

  They talked a little longer and Mechanic hung up.

  A wave of relief swept through her entire body. Jo was safe and back where she belonged. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  When she opened them they were hard and cold.

  She went to the closet, took out several bags and started packing.

  Now the fun could begin.

  46

  Lucas strolled into an ice-cream parlour at the north end of the Strip. It was late evening. He pushed open the door to be met by the sickly sweet smell of sugar and essences which coated the back of his throat.

  The place was clean and bright with red candy-cane striped walls and a huge array of ice creams in a refrigerated display cabinet that ran the entire length of the shop. The tabletops were bright red, along with the mock leather upholstery on the chairs. The smiling people behind the counter wore paper hats and crisp shirts with the same candy stripe and when they moved around it made Lucas’s eyes go funny. Harper would hate it.

  Moran sat in a corner booth with a bowl of multi-coloured ice cream in front of her the size of her head. She was dressed in her usual all black attire looking completely out of place amongst the knickerbocker-glory décor. Lucas squeezed in beside her.

  ‘I thought this was a good place to meet. Somewhere we wouldn’t accidently bump into Harper or Bassano.’ She spooned a heap of toffee-coloured loveliness into her mouth.

  ‘You got that right,’ Lucas said looking around him.

  ‘So, are we going to be woken by the sound of ambulances tomorrow morning?’

  ‘No she’s back. We don’t know for sure that the Huxton woman made the call to Mechanic, but it’s a safe bet.’

  ‘Good.’ She shovelled in another load. ‘We need to think through our next steps.’

  Lucas pushed the slip of paper in front of her with Mechanic’s number on it. Moran picked it up.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  ‘It’s the number the Huxton woman uses to contact Mechanic. Bassano got it when he delivered Jo.’

  ‘Clever boy,’ Moran said scraping her spoon around the sides of the glass. ‘I’ll trace it, see what comes up.’ She put the paper in her pocket.

  ‘We need to be careful. Mechanic is a tricky son of a bitch and we can’t risk taking her head on.’

  ‘Well firstly she’s a tricky daughter of a bitch and secondly now we have the advantage.’

  ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘She knows you three. She played you to perfection which tells me she’s got you guys all worked out.’

  Lucas had to acknowledge that was probably true.

  ‘She doesn’t know about me and that gives us an edge.’

  ‘I want to kill the murdering bitch and I have two others who want it just as bad. We’re willing to do anything to make that happen.’

  ‘The deal is you give Mechanic to me in exchange for me not going to the chief, or have you forgotten that?’

  Lucas was silent.

  Moran waved the spoon at him. ‘You and I need to be clear on this or nothing doing.’

  Lucas thought for a minute. ‘How do you want this to play out?’

  ‘Mechanic is going to be coming after you three. Returning Jo is one thing but if I’m right she’s going to want to make you pay. She’s gonna want her pound of flesh.’

  ‘Yes I know. That’s why we’re going to go back to Florida to hide out a while.’

  ‘That’s exactly what she’ll be expecting you to do. If you lie low, she’ll pick you off one at a time and you can’t hide forever. You need to stay here and force her hand.’

  ‘With what? Are you suggesting we snatch Jo again?’

  ‘No, I’m suggesting we try a different bait.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You.’

  The phone on the bedside table rang.

  ‘Hello.’ Moran was groggy and rubbed her eyes. The clock said 4.13am.

  ‘It’s the station, ma’am, I’m patching you through.’

  She heard clicking on the line, then a voice she wasn’t expecting.

  ‘Hey Moran, it’s Mills.’

  ‘Mills, what can I do for you?’

  ‘There’s been another shooting. It’s a similar MO to the ones you’ve been looking at.’

  ‘The ‘in your name’ cases?’

  ‘Yeah that’s right only this one’s different. We need to get over there.’

  ‘Okay, where are you? I’ll meet you.’

  ‘I’m outside your front door. We can go together.’ The line went dead.

  Moran got out of bed and ran her fingers through her hair. She looked like a character from a Bruce Lee movie in her black pyjamas.

  She unlocked the front door and allowed it to swing open. Mills stepped inside as she shuffled back into the living room.

  ‘I’ll be two minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, nice place you have here.’

  Moran ignored the comment. ‘How come this has bounced your way?’ she called from the bedroom.

  ‘There’s nothing doing with those turf-war killings, so the chief said I should get involved in the hotel murders.’

  Moran cursed under her breath as she pulled a sweater over her head.

  ‘He thought it would be good if you and I kissed and made up.’

  She returned to the lounge holstering her gun. ‘Not literally I hope.’

  Mills shrugged his shoulders. ‘The drug-related murders were bad guys killing bad guys. I mean, you know how it is.’

  Moran flashed him a sideways glance which conveyed the simple message of ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘Ready,’ she said clipping her badge to her belt.

  ‘You always wear black?’ Mills asked.

  ‘You always look like you’ve been paintballing?’

  The drive took no more than twenty minutes. Mills briefed Moran that the 911 had come in from a guest in the hotel who’d heard strange noises coming from the room below. The whole city was jumpy, and the station control centre was taking about a hundred calls an hour from hotel guests concerned about strange noises. In this case the motel was located about half a block from the Lucky 6 and Crimson Lake so they responded straightaway. An officer investigated and sure enough found two people shot dead.

  Mills slung the car into a parking space and Moran got out of the car first ducking under the yellow tape strung across the ground-floor room. She wanted to get there ahead of Mills before he started telling her what she was looking at. She showed her badge to the officer and pushed open the door.

  Moran flicked on her flashlight and surveyed the all too familiar scene. A man and woman lay naked in a king-size bed shot through the head. The white bed linen and beige carpet shone dark red under the cone of white light. Unlike the other two crime scenes, this one reeked. Moran shook a handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her nose and mouth. The unmistakeable smell of corroded copper filled the room. Moran noticed the air-conditioning unit was switched off, which explained the overwhelming stench of blood.

  On the side table lay two chunks of purple flesh. She didn’t bother poking them with a pen this time, it was evident what they were.

  A plaque hung above the bed saying ‘Welcome to the Bossanova’. Written below it in dripping block capitals was dau
bed:

  PAY THE PENANCE

  47

  The morning sun poured into the ice-cream parlour making the interior even brighter than before. Families lined up at the counter with screaming kids demanding an unhealthy breakfast. Lucas sipped his coffee.

  Moran careered through the door making straight for Lucas.

  ‘How did you get on with the number?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Nowhere. We got a problem.’

  ‘Nowhere? Then what have you been doing?’

  Moran removed a set of photographs from her bag and spread them on the table.

  ‘This.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Lucas looked at the images lying stark against the red tabletop.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Last night, I got a call at 4am.’

  ‘Could it be a copycat?’

  ‘That’s unlikely. There are details which we haven’t released. It’s her all right. Mechanic did this.’

  ‘But why would she continue killing? She’s got Jo back. I don’t get it.’

  ‘That’s what we need to work out.’ Moran stuffed the photos in her bag.

  ‘What the hell does ‘penance’ mean? Isn’t it something to do with the church?’

  ‘Yes it is. Penance means a punishment you have to endure after you’ve repented your sins – you know the way it works: first you confess your sins to the priest, then he gives you a punishment and that’s it, you’re forgiven.’

  ‘But how does that apply to Mechanic?’

  ‘Not sure, however I found another definition. An act of penance is also a voluntary self-punishment to atone for a sin.’

  ‘So it’s like you hurt yourself to say sorry?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a punishment which you inflict on yourself to show how sorry you are for something you’ve done wrong. The important thing is it has to be done willingly. It can’t be forced on you by someone else.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. What does that have to do with Mechanic? We returned Jo to the Huxtons, that’s what she wanted.’

  ‘Yes but Mechanic made you do it, she forced you to put her back.’

  ‘So this is directed at us?’

  ‘No. I think it’s directed at you.’

  ‘Me? Why me?’

  ‘Because the other messages were for you and I think this one is as well.’

  ‘How do I pay a penance? And why kill two more people?’

  ‘I don’t know. But what I do know is she’s sending you a message.’

  Lucas looked up at the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.

  ‘I’ll run the telephone number when I get back to the station.’ Moran slid from the bench seat to leave.

  ‘We need to work this out fast,’ Lucas said. ‘She’s going to kill again.’

  ‘I want heads on spikes.’ Silverton was letting his impatience show.

  Mechanic drove the limo away from the Hacienda and headed for Fremont Street. She’d been expecting this.

  ‘I want those shits to pay for what they did to my guys. We had an agreement and I don’t see any results.’

  Mechanic looked in the rear-view mirror. Her boss was changing colour.

  ‘I can’t rush this, sir. These people are professionals – if they get one sniff that we’re onto them, they’ll be gone.’

  ‘We could have taken them out days ago, but you said to hold fire. I don’t understand why we don’t waste them now.’

  ‘If I take out one, the other two will bolt and I thought you wanted all three to meet Ramirez.’

  Silverton considered the comment. ‘I do, but I want it done.’

  ‘Then that will take time. You want all three and that takes planning. Don’t worry, Mr Silverton, I’m onto it. Anyway, we are seeing results, this meeting at Fremont Street is a direct result of what we’ve achieved. Don’t you think, sir?’

  Silverton had to admit she was right.

  Despite his flare of frustration Harry was in a buoyant mood. The meeting was a gathering of the Vegas drug barons in response to the recent spate of killings. Two of the gangs were significantly weakened by the hits and the objective was to call a truce. However, in Silverton’s mind it was an opportunity to negotiate a wider turf. He was looking forward to it immensely.

  The meeting was called by Enzo Bonelli, head of the Camorra firm which worked downtown Las Vegas. He was suave, sophisticated and totally ruthless, with a passion for oysters and champagne. There were two strict stipulations for the meet – hand over all weapons on entry and only one minder per delegate. This was perfectly acceptable to Silverton who was eager to get down to business. Mechanic was less certain this was a good idea.

  Mechanic swept the car into the half-moon drop-off zone outside the Park Piazza hotel and casino. The overhead canopy was ablaze with thousands of tiny lights which reflected off the polished paintwork of the limo. A bellhop opened her door and she climbed out. Silverton did the same and straightened his Stetson.

  Inside, the casino hall was much less grand. It was dark and smoky with a tired, shabby décor, much like the clientele, who were definitely more motor home trailer park than Park Piazza. To the left was a staircase leading to the upper floor. A thick red rope hung across the entrance with a sign saying Private Function. The rope and sign would not normally prevent the marauding punters from the trailer park marching up the stairs but the two men the size of fridges standing at the bottom certainly did.

  They acknowledged Silverton, unhooked the rope and allowed them to pass. At the top were two more guys bursting out of their tuxedos.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Silverton,’ said one of them. ‘Your weapons please.’ The second guy held out a tray and Mechanic removed her gun and handed it over. The first guy then ran a wand over them both and gestured for them to enter. Mechanic watched as the man with the tray deposited her weapon behind the counter.

  Mechanic looked around, it was a total contrast to the casino below. A row of high stools lined the marble bar, their cream push-button leather upholstery matching the semi-circular booths cut into the walls. Behind the bar was a bewildering array of spirits with crystal glasses sitting on polished chrome shelves, and the spotlights above sent shards of reflected light cascading across the room. A middle-aged man in a white suit and trilby hat sat at a baby grand piano playing old time jazz. This was an oasis of sheer opulence.

  A tall man in a charcoal grey suit came over and shook Silverton’s hand.

  ‘Please come and join us.’ He spoke with a soft Italian accent. He was in his mid-fifties with slicked-back hair and a tanned complexion, Mechanic recognised him from Silverton’s description, it was Enzo Bonelli. He showed them to a large oval table.

  Four gangland heads turned to face them as they approached, each one flanked by his minder. Silverton nodded and took his place at the table. Mechanic took up her position behind him and studied the faces of the other guests. The personal traits were easy to recognise: there was the ambitious one, the one who had seen all this before, the bored one, and the one that nobody trusted. She allowed herself a little smile, it was much like any other corporate board meeting.

  Bonelli opened the session. ‘Well now this is an unprecedented gathering indeed.’ The men nodded at each other. ‘Welcome to the Park Piazza.’ He clicked his fingers and two waiters appeared with trays of glasses and bottles of Dom Perignon champagne. The corks popped loudly and the glasses overflowed with the bubbling liquid.

  ‘To a successful meeting, gentlemen.’ Bonelli raised his glass and the others followed suit. ‘For the next hour we need to put aside our differences and resolve an issue which is hurting all of us, some more than others.’ He downed half his glass.

  ‘Harry, your crew were hit first, closely followed by the Crips and then the Turks. All of them were taken out with a distinct calling card, a metal spike rammed down the throat. The strange thing is, no one knows a thing, which I’m sure you will agree with me, gent
lemen, is a little odd.’

  A short, stocky man with piggy eyes and a stubbled chin interjected, ‘I think it’s an outside crew, Enzo. There’s not a single word on the street. It’s like whoever did this don’t exist.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a mystery. What do you think, Harry?’ asked Bonelli.

  ‘As you said, Enzo, we were hit first, and we still can’t find jack shit on who did it.’

  ‘It is a mystery, that’s for sure.’ Enzo nodded, finally joining his guests at the table. ‘Only I don’t truly believe in mysteries. There is usually an answer to everything if you look in the right place.’

  Mechanic shifted uncomfortably behind Silverton.

  Harry chipped in, ‘Is this a good opportunity to look at the boundaries? I mean some of you, like me, have territories which have died off. When a team gets hit the people look elsewhere for gear so it makes sense if we rejig things.’ This was Harry’s play.

  Mechanic’s senses were in overdrive. She looked at the faces of the men around the table and something wasn’t right. The two sitting opposite were staring into the middle distance as though they were bored with the proceedings.

  Silverton was in full flow. He was playing the statesman role, describing the mutual benefits of shifting the boundary lines and supporting each other until whoever did this was caught.

  Bonelli let him finish. ‘Harry, that sounds a sensible way forward but I’m still hung up on the mystery.’

  You could hear a pin drop.

  Bonelli continued, ‘You see, a tried and tested method for resolving a difficult problem is to look for inconsistencies, identify what’s changed. And when I look at what’s different I find the majority of things have stayed the same. That is except for you, Harry.’

  Silverton gave his best attempt at looking confused.

  Mechanic tensed. Then it struck her, the two guys opposite weren’t bored, they were waiting.

  ‘You get hit first. Then you hire your new girl here, who blows away a couple of carjackers in spectacular fashion, and Walker disappears.’

  Sweat was seeping through Silverton’s shirt.