by M. Ravenel
“They came? You sure?” Roy cranked the ignition. The engine gave a mighty lion’s roar, sputtered, and groaned like a sick puppy.
“Yup.” I winced from the engine’s excessive vibrations that traveled from the seat and right under my rear.
“Sweet. When does the fight start?” Mitts cracked his knuckles.
“Soon,” I said, not taking my eyes off the entrance. I counted the seconds. I had Primo’s word that he would keep the other doors locked. I could only hope that Mel wasn’t in there doing some… persuading. I gritted my teeth. Five minutes. I would give them five minutes before heading inside.
Two minutes later, Mel and Darin exited the gym together. I exhaled a breath I’d been inadvertently holding. Darin looked calm as he and Mel walked casually to the next street and disappeared. I caught sight of the street sign before I yanked the binoculars from my face. “They went down Bryant. Let’s go, Roy!” I said.
“On it!” Roy did his usual funky shifting ritual as his hand whipped the cue ball shifter in all directions before finally settling on one position. He eased away from the curb then slammed on the gas, jolting the car forward. I braced myself. Roy performed some expert driving maneuvers, dodging incoming traffic by mere inches as he tore onto Randall Avenue and careened around the corner.
“Geez Louise! Slow down!” I barked, fumbling with the binoculars. “We’re trying to be incognito here.” Roy slowed to a crawl down the narrow side street. I caught Darin and Mel just in time as they piled into the back of a brown car parked ahead. “There. Brown Caprice, ’70, I think.”
“Looks like a ’72, actually,” Mitts corrected.
“Whatever.” I trained the binoculars on the license plate and engrained the numbers and letters in my brain. Then I pulled my notebook from my coat pocket and jotted the sequence down.
“I see ’em,” Roy said.
“Good. Stay far enough back, but keep them in your sight at all times,” I instructed.
The brown car sped off, and so did we.
Chapter 12
The brown Caprice we were tailing crawled through the streets, as if the driver wasn’t in a hurry to get to his destination. I nearly lost my sense of direction when we pulled onto the Bruckner Expressway for a short time, only to be dumped minutes later in Castle Hill. I’d had few, if any, cases out there. Not like there was much out there to begin with. The edge of town, which was lined by Westchester Creek, served as a vehicle graveyard. Abandoned cars littered empty, overgrown lots and were scattered among the rubble of destroyed buildings and garbage. Street after street bore more of the same. The depressing scene looked like something straight out of an apocalyptic science fiction movie.
I often wondered why I decided to stay in this city with all its problems and urban decay. But the more I wondered, the more I knew I couldn’t leave. Darn it, if I wasn’t stubborn.
I hated what had become of my home, but after I’d lived here long enough, New York just sort of grew on me, and I developed a love-hate relationship. My hate for this corruption had forced me to fight for what I love, one bad guy at a time.
“Where the hell are they going?” Roy muttered as he drove, squinting at the brown Caprice far ahead. Thankfully, Roy’s jalopy blended in just fine out in these parts. The driver didn’t seem to pay us any mind.
“Just keep driving,” I reminded him, using my binoculars to get a better view. The Caprice’s brake lights flashed, and the car slowed. It turned right and disappeared through a hidden entrance beyond a graffiti-covered wooden construction wall.
“Hmm… Wonder what’s through there?” Mitts asked.
“Stop the car, Roy.” I craned my neck, assessing the area. We were about two hundred feet away from the entrance. I caught a glimpse of Westchester Creek and the faint, smoggy outline of the Whitestone Bridge beyond it. I took a moment to think, trying to gather my sense of direction. A couple of barely standing row homes dotted the landscape. There wasn’t much in the way of people to be seen, not even junkies or gangs. It was as desolate as it came in these parts, making it the perfect incognito place for an organized crime meet-up. Several blocks ahead, beyond the construction site’s perimeter, was a small area that looked less demolished than the others. I focused my binoculars ahead. The small buildings and row homes looked livable enough. I even spotted a couple of business signs—a bright-yellow one for a corner bodega, another for a pawn shop across the street. Well, at least this place isn’t completely deserted. I lowered the binoculars. “There’s a bodega two blocks ahead. Drive there.”
“How can you think of shopping at a time like this?” Roy said.
“No questions. Just drive.”
Grumbling, he put the car in gear and sped off. “I don’t get why we’re doing this, Tootsie. I mean, the guys are right there. This seems like a waste of time.”
“I need to make sure there’s no other way out of there. And just in case those guys might think we have been following them all this time, we can throw them off the trail.” As we passed the hidden driveway, I caught a glimpse of the Caprice, another car parked beyond, and some people standing around. Before I could make out any more details, we passed a wooden wall that blocked my line of sight. Reaching the end of the perimeter, I looked out the back window. The wall extended on all sides, it seemed, stopping at the edge of the ridge that extended down to the riverbank. Satisfied with my assessment, I nestled back in my seat and smiled. “Two cars. Looks like they’re trapped like rats.” Maybe Lu is somewhere near.
“How do you figure that?” Roy arched his eyebrow.
“Just a hunch.”
Arriving at the bodega, we parked along the curb, behind an abandoned, beat-up station wagon. I handed Mitts the binoculars. “Keep an eye on the construction entrance.”
Taking the binoculars, Mitts scrunched his nose. “What’s the plan?”
“No time to explain. I need to call the chief.” I got out of the car.
“Well…” Mitts climbed out then slipped me a dime from his pocket. “I guess you got it all figured out.”
“Thanks for trusting me.” Grinning, I took the dime. Good on Mitts to be attentive like that. Or maybe he was just working on his gentlemanly skills. He posted himself behind Roy’s car and leaned against the trunk. Roy soon joined him. I headed to the public telephone outside the bodega and dialed Chief Lewis’s office as fast as the little rotary could spin. The line rang and rang. I swallowed. Where are you, Chief?
I rapped my fingers against the side of the telephone as the line continued ringing. “No, no, no, no, no… Not now…” I glanced toward the bodega’s entrance, where people occasionally came and left. My throat tightened as I continued listening, hoping and praying that the chief would pick up. But all my efforts went unanswered. Sighing, I slowly lowered the receiver from my ear. As I was about to hang it up, I suddenly heard a faint click and a man’s voice.
“Fifty-Fourth Precinct. How can I help you?” The droning voice wasn’t Chief Lewis’s.
I stuck the receiver back to my ear. “Hi! Put me through to Chief Robert Lewis, please!”
“He’s in a meeting right now. How can I assist you, Miss?”
I blinked. “A meeting? He’s expecting my call.”
“Yeah, well, it was an urgent meeting. Do you need the police?”
“Yes! Uh… I mean, that is… Are Lenny and Andrew around?”
There was a pause. “Who is this?”
“My name is Tootsie.”
Another pause. “You, uh… from Lillian’s?”
It took me a moment to realize that he meant Lillian’s Red Room, the seedy strip joint in Hunt’s Point. My jaw dropped. “How dare you! I’m not a stripper!”
An older woman about to enter suddenly looked in my direction, wide-eyed and curious, then cleared her throat before shuffling inside.
“Well, whoever or whatever you are, if it’s not an emergency, then please hang up,” the man on the telephone said.
I rubbed my ha
nd over my face, exasperated. “How long have you been working at that precinct?”
“’Bout four months. Why?”
I groaned. Great. Just my luck, I was talking to a rookie. I couldn’t tip this guy off too much. He sounded like one of those by-the-book rookies who wouldn’t hesitate to turn me in for using police resources like this. He was probably another one of those dirtbags who thought women belonged in bed or behind a stove and not in law enforcement. Not that I would be surprised. “I need you to give the chief a message for me, ASAP. Tell him to meet me near Zerega and Norton Avenue by the construction site.”
“Look, it ain’t none of my business what you two do alone. But Chief Lewis is working now and will not be disturbed.”
“Please give him that message. I’m an old friend.”
“Lady, you know how many prank calls we get every day from turkeys who say they’re ‘friends’ of the chief?”
“This isn’t a prank!”
“Yeah, and I’m the queen of England. Look, lady, I’m very busy right now. Don’t call back here again unless you have a real emergency. Got it?”
“No! Wait!” Before I could say anything more, there was a click, and the line went dead. I exhaled a deep sigh and hung up the receiver. I trudged back to Mitts and Roy, who now had the binoculars.
“Problems?” Mitts asked.
I growled. “Looks like I might have to take the law into my own hands…”
“What do you mean? The cops ain’t coming?”
“No.” I rubbed my chin, quickly forming another plan.
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from the direction of the construction site. The three of us jumped.
“What the—” Mitts said.
My heart pounded. Was that shot for Darin? Or Lu? I whipped my head to Roy. “Head back down Zerega, park across the street, and be ready to block the entrance.”
Roy furrowed his brow. “What? You can’t possibly expect my car to hold off two of theirs.”
“Just do it! We have to keep them there as long as we can until I can get the boys in blue here.”
“But—”
“Mitts! Come with me!” I sprinted down the street.
Mitts kept up with me with his long strides. “What are we doing, Tootsie? I thought you said the cops weren’t coming?” he huffed.
“Someone’s going to have to make an arrest, so I’ll have to keep trying—after I get Darin and Luanda out of there.”
Approaching the construction site, Mitts and I edged along the wall. Nearing the driveway. I began to hear distant voices of several men. My heart dropped to my gut. The seconds were ticking away on my one and only opportunity to save Darin and Luanda—if I wasn’t already too late. I had to act now, with or without the chief’s help. Just me, my gun, my single set of handcuffs, and a small prayer that Beth’s morbid prediction from earlier wouldn’t come true.
Chapter 13
I reached the open driveway of the walled-off construction site. Pressing myself against the wooden privacy fence, I peered around the corner. The construction site looked more like a massive junkyard of abandoned cars, scrap metal, and rubble. Two cars, the brown Caprice and a dark-green Newport, were parked facing each other. Darin and Mel stood facing Curt and four other men I didn’t recognize. They must’ve been Curt’s reinforcements. One of the rear passenger doors of the Newport was open, and a pair of cinnamon-toned female legs were sticking out, yellow platform heels tapping the ground nervously. Luanda?
“What’s happening?” Mitts muttered as he slid into place beside me.
I continued surveying the scene. There were plenty of places to hide. Getting the drop on these guys was going to be another story. I focused the binoculars on the group. Two of the henchmen had their hands inside their blazer fronts. One wore a grey flatcap, and the other stuck out like a piece of broccoli in a candy store in his funky green plaid suit. A third man, short and pudgy, wore a burgundy button-down shirt. His paw was stuffed into a bulging pocket of his white pants. A fourth man who was average height and build wore a dark-brown polo shirt and jeans. He leaned against the driver’s side door of the Newport, his arms crossed, and occasionally checked his watch. Mel held his gun at his side, his finger away from the trigger but still too close for my nerves.
“Six men total. At least four are armed,” I muttered back to Mitts.
“Well, damn…”
“I’m just going to assume that all of them are armed.” I folded the binoculars and stuck them in my coat pocket. Then I pulled out my .38.
He grimaced. “Did I mention how much I really hate guns?”
“All the time. Hey, I’m not particularly keen on them either. But unfortunately, criminals don’t like to play nice.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, ain’t the first time I brought my fists to a gunfight. Got the scars to prove it. This’ll be fun.”
“My main priority is getting Luanda and Darin out of there safe. Don’t do anything crazy, Mitts.”
He cracked a gap-toothed smile. “C’mon. You know me better than that. But if it makes you feel better, I promise not to die.”
I groaned. There was no stopping the big lug once he was pumped up on adrenaline. I just hoped he had an inkling of reason left to control his primal urges. “All right. This is it. I’m going in.”
“Hey, you be careful, all right? These cats ain’t playin’.”
I smiled slightly then looked toward the group again. Curt stepped closer to Darin, making sharp gestures with his hands as he spoke. The other men appeared focused on Curt and Darin. I darted inside and ducked behind an abandoned car. Remaining crouched, I crept toward the back of the car, where I had another view of the group.
“…my rules, my way, so long as you work for me!” Curt barked in Darin’s face. “You need another reminder?” He prodded his thumb at Mel, who lifted his gun and patted it.
Darin scowled and didn’t reply.
“You cost me two hundred grand with that li’l stunt you pulled,” Curt continued. “You’re gonna work your ass off and earn back my bread.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll work. And what are you gonna do for my career, huh?” Darin retorted.
“You don’t have a career without me, you son of a bitch!”
From my vantage point, I had a clear view of the Newport’s back passenger seat, where a woman sat with her hands folded in her lap. I sought refuge behind the rusted husk of an old pickup truck, which got me a little closer to the group. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a blur of Mitts rushing from the entrance to the back of a large pile of rubble. I returned my gaze to the woman—the stunningly beautiful woman with a physique that made Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell look like frumpy, potato-sack-wearing eyesores. She had a little Beverly Johnson and Pam Grier wrapped up into all that gorgeous. Geez Louise. Greg wasn’t kidding.
Luanda fidgeted, her gaze occasionally looking up at Darin and Curt then back down to her hands. Even from twenty feet away, I could tell that look was nervous.
The henchman in green leaned against the back of the Caprice and took out a pack of cigarettes from his blazer. He lit one and took a long drag. Tilting his head back, he exhaled a stream of smoke. Despite the heated chat between Curt and Darin, that guy looked bored out of his mind. There was no way I was going to get Luanda out of that car safely without being spotted.
“Enough talk,” Curt said. “You gonna cooperate? Or do I have to make an example outta your girlfriend here?”
Luanda’s gaze shot up. Curt gave a small tip of his head to Cigarette Guy. The man nodded, reached inside the car, and yanked her out. She tripped on her long yellow skirt, but she didn’t struggle.
Darin took a step forward, but Curt stopped him. “Uh-uh.” He pointed at Mel, who held up his gun as a warning.
“Hey, I’m here, like I said I’d be,” Darin said. “Lu ain’t got nothing to do with us. Let her go.”
I clicked off my weapon’s safety, then I watched and waited. If t
hey let Luanda go free, half of my problems would be over, and I could focus more of my efforts on getting Darin safe and taking care of Curt and his goons.
“Yeah. Sure. A deal’s a deal.” Curt casually placed his hands behind his back.
Cigarette Guy shoved Luanda forward, and she stumbled. “Walk,” he ordered.
She hesitated, whimpering a little, as she cautiously looked around at the other men, then she slowly made her way toward Darin.
“It’s all right, Lu,” Darin assured her. “Get out of here.”
Her breath hitched. “D-Darin—” Her voice choked.
“Go!” Darin snapped.
She hesitated then took another step.
“Hey, I’m a man of my word. I let her go. She’s free…” Curt said. “But for how long?”
“What are you talking about, man?” Darin scrunched his brow.
Curt made a discreet hand gesture behind his back. Cigarette Guy rolled his bogey to one side of his mouth and raised his gun.
Luanda, unsuspecting of the deadly double-cross, fled toward the entrance. I noted Cigarette Guy’s steady hand, his finger on the trigger. His face was blank, expressionless. I knew that look—commitment.
He’s really going to ice her!
“Get down, Lu!” I popped up from my hiding spot, took aim at Cigarette Guy’s center mass, and fired, making a clean shot to the man’s chest. He recoiled and collapsed, the gun flying from his hand. Luanda dropped facedown, her arms covering the back of her head. In the chaos, Darin’s fighter reflexes kicked in, and he rushed Curt and tackled him to the ground before Curt could even flinch. While the two men tussled, I zipped behind another rusted-out car, making my way closer.
Several gunshots rang out. Stray bullets ricocheted off the car behind me. I winced.
“There! Get her!” Mel shouted.
Footsteps pounded closer along the rocky ground.
I cocked my revolver.
Mitts’s animalistic growl echoed off the junk piles. The approaching footsteps stopped, shuffled, and headed in Mitts’s direction. I rose from my hiding place and locked my sights on one of the henchmen pursuing Mitts. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mel, who had his weapon pointed at me from a distance. I hissed and hunkered back down behind the car. A bullet pinged off the rusted metal.