"How many of them came?" "Usually three…"
"What do you mean 'usually', did you wait for them or didn't you!" "Actually, no…"
"What the devil did you do that for?!" "What's the big deal?"
"A room without a door, two corpses inside. Really, a completely banal domestic situation. One probably had a seizure and the other drowned from it. Who cares?" "Of course, no one…"
"You put up a sign too…" "Of course you did, hung…" "Well, where to?"
"At the door."
"There's no door there anymore…" "So I hung onto the broken…" "What's the sign?"
"Quiet, please."
"I blurted out to two cops that there was a hag inside listening to the TV loudly…" "I didn't make you say anything like that…"
"Oh, what, I should have just stood there?!"
"Well, you could, that's actually what I gave you the captain's badge for…" "Kappitanskaya?"
"Well, yeah."
I quickly pulled out and examined the badge, "No, are you, what, are you crazy?" "What's the big deal?"
A subtle glimpse flashed in my mind of the cop coming up to me in that fuss and especially scrutinizing my badge. I could see why he called me captain. "Captains don't deal with petty matters!"
"Yeah, okay…"
"And I also said I had a partner." "Why?"
"And with all that frantic yelling, how would I keep them out of there?" "Well, you're the captain…"
"Yeah, with a partner… Yaaaaaahhhh… You sure helped me out good. I'll say…" "Do you want me to fix anything you don't like?"
"What?"
"Well, I'll find out exactly which cops were coming there and kill them…" "Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh… Don't be crazy. Let's finish this business with Zipper and get out of here. There's no need for an unnecessary funeral."
"Well, it's up to you."
The cell phone (mine) rang. "Hello."
"This is Richard. You can find the buttoned-up one at the following address…"
I listened to the rest of the speech, turned off my cell phone, thanking the contact, and smiled happily. Masters. One killer asks a question, and the answer comes to another. Now I don't even know how to tell Brosman about it — he'd be upset.
Buttoned up unbuttoned
7:31 p.m. Aug. 18
There's probably no house in all of America like Zipped's: tile roof, brick walls, oak front door spare metal.
This time Brosman stayed in the car "on the catch" and Lightning and I used the emergency entrance.
Amoramente struck the lock area with all his might, and no sooner had it opened all the way than the man in the jacket appeared in front of us at full height. Lonje reacted lightning fast and struck a blow with his fist straight to the stomach. From the blow, the supposed bodyguard bent a few steps back and, turning 90 degrees, began to slide slowly but surely off the wall.
I ran inside a little farther away from the dying man and took cover, while "Lightning" was finishing his work: he came closer to him, hit him again, but this time in the jaw, which caused the latter to open, and put the silencer of the Jericho into the opened mouth, firing once. The bullet flew into the palate and, flying out of the back of his head, "plunged" into the wall.
"Let's move," — I whispered to the youth.
Behind the door was a corridor, at the end of which there was a hallway, a smart one, with hangers (obviously all guests come through the second entrance, that's why the ambo was ventilated there. We turned right to a small door. Amoramente kept guard, and I turned the doorknob with a slight movement of my hand and opened the door.
In these apartments as it turned out, and was "Zipped" (to understand it is not difficult at all — he is wearing leather clothes with a lot of zippers, zipped, of course).
"What do you want?"
"I want to buy a Ferrari!" — I stepped inside, slammed the door shut, and smiled. "What's that got to do with me?"
"It's always you. How about a cup of coffee?"
"I don't drink coffee at night."
"The main thing is that I'm drinking, and on the way we'll have a chat about the Sicilian Mafia, for example… You know what I mean?"
"Uh… Ame… Ame… Ame… Ame…"
"Where's the paperwork, dummy?" — my face took on an intimidating look. "They… Uh… I'm going to get killed."
"Who? Papers?" "Ffffff… FBIers…"
I shot him in the kneecap (it's not hard to find where it is under his pants, the subject was sitting on a leather chair with leather armrests). The poor guy howled at the pain worse than a wolf at the moon.
"I'll have you not only howling but moaning… Where are the papers?"
"Wonnnnnnn there…" — He jabbed his finger at the bottom of the small oak cabinet next to me. With one eye still on the victim, I started rummaging through the cabinet and… found the entire pile of documents on the Koza-Nostra case. Not bad at all.
I could hear jamming behind the door, obviously Lightning is behind it, fending off attacks. And that's a sign that it was time to leave, but I continued talking to the client: "Where are the copies?"
"Noooo…there are no copies…"
"What's wrong with you? Don't you get it? Where are the copies?" "They…aren't…"
I shot the "living knee," causing the poor guy to groan. "Where are the copies?"
"I don't…"
I ran to the victim and punched him in the nose, then took him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the door. When I got there, I opened it. Amoramente was standing in full alert, waiting for more attacks from the enemy, whose remains I saw on the floor of the hall, on the stairs, almost everywhere. The hero turned in my direction for a moment and blurted out: "Well?"
"Help me carry this piece of shit to the car, that's what!"
Shortcut
7:41 p.m. Aug. 18
"The Cherokee was moving at a decent speed, but we had only traveled the second block in ten minutes, and our destination was still nine minutes away, so at this rate our bodies could have arrived not in a torture chamber in New York, but in a grave in a cemetery (that's not a typo: there's one dug hole for all of us).
Lightning and I were in the back, Brosman was driving. The "buttoned up" was lying at my feet with handcuffs and a black plastic garbage bag over his head, obviously unconscious.
"Listen, Pierce. — I broke the silence that had reigned in the cabin a second ago. — We're only scaring the cows away at this pace."
"Well, what can I do… You can't see it yourself… That cab over there is going like an invalid."
According to my observations this cab "slowed" us down no more than ten seconds, so the excuse of the master of "cool stuff" was just an excuse.
"You step on the gas."
"Well, what can I do," — he punched the 'ram' with expression.
I turned to Amoramente, "Longe, do you know of any other road?" The one shook his head negatively.
"Things are bad for us, that's what I'll tell you…" Brosman muttered something again to the cabbie. My cell phone rang.
"Hello."
"It's Richard. — The voice was overly nervous, as if he'd been hiding from the flicks after a bank raid. — What did you do there? I just got word that all of New York is looking for you on charges of murdering four four people including two cops, fraud and torture.
Every cop in the city will have your sketch soon. In addition, our man at the FBI says they're also looking for you on suspicion of kidnapping a citizen named Cliff Skunkzor, nicknamed "Zipper"…"
"Yeah… Well, thanks, bye. — "after I turned off the phone, my voice got a little higher. — Get out of the way, you son of a bitch, and hurry up, or it'll be too late!"
Brosman didn't understand at first and was a little embarrassed after such a sharp attack on someone, but finally he thought of it and turned left to the underground parking garage we were passing by.