‘They receive drugs here, unpack them and pack them into smaller units for street distribution. They usually have fifty Ks there, and that’s just coke. They have other nasties there, meth, PCP, 2CP, all kinds of stuff people inhale, inject, and consume.’
He pulled up a series of images of the warehouse. ‘The warehouse is basically a long rectangle with one of the smaller sides facing the street. It’s surrounded by a wall, and there’s a gated entrance at street level. Front door is solid oak, a few inches thick, opens outward. Has a sliding slat that covers a peephole. A couple of barred windows either side of the door, a bit high up, and three windows each on the side walls. The rear is exactly the same as the front. Just the two exits, front and back. All windows are barred. Four corners of the house have CCTV cameras. As far as Joe Public is concerned, this place is some sort of civic or community center. A couple of heavies always at the gate to discourage Joe Public and to ensure that the right community enters the warehouse. Not that it’s a street Joe Public would frequent. It’s gang territory, and they know enough to keep away.’
Chloe frowned at the images. ‘What about the surroundings?’
‘Low-income apartment blocks, where a lot of single-parent families, broken families, reside. This is not exactly the neighborhood where you’ll find moms and kids or couples going for a stroll. If there’s anyone loitering on the street, chances are they’re hoods.’
‘How come the police haven’t pulled this place down? If you know of this, surely they do too? In fact, how did you know the chapters operate from all those places, that garage, for example? If it was so easy to find where the gang holed up, surely the cops would have been on them like a ton of bricks,’ Bwana asked him.
Broker counted on his fingers. ‘One, the cops cannot act until they have probable cause, for which they have to mount surveillance, monitor various gangbangers, all that shit, which can take days, weeks, months or years. Just because they know that the garage is Hamm’s office isn’t worth jack.
‘Two, the chapter headquarters are properties owned by the gang through a series of shell companies, which have offshore accounts. The cops need warrants and have to cut through international red tape to tie all those together and lead it back to the gang. Werner’ — he nodded at his computer — ‘doesn’t need all that shit. Werner goes where he wants to’ — the program was a living being for Broker — ‘does what he wants, and leaves no trace. I have some incredibly smart guys all over the world, like the Ukraine for example, who put the pieces together. There’s a lot of technology that goes into gathering such info. Using gangbanger sightings at various places, correlating street chatter, drawing radii of influences, running facial recognition programs, analyzing Facebook posts, reading financial statements… lots of geeky stuff.’
The middle finger came out. ‘I shared my dossier on the gang with the cops a long time back, and I’m sure the intel in it has helped their organized crime task forces, but like I said, they’ve got their constraints.’
Broker made a disgusted face. ‘One of my analysts came across this warehouse by accident when he was gathering juice on illegal arms shipments in the city. I fed the NYPD this intel, and they never did anything about it. I took it up with Clare, and she said the NYPD had politely told her that I should mind my own business. So I did.’
Roger looked up at him. ‘Are you sure the gang still uses the warehouse?’
‘Yup. Tony has been watching it for a few weeks now. In fact, there’s possibly a stash there; he saw stuff being unloaded. Came two days back and the gang hasn’t shipped out whatever came in yet.’
Chloe scrolled through the various images. ‘How many bandits?’
‘About eight heavies work inside the warehouse and cover it, two or three park their asses on the street usually. But Tony says now there are anywhere from twelve to fifteen inside and five outside. Guess Hamm must have told them about us.’
‘Shouldn’t we tip the cops?’ Roger asked.
Broker grinned. ‘Done. I’ve a friend there who’s pretty high up; I’ve told him. Have also asked him to give us a few hours before they hit the warehouse. We go a long way back, plus Clare has pulled strings. Dunno what yarn she has spun, but he knows juice when he hears it.’
Bear cracked his knuckles. ‘What’s the plan?’
Broker grinned. ‘We do some distribution ourselves.’
Chapter 22
They hit the warehouse at noon the next day.
Bwana cruised down the street, driving a bright red Ford SUV with dark windows, wearing a red cut-off tee that showed off his heavily muscled arms, a black bandana covering his head. His windows were rolled down, and music blasted away, audible at the next planet. Not exactly a gangbanger look, more like dad-banger.
‘Five hoods outside, three to the left of the gate, two to the right. All wearing our favorite gang tats. Gate is wide open. No signs of activity outside or inside,’ he murmured into his collar mic.
‘Roger,’ came Broker’s voice through the flesh-colored earbud.
Bwana glanced disinterestedly at the hoods and drove slowly on. Once past them, he arranged his inside mirror and made eye contact with Roger and Bear, who were in the rear of the vehicle. They gave him a silent thumbs-up, having heard his call to Broker.
Bwana drove around the block and re-entered the street again, driving slowly. ‘All clear, except for the hoods.’
‘Roger. You can see us now.’
From the other end of the street an identical SUV approached, heading his way.
The hoods had clocked the Fords, but their postures hadn’t changed, their butts firmly parked against the compound wall. Bwana’s gaze passed over them casually. No weapons visible, but those lowriders are weighed down with something.
He drove past the first couple of hoods and idled to a stop a wheel length ahead of the three hoods. They straightened and stared balefully at him. In his mirror he could see the two hoods behind them looking their way.
He leaned his body across the seat, stuck his head out the window, and shouted above the music. ‘Say, bro, this where 5Clubs hang out?’
‘What?’ the one closest to him shouted back, stepping closer.
Big mistake.
His left arm blurred, a brown explosion of muscle and sinew, grabbed the hood by his tee and smashed his forehead against the A-pillar.
The other two hoods moved towards them, their hands darting inside their pockets and then jerked and fell to the ground as twin streams of electricity shot out from Roger and Bear, who had come from behind the SUV.
They turned off their Tasers, pulled out plastic ties, and cuffed the hoods’ hands and legs, and then duct-taped their mouths. Bwana got down from the vehicle and did the same for the hood whose face he had smashed. The three of them threw the three hoods in the SUV, slapping away their attempts to kick them.
The two hoods on the other side of the gate had started running towards their brothers when Broker slowed and Chloe slid out of their ride. The heavies were running too fast for her to unload the Taser, so she stood her ground and let them approach her.
A smooth step to the left, ducking beneath the gun that had appeared in the first hood’s hand and his wild thrust, she grabbed his wrist on its outward swing, twisted his arm, nearly dislocating his shoulder, and thrust him in the path of the hood behind him.