Chapter 28
Bear was nosing their Yukon out of the alley, joining the street, when a tan Ford and a black Nissan surged from their right, the Ford edging ahead of them. Faces swiveled in their direction, eyes widened as they took in their masks, the driver gesticulating furiously at his companions.
Its rear window rolled down, and they could see hands reaching down or inside jackets and shirts.
Bear T-boned them.
Thousands of man-years of workmanship had gone in the Ford, but it crumpled like a crushed can against the Yukon, and shuddered again when the Nissan rammed it in the rear.
Bwana slipped out of the reversing Yukon and roared out loudly in a voice that could wake the dead, ‘NYPD. Stay down.’ Cops didn’t wear masks, but the more deception, the more distraction.
He reached back inside, tossed two of those mock grenades through the rear window of the Ford, and shot out its visible tires. The Glock in his right hand was steady and looked like a cannon to those in the Ford, but they weren’t offering resistance, the shock of the crash bleeding it away.
Roger was running to the Nissan, whose rear doors had opened, and two men were climbing out. Running and then flying as he launched in an aerial kick that took out the closest one to him, and landing on the roof of the Nissan, he slashed with his SIG at the second, and again, this time a reverse swipe.
Roger leapt back to the rear as the two in the front shot blindly through the roof of the car, and then the Nissan’s windshield shattered first and then its windows as Chloe fired, double and triple taps, extreme penetration, bonded bullets first punching holes in the windshield, spiderwebs around it, the other bullets following through, hours of practice of firing against different targets and combat experience coming together without conscious thought.
And then they were away, Bwana and Roger leaping to the running boards of the reversing and then surging Yukon, silhouetted for just a moment against the concrete and glass storefronts of the street, their forms slicing through the air, and then the Yukon disappeared in the traffic and they in it.
Tony removed his hand from his backpack, pulled his door shut, relaxed, and tasted his coffee. It had gone cold.
Broker had sent him as insurance, and he had watched the takedown from his anonymous van parked down the street. He’d parked early in the morning, his van bearing the signage of a utility company, his coverall bearing the same signage. He’d a work order clipped to a board in the passenger seat in case anyone was nosey enough to ask.
He wiped his palm against his coverall and let his backpack slip and fall to the floor of the van. It fell with a muted thud, a Colt 45, spare magazines, stun grenades, a flashlight, blood pack and emergency kit weighing it down.
If the Yukon had been attacked, he would have let loose with his Colt, a gun not for stopping people, but disintegrating them. He thumbed a button on the steering wheel, and when the phone connected, he said simply, ‘All clear,’ and fired the van up.
‘Roger,’ Broker answered and smiled. The others didn’t need to know that Tony would have been their cavalry, if required.
On the other side of the street a tramp shuffled to his feet and staggered away. The street had thin traffic, which had further dispersed on Bwana’s warning. The drunk had lain against a storefront through all the action, heedless of uncaring bullets, gripping his half-empty bottle as he stared sightless.
He bounced against storefronts and half fell into an alley and straightened and dropped the bottle in the nearest trash can. The Watcher wiped his face and slipped on shades from deep inside the blanket over his body.
Tailing them was easy now, though not required. His bugs did that job, and even when they switched vehicles, he was onto them. He walked a couple of blocks to the nearest subway and smiled inwardly when he got a seat despite the rush hour. Funny how BO can clear space.
Broker had a bemused look and was putting down his phone when they went to his room.
‘What?’ Chloe asked him.
He shook his head and poured coffee for them, taking his time, allowing their adrenaline to subside, the sounds and smells of a crowded and hot city to calm them down.
‘Any problems?’
‘Nah.’ Bear took a long gulp of his drink, letting it burn his mouth. ‘Some gangbangers showed up as we were leaving. We read them the riot act, and they calmed down.’
Broker grinned. ‘And the take?’
‘About fifteen thousand dollars. Big Brothers Big Sisters will be happy tomorrow. So what happened here? Why that face?’
‘Got a message from Snarky.’ He explained who Snarky was. ‘He had info on the chapter and was getting to it when the call got cut. He did say he was running out of change. Guess I’ll have to go and meet him.’
‘Is that safe?’ Roger asked him doubtfully.
‘Safer than your walk in the park.’
Broker left their company after dinner and made his way to the same street and heard Snarky before he could see him. Snarky was slaughtering Nat King Cole’s ‘When I Fall in Love’ enthusiastically, yet his hat was gleaming with coins. Broker shook his head in disbelief and dropped his loose change in the hat.
He was well into his Newcastle Brown Ale by the time Snarky joined him, downed his beer in a smooth swallow, and pushed his glass toward the bartender for a refill. The balding bartender, a dirty towel across his shoulder, looked questioningly at Broker and filled one for Snarky at Broker’s nod.
‘Took you long enough to get here,’ Snarky accused Broker. ‘I called you, like, hours back.’
‘If you had some change with you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,’ Broker shot back.
‘Man, you know how I am with phones. They’re spying on us, besides if I used my change for calls, what would I use for drinks?’ Snarky fervently believed that THEY were spying on all of them and every phone in America was tapped. He went a bit vague when pressed about THEY.
‘Get to it,’ Broker reminded him.
‘Cruz comes around midnight, with about five guys, stays for a couple of hours, and then leaves. He’s with his enforcer always. The two are never seen alone. Man, they’re evil. The things they’ve done and will not stop at doing…’ His voice trailed away.
‘So why did they move there?’
‘A deal went wrong, cops came to the party. Hurt them a lot. Next day garage’s empty, laundry got new owners.’
It was good to have Broker’s jigsaw being corroborated.
The third beer flowed inside Snarky and so did the bills Broker slipped in his palm.
‘One other thing.’ His eyes cleared the way they did when they needed to. ‘They lost a strip club; some masked hoods came and took it apart. That you? If so, they’re madder than a hornet and are looking for you. Word’s out on the street. They know your name and are also looking for a black guy, a woman, and some others, along with you. Those with you?’
Broker was unperturbed. This was something they were expecting and, if anything, were expecting the gang to have discovered them earlier.
‘That’s all right, don’t answer. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not just you they’re looking for. They could have found I was asking… guess I’ll have to find another empty storefront to rest my ass against.’
Broker laughed incredulously. ‘Snarky, if they’re looking for you, you need to get the hell out of here. Leave town. Disappear.’
‘And what? Be a drunk in another town? I’ll take my chances here. Besides, if they’re looking for me, what do I know about you? Your description they already have. I guess I could give them that number you gave me. Much good it’ll do them.’