‘All the more reason to keep away from the cops and FBI,’ Bwana muttered, echoing their thinking.
They had taped the window together as best as they could, but wanting clear vision, had left the hole in either window open. Lisa and Rocka, wrapped in a thick blanket, had fallen asleep finally, the adrenaline and the hush of tires lulling them.
Broker looked in the mirror at them and met Chloe’s eyes. Their mission had expanded now; it included keeping the family safe and finding out what happened to Shattner.
‘Tony?’ he murmured in his collar mic. Tony and Eric were still behind and had remained in the background throughout the attack and the subsequent questioning by the police. Broker had kept his mic open, and they’d heard everything go down.
‘Boss?’
‘Where’s the apartment?’
‘Five bedrooms, five baths, a rooftop swimming pool, uniformed concierge, the works… Bit embarrassing to call it an apartment, but that’s what they call it. You’ll love this place. Any guesses where it is?’
Broker blinked at Tony’s cheerfulness. ‘Tony, I’ve been shot at, interrogated, sworn at, and have been Elaine Rocka-ed. Let’s keep this simple. Why don’t you tell me where the danged place is?’
Tony laughed. ‘It’s smack dab in the middle of Marine Park, which is as good as cop town, lot of cops and firemen live there. The gang tries anything there, they’re likely to get a warm reception.’
Broker smiled slowly. That’s why he’s my number two. Tony had been working the phone ever since they left One PP, hunting accommodation for all of them, and this ticked all the boxes. Marine Park was in southeast Brooklyn, bounded by Flatlands Avenue and Gerritsen Avenue, next to the borough’s largest park. Its lack of subway access and small community ensured that newcomers would be quickly spotted.
Chloe settled Lisa’s head on her lap and stroked her hair as the girl shifted restlessly in her sleep. ‘You guys will retrieve her backpack tomorrow?’
‘Bwana and Roger will. We’ll stay back and go through some ground rules with—’
‘Boss,’ Tony broke in urgently, ‘another bike coming up on your seven.’
‘Got him. On his tail. Close. Real close.’ Bwana’s voice came through their earpiece; he could’ve been reading the weather for all the excitement in his voice.
Bear glanced back at Chloe and saw that she was wedged by the sleeping forms. Coming to a decision swiftly, he reached below the seat and pulled out a Mossberg shotgun. ‘Let them sleep. We’ll go on the attack.’
He swung his door open, stuck his left hand out on the railing above, and uncoiled out of the Tahoe smoothly, the Mossberg a toy in his right hand. A deadly toy.
He spotted the bike behind them, making its way straight between the flowing lanes of traffic on either side, the rider, clad in black leather, his dark helmet gleaming in the shadowy light, looking straight ahead.
If the rider was aware of the Tahoe looming large and close behind him, he gave no indication. If he saw Roger standing on the rails, his shooting arm as steady as if he was stationary, his Glock tracking the rider, he didn’t show it. The black bore of Bear’s Mossberg followed him, and he didn’t twitch.
Broker slowed fractionally, and the bike came on, cutting through the traffic, gliding through it, man and machine one, the Yamaha’s purr putting tarmac behind it effortlessly. It came on their tail and slowly crept up on them, and the universe melted away for Bear and Roger, their breathing steady, their heartbeats low, their fingers ready to pull and send damage.
The visor turned slowly toward Broker, the purr of the engine blending with the throatier growl of the Tahoe, light glancing off the visor and disappearing, just blackness looking at Broker.
The Watcher looked. Saw Broker, stubble winking in the light; saw Bear and the Mossberg, a volcano ready to explode. Through the dimness, he could just make out Chloe, her eyes large, her hand aiming her Glock, a shape across her thighs. Through the corner of his eyes he saw Roger behind him, on his five, knew there was at least another gun on him. The Watcher didn’t twitch, didn’t flinch, didn’t react. This was him slowing time, seeing all that he wanted to see.
The visor swiveled back smoothly straight ahead, the purr became louder, and the rider became a speck and then became night.
Bear and Roger followed it till it disappeared and then slipped inside the Tahoes, and they sped up. There wasn’t any other traffic at that time of night, and if any of the passing traffic witnessed the byplay, they didn’t stop. Bwana presently broke the silence. ‘Is it him? Our stalker?’
‘Could be. Then it could also be just a curious rider.’ There was doubt in Broker’s voice, though. No rider would be so relaxed with weapons pointing at him. He shrugged, putting it behind them. The stalker, if that’s who it was, would have to take a stake in the game if he wanted to play. Till then he was irrelevant.
The others were still sleeping when Roger and Bwana left early the next day to retrieve Lisa’s bag. Roger headed to the driver’s side of their Tahoe when he paused. ‘Think we should switch vehicles?’ We can carjack one and return it before the owner realizes it.’
Bwana looked at him strangely. ‘Now why would we want to do that, partner? Why make it difficult for trouble to find us?’
That settled it for Roger, though he still took a long, circuitous route to the Rocka residence. ‘No need to be stupid,’ he said aloud and looked at Bwana for a reaction and got a gentle snore in return.
He didn’t spot any tails, not that he expected to, and when he neared the home, he shook Bwana awake. They parked their wheels a block away and flagged down a cab and drove past the residence and then reversed and drove by slowly again. Roger noticed the driver eyeing them curiously through the mirror, looked up his name on the permit, and said, ‘Relax, Miguel, we’re undercover cops.’ He flashed the badge Broker had issued them, and Miguel nodded once and forgot all about them, his suspicions allayed.
When Miguel reached the end of the street, Roger motioned him to a halt and, thrusting a sheaf of bills at Miguel, asked him to take a break for an hour. They drove the cab, the most anonymous car in the city, back, parked it four hundred yards away, and settled down to watch.
Three hours later they were still the only people showing an interest in the home. He looked at Bwana, who nodded.
They walked casually to the house, taking cover from the parked vehicles on the street, and split up, Bwana heading to the rear and Roger to the window in the front. Roger picked up a rock from a flower bed and, when he heard Bwana’s soft grunt in his ear, swung it against the window, shattering it. He heard the rear window give way with a louder crash, ran round to the rear, and followed Bwana through the wreckage. Covering each other, they went through the house swiftly, relaxing only when the last room was ‘clean.’
Bwana holstered his gun. ‘Too late.’
‘House was wrecked. Someone had been there before and tossed it. Totally.’ Bwana glanced at Elaine Rocka and looked away when her face hardened, her fingers whitened. He poured hot water in a couple of cups, inserted tea bags and, when they were the right shade of brown, handed one to Roger. He looked at her again, a glance that was part apology, part embarrassment. They should have realized the gang wouldn’t have waited till the morning.
‘Ma’am, we’ve wrapped police tape all around the house. It’s a good neighborhood, so it will be respected and the gang — we’re pretty sure it was them hunting the journal — have no reason to go back there now,’ Roger told her gently.