“I remember the ceremony. Pretty cool,” I said, watching Dante pull out wood wool, dumping it on the floor.
“Here’s the best part. I actually went along for the heist. The house was a fuckin’ mansion. It was unbelievable,” he said. The nasty stench of old cigar crossed my space.
This guy was an open spigot. Now I needed him to keep the information flowing.
“Well, look at that, we finally get to see the candy,” Jerry said, his hands on his knees as he admired the cache of weapons.
Paulie kept staring into my eyes, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Then, an idea came to mind. “You remember the movie, Die Hard?”
“Hell yes. A classic.”
“Okay, Hans Gruber, can you show me your most potent weapon?”
“Sure thing. Get out of the way, Dante.” Paulie pushed the more athletic man aside. If it wasn’t apparent before, now it was obvious who was in charge.
He lifted some type of automatic weapon from the crate and coiled his hands around the grips.
“This is one of my favorites, just the weight of it, how it sits in my hands. It’s the Thompson M1921 submachine gun. Its accuracy is amazing.” He slid the gun in the crook of his armpit and mimicked shooting it.
He handed it to Dante, then reached into the crate and pulled out one I recognized.
“The Kalashnikov. Russian made, but as a semi-automatic it’s hard to beat,” I said.
Paulie twisted around to grin at Jerry. “You are one lucky man. A woman with so much culture and great knowledge of weapons. She’s the ultimate turn-on.”
“I should know.” Jerry winked at me.
“If you two don’t stop gushing over me, I’m going to have to kick both of your asses.”
They howled in laughter, and I giggled along. Dante, meanwhile, set the submachine gun on a shelf and then opened another box and started sifting through it. Veins protruded from his temples. He still hadn’t relaxed. I kept an eye on him as Paulie continued with his demo.
“Let me see, under here somewhere is my new all-time favorite. My little Oscar, as it were.” He handed the Kalashnikov to me, and I could feel Jerry’s eyes shift my way. We finally had a bit of firepower on our side of the ledger.
Tossing handful after handful of wood wool over his shoulder, Paulie leaned over the rim of the crate, appearing as if he was plucking a baby from the crib. “Ahh, come here, my sweet little friend.”
He stroked the scope of the machine gun as if it were his pet.
“This, my friends, was built by our friends in Germany. Heckler & Koch.”
“That looks like the MG4. It shoots the highest number of rounds in the least amount of time,” I said.
“So right, Giordano. I love the way your name rolls off my lips. Giordano,” he said, kissing his fingers as if he were some type of Italian chef.
“Lightweight too,” Jerry said.
Paulie started stroking the barrel. “Here’s the best part. Depending on the needs of your client, to reduce the overall length of the weapon for transport, the butt stock can be folded to the left side of the receiver.”
“Yep, that’s a nice feature,” I said.
“How many of these can you get me?” Jerry asked casually, taking the gun out of Paulie’s hands and holding it up to his eye.
“The sky’s the limit, if you have the money.”
“Well,” Jerry released a breath, then rubbed his nose twice, “our client could use about fifteen of these MG4s. But there’s also something else he needs.”
“Whatever it is, I can get it for you. We’re not called the A1 Pawnshop for nothing.” He grinned again.
“I thought it was because you wanted to have that first spot in the phone book, back when that mattered,” I said with a wink.
Paulie brought up his hairy mitt and touched my face, then he said, “My old partner used to say that everyone would make fun of us for having the same name as a steak sauce, but he didn’t understand business.”
“That wasn’t Dante?” I looked over at his colleague, who was stuffing small packets in his pocket.
When he felt our collective glare, he flipped his head over his shoulder. “What? I’m not his partner. I just work here.”
“Oh, Dante, don’t underestimate your value. You, Leonardo, and others have helped me build my brand so that Paulie’s means something to the buying public.”
Without looking at Jerry, I could sense him tense up a bit with the mentioning of our bomb suspect and victim. It was also apparent that Paulie wasn’t aware that Leonardo was dead.
Paulie pulled another cigar from his pocket, pinched off the end, and stuck it in his mouth as his eyes gazed into the corner, apparently in some type of dream stare. It was rather obvious that Paulie’s opinion of himself was exponentially higher than reality.
I felt a vibration in my pocket, pulled out my phone, and saw a text from Nick: Bomb material found at Leo’s house. Anything turn up at pawnshop???
“Important news?” Paulie asked. Part of me wished I had enough time to send the Go signal to Lewis and Hitzges, knowing we were potentially close to understanding their role in the bombings. But we weren’t there yet, and I could sense Dante easing closer, so I pocketed my phone.
“It’s our client.” I glanced at Jerry, then back to Paulie. “He’s eager to hear if we’ve found the supplies he needs.”
Jerry hiked his fat foot on top of a bench. “So here’s the deal, Paulie. Our client has some...unique needs.” He exhaled and moved in closer, lowering his voice, rubbing his nose once again. “We need to get our hands on some pre-made explosives. Our client wants nothing to do with putting the devices together, but they have a use for them.”
Paulie nodded once, then shifted his dark eyes over to Dante. “Honestly, this isn’t a request we get very often.”
Dante spoke up. “As in never.”
Paulie smacked Dante’s shoulder, then eyed us. “He’s not aware of every transaction we’ve made. But can you tell me what type of device you’re looking for? As you know, whenever you mention the word ‘bomb’ to people in Boston, even people in that business, they get a little...jumpy.” He chuckled, but it was less effusive, and instantly the air became thick with an unspoken tension.
“Well, do what you can, and we’ll be in touch in the next day or so,” I said.
A few head nods, followed by eyes shifting to the other.
Out of nowhere, a small white packet sailed across my line of sight and smacked against Jerry’s chest. Dante looked at Jerry with a menacing scowl.
“What’s this?” Jerry asked. He held it up, and I saw the letters DOA etched on the side. It appeared the O was in the shape of a grenade.
Dante chuckled for a moment, bringing his hand to his mouth. “You were trying to pretend that you had an affinity for coke, weren’t you, with your nose scratching?”
Jerry paused, trying to read the guy, as was I. “Well, I’m not very good at hiding it. I just need a little here and there to keep me going.”
Dante’s pecs twitched as he set his feet. “You’re full of shit. Both of you.” He threw his arm around to his back and yanked his pistol from his jeans. Just as he lifted it, I lunged and grabbed his gun with both hands. He pulled back, and the gun fired, ricocheting off the ceiling.
“Oh crap.” Paulie threw a fist or karate chop of some kind into Jerry’s throat, and my SSA stumbled backward, gasping for air.
Paulie ran past me as Dante and I struggled for control of the gun. After initially catching him off guard, he’d now set his feet and was whipping my arm violently left and right.
“Fucking bitch, get off me!” he growled. Our faces were so close his salty sweat dripped into my face, and I blew out spit.
Dante groaned and thrust our arms downward. The gun fired again. Jerry. I flipped my head around to look. The shot had taken a nick out of the concrete about six inches from Jerry’s ass. He suddenly moved quicker, turning over and getting to his knees.
“Go after Paulie!” I screamed.
A second later, Dante grabbed a fistful of my hair and snapped my neck backward. I didn’t let go of the gun or Dante’s wrist, and the next thing I saw was the opening to the pistol’s barrel swing right in front of my face.
In that smallest increment of time, I wondered if I’d just released my last breath. But I torqued my weight off my left shoulder and shoved our collective hands and the gun against a support beam in the shelving unit. Dante cried out. He raised his leg to the lower shelf and kicked backward, pulling his hand away as blood spewed like a fountain.
“You’re gonna pay for that one, bitch!” With demonic, red-veined eyes, he pulled back his head.
What the hell was he—
I turned at the last second, and he rammed his head into the side of my head at the exact spot where it had smashed into the windshield. I saw nothing but motes of flickering light, my senses strangely numbed for a moment. Then a jolt of stabbing pain made me feel like my skull had split in two.
He released a phlegmy, seething chuckle as one of my hands dropped from the combined grip on the gun. He yanked his gun back and forth, as fast as a dog wagging its tail, and I wasn’t sure how I was able to hang on, or why. I couldn’t focus. I’d lost all my strength. I was just about ready to crumple to the floor and pray he wouldn’t kill me.
“You’re weak, just like I thought. Bitch trash!”
On his last word, I let his momentum take control, and he stumbled back bouncing off the shelves. With both of my hands back on the gun, I yanked him closer and swung my foot with everything I had. At the last second, he tried closing his legs, but my foot felt soft tissue, and he yelped like a dog that had just been shot.
“Fucking b—” He couldn’t finish the word as his balance became wobbly and his grip less firm on the gun.
Seizing the opportunity, a surge of adrenaline shot through my body, and I twisted his arm inside my armpit. His finger pulled on the trigger and another shot echoed in the room.
I clawed at his one remaining hand on the gun, but he wouldn’t let go, even as his head dropped in exhaustion. I then pulled higher on his arm and found his elbow. I lifted his arm in the air and aimed to break it at the elbow joint. Just before impact, a metal object slammed into my left side, and I fell against the support beam as all air was sucked out of me.
I thought I heard a snicker from Dante, but I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to. Finally, my lungs opened back up, and I inhaled a full breath. Without taking the extra second, I released my grip from the gun and flailed my arms and body at the metal object. It wasn’t until I thrust my arms upward that I realized the object was the submachine gun, which was now airborne.
He screamed out and lunged for the automatic weapon at the same moment I tried to snatch it out of the air. I noticed he’d dropped his pistol to the floor. Our hands and arms collided as the submachine gun bounced and shimmied off our appendages, both of us clamoring to gain control of the weapon.
For an instant, we locked eyes, and all I could see was desperation mixed with cruelty. The kind that would kick a half-dead dog or, even worse, a defenseless child. I focused my coordination and smacked the barrel of the gun into my left palm. My grip held as I dropped it downward. As I swung my opposite arm around, he knew it was a losing cause and he fell to the floor, rolled, and grabbed for his pistol. In the blink of an eye, he wrapped his fingers around the grip at the same time I clutched the barrel of the submachine gun in my armpit, then spun left. A shot rang out as I whirled my body around—losing eye contact for a second. When he came back into my sights he was reaching into his pocket—my guess was that he’d just run out of ammo. He glanced up a nanosecond before the submachine gun clocked his head.
Had I just connected with a cinderblock? A reverberating jolt rippled up and down my spine.
His eyes rolled toward the back of his head, and he crumpled to the floor. My body relaxed slightly, and two heavy breaths escaped my lips as I eyed the bastard.
What about Jerry?
I darted out of my stance, but stopped after three steps and checked for ammo in the submachine gun. Empty. I ran back over to Dante, picked up the loose gun, then rummaged through his pockets and found a full magazine, popping it into the Beretta M9.
Two more steps and I paused, removed my phone and typed Go in a text to Lewis. If they hadn’t heard the gunshots already, they should be in the shop in thirty seconds, and the uniforms through the back door seconds right after that.
I ran down the aisle, planted my left foot and cut the opposite direction, the M9 pointing straight ahead.
What was that?
I thought I heard voices, but it might have only been the labored thumping of my heart. With every tick of my pulse, I could feel a reverberating, stabbing pain on the side of my head. I ran my fingers across the bump. It felt cartoonishly big.
“You’re a pig, aren’t you? Admit it, you fat fuck.”
I halted my movement and hunkered lower, trying to find an opening in the mass of crap on the shelf to see Paulie and Jerry.
“A cop?” Jerry’s voice pinched higher. “I hate cops. I knocked off two just last year when they interrupted a deal out by O’Hare.”
A couple of seconds ticked by as I frantically searched for even a sliver of an opening so I could check out Jerry’s condition and Paulie’s location. It was obvious by Paulie’s tone that he had gained control.
There! In between a stack of records and two lamps, a small hole in the shape of a teardrop. Paulie’s legs paced back and forth, his arm extended. I couldn’t see Jerry’s eyes, but I did notice blood along the edge of his jaw and the top of his shirt. He was in a sitting position, his arms raised in the air.
I listened for any signs of our backup, then I glanced through a crack in the opposite shelf and spotted a red Exit sign.
Crap, where are they, dammit?
“Dante knew you two were bogus, but I didn’t believe him. I hope he’s beating the shit out of her as we sit here right now.”
“But he isn’t here, is he? So don’t you think she beat the shit out of him?”
Paulie shuffled to a stop and twisted his torso in my direction. I stepped back and held my breath.
“I know Dante, and there isn’t a woman in this world who could take him.”
“Fine. She’s nothing but a pain in the ass anyway.”
Paulie laughed, and I once again peered through the tiny crack. I saw his arm swing forward, then I heard his gun whack Jerry upside his head.
“Oh!” Jerry groaned.
His head dropped, and I could see fresh blood dripping off his chin.
I couldn’t wait on Lewis, Hitzges, or the frickin’ cavalry.
I backpedaled down the aisle, my head on a swivel in case Paulie showed his ugly mug at one end or Dante came to life and snuck up on me. I reached the end and peered back to the corner. I could see Dante’s lower legs still lying on the floor at the same angle.
I’d consider gloating over my home-run shot later, as long as Jerry made it out alive. Wheeling around a bunch of crap, including a motorcycle, two helmets, a stack of street signs, and at least a dozen open boxes of red staplers, I made my way across two more aisles, then peeked in the direction of Paulie and Jerry.
More words, but the volume was low, almost conversational as I made my way down the aisle toward the pair. Twenty feet moving heel to toe, and I was close enough to see Jerry’s shoes. I paused for a second. Damn, his feet were huge.
“You getting nervous?” Even with a man holding a gun a foot from his head, Jerry took the cocky approach.
“Fuck you, cop!”
Paulie swatted air, and his body spun around. I pressed myself against the cluttered shelf.
“Man, I keep telling you, I’m no cop. Put my hand on a stack of Bibles, hook me up to a lie detector machine. Cops have given me shit since I was ten years old. At their best, they’re a pain in my ass.”
When this was all over, Jerry should b
e awarded Matt Damon’s Oscar for this performance. As long as we could keep him alive.
Inching forward, I could see more of Paulie, who was tapping the end of his pistol in his opposite palm. He was facing toward the corner where I’d left Dante.
“Face it, Paulie, my old lady took down your little stud, Dante. I tried telling you she was a badass.”
Badass I was good with, but old lady? What was this, 1960?
“Fuck you!”
Jerry chuckled.
Three more steps and I finally saw Jerry’s face. It looked like he’d been in a fight with a jackhammer.
“What the hell is so funny?” Paulie barked.
I could feel my arms stiffen as I death-gripped the gun with both hands, my sights focused on the back of Paulie’s left side. I took another step. Jerry’s eyes shifted from looking up at Paulie to noticing me.
“I think both of us might be dead in the next ten minutes.” Jerry feigned laughter, and I began to wonder if he’d ever done stage work. Sean Connery, watch out.
Paulie scratched his head, then turned and glanced toward the back corner of the room again. Craning his neck, he then stutter-stepped a few feet from Jerry.
“You must be on drugs. Why would your old lady want to take you out?”
The old lady thing again.
“Because...a lot of reasons. First, she’s headstrong and doesn’t take orders from anyone. Hell, she can’t even take a suggestion. Second, she thinks I’m screwing around on her.”
Paulie literally spit up. “You screwing around on her? What a joke. I can tell you that’s about as likely as the Cubs winning the World Series.”
“Hey, the Cubs are my home team.”
Paulie’s gun dropped to his side as he turned to face Jerry. “Seriously, you worried about her offing you?”
“I don’t know, man. She’s got passive-aggressive issues. I once saw her cut up a snake and ram it down the throat of a guy who double-crossed us.”
“Fuckin’ A?”
“Yep,” Jerry said. “But hey, she’s also smart. She probably snuck out the back door.”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set) Page 62
