Mirage Man

by Trace Conger

  I didn't know if they genuinely had enough to put a case together, but I wasn't about to roll the dice. I only gambled when I knew I could win, and I wasn't sure about this one.

  My father was an asshole by most measures, but I would never be able to live with myself if they locked him away for the rest of his life and there was something I could have done to prevent it. If I turned on Sontag, he'd eventually find out and they'd make me disappear forever, so I had to walk a fine line.

  “I don’t have the intimate details to put Sontag away,” I said. “I’m not a made man. I work for him on a freelance basis. Cleaning things up from time to time. But I think we can help each other.”

  “Go on,” said Valerie.

  “I’ll give you what I know on Sontag’s operation. How it’s structured, who does what, and who you need to be looking into. I’ll help steer your investigation. I don’t wear a wire. I don’t testify. I don’t collect evidence. My name never goes public. I’ll tell you what rocks to look under, but you have to do the digging. I can’t implicate him in specific crimes because, on the outside of the organization, I don’t have that information. But, I can give you a roadmap to follow to bring Sontag down without getting myself killed in the process.”

  “That’s not enough,” said the agent across from me.

  “I’m not on the inside and just because you have something on my father doesn’t mean I can magically get access to things Sontag doesn’t let me see. I’ll help you get him, but I’m behind the scenes.”

  Valerie looked me over.

  “I can help you shorten your investigation by years,” I said. “And Albert walks. And you keep my name out of the record.”

  Valerie and the two other agents left the room. Thirty minutes later, they returned and said we had a deal.

  I didn’t like cooperating with the FBI, but dangling Albert over me left me no choice. I rationalized I wasn't a snitch because I had no other choice. Had it been my own freedom, I honestly don't know if I would have cooperated, but it wasn't my freedom. It was Albert's.

  My reluctant partnership with the FBI was also the real reason for my retirement. While working for Sontag was never a long-term career, my deal with Valerie necessitated my exit. The timing and location of my retirement were expertly executed.

  It would take the FBI months to build a case strong enough to dismantle Sontag's operation, and I didn't want to be anywhere near him when they made their move. No one would suspect I had anything to do with it if the dominoes toppled years after I left town. I moved to Boston because I didn't want to look like I was running away from something. Beantown was close enough to stay on Sontag's radar, but far enough away not to get hit by the shrapnel when the feds moved in. It also gave me a chance to help my father fight through his diagnosis.

  Over a half dozen meetings, I fed Valerie and two other agents everything they needed to understand Sontag's business. His supply lines, his organization structure, his offshore accounts, his expansion plans, where he met with his associates, the two assassinations I knew about, and everything else I had filed away in the Sontag archives in my noggin.

  Sontag compartmentalized his business, so no one had all the answers. It was segmented like a US intelligence operation. No one knew what everyone else was doing. They were only aware of their part of the puzzle. My role in the clan necessitated I cross those responsibility boundaries, which gave me a much clearer view of the operation than I should have had as a freelancer. While I didn't have all the puzzle pieces, I did have all the corners and most of the border. With those in place, the feds could fill in the rest.

  The entire time I was feeding Uncle Sam intel, I thought about Albert enjoying his freedom, sipping Long Island Iced Teas he’d likely mixed with the wrong ingredients. Focusing on Albert somehow made my cooperation feel less reprehensible.

  By the time I finished, Valerie and her team had three walls of a conference room covered with photographs, timelines, mug shots, printouts, Post-it Notes, and red string tying everything together. It wasn't something I was proud of, but this business usually comes down to doing what you have to do, and Valerie Cheatham gave me no alternative.

  19

  Professional Courtesy

  Valerie extended a hand, helped me off the dirt, and sat down on the park bench next to me. "What in the hell are you doing here, Connor?"

  "The two people you just killed hauled me out here in their trunk."

  "No, not the park. I meant what are you doing in New York?"

  "I came looking for the piece of shit who wanted me killed."

  "Explain."

  "Someone tried to pop me in Boston and I've followed the trail back here."

  "Who?"

  "Don't know, but I suspect it's someone in the Sontag Clan. You and your boys didn't let it slip I was working for you, did you? Because, you know, that would be bad."

  "No. We didn't let it slip. What do you know? Maybe I can help."

  "I doubt that. Unless you've picked up any chatter about someone hiring a Boston mobster to take me out. Although I assume if you had, you would have tipped me off. Professional courtesy and all."

  "I haven't heard anything. You think it's related to Sontag's arrest?"

  "Yeah, but maybe not my involvement. You know there's a power struggle inside the clan? People jockeying for the top spot?"

  "Yeah. We're eyeballing Declan Porter, Nicky Sontag, and Victor Tan."

  "Why are you focused on them?"

  "Trade secret," she said.

  "I'd put my money on Victor Tan."

  "Why?"

  "Just think he's willing to do what Nicky and Porter aren't."

  She stared at me but didn't say anything. It was a common interrogation tactic. If you don't say anything, the other person feels compelled to keep talking. It wasn't going to work on me.

  "Maybe you're right," she said finally.

  I rubbed the back of my head. "You know where I can find Nicky?"

  "What do you want with him?"

  "Just want to talk, that's all."

  "That why you went to Brick Henry's home?"

  "How long have you been tailing me?"

  "Long enough to know you were investigating something, just didn't know what."

  "So is that a yes or no on Nicky’s whereabouts?"

  "That's a no."

  "If you throw me a bone, I could wrap this up faster and get the hell out of New York before I end up in another trunk."

  "Sorry, Connor. I honestly don't know where he is. But I'd like to find out, so if you've got anything, maybe we can help each other."

  I slipped my hand in my pocket and rubbed the scrap of paper between my thumb and forefinger. "Sorry. I got as far as Brick's place, but his wife was as helpful as you're being right now."

  "What took you to the library?"

  "I needed a computer to follow up on some leads. Nothing promising. I'm back at square one with Nicky."

  "If you get a location, I'd like to know."

  "I bet you would."

  "You owe me." She motioned over her shoulder. "I just saved your life. Technically, twice."

  "As far as I'm concerned, you're the reason I'm in this mess in the first place, but thanks for the assist anyway."

  "How'd you end up with these guys? I don't recognize them."

  "Boston mob. Sontag affiliates. Christ, Valerie, I thought you were investigating these guys."

  "We're interested in the executives, not the mailroom." She helped me up from the bench, but the pain in my ribs nearly brought me back down.

  "You should get that checked out. I can drop you at the ER."

  "No thanks. I'll be fine. I could use a ride to my car though. It's in Brooklyn."

  "I know where it is."

  She helped me to her the SUV. I stepped over the tall, thin corpse with the two bullet holes in him and climbed into Valerie's government-issued vehicle. "What about these two assholes? Don't you have some paperwork to do or something?"
<
br />   "I'll call NYPD. They'll take care of it. It's better if my name isn't on the report."

  I closed my eyes as Valerie dialed her cell phone.

  When I woke up, we were pulling into the Bed-Stuy's public library parking lot.

  "How long have you been tailing me?" I asked.

  "Since the beach house. Followed you to Brick's place, to the library, and then saw your two friends toss you in the trunk."

  "You didn't think to pull them over on the highway? I took a beating back there."

  "I wanted to see where they took you. I was hoping it was one of Sontag's men."

  "Do me a favor and don't wait for so long next time. Thirty seconds later and you would've found me a little less alive than I am now."

  "Hopefully there won't be a next time."

  "Right." I got out of the SUV and headed toward my Jeep.

  "Connor, be careful," she said. "No one is happy you're here."

  "I'm starting to get that impression."

  Valerie drove away as I got into my Jeep, fired the engine and drove to Hotel Beacon. My head rang like the inside of a church bell at noon. I needed a handful of painkillers and a few hours of sleep.

  20

  Brookville, New York

  I woke up the next morning convinced I'd been dragged behind a tractor for ten miles. My head hurt worse than yesterday, and I was certain at least two of my ribs were fractured. Whenever I took a breath, it felt like someone was poking me in the side with an ice pick. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and self medicate, but I had to find Nicky.

  Rolling out of bed, I stumbled to the bathroom to take a hot shower. That's where the mirror revealed the extent of the Boston boys' handiwork. My torso looked like a piece of blueberry cobbler. I popped six ibuprofen from my ditty bag and hobbled into the shower.

  I stood motionless, letting the hot water cascade over me for at least twenty minutes. Then I gingerly toweled off and got dressed. I couldn't bend at the waist thanks to the cracked ribs, and it took at least ten minutes to slip on my jeans while lying on the bed. The socks took another ten. Once I put myself together, I headed to the hotel lobby. My appetite was somewhere between the Hotel Beacon and the Bed-Stuy public library, so I skipped the breakfast buffet.

  Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I found the nearest rental car counter. I didn't know if Valerie would continue to tail me, but I wanted to visit the Triton Partnership home alone. Hailing a cab outside the hotel was too risky, because if she had a man on me, I'd be easy to spot. Slipping past any surveillance team meant leaving out the back door, near the loading dock. Since no cabs would be stalking that area, I decided to dial a ride-sharing company. I told the driver where to meet me, and ten minutes later I was sitting in the back of a black Honda Accord en route to the rental car company.

  I checked for tails the entire three miles, but nothing roused my suspicion. The Accord dropped me off at the car rental place, and after filling out paperwork for fifteen minutes, I had the keys to a new Lincoln Navigator for eighty-two bucks a day.

  According to my GPS, the Triton Partnership home was an hour and a half away. I wrote down the route, turned off my phone, and hit the ignition.

  When it comes to tails, there's only so much you can do to spot them. If the FBI is following a high-value target, they're going to use multiple vehicles, usually three, to surveil them. The lead car will pass the suspect or turn off, just as another picks up the tail. They use all sorts of tactics to evade being made, and they're really good at it.

  I didn't think Valerie had any reason to put a full surveillance team on me. I wasn't a high-value asset, so if she were following me, it would likely only be one car, and that would be easy enough to spot. The ride-sharing company picked me up in an ally, and unless Valerie put an agent in the lobby to watch for me, they wouldn't know I'd even left the hotel. Still, I kept an eye on my rearview mirror and made several U-turns to see if any vehicles stayed on me. I didn't make my way to the Triton Partnership property until I was convinced I was alone.

  I arrived in Brookville, New York, around eleven. While most villages on Long Island were upscale, Brookville was something to see. Poverty never showed its face in places like this. Everything was clean—the streets, the sidewalks, even the garbage cans on the curb. Everyone on the street wore their Sunday best, even though it was Wednesday. Red-tinged pear trees lined the main street and every home on the main drag could grace a magazine cover.

  My GPS led me to Wolver Hollow Road. The homes grew larger the closer I got to the Triton Partnership property. This was the part of the community where the homes had names. I passed a large brick country estate that had a sign on the front gate, Monday House, and wondered if the owner had six others.

  Beyond that and a few other estates, I arrived at 1729 Wolver Hollow Road. This property, like the others, was surrounded by a solid wall. The wall was green, the same shade as the roof shingles on a set of Lincoln Logs. The thought of climbing that wall in my current condition made me want to vomit all over the concrete paver sidewalk. Luckily, there was a way to walk straight up to the house. A landscaping company was working at a home on the other side of the street. In neighborhoods like this, there was a good chance this landscaping company tended most of the properties.

  I drove the Navigator down the road, made a U-turn, and parked behind one of the landscaping pickup trucks. The crew was working in the yard and never saw me pull up. They also didn't see me lift the hat with the landscaping company logo off the pickup truck's bumper. I slipped the cap on my head and walked back across the street, trying to stand up as tall as possible despite my aching ribs. I tried the gate that was built into the green wall, but it was locked. Next to the handle was an intercom and call button, and on top of the gate was a video camera. I pressed the button and angled my head so the hat's logo pointed toward the camera.

  "Yeah?" said a deep voice.

  "Hello. I'm Roger Mathers, district manager with Bayside Landscaping. I was hoping I could speak with the owner of the house about an incident with a member of our landscape crew."

  "What kind of incident?"

  "One of our groundskeepers was involved in a theft a few houses down the street. We're cooperating with the police, and they've asked us to speak with our customers on the block to ensure there weren't any other issues."

  "No. We're fine. Thanks."

  The dismissive attitude was a good sign. Whoever was on the other side of that intercom didn't want me coming through that gate. A homeowner should have sounded more concerned and would have at least asked for more details.

  I buzzed again.

  "I said we're good," the voice said.

  "Sir, the police gave me a form as part of the investigation. I'm to have homeowners certify our company has spoken with them and confirmed—"

  "I'm not interested in your form. Nothing has been stolen from the home. Thank you."

  "If I can't get a signature, the Long Island Police Department is required to visit your home in person to ensure there was no theft and confirm a representative from our company spoke with you. It'll just take a moment."

  If Nicky Sontag was in that house, I was betting he'd want to keep a low profile and avoid any police officers visiting the property.

  The intercom was silent for a few seconds.

  "Alright."

  The gate unlocked with a buzz. I twisted the knob and walked along the cobblestone pathway leading to the front door. A moment later, I was knocking.

  My only goal was to get inside the house. If once inside I found myself chatting it up with some wealthy Long Island family and not Nicky Sontag, I'd make something up about the theft, ask them some general questions, and be on my way. I'd make some excuse about having left the official police form in my truck, tell them I'd go and get it, and then ditch Long Island and start looking for Nicky all over again.

  But I didn't need that plan, because I recognized the person who opened the door. Brick Henry stood in the entran
ce, his shoulders touching each side of the doorjamb. Brick always traveled with Nicky, so him being here meant Nicky was here. Getting past Brick was the hard part.

  Brick wasn't the type of person you wanted to fight unless you knew what you were doing, and even if you did know some technical aspects of fighting and had a strategy, a lot of that goes out the window as soon as you get smashed in the face. Engaging him one-on-one for any length of time was a losing proposition based on his size alone. I also didn't know how many other people were in the house, and the last thing I wanted was to get tangled up with Brick only to find a half dozen other bodyguards holding weapons on me. The plan was to put enough distance between us, draw my weapon, and end this as fast as possible. I didn't want to kill anyone, but he didn't know that.

  In the doorway, Brick cocked his head to the side. It was apparent he recognized me, but he didn't realize exactly who I was or why I was there. It might have been my two-year absence or the faded landscaping hat. Whatever the reason, I'd caught him off guard. Using the opportunity to my advantage, I lowered my head and dove for his chest. I launched into his sternum like a cannonball, keeping my head straight so I didn't snap my neck in the process. The force propelled him back inside the home and through the walnut banister, where he bounced off the steps.

  I kicked the door closed behind me, reached for my weapon, and leveled it at him before he even realized what happened. I steadied my arms and glanced around the room to see if anyone else was rushing in, but didn't see anyone.

  Brick stared at me, not sure what was happening. He rubbed the back of his head and tried to stand up on the steps.

  "Brick, listen carefully." I spoke slow and clear because I didn't know how hard his head hit the stairs. "Joseph Sontag sent me to find Nicky. He's in a lot of trouble and I need to get him back to the city as quickly as possible. Where is he?"

  "I'm right here, Connor."

  I turned toward the voice. Nicky Sontag was twenty feet away aiming a 9mm at me. I slowly lowered my weapon. I wanted to set Nicky at ease, but I didn't want to be completely helpless.