by Trace Conger
"Nicky, your father sent me. I met with him at MCC." I spit the words out as fast as I could because I didn't know how much time I had to convince Nicky not to pull that trigger. "He wants to set up a meeting with Spiro and Napoli and install you as the new head of the organization."
"Bullshit."
Brick reached for the arm rail and pulled himself up to his feet.
"Were you the one who came after me in Alphabet City?" asked Nicky. "You here to finish the job?"
I'd never seen Nicky fire a weapon and had no idea if he was a proficient shot, but at this close range, it wouldn't take much skill to put a hole in me. I had to talk him down.
"Put the gun down and we'll talk it out," I said. "I don't know anything about Alphabet City. I'm here because of your father. I'm here to help you."
Nicky shook his head. "I think you're here to kill me. Who are you working for? Porter? Victor?"
"I'm only working for Joseph."
"How did you find me?"
"I went to the beach house first, then I checked the property records and found this place."
"You alone?"
That's the type of question you ask before you kill someone.
"Look, Nicky, you've got to trust me. Call Messner and he'll sort this all out. Joseph asked me to find you and then arrange a meeting with Spiro and Napoli. Once you're official, their clans will back you and whoever is coming after you from the inside will have to back off."
The 9mm was getting heavy in his hands and his arm was trembling under the weight.
"Think it through, Nicky."
Nicky was quiet. He was processing it. Brick was now back on his feet, teetering between the second and third step.
I didn't like the silence.
"I don't believe you," said Nicky.
"Call Messner!"
"I don't want to talk to Messner. I trust him about as much as I trust you." He turned to Brick. "Kill him."
I raised my weapon again and darted to my left so I had Brick and Nicky in front of me. As far as I knew, there was no one else inside the house. Brick took a step toward me.
"I didn't come here to kill anyone, Nicky. Don't force my hand."
Brick inched toward me, taking another step. He was almost back on the hardwood floor when the first round of bullets came through the front window. The pops came like a Fourth of July fireworks finale. Glass from the windows shattered and blew throughout the living room, curtains bouncing up and down from the gunfire.
I've never been caught in a crossfire before and the feeling is like nothing I've ever experienced. Part of your brain is trying to figure out what's happening, another part is telling you to stay put, and another is yelling to get the hell out of there. Equal parts of your brain pulling you in different directions like some mental game of tug-of-war, only with much higher stakes.
Brick was hit immediately. A shot tore through his left shoulder, spinning him around and sending him into the staircase for the second time. He took another hit on the steps and then rolled back toward the front door. I was standing in the archway separating the living room and dining room, directly across the room from Nicky. I dove to the ground as glass shattered all around me and crawled through the dining room. I made it to the rear of the dining room, where another archway led back into the living room. I steadied myself in the center of the entrance to take cover from rounds carving up the house. Peering across the living room, I saw Nicky had taken a similar route, maneuvering through what I suspected was the kitchen until he too reached the entrance to the living room on the other side of the house. We stared at each other as shards of glass, drywall, and sofa fabric flew between us.
It was constant fire; just when I thought it was slowing, it picked up again. Round after round smashing into walls, mirrors, photographs, lamps, and the television. Pieces of plaster exploded off the wall, floating in the air like chalk dust.
Brick was crawling toward the sofa in the middle of the living room, leaving a trail of blood behind him. When he made it to the sofa, he reached underneath it and pulled out a black pump-action shotgun that looked to be military grade. He rolled onto his back, lifted his head slightly off the floor and took aim at the still closed front door, the muscles on the sides of his neck straining. The shelling stopped. It seemed like an hour had passed since the first rounds shattered the windows, but it must have been only thirty seconds.
The front door flew off its hinges and two men charged in. Brick fired his shotgun, blowing the first man's leg clear off at the knee and sending the second man to the ground with a hole in his side. He racked the action, ejecting the spent shell into the air and onto the floor behind him.
He turned toward Nicky. "Get out the back," he yelled. "The Buick. Route two." Nicky didn't hesitate. He bolted toward the glass door at the back of the living room, which somehow was still intact. He snapped the deadbolt open and ran out into the back yard. I followed as Brick fired another blast toward the front of the house.
Nicky was charging toward a door in the green wall behind the house.
"Nicky, stop!" I yelled. "They'll be watching the back!"
Nicky wasn't thinking about anything except getting through that door, disregarding whatever might be on the other side. He struggled to turn the deadbolt and unlock the door, which gave me enough time to catch up to him. I raised my .45 as he finally unlocked and opened the door. We went through one after the other.
Brick fired the shotgun again. More rounds of machine gun fire followed his blast.
Two men were waiting on the other side of the fence. They weren't expecting to see us, because neither had a weapon at the ready, probably confident the barrage of gunfire inside the home had done its job.
Upon seeing us, the first man reached for a piece inside his coat pocket. I put two in his gut before he could clear it.
The second fumbled for a shotgun lying on the grass in front of him, but I put two into his chest, dropping him before he secured the weapon. Nicky stopped, and for the first time, he realized I wasn't there to kill him.
We were standing on the street behind the house that ran parallel to the street where I had parked the rental car. Nicky peered down one side of the road and then the other, looking like he was lost. I remembered what Brick had said about "route two." He must have been referencing a preplanned escape route.
I grabbed Nicky by his shoulders and spun him around to face me. "Nicky. Brick said route two. Where is the Buick?"
He thought for a moment. "Two blocks. Follow me."
He crossed the street and I followed him, my .45 still raised. We cut through the side yard of an estate that looked more like a hotel than a home until we reached another road. Nicky turned left and we ran down that street until we arrived at a narrow side road. There, parked on the corner, was a dark-brown Buick Enclave. Nicky reached the car first, knelt, and reached underneath the front driver wheel well. He retrieved a key fob that had been attached underneath the car and tossed it to me.
"Get me out of here."
I took the key, unlocked the car, and we both climbed in. I fired the engine and pulled onto the street, took a sharp right, and headed toward I-495.
We'd driven five miles in silence when I realized I was still holding the .45 in my hand. I slipped it into my coat pocket, adjusted the rearview mirror, and turned to Nicky in the passenger seat.
"The two men at the rear gate," I said. "Did you recognize either of them?"
He stared back at me with a blank expression.
"Did you recognize either of them, Nicky?"
He slumped down in the passenger seat. "I recognized them. They work for Victor Tan."
21
Road Rage
We'd been on the road for less than ten minutes and had just turned onto I-495 when a black SUV pulled alongside our Buick. I peered over just in time to see the window lower and the barrel of a shotgun emerge from inside the vehicle. I wasn't sure, but it looked like Brick's pump-action model. I grabbed Nicky
by the sleeve of his shirt and yanked him down toward the gearshift as I hit the brakes. The shotgun fired, spraying buckshot across the Buick's hood.
Most of the buckshot cut across the front of the car, but I didn't hit the brakes quickly enough to spare the driver's window. Shards of glass exploded into the vehicle, bouncing off the dashboard, Nicky, and me.
I swerved to the right and onto the shoulder. The rumble strip shook the inside of the car as I fought to keep control against the uneven terrain. A panel van passed me on the left, its horn blaring as it blew by. The black SUV had pulled off the other side of the road and was closing the gap in reverse. I wasn't going to let the SUV get parallel and fire off another shot, so I slammed my foot onto the accelerator hard enough to bury it in the floorboard. The Buick surged forward, straddling the right edge of the highway and taking out a mile marker. It would take the driver of the SUV a few seconds to stop, jockey back into gear and pull out into traffic. I used those precious moments to my advantage, quickly overtaking the van and putting about a dozen cars between us.
The SUV was back on the road, and cars were beginning to slow down and give it space, sensing something was happening.
Up ahead, there was an exit for Glen Cove Road, our best chance to ditch the highway. I took the exit and turned right onto Glen Cove without braking, blowing through a red light and nearly clipping a UPS truck. The traffic was more congested here than on the highway, and I weaved in and out of vehicles trying to put as much distance between us and the SUV as possible. I could still see it in my rearview and had to figure out a way to shake the tail before it caught up to us. Up ahead, I saw my chance.
The Greenvale Hospital was ahead on the right. I punched through another red light. The black SUV swerved around the stopped traffic and closed on us. I took a sharp right into the hospital parking garage, drove a hundred feet down the entrance lane, and put the Buick in park.
"Get out of the car," I said, as I opened the driver door.
Nicky followed me and we crouched behind a row of parked cars waiting for the black SUV to pull in. Twenty seconds later it rolled into the garage and stopped twenty feet behind our idling Buick. The man with the shotgun slipped out of the passenger door, crouched down, and approached the vehicle. When he was in range, I stood up from behind the row of cars and fired a shot through his upper chest. He slumped to the cement floor, dropping his weapon. The driver shifted into reverse as I ran out and grabbed the shotgun. I fired two bursts into the SUV. The first shot took out the entire windshield and the second tore through the driver. The SUV continued to roll backward at an awkward angle until it veered into the wall.
I ran to the SUV and checked for anyone else inside. It was empty.
"Come on!" I ran back to the Buick with Nicky behind me. A moment later we were exiting the other side of the garage, retracing our route to I-495.
"The plates on the car, are they traceable to you?"
"No, they're registered to a shell company in Queens. Why?"
"Because it's not going to take long for the police to lift the plates from the garage surveillance cameras. I think we've got enough to deal with."
"We still have to get rid of it."
"Right." I pulled off the road and dialed my cell.
Zoe Armstrong answered on the other end.
"I need two favors," I said.
"What?"
"I'm on Long Island and need to ditch a vehicle. I could use a pick up and transportation to your place. I have to get off the street ASAP, and a cab isn't going to be safe."
"I knew it wouldn't take long for you to screw something up. Why are you coming here?"
"I've got a package I need you to store for twenty-four hours or so. At least until things cool off."
"Where are you on Long Island?"
"I'm sitting in the parking lot of Fresh Meadow Country Club."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Hang tight. I can have someone pick you up in twenty minutes."
"Grab us at the cafe across the street from the country club."
"He'll be there."
"Thanks, I owe you."
"I'll put it on your tally."
"See you soon."
"Connor," she said. "What's the package I'm holding for you?"
"Nicky Sontag."
I wiped down the inside of the Buick and left it wedged between two maintenance vans at the country club. It would take some time for the local police to get the vehicle description from the garage cameras and then organize a search party. Upscale towns like this one don't have large police forces and aren't staffed to canvas the city. By the time they got their shit in order, we'd be long gone. Nicky said the car was registered to a ghost company, so even if they did find it, which eventually they would, they wouldn't be able to tie it to anyone.
Nicky and I crossed the street, took a seat inside the cafe where we could keep an eye on the parking lot, and ordered coffee. Nicky didn't drink coffee, but he was willing to choke it down to keep up appearances.
I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Messner. It took some convincing to get past Tabitha, his gun-toting secretary, but she finally put me through.
"I'm sure Sontag filled you in on the plan to get Nicky in front of Spiro and Napoli," I said.
"He told me."
"You need to set it up then. For tomorrow."
"You need to find Nicky first," he said. "Good luck with that."
"Nicky is sitting right next to me."
"Bullshit," said Messner.
I held up the phone and Nicky leaned in.
"Hello, asshole," he said.
"How'd you find him?"
"No reason to get into that. Make the call. We need to get this done quick. Tomorrow quick. I'm not sure how long I can keep him underground."
"Alright. I'll make the call."
"Call me back at this number and let me know when and where."
"Fine. Where are you going to put him? I can schedule the sit-down nearby."
"I'll keep that to myself. Do it in the city. I'll be sure he gets there safely." I clicked off the phone and watched a red minivan pull into the handicapped parking spot in front of the window.
"That's our ride," I said, remembering Cricket's vehicle. "Time to go."
Cricket and his driver, Bob, took us to Harlem and dropped us off behind Hoster Hall. I needed to stash Nicky someplace safe. Victor's men found us at the house in Brookville, and while I was confident they'd lost our scent in the hospital parking garage, I couldn't be sure they wouldn't pick it up again. The longer we were in the city, the more likely Victor Tan could find us. The FBI was also out there, likely looking for me, and I couldn't risk them pulling me and Nicky off the street. My only objective at this point was to keep Nicky safe until tomorrow when I could get him in front of Sontag's two-man commission.
Zoe wasn't happy to see us when we stepped through the back door.
"Please tell me no one knows you're here," she said.
"No one besides you, Cricket, and Bob."
"Come on." She led us downstairs into her furnished apartment.
"How long are we talking about?"
"We're out tomorrow. That's it."
"I don't like it." She turned to Nicky. "You're as volatile as they come right now. Any idea who's looking for you?"
"Victor Tan," said Nicky. "He'll send Eddie Nash. He's the one who took a shot at me."
"That right?" said Zoe.
"You know this Eddie Nash?" I said. "I've never heard of him."
She hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, I know him."
"Bad news?"
"The worst." She walked toward the stairs leading up to the club. "If I were smart, I'd toss the two of you out on your asses and remove myself from the equation."
"Zoe, you're all we've got right now. We'll be out in the morning."
"Victor Tan has eyes all over the city. Assume you've already been compromised, Connor. I'll post a team inside the club, but if Eddie Nash knows you
're here, that's not going to be enough."
"No one knows we're here. Unless Cricket—"
"My men are solid. They won't talk."
I waited for Zoe to get upstairs before grilling Nicky.
"Why didn't you tell anyone Victor was the one gunning for you? You could have ended this right away. Why go into hiding?"
"You've been gone a while, Connor. Things change."
"Enlighten me."
He sat on the couch and leaned his head back against the wall. "It's no secret I wasn't the first choice to take over the clan. Everyone was ready to sell me out if it meant I disappeared. There wasn't anyone I could go to."
"What about Porter?"
"You're naive if you think Porter wouldn't slit my throat given the chance. I don't even trust Messner. You've put a lot of faith in him. How do you know he's not sending us into a trap?"
"Messner knows your father wants you in charge. He sure as shit isn't angling for your chair. He'll do the right thing."
"Jesus Christ, Connor."
"Look, I don't trust him either, but he's worked for your father for decades and—"
"That doesn't make him loyal."
"You're going to have to stick your neck out there sooner or later, Nicky. I don't trust anyone in this city, but Messner is all we've got."
"Allegiances change around here every time the wind blows." He stared at me. "Speaking of loyalties, why in the hell are you back here? I don't believe my father pulled you back in just to find me."
"He didn't. Someone tried to kill me. I thought Joseph was behind it, so I came to settle things. You were just a side gig once I got here."
"Why would my father come after you?"
"He didn't. Now I know it wasn't him. It was Victor Tan."
"Why? It doesn't make any sense. What does Victor get by killing you? You're not even in the game."
"Who knows why he came after me. When I get Eddie Nash face-to-face, I'll ask him. Before I blow his head off."
"You think pretty highly of yourself."
