by David Carter
Blaze forced it down in one disgusting gulp, deciding that Mickey’s death was a mere formality before he left The Tombs.
“Ooh, you are a good boy, aren’t you?” Mickey said, well-pleased with his new toy. “You and I can play together as often as you like.”
“I’ll do anything for some contact with my brothers,” Blaze replied. “Now take me to my leader.”
“A promise is a promise,” Mickey said, as he zipped up his pants and uncuffed Blaze from the bed. “As you can see, I’m a man of my word.”
Blaze followed him out of the cell. They stopped outside of Cyrus’ door. Mickey lifted the food slot. “You got a visitor,” he called out.
Blaze entered the cell. “You’ve got five minutes,” Mickey said, then left them alone.
Cyrus was built like a buffalo: stocky, with defined muscles. He had smooth olive skin, without a shred of hair on his body from his head down to his waistline. He’d taken his shirt off while doing countless reps of push-ups in his cell. He rose from the floor to greet his visitor. “I hate to think what Sick Mick made you do to see me,” Cyrus said.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Blaze replied. “But it was worth it to finally meet you.”
“I received word from Scarface that you’d be a valuable asset to our family. And after hearing about the slaughter in the mess hall, it’s hard to disagree.”
“I’ve still got more to accomplish. I want everyone to know that no one crosses the brotherhood. We rule The Tombs.”
“You’re a good soldier, Blaze. You’ve achieved more in the space of a few days than Sharkie and the boys have achieved in the past twelve months; you’re tailor-made for prison life.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known. I’ll live my life on the inside if that’s what keeps the brotherhood in good stead.”
Cyrus stared long and hard into Blaze’s tormented blue eyes. He saw nothing but steel and confidence. “You will be the perfect leader in here when I’m released. If only everyone else was as committed to the cause as you. No one else had the gall to start a riot the way you did, let alone take the rap for it.”
“You can’t blame anyone for wanting their freedom. Life in prison isn’t for everyone.”
Mickey’s voice called through the slot. “One more minute.”
Blaze said to Cyrus. “I’m going after Joey Jackson tomorrow.”
Startled, Cyrus replied, “Joey Jackson? The one who mutilated Scarface? He’s here in The Tombs?”
“He’s not just in The Tombs, he resides two cells down from you, under a false identity. I said I’d take care of him for Scarface.”
“And how are you planning on doing that?”
“Same way I got to see you.”
“And you would degrade yourself in such a manner for Scarface?”
“I’d do anything for the brotherhood. I have no other family, sir.”
Cyrus put his arms around Blaze, embracing him tightly. “Your loyalty and devotion to the brotherhood will never be in question. Both Scarface and I will forever be in your debt should you pull it off.”
The cell door opened. Mickey entered. “Time’s up,” he said.
The trap has been set, Blaze thought.
Chapter 45
“I can’t believe you got permission for me to come,” Ciggy said to Hampton as they left Brighton Penitentiary in the commissioner’s late-model Mercedes. Ciggy had told him they’d need money and expensive wheels if they were going to make it inside black market sale.
“There was another hijacking last night, literally three hours after I spoke to you. I didn’t have much choice in the matter. The commissioner wants this solved, pronto. But believe me when I say that if you try anything stupid–”
“I already told you. I won’t do a runner,” Ciggy cut him off.
“Good.”
Hampton followed Ciggy’s instructions to where he was sure the sale would take place. He parked the car around the back of a derelict warehouse in a backwater block of industrial buildings. From the number of high-end cars in the parking lot, Ciggy knew it would be busy inside. “We’re in luck,” he said. “You should blend in okay with the large crowd.”
“Excellent. And you’re sure that whoever is hijacking these army trucks will be selling their merchandise tonight?”
“Ninety-nine percent sure.”
They were greeted at the door by two hulking security guards. Ciggy kindly asked Hampton to be cool on their approach.
“Who’s the old geezer?” one of the guards asked.
“He’s with me,” Ciggy replied confidently.
The guard eyeballed Hampton closely. “You got a name, old man?”
“You would be wise to watch your mouth,” Hampton replied indignantly. “Unless you want me cleanse your palate.” His tone-of-voice ran shivers down the guard’s spine.
“Be careful, he’s a bit of a psycho,” Ciggy whispered to the guard with a grin. “But he’s loaded.” He motioned his head towards the Mercedes.
“Happy bidding, gentlemen.” The guards stepped aside.
“Nice going,” Ciggy said as they walked into the warehouse.
Hampton was perplexed at the sight before him. It was like comic-con for arms dealers. Stalls with AKs, ammunition, grenade launchers, and anything one could imagine was for sale. “It’s like being at a carnival, just without the rides,” he said as they walked around the various stalls.
“I know. Crazy, right?”
“If I didn’t have a conscience, I’d say it were quite remarkable.” He paused. “So where do we find our hijacker friend, Snatch?”
“Out the back playing poker, most likely.”
“Poker, eh?”
“You play?”
“One likes to dabble.”
“Shit, didn’t pick you for a poker player.”
“Do you think he would welcome an old geezer to the table if I asked nicely?”
“Did you bring cash like I asked?”
“Got it right here.” He patted his suit jacket pocket.
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try your luck.”
“Lead the way.”
Ciggy and Hampton found the guarded room at the rear of the convention. “Got a spare seat?” Hampton flashed the guard a thick wad of cash.
“One moment,” the guard replied, then quietly went inside the room, returning momentarily with a curt nod.
Hampton was ushered inside. He was a gentleman, and knew how to conduct himself in such a way. “Good evening, all.” He sat at the table and handed his wad of cash to the dealer, who, in turn, pushed over a stack of chips. “Stuart McBain,” he introduced himself.
“Where’re you from, Stuart?” Snatch asked. He sat directly opposite Hampton. He removed his black shades, propping them up on his thick, curly, black hair.
“From the southern region,” Hampton replied. “An associate of mine told me about this remarkable place.” He motioned to Ciggy with a gentle nod of his head. “I must say, I’m most impressed with your organisation.”
“Well, what can I say?” Snatch replied. “If you want the best, you’ve come to the right place. Our friend, Ciggy, is a valued customer of mine. He must think highly of you to risk bringing you here without prior approval?” He started blankly across the table.
Hampton suddenly felt hot under the collar. “Yes, well, I’ve been away on business and this cropped up at the last minute. I’m sorry we didn’t go through the correct channels. I insisted he bring me here.” Hampton suddenly didn’t feel so confident.
Snatch’s face relaxed. He nodded to the dealer, who shuffled the deck and swiftly dealt the cards. “Don’t sweat it. I’m always interested in picking up new clients.” He paused to pick up his hand.
Hampton quickly organised his cards. “Two please.” He passed his cards to the dealer.
The men went around the table in turn.
“So, Stuart, what line of business are you in?”
“Automatics, mostly,” he said
calmly. “There’s been a huge vacancy in the market after the demise of Seth Archer and the Lombardi family. After Smuggler’s Point was shut down by the authorities, I’m in need of a new supplier. Call,” Hampton said confidently, pushing five-hundred dollars’ worth of chips into the centre of the table.
“Raise,” Snatch said on his turn.
Ciggy was impressed with Hampton’s composure. If anything he thought Hampton was enjoying himself.
Two men folded.
“Call,” Hampton said again.
Snatch stared long and hard at Hampton. “Raise,” he said.
He’s testing you, old man, Ciggy thought.
“Call,” Hampton replied, pushing another five-hundred dollars into the pot.
Two more men folded. It was down to Hampton and Snatch.
“Let’s see ‘em, Stuart.”
Hampton revealed his hand.
“Two pair: eights and queens,” said the dealer.
Snatch slowly turned his cards over. “Three of a kind: nines,” the dealer said. “Snatch wins.”
“Well played,” Hampton complimented him. “A brilliant hand.”
After an hour Hampton had built up quite the pile of chips. Two men were bankrupt and had left the table.
Snatch stared long and hard at his cards. “All in,” he said. He nervously tapped his index finger on the table surface.
Both remaining men pushed all their chips into the pot.
“Well, Stuart?” Snatch asked.
“My ex-wife always hated me for doing this.” Hampton chuckled. “I’m all in.”
“Show your cards, gentlemen,” said the dealer.
The first of two other remaining men revealed their hands. “Two pair: aces and threes,” said the dealer.
The second man biffed his cards angrily on the table and stormed out of the room.
“Guess he was bluffing,” Snatch chuckled as he revealed his hand.
“Straight: five, six, seven, eight, nine. Straight beats two pair,” the dealer said.
“So it comes down to you, Stuart. What are you holdin’?” Snatch asked.
Hampton slowly turned his cards over one at a time. The look of frustration of Snatch’s face was evident as he saw two kings and three tens. “Full house,” the dealer said. Mr McBain wins.”
“Well played,” Snatch commended him with a hint of angst in his voice.
“What can I say? Lucky hand, I suppose,” Hampton replied. He gathered up his winnings. “Come on, let me buy you a drink to soften the blow,” he said.
“All right, you’re on.”
They went upstairs to the makeshift bar for the many punters inside. “Whisky please, and bring the bottle,” Hampton said to the barman.
“As you wish, sir,” the barman replied.
“You know, you’re all right, Stuart,” Snatch said as they clinked tumblers. “Where did you find this guy, Ciggy?”
“You remember Blaze, right?”
“How could anyone forget that crazy son of a bitch.”
Ciggy grinned. “Well, Stuart, here, is his sleeping with his momma.”
“Well, fucking good for you, Stuart!” Snatch heartily slapped him on the back. “Good to see all you crazy folk stick together,” he joked.
After eight shots of whisky and another bottle on the way, Snatch’s mouth was starting to run away with him. Hampton had tried his best to remain as coherent as possible, but the whisky was working his magic on him, too. Ciggy’s iron-cast stomach was only getting started. He said, “You got a good haul of merchandise tonight, Snatch. Where on earth do you source such quality shit?”
“Oh, come on, Ciggy, you know a magician never reveals his secrets,” he replied.
Ciggy dropped the subject, as to not arouse suspicion. “Man, I have to take a piss. Where’s the dunny around here?”
“Downstairs,” Snatch replied. “I think I’ll join you.”
“Me, too,” Hampton chimed in.
They filed down the stairs to the bathroom and entered the grimy cubicles. Snatch was midstream when Ciggy quietly locked the door to the bathroom and gave Hampton the nod. Snatch suddenly felt the blade of a knife to his throat as the two men stood behind him.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time: where do you source your merchandise?” Ciggy asked.
Snatch calmly zipped up his pants, then rapidly elbowed Ciggy in the face, forcing him to drop the knife. It splashed into the toilet bowl. He turned around and burrowed his fist into Hampton’s ribcage, folding him in half. Ciggy recovered and laid his own fist into Snatch’s jaw. He grabbed a hold of his curly hair and slammed his head against the cubical wall, leaving behind a sizable dent.
Hampton reluctantly retrieved the knife from the toilet bowl and passed it to Ciggy, who dropped Snatch with a violent kick to the stomach, pushing him down on the toilet seat. Ciggy held the tip of the blade an inch from Snatch’s eyeball. “Who’s your fucking supplier!” he shouted.
“He’ll kill me if I tell you!” Snatch screeched.
“And I’ll leave you fucking blind if you don’t!”
“Who are you working for? The pigs?” Snatch snarled.
“No. He’s working for me: Detective Steve Hampton of the Milton City Homicide Unit. Military grade C-4 supplied to or sold at this market was used in a school bombing, and I need to get to the bottom of it.”
“Look, I don’t know nothing about any school bombing–”
“What about the hijackings? You’ve been fingered as the man behind them. Tell me now or Ciggy takes your sight for good!”
“It’s not me! I swear! I simply buy the goods and sell them!”
“Who do you buy them from?”
“I can’t say! He’ll kill me!”
“Ciggy, remove his eyesight please.”
Ciggy sharply raised the knife.
“The Jackal!” Snatch screamed.
“The who?”
“The Jackal. It’s his code name. I’ve never met the guy in person. He calls, I pay the money, he has someone deliver the goods. That’s it.”
“What’s his number?”
“I don’t know. It’s blocked.”
“What’s his bank account number?”
“I pay in cash, man.”
Hampton sighed. “Give me your phone. I’m taking it for evidence. We’re shutting down this operation. I’d get a good lawyer if I were you.” He nodded to Ciggy.
“Lights out, motherfucker,” Ciggy grinned.
The last thing Snatch remembered was Ciggy’s balled fist heading straight towards his face at a rapid rate of knots.
Chapter 46
“We’ve got a lead, sir.” Hampton relayed the night’s events over the phone to Commissioner Marshall as he drove Ciggy back to Brighton Penitentiary. “The person responsible for the hijackings and possibly for the school bombing is known as the Jackal.”
“You call that a lead?” the commissioner scoffed.
“It’s a start.”
“Got anything else?”
“I have Snatch’s cell phone. I’ll be sending it to the tech department to devour. They might get lucky and extract a number.”
“You’re wasting your time there, Steve. There’s no knowing where the call was made from. Anyone smart enough to hijack a series of army trucks is sure to have called from an untraceable line or payphone. Give me something of use, dammit.”
“Hey, I just risked my neck for you.”
The commissioner sighed. “I’m sorry, Steve, I meant no offence. I’m just anxious to find this Jackal character and take him down. At least in the interim we’ve shut down a giant black-market operation. For that I’m most grateful. Well done.”
The commissioner had given the green light for a small army of men to raid the black-market sale after Hampton and Ciggy’s safe return to the Mercedes. The whole operation had gone down without bloodshed. It was deemed a remarkable success. With Snatch incapacitated in the bathroom, there was no one in command to lead a counter-atta
ck. Everyone had been caught off guard and surrendered.
“So now you have to live up to your end of the bargain,” Hampton reminded him. “Ciggy played his part in selling out his former crowd. You will reduce his sentence, yes?”
“When have you ever known me not to be a man of my word, Steve? I’ll see to it he is rewarded accordingly.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So, what’s next on your agenda?”
“Apart from a good night’s sleep and returning Ciggy to his five-star holiday home, I thought I’d take a swing at interviewing the driver of last night’s hijacking. And if it’s at all possible, I’d like to question the drivers of all the previous hijackings, too.”
“That’s already been done,” the commissioner replied tersely. “I have the transcripts on file if you wish to view them.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been over them twice. But I’m a big believer in the fact that people tend to remember some of the more minute details they may have thought irrelevant during their interview at a later date. From my experience, I’ve learned that most victims are still reeling from the shock of their encounter with danger. I’d love a crack at them, sir.”
“You do understand, Steve, that that will require more paperwork and expense? I’m sorry; but for the moment you’ll have to go through the transcripts again.”
“But, sir–”
“No buts. I don’t know what you’re expecting to find. It’s pretty clear-cut from what I’ve read: each and every driver was held up at gunpoint, thrown out of their vehicles, and looked on, helplessly, as the Jackal and his crew drove away with their load of army munitions. Case closed.”
“Yes, sir.” Hampton sighed. “I’ll be in touch.”
Shortly after hanging up, Hampton arrived at Brighton Penitentiary. “Thank you for trusting me. You’re not so bad—for a cop,” Ciggy said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hampton smiled. “You just take care of yourself until this is over, all right?”
Hampton led him inside for processing. “Just returning my book to the library,” he joked as he approached the guard on security.
