by Ty Patterson
He had given up violence. Had decided to go to college if he got parole.
And then Gunner had happened. He picked on Gruber to stamp his authority, to show the Lions were serious business. Kept taunting him, needling him, and Cutter wondered whether the prisoner finally broke and retaliated. He had found the inmate’s body in the showers, stabbed several times. He had held him as his life bled away and had seen the triumphant scorn on Sheller’s face at dinner.
Sheller had killed Gruber just because he was the wrong color.
It had become personal for Cutter from that day on. His hatred for Sheller.
He hadn’t told any of this to Arnedra and Difiore and Quindica, because it hadn’t been relevant. He had left that life behind him.
Until now.
A honk brought him back to the present. He startled when he realized he was now on the East Side, on Fifth Avenue. A couple of cruisers and a TV van marked Kevin Rubin’s building. He drove past and thought of Darrell.
He had to question him, find out what his intentions were. If the boy had made his mind up to quit the gang, then his job was done.
What of Sheller?
He would leave the gang founder to Difiore and Quindica, he decided. It still was personal, but those two were more than capable of bringing the man down.
He would wait to hear from Horstman and present them with the intel, then watch from the sidelines.
Later, much later, he would wonder how events might have turned out if he had taken a different direction.
32
Cutter had one detour to make before he returned to his apartment: a metal shop in the Bronx that fabricated iron railings and decorative pieces for fancy apartments.
‘Karim,’ he said, hugging the elderly owner, whose balding head shone in the light. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
He winced when the man grabbed him by the shoulders, the burn reminding him that his wound needed attention.
‘Look at you,’ Karim said. ‘Your skin’s sticking to your bones. You need Nyla’s cooking inside you.’
They laughed when Cutter’s belly rumbled just then.
‘You need something?’
‘I need to be alone,’ he told the owner, who nodded in understanding.
‘Don’t be a stranger.’ Karim patted him on the back and led him to an inside workroom and left him alone.
Cutter donned a face mask and gloves. Brought out his Glock, bent over the gun and spent casings and cut them to small pieces. Tossed them into a ball mill, collected the fine powder and threw it into a small furnace. The holster, jacket, camera and gloves went into the fire, too.
He waved to the workshop’s owner as he left, then drove back to his apartment, where he inspected his injury. It was a graze, as he had suspected. It would heal soon. I got away easy. Any lower and it would have been more serious. He washed his wound, showered, and prepared a simple dinner.
The TV news featured a rally in Arizona. Eric Tizzard, a prominent white nationalist, was spewing rhetoric at a crowd when someone pounded on Cutter’s door.
He checked his phone. Nope, no one had called him.
Eight pm in his building, that required buzzer entry from the residents.
He sighed.
Who else could it be?
He opened the door and an angry-looking Difiore was there, along with Quindica.
‘Your skin will sag and wrinkle,’ he told the detective.
‘What?’ she ground out.
‘That look on your face. It will age you.’
He thought he had gone too far. That she would pull out her service weapon and plug him on the spot. The SAC tugged her sleeve, and that seemed to dissipate the cop’s fury.
‘Where were you today?’
‘Here and there,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘Where were you for the last few hours?’
‘Driving all over the city.’
‘There were several shootings in Brownsville.’ Quindica intervened before the volcano-on-legs that was Difiore exploded. ‘In a housing project. Two in an alley and two others in a parking lot.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘All four were felons,’ the detective seethed. ‘They were in Davis’s gang.’
‘They’re dead? Great. Fewer criminals in our city. I didn’t kill them, however.’
‘You got Davis arrested.’
‘For which I deserve a medal, not an interrogation at night. Wait, how do you know they were in that gang?’
‘You heard of CIs, dude? Informants? Snitches.’
‘I haven’t been near Brownsville,’ he muted the TV when a roar came from the crowd.
His visitors looked at the screen. A fleeting expression of distaste crossed their faces.
‘Your SUV’s got a LoJack?’
‘Disabled.’
‘That’s helpful,’ Difiore snarled.
‘Yeah, to me.’
‘You own a Glock?’ Quindica eyes roamed the living room.
‘Yeah. They were killed by a nine mil?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Let’s see it,’ the detective ordered.
‘Nope. There are thousands of guns that fire that caliber rounds in the city.’
‘We can come back,’ the SAC said mildly, clearly playing the good-cop role, ‘with a warrant. This will be easier and quicker. You know how it is. We need to cross every suspect off.’
‘Since when have I become a suspect?’
‘Since you turned into a vigilante,’ the detective retorted.
‘I am not—’
‘Save it. Your choice. You can show us the gun or we can return later.’
He led them to his bedroom, saw them look at Riley’s photograph but neither of them commented.
Difiore tested the spring-tight bed cover with a finger and nodded approvingly. ‘Once in the military, always in the military.’
She crossed her arms and watched when he went to the wardrobe and opened the door wide. Blocked their view with his body and opened the rear wall, which swung away to reveal a gun cabinet.
Quindica whistled at his collection. ‘Is that a Barrett … and that one’s an AWM?’
‘Yeah. I have permits for all of them.’ He addressed Difiore, who didn’t repond.
Cutter reached inside and drew out a Glock from its holster and presented it to the cops. Quindica sniffed it. Broke it down and assembled it back expertly. ‘This hasn’t been fired.’
‘Nope.’
‘I bet these aren’t the only weapons he has,’ Difiore sniffed. ‘Why do you need that many guns?’
‘I don’t,’ he admitted. ‘Many of those came with me from my time in Delta.’
He started to explain that he wasn’t a gun enthusiast. His collection hadn’t grown over time. Difiore was right. He had other weapons, stashed in caches all over the city, but that was only because of the business he was in. A gun was a tool, one he used as a last resort. He had even taken rounds because he had been late to fire.
Not the time for it.
‘Will your phone back you up? That you weren’t in Brownsville?’
He took them back to the living room, unlocked his cell and handed it over.
‘You’re not protesting,’ Difiore said as she inspected its location history. ‘I find that suspicious.’
‘Suspect away all you want,’ he growled. ‘I don’t care.’
He had anticipated such heat ever since the cops had appeared in his case. His cell phone was rigged to forward calls to burners that he carried with him. The throwaway that had been with him in Brownsville had gone in Karim’s furnace as well.
‘What’s brought this on?’ he asked his visitors when the detective tossed his phone back.
‘Shit’s hit the fan,’ she said bitterly. ‘Internal Affairs are looking into Davis’s killing. That’s muddied things for us. These Brownsville killings … looks like Sheller is tying up loose ends. Your fri
end the commish isn’t happy. He wants results.’
‘You’re on the FBI’s Task Force, right?’
‘Yeah, but it’s his city,’ she flared. ‘We’ve been chasing down every lead, tapping every snitch we have, and we’ve got squat. How can a gang operate so below the radar that no one, not even those in the street, know of it?’
‘Dirty cops.’ He raised his hand up to stop her outburst. ‘Dirty judges, a lot of corruption everywhere. They’re helping Sheller hide. And then he’s got the loyalty.’
‘He’s a thug. How does he have that kind of reach?’
‘Beats me.’ Cutter shrugged. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about too.’
‘How can we buck that?’ She sounded defeated. ‘Even with Peyton’s resources, we haven’t gotten anywhere.’
‘You keep plugging away.’ Cutter found it ironic that he was encouraging the detective, a cop who disliked him. ‘You keep doing what you’re doing. Someone, somewhere will give way. Not everyone will be as committed to him as he thinks or wants. Someone will open their mouth and—’
‘Yeah, and he’ll kill them before we get there. That’s what has been happening all along.’
She flicked her hair back savagely and straightened her shoulders. The momentary flash of despair was gone. She was back to her in-your-face self. ‘If we find you lied—’
‘You’ll nail my butt,’ he completed for her.
Quindica’s lips twitched. She put on a wooden façade swiftly when Difiore glowered at her.
‘Never a dull moment,’ he murmured to Quindica when the detective exited the apartment.
‘Never,’ she agreed.
He shut the door when they left and flopped on his couch. Checked his phone carefully. He wouldn’t put it beyond the detective to insert some software in it. It looked clean, however. Lucky for me, I deleted the recording when I returned home. He removed the SIM card, cut it into small pieces and crushed the phone beneath his heel. It had outlived its usefulness. He unwrapped another burner from its plastic cover and set it up to take calls from his cell.
He frowned when he noticed the TV was still on and read the headlines.
Eric Tizzard’s rally turns into a riot. Protesters fight with his supporters.
‘Doofus,’ he snorted when the state’s governor came on and urged calm. ‘What did you expect would happen?’
Cutter turned off the TV and yawned.
Just before he fell asleep, he wondered how Darrell was.
33
Darrell was thinking of Cutter.
He had told Manuel he was quitting.
‘Man up,’ his friend replied. ‘Tell that to the boss.’
And that’s why he had gone along to Mother Gaston. On arrival, however, Davis’s replacement, someone called Nails, didn’t even look at him. He was talking to the most senior members, getting a breakdown of the gang’s activities and key people.
When one of the hoods yelled “COP,” Darrell fled. He’d had enough. He wouldn’t be returning to the gang.
Cutter was right. There was nothing for him in that group. It had been seductive initially. Being given responsibility, made to feel important. That hadn’t lasted.
They’ll kill me, he shivered. They won’t let anyone walk away.
They might kill Mama, too. He sat up abruptly.
Did that mean he had to go back to the gang? Until he was killed or arrested? Because he knew those were the only two outcomes for him.
He racked his brains, scrunching his face in concentration. Surely there must be a way. Could he get witness protection? That’s what happened on those TV shows.
Dumbass. That’s only if I become a witness.
What did he know that was so important?
Nothing, he told himself bitterly. He could give up Manuel, who he was finding was not that much of a friend. He could tell the cops where Nails and his men hung out.
They’ll know that. There are cruisers going up and down the street. They’ll have noticed the gang.
He clutched the sheet hard as he tried to remember. There must be something. What about that bit about the Lions? He had heard one of the thugs talk softly, but Davis had shushed him immediately. That was just a name. I didn’t hear it again.
Nope, nothing came to mind.
But the plan took root. Getting witness protection in return for snitching on the gang. That was the surest way to leave the gang safely.
He climbed out of bed and searched his school bag for Cutter’s card. It was there, soiled and wrinkled, but readable. He memorized the number and scampered back into bed when he heard his mother enter the apartment.
He pretended to be asleep when she opened his door softly and peered in.
I’ll find a way out, Mama. I won’t let you down.
34
Steve ‘Nails’ Patchey tracked back several times until he was sure he was alone. He went to Mother Gaston and entered the developer’s lot by climbing over the fence. Waited in the darkness until he heard footsteps.
Gunner came through the neighboring building. A large figure, looking ominous in the dark. Two figures with him, who stood back.
‘What happened?’ the Lions’ founder growled.
‘There was an undercover cop,’ Nails told him. He had seen his boss snap the neck of a snitch. His large hands had gone around the man’s throat and broken it with a mere twist. He wasn’t scared, however. He was part of Gunner’s inner circle, had been recruited personally by the man and had proven his loyalty and worth.
‘Four of your men against him, and yet he got away?’
‘They’re dead, Gunner.’
‘They might have snitched.’
‘I know those men well. They wouldn’t have. And even if they did, what did they know?
‘Our name. We’ve kept it off the street so far.’
‘There are enough gangs with similar names, Gunner,’ he scoffed. Took a step back when he saw the expression on his boss’s face. ‘I mean,’ he said conciliatorily, ‘it won’t mean anything to the cops. Anyhow, I know they didn’t talk. I got my people to question everyone in those neighboring buildings. A few residents watched what went down from their windows. No conversation.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Describe this cop.’
‘I didn’t see much, but Serro got a good look. He was tall, over six feet. Big nose, big everything. Bulky. But he could run.
‘White?’
‘Tanned. Won’t the cops on our books know who he was?’
Gunner stared off in the distance and didn’t reply.
‘I’ll find out,’ he said.
‘Any blowback from Davis getting killed?’
‘None that you have to be worried about. Protect your turf, do your business, and you’ll be fine.’
‘Got it, Gunner.’
‘You got any Jew shops here? Indian or Chinese takeouts?’
‘There are a few.’
‘Pick your best men. Attack them.’
‘Just in Brownsville? I know several all over the city.’
‘I don’t care where. But let me know the stores. I’ll run them past other cells so you’re not stepping on someone else’s territory.’
‘There’s a bodega in Brooklyn. Best cakes I’ve eaten. It’s on Lafayette Street.’
‘I’ll check and get back to you. What’s special about this one? Other than the cakes?’
‘Owned by a Jew and a Chinese couple.’
Gunner stared at him.
‘Jew and Chinese owners?’
‘Yeah. I had the same reaction when I heard.’
‘Hit it.’
‘I’ll do it myself.’
‘This is urgent. Needs to go down in the next two days.’
‘It will be done.’
‘Use your senior men. No disposables.’
‘They’ll all be white, Gunner.’
‘That’s the point.’
‘Understood.’
Gunner departed as silently as he had arrived. No fist bumps or chest thumps. He wasn’t into that.
Nails left the building and made a call.
‘Serro,’ he told his aide, ‘get everyone together tomorrow. We’ve got work.’
35
Cutter was relaxing on his office couch the next evening. Of course, he didn’t put it that way when Arnedra sniffed at him.
‘I’m thinking,’ he told her solemnly.
‘I know,’ she said snidely. ‘Of food or sleep. Nothing else on your mind. You’ve closed the Darrell assignment?’
‘That’s what I’m working on. Uninterrupted,’ he emphasized, hoping she got the hint.
If she did, she chose to ignore it.
She placed her hands on her hips and gave him an angry look.
‘Cutter, if you don’t get your ass—’
His phone rang. An unknown number.
‘CUTTER!’ a young voice panted.
‘Yeah, who’s this?’
‘DARRELL. YOU’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING. THEY’RE ATTACKING STORES. HURRY. CALL SOMEONE.’
‘Whoa,’ he sat up with a jerk. ‘Back up a moment. Where are you? Are you safe?’
‘Cutter, listen to me. I’m safe. I was with the gang in the evening. Just listening. Not doing anything. I swear. I swear on Mama. Nails drew the hitters around him. Gave them instructions. They’re supposed to hold up stores. Get their cash and run. He was going downtown himself. A bodega on Lafayette. I remembered. That’s near Mama’s office.’ Words spilled out of him in a rush, like water from a broken dam.
‘Where’s this bodega? Did he say anything else?’
‘He said something about cakes.’
Cutter was off his couch in an instant. He cupped the phone between shoulder and neck and jerked open his drawer to remove his Glock and holster.
‘Do you know which other places will be hit?’
