Break

by Ty Patterson

  ‘No. When I heard about this one, I ran off to call you.’

  ‘Nails said he was going there himself.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘When?

  ‘About half an hour ago.’

  Cutter pictured the boy. Sweating. Frightened. But he had made the call.

  ‘Darrell?’

  ‘Yeah. Do something. Plea—’

  ‘You did good.’

  He hung up. Was out of the office in two strides. Heard Arnedra calling the emergency number. And then he was in the elevator, punching the button for ground. He tried Difiore. Got her voicemail.

  ‘Several stores in Brownsville are going to be held up. About now,’ he said tersely and hung up. Left a similar message for Quindica. Tried the bodega. Cursed loudly when he got nothing. Moshe didn’t pick up his cell; neither did Chang or Lin Shun.

  Cutter sprinted.

  He zipped up his jacket when he saw a woman’s eyes widen at the sight of his gun.

  Half an hour. Enough time for Nails to have reached the convenience store. Was that why its owners weren’t answering? Had something gone wrong?

  He burst past a red light, threading through a narrowing gap between traffic. Got an earful of curses and snarls.

  He tried the numbers again. The detective, the SAC, his friends. Jammed his cell in his pocket when no one answered.

  Slowed when the bodega came into sight.

  The warrior took over. Checking out the street. Everything looked normal. No. Those two men standing near the store, talking casually—they didn’t belong. No one hung around like that. Not that near the entrance. The blinds were down, too.

  He’s here!

  The animal took over.

  36

  ‘Got a light, bud?’ Cutter used the timeworn trick to get close to the men. Left hand in his pocket, as if searching for a smoke, right hand near his jacket.

  ‘Nope. Don’t—’

  He slashed the speaker across the temple with the barrel of his Glock. Brought the gun back and jammed it against the second thug’s teeth.

  ‘One word out of you and I’ll spray you on the street.’ He shoved the man ahead. Slammed him against the door so hard that it swung open and the bell rang.

  Masked man with gun pointed at Chang and Lin Shun. Moshe by their side, as calm as ever. All of them behind the counter.

  All of them turned toward the door when he and his captive crashed through the door.

  Nails!

  Cutter recognized the man’s hair and build.

  He sent his prisoner crashing against the display stand and dove to the floor when the thug fired. Bottles exploded behind him and showered him with liquid. He raised his Glock to fire a warning shot when the gangbanger reacted unexpectedly.

  He jumped through the window, shattering the glass, bringing the blinds around him.

  What the—

  Cutter lunged out through the door, felt a shadow move. Ducked too late and caught a wicked blow on his temple. His head swam, his vision blinded for a moment. He reached out to his assailant, the second guard, caught his shirt with his free hand and tugged hard.

  Felt movement. Nails, looking like a sci-fi movie character with the remains of the blinds around him. His scarf had slipped to reveal his snarl.

  Cutter felt slow. His gun hand wasn’t rising fast enough. His body felt sluggish. He took the only option he had. He bodyslammed the thug and sent him stumbling towards the leader. Got another blow to the back of his neck as reward and fell to the ground. Clawed desperately for his Glock, which had slipped out of his hand, and then a kick sent him into darkness.

  * * *

  ‘You were out just a few moments.’ Moshe was swabbing his face with a paper towel. He handed him a bottle of water.

  Cutter drank greedily and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He winced at the movement. His body throbbed and his head felt tender. He was in the bodega, on the floor, back resting against a fridge. It felt cool and brought some relief to the burning inside him.

  ‘What happened?’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘You got beat up,’ Lin Shun said simply. ‘That last kick knocked you out.’

  ‘I’m disappointed,’ Chang shook his head. ‘There weren’t six of them. Just two. You let them take you.’

  Cutter flipped him the finger and let his eyes search the interior of the store. ‘Where’s the third man?’

  The owner’s face fell. ‘He got away, too. We had him cornered, but we were distracted when we saw you outside. What they were doing. He barged into Lin Shun and escaped through the window.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked Lin Shun.

  ‘Busted cheekbone,’ her husband declared before she could respond. ‘We’ll have to X-ray it. It’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck.’

  Cutter breathed a sigh of relief when she winked at him.

  ‘We had them,’ Chang continued. ‘And then you had to show up.’

  ‘You had them? That man had a gun on all of you!’

  ‘We had it under control.’

  ‘So, it’s my fault?’

  ‘Totally,’ Moshe agreed and swabbed his face again.

  Their eyes belied their words. Anxiety, concern, as they hovered around him.

  ‘You got it on tape?’ Cutter got to his feet with Moshe’s help.

  No swimming head. No dizziness. He took another long swallow, the water working its magic inside him.

  ‘Tape? Who uses that?’ Chang snorted. ‘Yeah, cameras were recording. Here come your friends,’ he broke off when cruisers rolled up.

  ‘You’re still alive?’ Difiore greeted him.

  37

  Cutter raised his hands in resignation at her words and let Lin Shun brief the cops. The detective and the SAC recorded her statement on a phone while patrol cops checked out the store and questioned witnesses on the street. Tape barricaded the sidewalk, while another cop directed traffic.

  ‘Now, you,’ Difiore ordered, nothing on her face giving her thoughts away. Quindica watched silently, thumbs hooked in the pockets of her neatly cut trousers.

  He went through it. How he had raced up, spotted the thugs outside and played himself in.

  His eyebrows rose when she turned off the recording and pocketed the phone.

  ‘How did you know this would go down?’

  ‘I have a network on the streets too. One of my informants told me.’

  ‘This snitch has a name?’

  ‘Not to the cops.’ Why isn’t she recording this?

  She didn’t push him.

  ‘Any of those assailants have a name?’

  ‘Nails. He was the holdup man. The one with the gun.’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘I don’t. But I’m told he’s taken over from Davis.’

  The detective and the SAC pierced him with their eyes.

  ‘Street talk,’ he said helpfully. ‘That’s what my CI told me.’

  ‘Cops have confidential informants,’ Difiore said tightly. ‘Not—’

  ‘I do, too. How many stores were attacked?’

  ‘Ten,’ she growled. ‘All over the city. Holdups. All in the last three hours.’

  Cutter checked his watch. It was just past nine pm. Darrell had called him at six.

  ‘You caught any perps?’

  ‘They got away.’ She looked accusingly at him. As if I’m to blame for that, too, he grouched inwardly.

  Quindica straightened. The patrol cops left the store at a silent command from her.

  ‘It seems to be coordinated. The attacks.’ She fingered a broken blind and tossed it away. ‘All the attackers were white. Young men. Late twenties or thirties.’

  Cutter sensed it coming but still felt shock when he heard her.

  ‘All the stores were minority-owned. People of color.’

  ‘Any particular race targeted?’

  ‘No.

  ‘Lions behind it?’

  ‘We don’t know. We’ve asked our CIs too, but who kno
ws what kind of word gets back?’

  Cutter knew what she meant. Dirty cops might not relay everything their snitches tell them. His face turned bleak when another thought struck him.

  Some of those cops will know who the perps are. They might be in contact with Gunner.

  He was sure it was Sheller who was behind the attacks.

  ‘Lions don’t have a monopoly on race crimes,’ Difiore channeled his thoughts. ‘There are other gangs who could have committed these. Or all of them, copying one another.’

  He nodded, unconvinced. ‘You might get something from CCTV.’

  ‘We’ll be on it.’

  ‘You’re wondering why I didn’t record your statement.’ Difiore said it so softly that Cutter had to bend his head to catch it.

  He followed her and the SAC when they went outside.

  ‘I’m sure you can figure out why.’

  ‘Your department is dirty.’

  ‘Not every cop.’

  ‘You don’t want everything you see or hear going into your system. What about the Feds?’

  Quindica gave him a wooden face.

  ‘The FBI too?’ he asked, shocked.

  ‘We can’t take anything for granted,’ the detective responded.

  ‘I know Bart and Bruce,’ he replied heatedly. ‘They—’

  ‘Not them.’

  ‘I’m on the side of angels now?’ He grinned.

  ‘No,’ Difiore said flatly. ‘But this … your inside info, that’s what we want from you. Nothing more. What I said earlier stands. Don’t go rogue. Don’t run your own investigation.’

  He mock-saluted her, but that didn’t bring any smiles.

  These cops were hard.

  He turned away from the gaggle of onlookers and reporters on the sidewalk being held back by tape and the cops.

  ‘He’ll know you’re involved,’ Difiore said in a parting shot.

  Trust her to cheer him up.

  He. Sheller. Who, if he watched TV, would see Cutter’s face plastered on the local news.

  38

  Nails met Gunner at the same location on Mother Gaston, late at night. It was a low-risk location. They got a free pass since most of the cruisers that patrolled the area were in their pockets.

  ‘This man … any chance he was the same one?’ the Lions’ founder asked.

  ‘Nope. This one was younger. Different features. Green eyes. Looked like a model.’

  ‘A model,’ his boss snorted, ‘wouldn’t take on armed men. You got any injuries?’

  ‘A few glass splinters. Took ’em out. Nothing serious.’

  ‘Your men?’

  ‘They’ll recover.’

  ‘I’ll check out who this man is, too. He might be a bystander, an off-duty cop, anyone.’

  * * *

  Gunner rarely watched TV; otherwise he would have known who the mystery man was.

  ‘Fifth Avenue,’ he told his driver as he buckled up.

  All ten attacks had gone well. None of his people had been apprehended. The cops would check security camera footage and would identify a few criminals, but they wouldn’t find those men.

  His Lions were good at operating beneath the radar. Right underneath everyone’s noses, but unseen.

  ‘Slow down,’ he commanded when they were approaching the Frick Collection building. He searched the sidewalk and spotted a figure.

  ‘Him,’ he directed.

  The SUV slowed enough for Sidewalk Man to get inside.

  ‘I heard about it,’ Mease, the arrival, congratulated him. ‘Nothing else on TV but these attacks. Disturbing rise of hate crimes, one channel called it.’

  ‘It would have been if we had killed anyone. I gave explicit instructions on that. No shooting.’

  ‘Yeah, our supporters wouldn’t have liked that either. It would have drawn too much heat.’

  ‘How is he?’ Gunner jerked his head in the direction of Central Park.

  He. Rubin.

  Mease knew who he meant. ‘He’s got interviews lined up tomorrow. Tizzard’s rally, the riots, these attacks, he’ll focus on those. Parsons and Farley both think we should get an uplift in the polls.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘This alone won’t be enough. The election’s still several months away. We might need more drastic action.’

  ‘From my people?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We’re here to serve.’ Gunner’s smile was evil.

  39

  ‘That took courage.’ Cutter patted Darrell on the back. ‘Calling me.’

  The boy didn’t respond, didn’t meet his eyes.

  They were on Chester Playground.

  He had followed the student after school; no Manuel, no joining the gang. The boy had flung his backpack on the grass and broken open a bag of chips when he approached.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘I followed you after school.’

  ‘Is that what you did earlier, too?’

  ‘Nope. I told you about that.’

  The boy emptied the bag and stuffed it into his pocket. Drank from a bottle of juice, which went back into his bag. Wiped his hands on his trousers.

  ‘Why did you snitch on them?’

  He took his time replying. ‘It didn’t feel right.’

  Huh? And what you did before, with the gang, that was right?

  Cutter didn’t voice his thoughts, however.

  ‘That number you called me from … I didn’t recognize it.’

  ‘I used a stranger’s. I told them mine ran out of juice. That it was an emergency. I couldn’t risk calling from my phone. Nails might want to check all our phones later.’

  ‘Smart,’ Cutter said admiringly. He meant it.

  ‘How does witness protection work?’

  Cutter jerked his head up in surprise at the question.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Answer me,’ the boy replied stubbornly.

  ‘You tell the cops or the Feds something. If it’s important enough that it will lead to many arrests, they’ll give you a new identity, a new life, and protect you.’

  ‘Will they give it to Mama and me?’

  ‘Darrell,’ he said sharply. ‘You took the first step in getting out of that gang by calling me. You need to end it with them. Stop going. Ditch Manuel.’

  ‘You think it’s that easy?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘They won’t let me quit like that. I know what they did to another kid. Leon, he cut his face up.’

  That must be Davis.

  ‘You saw that?’

  ‘No, Manuel told me. He did it in front of the gang. As a lesson to them. You been in a gang before? It’s not like just another job, where you go to your boss and tell him you’re quitting.’

  Anger in his voice, but also fear and the sheen of tears in his eyes.

  ‘I have to do this my way.’

  ‘Darrell—’

  ‘No. Stop following me. Stop advising me.’

  ‘You’re a kid.’ Cutter grabbed his elbow and jerked him around. ‘You are way out of your league here. The smart thing to do is stop going. If they come to you, call me and call the cops.’

  ‘What if they do something to Mama?’

  ‘That’s not how gangs work. They don’t want heat.’

  ‘You don’t know this outfit.’

  ‘Think of your mama.’

  ‘I AM. I’M DOING THIS FOR HER.’

  Darrell flushed when a few heads turned in their direction. He shrugged free, grabbed his backpack and ran away.

  Turned back and pointed a finger at Cutter.

  ‘And if you tell Mama, I’ll—’

  He raced away.

  Cutter watched him till he disappeared from sight and then cursed himself.

  Way to go, dude. You had him. You could have convinced him. No. You had to patronize him.

  It was the surest way to alienate a youngster.

  Was Darrell serious about witsec?

  He pondered about
it before shaking his head. The Federal witness program was the most secure one. Several states had their own versions, New York included. However, those programs were less extensive than the one operated by the Marshals.

  Quindica can get him under the Federal program, but what does he have to offer? Nails? That wasn’t good enough. The cops could get the leader on their own.

  Cutter swore loudly again and got a reproving stare and a click of the tongue from a mom. He got to his feet and trudged back to his car.

  He was back to square one. He would have to find a way to get Darrell out before he endangered himself.

  I can’t tell Carmel, either. She’ll talk to him, and that will alienate him further.

  He had to find another way.

  Maybe I’ll wipe out the gang myself.

  It was a flippant thought, but it stayed in his mind.

  40

  Gunner did eventually turn on his TV.

  He settled in on his couch and watched the candidate on various channels, expressing outrage at the spate of hate crimes.

  ‘We need to come down hard on these criminals. Our cops are fighting a losing battle. The justice system is skewed in favor of thugs.’ He passionately outlined how he would change the system. Provide law enforcement the tools to battle crime. The live studio audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically at his statements. If the elections had been held at that very moment, Rubin would have won.

  The gang founder grunted in satisfaction. It looked like his people’s actions had worked. However, he agreed with Mease. The attacks wouldn’t be enough. The Veep and the other candidates would come back with policies and tangible proposals to address national issues. If Rubin had to ride a wave of emotion, there had to be something bigger happening.

  More drastic than attacks, like Mease had said.

  He reached for the remote to turn off the TV, then paused. An interview with someone who called himself The Fixer. Good-looking dude. He had stopped an attack on a convenience store in Lafayette two weeks ago.

  His eyes sharpened. Hadn’t Nails held up—? He snatched his phone and dialed a number.

  ‘The Fixer—is that him?’ he barked.