by Ty Patterson
His aide, clearly thrown off by the abrupt question, took his time. ‘You saw him on TV? His name’s Cutter Grogan. I made the connection too, after we met. It was him.’
‘You held up the same store that had been attacked just a couple of weeks ago? By our people?’
‘I didn’t know them, boss.’
Gunner clenched the phone so hard that the veins on his hands popped out. He forced himself to relax. It wasn’t Nails’ fault. That was how the gang worked. One cell didn’t know what the other did. Only he and a very few trusted lieutenants could see the entire picture.
Boyce, Pupius and Tuttle were new entrants to the Queens chapter. They had been explicitly ordered not to get inked, but Boyce had gone ahead and done just that. They had been told to lie low and learn how the gang worked. They went and held up that bodega.
Gunner had gotten Mease to pull strings so they would get bail. He then arranged for their deaths. Those who dared disobey his orders found out quickly how harsh his sentences were.
‘How did he come back to that same store?’
‘Don’t know, boss. Do you want me to find out?’
‘No. Stay out of it.’
He dialed another number.
‘Cray?’
‘Yeah, Gunner.’
‘I want you to find everything you can on The Fixer.’
‘The one on TV?’
‘Yeah.’
‘On it.’
His tech specialist hung up.
Gunner had worked out early on that a computer whiz would be needed to support the Lions growth. Enter Cray. A hacker who had done time at Lompoc, who had heard of Gunner and the Lions through the prison grapevine. He shared the philosophy, was an enthusiastic member, and his skills were just what the gang needed.
Gunner called Mease. ‘Do we have a heavyset cop on our side?’ He described the undercover cop who had killed Nails’ people, and what he had done.
‘Our friends would have told me if there was any surveillance. I’ll find out.’
* * *
Mease hung up. Straightened the table linen while he scrolled through his mental list of contacts.
‘It’s me,’ he told the same assistant chief he had called days ago. ‘How’s Martinelli holding up?’
‘He’s fine. Looks like the investigation will find some fault in his actions; however, he won’t be fired or suspended. He’ll be given light work. Admin stuff that cops hate, but he’ll get away.’
‘Great. He can expect a sizable bonus.’
‘He knows that.’
‘Do you have anyone undercover working in Brownsville?’
‘Nope,’ the chief replied categorically.
‘Yeah. I would have known. Why do you ask?’
‘Those killings in Brownsville—’
‘Shooter got away. We’re still hunting him.’
‘Those men were ours.’
‘I know.’
‘We think he was a LEO.’ Law Enforcement Officer.
‘Not from the NYPD. Could be DEA or some other agency.’
Mease’s brow wrinkled. Federal involvement was the last thing they wanted. He thanked the chief and called another number, this one in DC.
‘Kosman,’ he said and hung up.
Minutes later his phone rang. The Associate Deputy Administrator in the DEA’s Intelligence Division called him back from his burner.
‘Mease,’ he hissed. ‘We have a protocol. You can’t call me at the office.’
‘I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important. Do you have any undercover agents in Brooklyn?’
‘This about those shootings? Nope. I would have given you a heads-up.’
‘You sure?
‘Of course, I am.’ He hung up.
The strategist stroked his chin. He believed Kosman. The DEA official had too much to lose to lie. Mease had recorded him accepting bribes in return for intel. As if that wasn’t enough, they had a recording revealing his white supremacy views.
His and Rubin’s network of contacts was filled with believers. Blackmail helped, too.
* * *
Gunner took his call an hour later.
‘He isn’t any kind of LEO.’
He thanked Mease and brewed himself coffee. The heavyset man wasn’t a priority. However, he had come up from ADX, where any sign of weakness could be fatal. He applied the same philosophy to running the gang.
‘Spread the word,’ he told his cell leaders as he called each one. ‘We need to find that shooter.’
41
Cutter was back at ADX Florence.
A hastily arranged visit, when the warden had called him and told him cryptically that a mutual friend needed to see him.
‘Don’t you have a message for me?’ That’s what Jake and I agreed.
‘Just that you need to get your butt moving ASAP. Why the heck did I agree to be a postman?’ He had slammed the phone down with that.
Which led to Cutter flying back, repeating his previous itinerary.
* * *
The same meeting room at the prison. The warden conspicuous by his absence.
Horstman arrived with his retinue of guards, who waited outside the room.
‘People will talk if we meet this often,’ Cutter joked, but there was an underlying seriousness. Walls had ears, and the ones at prisons had sharp hearing.
‘It couldn’t wait. Bull and I talked. He was high. He had gotten some weed, don’t ask me how, you know how the trade is in here.’
Every prison had a strong smuggling operation and did brisk business in contraband items. Cigarettes, phones, food, anything was available for a price.
‘Our friend’s definitely alive.’ Horstman lowered his voice. ‘All I had to do was talk of a second life, and Bull started off.’
‘He used Gunner’s name?’
‘No, but he described him. Who else looks like Sheller?’
Cutter agreed. He had been expecting such a revelation, but hearing it jolted him to alertness anyway.
‘You didn’t summon me to tell me just that.’
‘He said Gunner had help in staging his death. External help. I took that to mean someone from outside ADX. And that’—he leaned forward—‘he was working on something big. Very big.’
‘What could be bigger than running a gang while the world thinks he’s dead?’
‘Beats me. I couldn’t tell the warden to convey all that.’
‘He say anything else?’
‘He started rambling afterwards, and I didn’t dare question him.’
‘Don’t bring it up again. Not by yourself. If he does, show that you aren’t interested.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you know if Bull has any visitors?’
‘Family. No one else.’
That didn’t mean anything. A convict’s loved ones usually doubled up as messengers. He could be in active contact with Gunner that way.
* * *
Cutter left ADX troubled. Horstman’s findings were useful, but how could he act on them?
How do I find a dead man?
Difiore and Quindica could help, but the ex-con had stayed off their radar too. What could they do?
He boarded his flight, still thinking furiously.
‘You looked into Sheller’s death?’ he asked on a call to Difiore when he landed at Newark.
‘Dead ends. Coroner’s dead. Killed in a hunting accident. The detectives who had the case, two of them … one’s retired to Mexico, untraceable. The other’s on some European cruise.’
‘Their case notes?’
‘Nothing there.’
‘What about the body? The person who was killed?’
‘Released to Sheller’s distant family, who are—’
‘Untraceable.’
‘You got it. Four years is a long time, even in today’s world with the internet and all that.’
‘What about the man he had a fight with? I bet it was his body.’
‘He’s—’
�
�Disappeared, too.’
‘Yeah,’ Difiore said bitterly. ‘And we can’t re-open the case because that might alert Sheller. Why are you asking all this?’
‘I met Jake today.’ He broke it down for her swiftly. ‘I’ve just landed, in fact.’
‘Outside help could mean anything.’
‘It means those who helped him had no prison connection. That’s rare. Criminals and ex-cons move in a small circle. Civilian contact is usually friends and family or employers. No, this is different.’
‘There’s nothing to go on there.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ he cursed.
He would blame himself for what happened next.
42
Prison walls did have ears.
They had eyes too, and ADX was no different.
The prison guard who had signed Cutter in had a sweet thing going. He got a cut of the prison’s drug trade, several baggies each week that he sold outside for a hefty profit. All he had to do was call a certain number and feed some information.
Harmless intel, which was how he justified it to himself. Besides, many officials had side gigs going. His revealing some inside juice … what harm did it do? Wasn’t America the land of free enterprise?
‘Yeah. Grogan. Cutter. C-U-T-T-E-R,’ he spelled it out. ‘Came down twice. Met just one prisoner. Ripper. Sorry, that’s what we call him. Jake Horstman. Sure, will keep my eyes peeled.’
He hung up and returned to his station and checked out the visitor log on his screen. Were there any other names off whom he could make some profit?
* * *
His information reached the Colorado Lions cell leader, who passed it on straight up. It reached Gunner, who was touring the city in his darkened SUV. Checking out his cells, making sure that business was rolling smoothly.
The Lions’ founder had just finished killing a defector, a gang member who had switched allegiance to a rival outfit.
‘Bury him in that development lot,’ he ordered as he wiped his hands on a rag, then set fire to it. ‘The one with fresh concrete, by the river. It should still be wet.’
He climbed into his vehicle, which creaked beneath his weight, and signaled his driver to leave. Looked back at his men, who were wrapping the dead thug in a tarp. There was no room for traitors, not in the Lions. The fool got what he deserved.
He reached into his pocket absently when his phone trilled. Recognized the burner.
‘Yeah?’
He went still when a cell leader relayed him the ADX news.
‘Grogan? Ripper? Yesterday? You’re sure?’ He bit back a curse. Of course, his man was sure. Everyone in his gang knew not to feed him false information.
‘Do nothing for now. Keep an eye on who else visits him.’
He looked blindly out of the window when the call ended. It was the third time this Fixer dude had come up on his radar. How did he know Ripper? And what had the convict told him?
Gunner kept track of his enemies. Most of them were dead, and the few who were alive were in prison, which made it easy to keep tabs on them. His well-oiled network in ADX was his eyes and ears, his tripwire.
Perhaps it was time to change its function. Turn it into a weapon. However, he had to know more first.
‘Cray?’ he growled into his phone, ‘What have you found on Grogan?’
‘He’s like a private investigator, boss. But without the license. He’s based on Lafayette.’
‘How big is his outfit?’
‘Just him and his partner. A black woman.’
‘Black?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Family? Girlfriends? Boyfriends?’
‘None that I could find. No social media presence. He doesn’t even own a credit card. Owns his apartment on Lafayette.’
‘Owns it?
‘Yeah.’
That meant the Fixer was loaded. Which also meant he might be well-connected. He had to find out more before deciding on a course of action.
* * *
Darrell was nervous. He looked back frequently, ignored Manuel’s quizzical looks.
‘We gotta be careful,’ he told his friends. ‘That hangout got attention.’
‘Relax, bro,’ his friend snorted. ‘Nails has got it sorted out. We’ll know if the cops come on to us.’
‘We got friendly cops?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Who are they?’
‘You don’t want to know, bro. I thought you were leaving the gang.’
‘What made you think that?’
‘You hang back when we’re with the dudes. You don’t take the backpack anymore. People have noticed.’
‘What are they saying?’
‘This and that.’ His friend didn’t elaborate.
‘I’m committed.’
‘That’s good, bro. That’s our family.’
Darrell plastered on a smile and followed his friend to the gang’s hangout on Mother Gaston.
He was seeing Manuel in a new light. His friend wasn’t the same boy he had grown up with. He had become harder. Ruthless.
I don’t want to be like him.
I want out.
Which meant he had to find something on the gang. Soon.
* * *
‘I was waiting to hear from you.’
Cutter looked up to see Carmel Ward burst into his office, Arnedra behind her.
Afternoon. Rays of light coming through the windows, lighting up the hardwood floor. A floral arrangement that his partner had bought adding color to the room.
None of which distracted the mother. She shook her finger accusingly at him.
‘I thought you would call and update me on what’s happening. Darrell came home early a few nights. I thought that was it; I have my boy back. But he texted me today. Said he would be late. I checked with Manuel’s mom. He’s out, too. WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT’S MY SON INVOLVED IN?’
‘Bad company, ma’am,’ Cutter said smoothly. ‘Just like you suspected.’
His admission stopped her mid-tirade. She blindly reached for the back of a chair, maneuvered it and sat heavily.
‘Like a gang?’ she asked hollowly.
‘I don’t know, yet.’ He hated himself for lying. ‘I’m still figuring that out.’
‘Can we go to the cops?’
‘We can, ma’am. But Darrell might get into trouble too.’
She twisted her hands nervously as her lips trembled and her eyes filled. ‘I thought I had my son back. When I got his text today …’ She sniffled, brushed her tears away and squared her shoulders.
‘Mr. Grogan, please save my son.’
‘Cutter, ma’am—’
‘Everything I have is yours.’ She brushed his words away. ‘All I want is my son.’
He was brooding when Arnedra returned after seeing their visitor out.
‘I thought you had a connection with Darrell. He called you to warn about the attack on that store.’
‘I screwed up. I pushed him too far, too quickly.’
‘Does he know how dangerous it is?’ She sighed when he told her about his last meeting with the student.
‘He thinks it’s like how Hollywood shows it.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Follow him as much as I can. Be there for him.’
‘You could go to the cops.’
‘I will if I can’t come up with another way. I’ll see if I can get Difiore to go easy on him.’
‘She just might. I mean, he’s not gotten into anything more serious than storing drugs.’
‘Yeah. It’s not her I’m worried about.’
‘The gang?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded soberly. ‘The Lions will retaliate. With their network inside the NYPD, they’ll know who’s snitched on them.’
‘And what Darrell tells them won’t be important enough to afford protection.’
‘Oh, they’ll send a few cruisers, mount some vigilance, but what if those cops are dirty?’
‘You’re screwed.’
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He grinned reluctantly. Arnedra had a way of cutting to the chase.
His smile disappeared when she went back to her desk.
He had completed every assignment they had taken satisfactorily. Sure, Carmel Ward hadn’t paid him, but she was his client.
And it looked like he would fail her.
43
Terry Kobach was serving a life sentence for a string of offenses that had shocked the country.
He had raped an underaged girl in front of her parents and then murdered the entire family. He had escaped in their car and had shot up the neighborhood while being pursued by cops. Two more victims had died before he had been arrested.
He arrived at ADX with a reputation. He got tested by other convicts. He smashed the skull of one prisoner against a wall and permanently maimed another. No one troubled him after that.
He had found a friend in Gunner. The Lions’ man was as much a stone-cold killer as he was, and what was there to dislike about the white supremacy views?
He became the gang’s enforcer in prison. A convict needed to be threatened, all Kobach had to do was look in that menacing way and most times that did the job. Sometimes he had to take more direct action. Like plunging a shiv between the ribs or in the jugular. In return, he got an unending supply of smokes, weed, and his choice of cell when he wasn’t in solitary.
Violence and killing didn’t bother him. He was already serving life. What else could they do to him?
The message came to him, words whispered hurriedly in his ears during dinner.
* * *
‘You’re a popular man.’
Horstman turned in the yard to see Kobach leering at him. He put down the weights he was exercising with and wiped his sweat on his sleeve. The killer had been one of his attackers, along with Gunner, when Cutter had intervened. The two men had kept their distance when both Sheller and his friend had left prison.
‘That so?’
‘Yeah. I heard you got two visits in less than a week. The same person. Surprise, surprise, he isn’t family.’
