He waited.
Within minutes, Rabi headed out towards a back door followed by the man he had ordered to tag along. However, before he left, Harris heard him give the green light to rape Christi. He ground his teeth and his hands shook with tempered fury. The back door of the warehouse slammed shut and the two remaining men focused their attention on Christi. Harris heard her beg them.
She looked up from the cold, hard floor and pleaded for her life. The men simply laughed.
That’s enough, Harris thought. He smiled grimly as he heard an engine start out behind the building. Seconds later came the sound of wheels crunching on gravel as the vehicle drove away.
It was time.
Harris pulled his gun and stepped out of the shadows.
Mob Rules
31
Blake Shannon pulled into the south Brooklyn neighborhood of Manhattan Beach well after midnight. Under the bathing glow of streetlights, he took in the beautiful homes, many of which had an ocean view. Even on a Commissioner’s salary, the man wondered how his boss could afford this.
He’d called earlier to inform Commissioner Streaks that he was on his way. The Commissioner hadn’t asked any questions. He knew for Shannon to drive out at this hour, it was big. He also knew instinctively that it was not a conversation that should take place on an unsecured cell phone.
Shannon found the home and let out a soft whistle. A gorgeous, red brick structure, he knew that the place had to be worth north of a million dollars. He parked his car alongside the curb and got out. As he walked up the pavers to the front porch, the door opened and Streaks was there to greet him.
“Hello Blake,” the man said cordially.
“Hey, Bill. I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.”
“It’s okay, I assume this is urgent.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Commissioner stood aside and with a sweep of his arm, invited Shannon inside. Blake took in the beautiful foyer and the art which hung on the walls. He noticed the furnishings were the best money could buy.
“Beautiful home,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Streaks walked down a short hallway and made a left through French doors. Shannon followed him. When the two were in the office, the Commissioner turned and stood in front of a large oak bookcase.
“Let’s hear it,” he spoke.
Blake Shannon gave the man a quick rundown of everything that had transpired at Harris’ house.
When he finished, he stood silently and watched as his superior officer took it all in.
“Any idea where he’s going?” He finally asked.
“Lord knows. But it could get very ugly tonight. Jimmy was in a serious state.”
“How many times did you call him?”
“Just twice,” Blake answered. “Both times it went to voicemail. He’s not going to pick up.”
The Commissioner turned and walked to an expansive bay window. There was a large Birch tree illuminated with under-lighting. It swayed softly with the slight breeze that came off the Lower Bay waters.
“You know him a lot better than I do. What’s he capable of?”
“Come on, Bill. You know what he’s capable of when he’s just hunting down street punks, but combine that with somebody going after his family and the kidnapping of the Sellinger girl? Jesus, I don’t even want to think about it.”
William Streaks turned to face his charge. His face reflected the grave nature of what they were really talking about.
“We need to get ahead of this, Blake. Have damage control ready for any eventuality.”
Shannon let his head drop. He looked at the floor unable to respond. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled loudly as he looked back up to lock eyes with his boss.
“We might have a problem with Sylvia Blumquist. She worships him. Owes her daughter’s life to him.”
“Sylvia will do what she has to do,” Streaks spoke with authority. “Even if it means cutting him loose.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It doesn’t even matter. If he goes berserk and starts a war then he’s got go down.”
Shannon shook his head. Not in disagreement, but in disbelief.
“We have the reputation of the force to think of,” the commissioner continued. “That’s bigger than any one man. Bigger than you. Bigger than me.”
“I know.”
Streaks took a step toward him and put a hand on Blake’s shoulder.
“Look,” he spoke with compassion. “I know you guys go way back. I get it.”
Shannon remained silent.
“But if goes rogue, there’s no other way.”
Once again, Shannon drew in a long, slow breath. His thoughts went beyond the political entanglements. He felt terrible for Jimmy and what he’d been dealing with. His entire world had been flipped upside down a few months ago when Bonnie walked out on him. And even the promotion to Captain and his own unit didn’t make up for the loss he felt. Now, to be forced into this situation was too much for anybody. He knew Jimmy was dangerous and walked the razors edge, but he’d always managed to check himself. Now Blake wondered if that was possible. Would he cross the line?
“You want a drink?” Streaks asked, interrupting his train of thought.
“Uhhh, no,” Shannon spoke slowly. He realized that he’d been ignoring his boss. “No, Bill. I need to get back to the precinct and coordinate the teams that are on standby.”
“You’ve got a long night ahead.”
“I just hope to God we don’t need them,” he finished.
“Relax, Blake. We’ll do everything we can.”
Shannon hesitated. He looked directly at his superior officer.
“For us,” he asked. “Or for him?”
Commissioner Streaks hesitated. He saw the pressure that Shannon was under.
“For everybody,” he spoke. “Come on.”
He walked through the office doors and headed to the front of the house to let the man out.
Mob Rules
32
“FREEZE!” Harris yelled as he stepped around the corner. He held his gun leveled and extended out and he spread his legs in a shooters stance.
Both men whipped their heads around to face him, shock registered on their faces. Christi’s eyes went wide.
The gang banger to his left was the first to move. The young man made the last bad decision of his life as he went for the gun tucked in his waistband. His hand hadn’t even closed around the grip of his nickel plated revolver when Harris pulled the trigger.
The warehouse erupted in two loud booms as Harris placed a pair of well aimed shots into the thug’s midsection. The Loco flew backwards, blood spraying skyward as one of the holes in his chest released the pressure of his coronary artery. He hit the hard cement of the warehouse and lay sprawled on his back. Eyes transfixed, staring into nothing, his only movement was the twitching of his left leg as his life streamed out of his chest to pool on the cold floor.
At the same time, Christi had scrambled to her feet to run towards him. It was the worst thing she could have done.
“Get back down!” Harris shouted. But it was too late.
Bird, seized her from behind. He wrapped his left arm around her chest and held her fast as he quickly dug a switchblade out of his pocket. He clicked the thing open and brought it up to press the blade against her throat. She felt the hard metal and let out a gasp of pain and shock as the blade cut into her skin. The man used her as a shield as Harris aimed his gun.
“Let her go and I will not kill you!” He ordered in a loud, authoritative voice.
“Fuck you, puto!” The man yelled in defiance. With a wild eyed look of desperation, he took a step backwards, dragging Christi with him. He held the knife fast against her throat as he began to move towards the rear entrance, one shuffling back step at a time. Christi struggled and tried to free herself as the situation grew more volatile with each passing second.
Harris looked into her gaping eyes.
“Relax,” he said with surprising softness. Although it was obvious he was talking to her, the Loco misunderstood.
“Don’t tell me what to do, mothefucker! You come any closer and I will end this bitch!”
As if to show he meant business, he dug the tip of the blade into the side of her neck.
Christi shrieked in pain.
“Just relax and stop fighting. Go with it.” Harris looked into her eyes. “Understand?”
Christi felt her heart pounding and she struggled to control her breathing. However, through the pandemonium, she understood he was talking to her.
“Understand?” Harris repeated softly.
Christi gave a quick, almost indistinguishable nod. Her eyes were wild and darting as she tried to calm herself. She knew her best chance of survival was to follow his instructions.
“Shut up!” The Latino man shrieked in anger. He looked from side to side and then down to his fallen comrade. A fresh look of rage swept across his features. “You killed Juan, motherfucker!”
“I’m going to count to three,” Harris ordered, this time with more authority. “When I get to three you drop the knife to the floor. To the floor. Understand?”
Christi look puzzled. The Loco kept edging towards the back door.
“Man, fuck you!”
Harris took another step towards them.
“Understand? When I count to three….you drop.” He gave Christi a small nod.
She nodded back.
“I ain’t dropping shit, pig! Back off before I cut her throat!”
“One.”
“Do you want me to kill her?!”
The Loco was almost to the door.
“Two,” Harris said calmly.
“You’re crazy man!”
The temperature was in the low forties inside the chilly warehouse but Harris felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of his face. He raised the gun and sighted. He gave the young reporter a final nod.
Christi felt panic overtaking her but she knew this was the only way. She took a quick gulp of air, eyes desperate and opened wide.
With a reassuring nod and a small wink, Harris locked eyes with her.
“Three.”
Mob Rules
33
Bonnie lay motionless in bed. Sleep was impossible. Flat on her back, arms by her side she gazed straight up without blinking. It was dark outside and she could hear the wind blowing through the branches of the trees. Her eyes had adjusted long ago and she stared into the rich, wood grained ceiling wondering again how it had all come to this. She was a prisoner. A prisoner in every way imaginable. She had no home. She had no husband. She didn’t even have the right to leave this god forsaken cabin. She was trapped.
And to top it all off there were men who wanted to kill her and Danny. It was surreal, like a bad dream. A dream from which you awake startled until you look around to see the familiar walls of your own bedroom. Later that day, you might recall the dream with friends and tell them how chillingly real it had felt. They would console or share a joke and that would be that. Dream over, life goes on.
But this was a nightmare she could not awaken from.
How had it all gone so wrong? How had she become such a pawn, so devoid of free will, that others merely pushed her around a chess board not of her making?
She felt a wave of self-revulsion as she recalled her behavior with Mike the previous evening. Had it come to that, throwing herself at a virtual stranger just to feel some kind of connection with somebody? Some kind of purpose? Was she really so lonely that she’d degrade herself in such a manner? She could easily blame the alcohol but she knew that wasn’t the case. She had known exactly what she was doing. God, she thought, rock bottom must be close.
Later that morning and during the day, she had experienced a few awkward moments with the man. Although she’d done her best to avoid him, it was almost an impossibility in such a confined space. It was inevitable that they’d bump into each other.
She’d finally managed to murmur a stumbling, whispered apology after lunch. Being the gentleman he was, Mike had laughed it off and told her not to worry. There wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t had a few nights like that, he’d said. She thanked him for understanding and for being a gentleman. He’d given her a smile and said it was in the past. It never happened.
He was a good guy. Yeah, she thought now, a really good guy. And she’d put him in the horrible position of being indecently propositioned by the slutty, drunken wife of Captain James Harris.
Dear sweet baby Jesus, she thought.
Then came her confrontation with Danny. He’d knocked on her bedroom door later that afternoon and asked to talk. They sat together on her bed and she’d held his hand. He told her that he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. Her teenage son, no longer a little boy, had looked her in the eye and asked her to stop lying to him. Why were they really here? Looking at him through sad eyes, she’d realized that he was right. He was growing up. Now it was time for him to grow up a little more and to understand what was taking place in his own life. She owed him that much.
She told him. She told him everything. To her son’s credit, he never blinked an eye. He listened and when she finished he leaned forward and hugged her. Don’t worry, he said, because I’m not. When she’d asked him why he didn’t seem concerned he’d simply turned his head nonchalantly on his way out the door.
“Dad will handle it,” he said with a trace of a smile.
All she could do was smile back. He was a cool customer. Just like his father.
Holy shit, she thought. He’s got it more together than I do.
Bonnie realized at that very moment that she had to take control, had to assume responsibility for her life. No more excuses. No more blaming Jimmy. No more blaming external circumstances. She had to take charge again.
She made her decision then and there.
Once this was over, she would file for divorce. She had threatened to do so before but now it was different. She was going to follow through. It was time to take the reins back, time to regain control of her life. Her decision was final. She felt at peace with it immediately. In fact, she felt empowered.
Bonnie closed her eyes and drifted right to sleep.
Mob Rules
34
“Three,” Harris said calmly as he aimed the gun with a steady hand.
Christi let her legs drop out from under her. With the full weight of her one hundred and twenty pounds dropping to the floor, the surprised gang banger had no way to hold her. She slid down to the floor as he tried to grab her with his left hand. It happened too fast. His entire upper body was now exposed.
“Puta!” He screamed in anger as he took a wild swipe downward with the blade. He was far too slow. The 9mm slug caught him in the shoulder and spun him backwards as once again the warehouse boomed with the loud report of the semi-automatic.
Harris moved rapidly. He passed Christi who sat on the cement floor in stunned disbelief. The Loco had dropped his blade and Harris gave it a quick kick sending it out of his reach.
“Aaaaaaaaaggggghhh!” The gang banger had white spit fly from his mouth as he screamed through the searing pain of having a bullet in him. He rolled back and forth on the ground and clutched his wounded shoulder with his left hand as he stared up at Harris with rage.
“You fucking shot me!” He shrieked.
Harris quickly placed the sole of his shoe on top of the young man’s hand that covered the wound. He pressed down and the young man grabbed Harris’ ankle with his free hand.
Aaaaaaaaaagggggghhhh!” The Loco screamed again.
“Shut up, maggot,” Harris hissed. He turned his head to look at Christi. “Are you okay?”
Christi began to cry. She placed two fingers to her neck and then pulled her hand back to look at them. She saw the blood and started to panic.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” She threw her hand to the side of her neck, stark fear now completely consuming her feat
ures.
“Christi!” Harris barked. “He just nicked you. I promise.”
Christi dabbed at it until she felt the cut. She started sobbing again. This time relief mixed with the fear that still lingered.
“That’s your ass, puto!” The man on the ground continued to talk tough. “The Loco’s are going to cut you to pieces! Your family too!”
Harris lifted his foot from the man’s wound and then with a vicious kick, planted the toe of his shoe directly into the bullet would.
The young man forgot about being tough and let out a horrible wail of pain.
“Call Rabi,” Harris growled, the menacing tone leaving no doubt as to his commitment.
“Fuck you!” the boy wailed through the pain.
“You’re a hard case, hombre,” Harris hissed. “I’m curious to find out how hard.”
He stomped his rubber heel down on the fresh wound and ground it vigorously back and forth.
This time the boy set his jaw and stared up at Harris as he fought the agony which jolted through him. His eyes were blazing red and his head shook. He gnashed his front teeth together as he struggled to win the contest of wills. He refused to cry out again.
Finally Harris lifted his foot. He looked down at the thug with a slight smile and offered a nod of respect.
“Okay. So you’re the real deal,” Harris spoke with amusement. “But what do you think Rabi’s going to do to you if I let you live?”
The young man’s facial expression changed as he attempted to decipher Harris’ meaning.
“That’s right, tough guy,” Harris continued. “You fucked up. You lost the girl and you got caught.”
“You don’t know shit!” The man yelled in defiance. “Rabi’s my homey. It’s you who needs to be worried.”
“Oh, but I’m not. I’m not worried a bit.”
The boy stared up at him and Harris could see his mind working. Whatever else the gang banger was, he was not stupid. Harris could see that as clear as day. If it weren’t for his upbringing the boy could have had a very different life.
MOB RULES (James Harris Book 2) Page 11
