by L. T. Ryan
“What can I get you? Cappuccino? Maybe an iced coffee? You look like an iced coffee kinda guy.”
“Espresso. Double.”
“You Dutch?”
Pierre laughed. The woman’s smile broadened and she winked.
“I’m French,” he said.
“Well I’m Marcy.” She turned her back to him and started on his order. “How long have you been in New York?”
“Two hours, give or take.”
“Fresh off the boat, eh?”
“Excuse me?”
She turned and placed his drink on the counter. “Just an expression, hun. So what brings you to New York? Business or pleasure?”
He took a moment before answering. Sniffed the black liquid in the small cup in his hand. The smell matched the drink, dark and bold.
“Business. Definitely not pleasure.”
She leaned across the counter. Her unbuttoned blouse revealed her small, bare breasts. She said, “I can add the pleasure if you are going to be in town for a few days.”
Pierre lifted his gaze from her breasts to her eyes. He smiled. Shook his head. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Espresso.”
“Right, double.”
He took a seat in the corner. Got up and grabbed a copy of the Times from the table next to him and buried his face in the paper for the next fifteen minutes. He felt her staring at him, but did not look over at the counter. He might be thousands of miles from Kat, but that didn’t mean he could indulge in guilty pleasures. It didn’t take long for the other side of his conscience to create a somewhat convincing argument.
Kat hadn’t seemed happy when he told her he had to go to the U.S. for a job. She looked sad, in fact. It didn’t matter that with the job came the promise of enough money for them to semi-retire for a few years. Enough time for Pierre to sort himself out mentally. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t do a job or two on the side from the French Riviera. Many people who deserved to die passed through Monte Carlo on a daily basis. He just had to get his name out there.
He didn’t know for sure that Kat would be waiting for him when he got back. He had a feeling that she would take off. Leave her job and apartment and even her cat behind if necessary in an effort to give Pierre the slip.
He finished his espresso. Dropped the newspaper on the table. Got up and went to the door. He heard a sigh from behind him. He opened the door an inch or two and stopped. Turned around.
Pierre said, “Do you have a phone number?”
Marcy smiled and handed him a slip of torn notepad paper. He took it from her hand and stuck it in his pocket without reading it. If he read it, the number would be committed to memory. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he would call her. Better to not have the number stored where he could easily access it until he made a decision he couldn’t back out of. Besides, he didn’t know that he would still be in New York come nightfall.
Pierre merged onto the sidewalk and walked to the corner. There, he joined a throng of people waiting to cross the street. A man made of light bulbs changed from orange to white and the group moved like an amoeba across the asphalt.
He walked until he reached the corner of Madison and Market. Looked at his watch. Ten a.m. He spotted a row of bistro tables outside a restaurant and took a seat.
A waiter walked out. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
“Better go wait somewhere else then, pal.”
Pierre felt the rage build inside of him. The muscles in his chest and upper arms constricted. He knew that the man would last no longer than ten seconds if Pierre decided to take him out. He smiled.
“I’ll have a coffee then.”
The waiter disappeared into the restaurant.
“I’m back,” Pierre whispered under his breath. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time. He wondered if being on the job would bring him full circle. Back to the man he was. The man he wanted to be again.
He lit a cigarette while waiting for the waiter to return with his coffee. He already felt amped from the double espresso, but figured a little more caffeine wouldn’t hurt. He spotted a white Mercedes as it pulled up to the curb. The tinted rear passenger window rolled down. Pierre instinctively reached for his gun. Came up empty handed.
A thin older Asian man peered over his sunglasses at Pierre.
“Mr. Pierre?”
Pierre pulled five dollars from his pocket and dropped it on the table. Picked up his bags. Walked over to the Mercedes.
He said, “You Charles’s boss?”
The old man nodded then called to the driver. “Help Mr. Pierre with his bags.”
A large, burly man got out of the car and rounded the back. Opened the trunk. Placed Pierre’s bags inside. He motioned for Pierre to follow him. They waited at the back corner of the car for a break in the traffic. They didn’t have to wait long. The man opened the rear driver’s side door and waved Pierre inside.
Pierre took a seat next to the old man. “Where will I be staying?” He hoped the old man would tell him that he’d be staying at one of those posh hotels that overlooked Central Park.
“With me. For tonight, at least. Tomorrow you’ll be on a plane.”
Pierre felt the paper in his pocket with Marcy’s number written on it. He crumpled it in his hand.
“A plane to where?”
The old man smiled without looking at Pierre. His yellow stained teeth blended with his aged skin. “I promise to tell you tomorrow, Mr. Pierre.”
“You don’t have to go to the trouble of putting me up for the night. I can get a hotel by the Park.”
“Nonsense,” the old man said. “You will stay with me. It’s no trouble. Besides, I can’t risk having you get into any trouble and revealing your reasons for being in the States.”
Great. Stuck with this old bastard all night.
Pierre shrugged and stared out the window. The car sped up and then stopped. The process played out several more times. People on the sidewalk went from blurs to still images and back to blurs again. He thought about Marcy from the cafe. Her imaged blurred, too, into that of Kat. He reached inside his jacket for his phone. Thought better of it. He’d wait until he was at the old man’s house. He’d have privacy there. Besides, the old bastard might confiscate his phone and replace it with one that could track Pierre.
“Driver, stop.” The old man shifted in his seat and removed his glasses. He stared at Pierre for a moment. “Are you sure you can do this?”
“I’ve been doing this since I was twenty,” Pierre said without hesitation.
“I understand that. I’ve killed for a long time, too. Still, it might give me pause to take out someone I’ve known and fought alongside of.”
Pierre’s eyes flitted between those of the old man. Deep lines etched themselves into the sides of the old man’s face and ran down his cheeks.
Pierre said, “It’s business. That’s all. I accepted the job. I can do whatever you need me to do.”
“Driver, continue.” The old man didn’t change his position in his seat. “Jack Noble, a friend of yours, correct?”
“Was,” Pierre said. “He’s dead.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard. But he has, or had I suppose, an associate. A large man.”
“Bear.”
“Yes, Logan I believe is his last name.”
Pierre didn’t need to ask anything else to confirm what he knew. But he did anyway.
“What about him?”
“He is your target. There is a little girl that travels with him—”
“Clarissa? The redhead?”
The old man clenched his jaw and made a fist. “If you happen to see her, kill her as well. But, no, I am referring to a child.”
Pierre stuck out his hands, palms up. He’d do just about anything for the amount of money the old man was offering. But there was a line and that line was close to being crossed.
“No children. I won’t kill a child.”
“Heavens no, Mr. Pierre. I do want her returned to me, though. She is the daughter of a woman who I employed. The woman met an unfortunate ending, and I feel obligated to make sure the girl is taken care of.”
The smile on the old man’s face sent shivers down Pierre’s spine. He had met many men he classified as evil during his twenty years with the agency. But none as evil as the old man. He thought he might be in the presence of the devil himself.
The old man continued. “She might not be with Mr. Logan, though. If she’s not, you let me know and I’ll give you her location.”
“Why not give it to me now?”
“I’ll give it to you when you need it. Anyway, if you have to travel to that location to find her, then there will be a bonus job available. It’ll pay you handsomely.”
“How handsomely?”
“Twice what this job pays.”
Pierre ran his fingers along his jawline, feeling the prickliness of his stubble.
“Why don’t I start there then?”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm. I’ll consider it.”
“Sir,” the driver said. “We’re here.”
7
“Doesn’t the traffic ever end?” Jack said.
The drive had already taken ten minutes longer than the expected twenty. And they still had a few miles to go.
“Nope,” Jasmine said. “You can be driving through the city at eight o’clock at night and get stuck in a backup.”
“At least in New York you can walk everywhere or take the subway or a bus.”
“Yeah, they really didn’t plan that well down here. It just kind of exploded on them, I guess.”
Jasmine slowed the car down as they approached the entrance to the neighborhood. She turned right and pulled to the curb twenty yards later.
“OK, Jack. No heroics. Got it? If we are seen, we just keep driving. If we are made, then we call it in and wait for another team.”
Jack broke his gaze from a yellow lab sitting behind a chain link fence and turned to face Jasmine. He didn’t know what he was going to do. A plan had not yet formed in his mind. He felt so far away from this aspect of his life that he was sure that anything he decided would result in a catastrophe for anyone and everyone in the immediate vicinity.
“You’re on point, Jazz. Not me. I’ll follow your lead.”
“OK. And don’t call me Jazz.”
Jack smiled and held up his hands. “You got it, ma’am.”
She shot him a look and dropped the shifter into drive. Pulled away from the curb and drove two blocks before making a right turn. She nodded as they approached a two story colonial with white siding and red trim. “That’s it. Number two-two-four.”
Jack placed his elbow on the window sill and covered the lower half of his face with his palm. He turned his head slightly to take in as much of the house and the surrounding yard as he could. Four windows downstairs with a red front door in the middle. Three windows upstairs. A six foot wooden privacy fence on either side of the house. Two cars parked in the driveway. One of them was a beater. Looked like an old Toyota pick-up truck. The other was a late model Lexus. The lawn was neatly manicured with rock-ringed trees, and hedges in front of the house.
“Can we make another pass?”
Jasmine nodded. She pointed at the dead-end cul-de-sac ahead of them. “We’ll turn around there and go by again.”
“Anything look out of place to you, Jazz?”
“No. And stop calling me Jazz.”
She kept the car at a steady fifteen miles per hour. They passed the house on the passenger side of the car and Jack had the best vantage point. He made a mental note of the license plates so that they could call them in from the hotel. He also zeroed in on the front door. Above the doorknob were three security locks. He assumed that there were at least two more on the inside that could not be unlocked from the outside. A chain and a bolt, he figured.
He noticed a black and orange sign posted on the fence. It said “Beware of Attack Dog” and had a picture of a Doberman Pinscher below the lettering. While he didn’t have a plan yet, he knew that he didn’t want to enter the house through the back yard. Killing a dog was not something he wanted to include.
“Did you see it?” he asked.
“Wait a minute.” Jasmine kept her eyes straight ahead. She said, “Jack, look.”
Jack spun his head forward and scanned the street. A man dressed in a silver and blue track suit walked on the sidewalk, toward them. He held a leash in his right hand. A Doberman was attached to the end of the leash. Flanking the man were two bodyguards, dressed similarly. They stayed back ten yards or so. All three men had the distinctive bulge of a weapon protruding from each man’s right hip.
Jack said, “That’s our guy.”
Jasmine gripped the steering wheel with both hands and maintained a steady speed. She kept her head forward, but Jack could see that her eyes had shifted to the left to watch the man.
She said, “I think you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Jack said. “That’s the dog from the fence.”
“What?”
“Attack dog. Warning sign on the fence.”
Jasmine did not reply.
The man looked at them as they passed. Jack felt his stomach tighten and his hand instinctively reached for his gun.
The man nodded and gave a waist high half-wave.
Jack relaxed and sunk in his seat.
“He must think we live in the neighborhood.”
“That might work in our favor, Jack. A man like that, probably remembers everything. He sees us again, walking down the street, whatever. He’ll recognize us and not associate us with a threat.”
“We need to get a dog.”
“What?”
“A dog to walk.”
“Ah. I gotcha, Jack.”
A plan started to form. It was just the bones, but before he could flesh out anything, it helped to have a proper structure in place. “Look for a park. Or a dog park. Something like that nearby.”
“Google it.”
“What?” Jack said.
“Use your phone,” Jasmine said.
Any concessions that Jack had made toward technology had evaporated during his six months in Greece. He’d have been driving all over this neighborhood and the next looking for a dog park if he were alone.
He pulled out his phone and tapped at the touch screen. He found an icon labeled “GPS” and pressed it. A few moments later a map pulled up with their location centered.
“There it is.” Jack pointed at his phone. “Turn left out of the neighborhood and drive one more block down the main road. Big park with a dog park.”
“And that’s where the dog comes in, right?”
“You got it.”
Perhaps they wouldn’t have to use force with this man. They might be able to strike up a conversation with him. After all, that’s the way these cells operated. Assimilate into the local community and attack when the time came. The man might be more open than he normally would be if he assumed they were a couple from the area. Maybe they could get Frank to find a house they could use. Jack realized that wouldn’t work. The lead time required would be too great to pick up a rental home. They did have the option of forcing a family out of their home, but that could have consequences.
Jack didn’t want to forget the details of the house so he shifted the conversation back in that direction. “So did you notice anything out of ordinary at the house?”
“Um, not sure, Jack. What are you angling toward here?”
“Think, Jasmine. It was right there in plain view.”
He saw her eyebrows lift into her forehead and sink back down. They did this four or five times. She had both hands on the wheel. Her index fingers raised up and danced side to side as she processed the scene in her mind.
She said, “The blue truck?”
“Right.”
“It was totally out of place. Didn’t belong in the neighborhood.
Shouldn’t have been parked next to a Lexus.”
“You got it.”
“So what’s it doing there?”
What was it doing there? Jack hadn’t placed it just yet. He only had a hunch. “It’s gotta belong to someone in the group, but not so close that they would live at the house or high ranking enough to be given a top notch car.”
“Someone recruited then. Right?”
“Yeah, most likely. Brought in after. Not trusted. Not from Russia.”
“You don’t know that for sure. They could be Russian.”
“OK,” Jack said. “I’ll concede that. But if they are from Russia, they didn’t come over with Chernov.”
Jasmine nodded in short quick movements. It made sense to Jack and he felt like he had convinced her as well.
“I got the plate numbers,” he said. “Let’s call those in.”
Jasmine pulled the car into the park’s main lot. They stopped under a blooming Dogwood tree. She pulled out her cell phone and pushed a few buttons. Held the phone to her ear.
“Hey Frank,” she paused. “Yeah, we got something for you.” She lowered the phone and looked at Jack. “What are those license plate numbers, Jack?”
He closed his eyes and read off the first tag and then the second. Jasmine repeated them into the phone and then covered the receiver.
“He’s looking them up now.”
Jack felt certain that the Lexus would come back to Chernov or an alias. He wondered if the beat up truck belonged to one of the men who had been walking with Chernov, or if the man had been inside the house. And if so, what was he doing in there?
“You have a name for the Lexus? OK, what is it?”
Jack looked at Jasmine. In his hands were a pen and pad of paper. He waited for her to repeat the name.
“Evan Lowery. OK, you close on the truck yet?” She paused. “OK, Frank.”
Jack wrote the name down and gestured toward Jasmine to get her attention.
She covered the mouthpiece on the phone again. “Yeah?”
“Get him to run an alias check on that name. I’m betting it comes back to our man.”
She nodded and spoke into the phone. “Hey Frank, check Chernov’s file for any aliases. See if that Lowery name shows up. If not, do a cross check on both names and see what matches.”
