by Dave Daren
It wasn’t there.
“Shit,” I cursed as my fingers slid into the gap of my holster where my gun normally sat.
“Looking for something?” a man’s voice asked with a hint of amusement.
My eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, and I could finally make out the form of a large man standing in front of me. He moved just slightly, and I heard the sound of the slide on my Smith & Wesson as he dropped the magazine out of the pistol. Then a single bullet hit the cement floor with a metallic ting as he cleared the chamber next to the magazine.
“Bastard,” I grunted as I dropped into a fighting stance.
Even if he took my gun, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I learned how to fight long before I learned how to shoot.
“I’m not stupid, Morgan,” the man hissed. “I knew you were carrying a piece, so that was the first thing to go.”
“What do you want?” I demanded. “You just gonna stand there and talk shit all night?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I’m only here to give you a message.”
That was unexpected.
I narrowed my eyes on the shadowy man and tried to focus on his features, but it was too dark to pick out anything besides a dark shirt and dark hair.
“Well, spit it out, then,” I growled.
“I know you were hired to take on Rossi’s case,” he said in a low voice. “You need to drop it.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I laughed. “And what you’re doing now is interfering in my case with criminal threats. Oh, and you’re holding a weapon, so we can just up that to menacing. Lucky for you, I’m a defense attorney, but I don’t think I’ll be taking your case.”
“Being a smartass might help you in court, but it doesn’t do you any good here, Mr. Morgan,” the man warned. “You need to back off.”
“I won’t be doing that, so you can run along to whoever sent you and let them know I’ll be getting my client out of Rikers soon enough,” I retorted. “You can handle a second message, right?”
“You’re an even bigger idiot than they said you were,” he muttered. “Just leave the case alone. Febbo can handle his own people. No need to get you or anyone else hurt for those guys.”
“I handle whoever the fuck I want to,” I scoffed. “You aren’t going to scare me away from my job.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he hissed. “I’m just the first step, Mr. Morgan. There are far worse people than me in the world.”
“I’m sure there are,” I said with a smirk. “So, are you going to give me back my gun or what?”
He hesitated, but then we both heard the sound of boots on pavement, and he tossed the gun at my feet.
“You’ll get what’s coming if you stay on the case,” he whispered.
Then the mysterious attacker sprinted off into the shadows of the parking garage. I picked my gun up from the ground and pulled out my phone to shine my flashlight. The bullet and the mag laid a few feet away, and I grabbed them to reload my pistol.
Somehow, having my gun taken right off my hip made me feel even more vulnerable than when I didn’t have one at all. It was a less-than-subtle reminder that I was still new to the gun-carrying game, and there were plenty of people out there who knew how to get to me, even with the weapon at my side. I wasn’t sure if I needed a different holster, more training on carrying it, or something else entirely. What I did know was I was happier than ever about my impending move to a whole new area.
“Mr. Morgan?” Hank called out. “Are you in here?”
“Yeah,” I confirmed as I shoved the mag back into place. “The guy took off.”
“What guy?” he demanded as he aimed his own pistol around the parking garage.
“The one who took my gun, told me to back off my case, and gave my gun back,” I muttered and re-holstered my weapon. “Stupid.”
“He gave it back to you?” my bodyguard asked with disbelief written on his face.
“Yeah, he said he only took it to deliver a message,” I explained. “He wants me to get off Rossi’s case, which I told him wouldn’t happen.”
“Did he say who sent him?” he wondered.
“That would have been nice, but no,” I sighed. “He just said his piece, we heard you coming, and he ran off.”
“Which way did he go?” Hank pressed.
“I can’t see much,” I told him with a frown as I looked up at the ceiling. “I’m guessing he’s the reason all these lights are out.”
“I knew something was off when we pulled up,” he murmured. “I can’t believe I waited so long to come check on you.”
“No worries.” I shrugged. “Apparently, he didn’t have the balls to actually do anything.”
“Or he was just trying to scare you before they send some other thug after you,” Hank pointed out.
“Well, now I know to be ready,” I yawned. “And I need to get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“You should let Mr. Lamon know what happened,” Hank suggested. “I don’t think he would want me to call him first again.”
“Yeah, thanks for that,” I muttered. “I’ll call him once I get upstairs.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he offered.
My first instinct was to turn him down, but I decided not to let my pride get in the way. I’d just been accosted in my own parking garage, which meant yet another person knew where I lived, and I’d been disarmed without even realizing it. I hadn’t been prepared for that possibility, so having Hank walk with me the few steps to the front door wasn’t a terrible idea.
“Thanks,” I murmured as we turned to head inside.
We walked in silence until we stepped out of the parking garage and toward the front door.
“Did I hear correctly, you’re moving?” Hank wondered.
“Yeah, this week,” I confirmed. “I may need to borrow a guy to come let the movers in. I’m not sure if I’ll have much time between hearings.”
“I’m sure I can grab someone for you,” he replied. “Just let me know when.”
“I appreciate it.” I reached for the door handle and realized Sulla wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Did you see the doorman when you pulled up?”
“Nope,” Hank said and shook his head. “The big guy?”
“Yeah, he’s always here,” I explained as I looked around the lobby. “It’s not like him to be away from his spot.”
“Let’s have a look around,” Hank suggested as he drew his pistol again.
We split up and crept around the empty lobby. No one sat at the front desk, though that wasn’t unusual after five p.m., but it was odd for the usually responsible doorman to not be watching the parking garage like a hawk. He had helped me out of other tight situations in the past thanks to his dedication to his job.
“Sulla?” I called out as I walked around the corner near the mailboxes.
“Mr. Morgan?” Sulla peeked out from behind the wall in surprise. “I thought you were home for the night. Is everything okay?”
His gaze dropped down to the pistol I held out, and I quickly slipped it back into the holster and looked around for a clue that Sulla had been tied up or held hostage or something, but I didn’t see anything. I turned back to the Ugandan man with an air of confusion.
“What are you doing over here?” I asked.
“A midnight snack.” Sulla held up a sandwich with a sheepish smile. “The management guy said not to eat out front where people could see me, so I come back here now during my break.”
“Do you eat at the same time every night?” I’d started to wonder if my garage attacker had been watching me for a while.
“No,” he answered firmly. “I don’t want anyone to catch on to some kind of routine. And I usually look around the area before I come back here, just in case.”
“Do you know where everyone’s cars are?” I asked.
“I guess some lights got blown out in the garage, so they didn’t feel safe parking in their assigned places,
” Sulla explained. “A lot of them parked on the roof level until it’s fixed.”
“Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you about the lights being out, then,” I chuckled before I glanced over my shoulder and saw Hank around the corner. “I found him. It’s all good.”
Hank nodded and put his gun away before he turned and headed out the front door to resume his watch from outside. Sulla watched him with a look of shock on his face before he turned his attention back to me.
“You have a bodyguard now?” Sulla’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “What kind of people are you defending?”
“The kind that pay well,” I chuckled. “I’m moving out soon, so if you see the movers this week, it’s okay to let them in.”
“I’ll be sad to see you go, Mr. Morgan,” he replied earnestly. “I’ve enjoyed our odd conversations.”
“Me, too,” I agreed and smiled. “You’re a great guy, Sulla.”
His chocolate skin took on a pink tint as he tossed the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and motioned to the front door to tell me he was getting back to work. I waved goodbye and hopped on the elevator. It was the quietest ride I’d had in months, though it didn’t change my mind about the move. The silence was only due to the late hour, and I was getting out of this joint as quickly as possible. Nothing would change my mind now.
As soon as I was alone in my apartment, I called Anthony.
Even though it was nearly three in the morning by that point, I figured he was the kind of guy to answer his phone no matter what.
Sure enough, he picked up after the fourth ring.
“Hello?” Anthony’s voice was groggy with sleep and grappa.
“Hey, it’s Hunter,” I said as I got undressed. “Can you talk for a minute? It’s important.”
“What?” I heard his bed creak as my client shifted around. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, well, almost,” I hedged. “Some guy showed up in my parking garage and told me to back off the Rossi case.”
“Did you shoot him?” Anthony demanded in a voice that suddenly seemed much more awake.
“No,” I replied and avoided talking about how I’d been disarmed. “He ran off when Hank showed up, but we both figured you’d want to know someone is trying to get Rossi’s case away from me.”
“So, they know you’re good,” he murmured. “And they don’t want you to get him out of it. The question is why?”
“You got me,” I grunted. “I told him there was no way I would ditch my client, and he implied he was only the first of his boss’ people who would be coming to talk to me.”
“First the messenger, then the enforcer,” Anthony muttered. “You should have shot him and sent our own message.”
“Let’s not go there.” I grimaced at my client’s violent suggestion. “I’m just glad I’m moving soon. I already hired some movers, and Hank said he’ll find a guy to help let them in and out if I’m not here. Then hopefully, not all our enemies will know where I live. I’m tired of them showing up to chat with me.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he agreed in a menacing tone. “I think we need to move up our timetable.”
“What do you mean?” I wondered.
“I mean surveillance may not get us answers fast enough about who’s trying to tear apart my family operations,” he explained. “A good investigator could take weeks to get the intel we need, and if they’re going to start making threats, we need to move faster than any PI could do.”
“Listen, you don’t have to resort to your father’s suggestions,” I interjected with desperation in my voice. “We can--”
“Chill out, Hunter,” Anthony cut me off. “I’m not talking about that… yet. I’m just talking about a different approach to throwing Vlado under the bus.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like having someone a lot closer than a PI,” he mused. “A lot closer.”
“You think we can flip someone close to him?” I asked in shock. “That seems like a risky move. We don’t even know who it would be.”
“We don’t have to flip anyone,” Anthony said with sudden confidence. “And we’ll know exactly who to talk to.”
“Okay, now I’m totally lost,” I muttered.
“We’ll know who to talk to because we’ll put him there,” my client declared. “We need to plant an inside man.”
Chapter 8
I barely slept that night.
I tossed and turned with thoughts of Anthony’s plan. He wanted someone he trusted to go inside the Gryffon company, but after we’d run through a few suggestions, he’d finally declared I was the one for the job.
Not only did I have exactly zero work experience in security, but I also wasn’t exactly skilled at undercover work. I’d worked through most of my college years as a barista for a little coffee shop near the university, and in high school, I’d had a few odd jobs for local restaurants and a flower vendor. After that, it was nothing but the lawyer life for me.
And this was very far from the lawyer life.
In order to even be considered for the role, I had to come up with an entirely false resume, something that wasn’t technically illegal but felt weird to do. I’d never had to be dishonest on paper like this, and I cringed every time I added another fake employer to my fraudulent resume.
Apparently, I’d spent the last three years working personal security for a client who didn’t wish to be named. I wondered if keeping the secret would look sketchy or loyal, but my actual client was convinced the resume would pass. Before that, I’d worked as a bouncer at a few private clubs, which was utterly laughable, but Anthony was certain my experience would be exactly what they were looking for.
“Trust me, when you want someone who doesn’t ask a lot of questions, you go for the guy who doesn’t provide a lot of details,” he explained. “If some guy lists out every individual duty he had in private security, he wasn’t being very private.”
“So, the less detail, the better?” I wondered.
“Exactly.” Anthony nodded. “Even during the interview, keep your responses short and sweet, especially since you’re lying. It’s a lot easier to remember two or three small things than to remember a huge, fabricated version of events.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured.
“And you should quit shaving,” Anthony decided as he leaned over the resume to examine it. “You aren’t super well-known yet, but if they decide to check you out, you don’t want it to be obvious who you really are.”
“What about an ID?” I asked as I tapped the name on the resume. “Mine clearly doesn’t say ‘James Landis.’”
“Don’t worry about that.” My client shook his head and tapped his phone. “I have that part handled. You just be James and find out everything you can about Vlado.”
When Anthony had first brought the idea up last night, I’d assumed he had one of his associates in mind for the gig, and I would just be the recipient of whatever information he learned. Unfortunately, he seemed determined to keep most of his guys out of the loop, and while his trust was flattering, I was terrified of getting caught.
But even more worrying was the thought of Anthony going after Vlado on his own. His father had made it clear how he would have handled the problem, but something told me Anthony really didn’t want to go down that road, and I was ready to help him.
So, I continued with the fake resume.
James Landis was a name we’d come up with based on being both generic and having a recognizable last name. Plus, Sal had told the former family attorney Landis that he would be a reference for me. It seemed the Febbo patriarch was surprisingly supportive of Anthony’s plan, though part of me wondered if it was merely a test for my loyalty to the family.
Anthony already knew I had his back, but Sal still had his doubts. Maybe it was because I was young or because he didn’t know me well since he’d been in the hospital for so long, but I was determined to show him I had Anthony’s best interests in mind. He didn’t seem to th
ink I was looking out for his son when I suggested a legal opportunity to get the information we needed, but I felt like I was actually thinking more about Anthony than he was.
Anthony wasn’t a killer, and I was determined to keep it that way, even if it meant faking a resume and lying my way into a job to do it.
“You’re sure Liz is okay with handling court appearances for a while?” Anthony interrupted my musings. “I know she wanted to take a step back because of her firm.”
“She told them I was sick and needed her to just file continuances for me,” I explained. “They were more concerned with PR, so she can avoid most of that if she isn’t actually arguing the cases.”
“Good.” He nodded and looked up from his phone. “Are you ready to send it?”
“Almost,” I said with a grimace. “Any idea on a school? Surely, they’d expect me to have some education, right?”
“Probably not,” he replied. “You aren’t applying for their legal department. It’s a low-level security gig. They probably get tons of uneducated guys in there. You just need to stand out with experience.”
“I guess I have that covered,” I murmured. “It’s done.”
“Okay.” Anthony spun his laptop around and tapped a few keys. “You’re all set. I imagine we’ll hear back from them by tomorrow.”
“I don’t like waiting,” I grumbled as I leaned back on Anthony’s expensive chair. “This sucks.”
“Don’t you need to pack?” he teased. “You could pass the time with that.”
“Good idea,” I agreed and grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll head to the apartment and get things ready. I’m meeting the realtor for the keys tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll let you know when I hear something,” Anthony said with a confident smile. “Just relax and practice introducing yourself.”
“Sure, sounds easy,” I muttered.
On the drive back to DUMBO, I followed Anthony’s advice, which actually turned out to be harder than I thought. I’d spent more than two decades introducing myself as Hunter, so the words “My name is James” didn’t roll off the tongue as easily as I’d assumed.
