Danger Close

by James P. Sumner

  Collins moved to the stairs. “All part of the disguise, Jules. Discretion is key. What were you expecting? Wall-to-wall luxury and a neon sign that says, ‘All assassins welcome?’”

  She grunted but didn’t reply.

  As they made their way upstairs, the air turned stale and damp. A sickeningly familiar smell crept into their nostrils, forcing them both to grimace and gag.

  Collins looked back at Julie with a raised eyebrow. She nodded confirmation to his unspoken question.

  “Dead guy,” they said in unison.

  Both of them reached back and wrapped a hand around the butt of their Negotiators.

  As they moved along the hallway, thin strips of faint light forced through the wooden boards covering the window at the far end. It did little to help them see, but it was better than nothing.

  Upstairs, one room was on the right and one was at the end, facing the stairs. The room to the right, like the others below, had no door. Collins lingered in the doorway, squinting against the darkness to see inside. He could make out the shapes of furniture but no detail.

  “Ray…”

  He turned. Julie was pointing to the room at the end. He looked over. A thin strip of light emanated from beneath the door, which was standing slightly ajar.

  He sighed. “I see it.”

  They both drew their weapons and proceeded cautiously along the narrow, dark hallway. The closer they got to the door, the stronger the smell became.

  They positioned themselves on either side of the doorway, guns held low and ready.

  “I’ll cover you,” said Julie.

  Collins placed his hand gently on the door and pushed it open, only an inch at first. When there was no sound or hint of a reaction inside, he slowly pushed it open all the way. He stepped inside and moved across the room. Julie followed, moving forward to cover the opposite side.

  A lamp stood on a small desk in the corner, against the wall between two boarded up windows. Papers were strewn across it, covered in blood. Sitting in the chair in front of it, slumped with her head lolled backward, was an elderly woman.

  “Oh my God,” said Julie.

  The woman looked to be in her mid-seventies. Her dark hair was dyed, but the gray roots were growing through. Thin, loose skin hung from her face. She wore an apron over a blouse and long skirt.

  Collins moved toward the chair. In the low light, he could see the bullet hole between her eyes. “Ah, Christ.”

  Julie placed the back of her hand against her nose. “Is that…”

  “Aye. That’s Mama.”

  She moved closer to inspect the wound. The blood had run down Mama’s face, staining her clothes.

  She stepped away. “I reckon she’s been dead thirty-six hours.”

  “How ya figure that?” asked Collins.

  “The blood looks thick and tacky. It’s not fully congealed and dried, but it’s not flowing from the wound anymore. That means it’s recent but not fresh. So, a day… day and a half, max.”

  He shrugged, a little impressed. “All right, Sherlock. Take a look around. See if ya can find anything that might help.”

  He scanned the desk. The papers seemed to be notes and Mama’s business books. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “I got nothing,” said Julie after a few minutes.

  “Me neither,” said Collins, shaking his head.

  “We should go. The less time we spend here, the better.”

  “Aye, can’t argue with ya on that. Come on.”

  They headed out of the room, back down the stairs, and out into the alley. They walked toward the street but stopped beside the dumpster, directly beneath the streetlamp.

  “Okay,” said Julie, leaning back against the wall. “Are we seriously thinking this is a coincidence?”

  Collins shook his head. “Not a chance. I told ya, Mama knew everything. Don’t let that shithole fool ya. That old lady was international. Best damn fixer in the game. No way she didn’t know who carried out the hit on Herrera. Two days after that goes down, we come looking for a lead and find her full-stopped at her desk.”

  Julie nodded. “I agree. Twenty bucks says someone was on clean-up duty. If she were as connected to that world as you say, it’s not a stretch to think whoever took that contract out is making sure no one decides to start flapping their gums about it after seeing it on the news.”

  “Aye. Either that, or it was the shooter himself.” He shrugged. “She was at her desk in her office. Someone got that close to her without raising an alarm. He was either really good, or Mama knew him well enough to not be surprised when he walked in.”

  “Good point.”

  “So, what are ya thinking, Jules? You wanna try this place in Des Moines?”

  She sighed. “This is clearly a bust. I don’t see what other option we have. I say we head to the hotel. I’ll let Jericho know we might have found out where his shooter went after Uruguay. Then we should get some sleep before heading back to Santa Clarita in the morning. Been a long-ass day, and I doubt the days ahead will be any easier.”

  Collins nodded. “Okay. I might hit a couple of bars around town and see what I can dig up.”

  Julie raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Haven’t you had enough entertainment for one day?”

  He smiled. “Can never have enough, Jules. Life’s way too short. But no, it’ll be strictly business, I swear to ya. There’s a couple of dive bars close by. The locals are just the type of folks who might know what happened here.”

  “Contractors, you mean?”

  “Aye, some of them. Others are just scumbags, but they all move in the same circles. Might be nothing, but I may as well while we’re here. In this world, Mama put Brooklyn on the map. She may as well have been a celebrity. Somebody might know something.”

  Julie thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, go do your thing. But give me your gun. Not having you wandering around town with that. GlobaTech has enough PR problems.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” He handed it to her. “Here.”

  She tucked it behind her and nodded to him. “You know where the hotel is. Call if you get a lead.”

  “I will.”

  They stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed back toward the front of the bakery. At the entrance to the subway station, they stopped, each intending to go in the opposite direction.

  Julie looked at him. “Ray, watch your six, okay? And stay out of trouble.”

  He grinned. “Ya know me, Jules. I’m a goddamn boy scout.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ray. I do know you, which is exactly why I said to stay out of trouble.”

  He laughed as he walked backward away from her, waving. Then he turned and was gone.

  Julie sighed. “This is a bad idea.”

  17

  Collins navigated his way through Brooklyn mostly on instinct. It had been a long time since he was in this part of New York City. While some things looked distantly familiar, he still felt like a tourist.

  Eventually, he turned left at 42nd and 10th, walking underneath New Utrecht Avenue, held high above the streets by sturdy but aged pillars made of iron and concrete. Cars lined the dimly lit sidewalks on both sides. There was little foot traffic at this time of night, but that just confirmed to Collins that he was in the right part of town.

  He looked ahead on the other side of the street. There was a low building in between two tall ones, with a metal shutter pulled down over the entrance. Beside it, looking about as conspicuous as possible, was a man leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand. His muscular frame showed through his jacket, even from this distance.

  “Bingo…” muttered Collins.

  He crossed over, heading toward the guy. His hands were dug into the pockets of his own jacket. He kept his gaze low, admiring the sidewalk. He noticed his jeans had a small bloodstain on the right thigh.

  “Ah, shite,” he hissed to himself. He licked the tip of this thumb and tried to remove it.

  He slowed as he neared th
e building and saw the guy look up at him. Collins nodded a gentle, courteous nod. The guy pushed himself off the wall, standing straight and flicking the cigarette away. He returned the gesture.

  “This still a good place to get a drink?” asked Collins.

  The doorman looked him up and down. “You sure you’re not lost?” His voice was deep and gravelly, which suited his frame and physique.

  Collins smiled. “I’ve been lost for the last half-hour. I think I finally found the place I’m looking for, though.”

  “Uh-huh. New in town?”

  “Not new, but it’s been a while. Just passing through.”

  The guy looked him up and down again. “You packing?”

  Collins shook his head.

  The guy smiled humorlessly. “You’re definitely new in town.”

  He stepped aside and pushed the metal shutters, which turned out to be a door that had been cleverly painted to trick the eyes.

  Collins pointed to it as he headed inside. “Huh… nice. Have a good evening, buddy.”

  “Whatever,” the guy replied, pulling the door closed again.

  Inside was a wide corridor. All around was bare concrete, with patches of damp and small puddles underfoot. Up ahead, Collins saw two counters, one on either side, built into the walls. He walked toward them. The opening to his left had a sign above it that said, Check your coat. The one on the right said, Check your weapons.

  He smiled to himself. Both holes in the wall had a man inside. He greeted them both with the same polite nod.

  “Anything you wanna check in?” said the guy on his left.

  “Nah, I’m good,” said Collins. He pointed to the double doors that lay ahead. “Are the drinks through there?”

  “They are.”

  “Peachy!”

  Collins pushed open the doors and walked inside. He was greeted immediately by smoky, stale air that lingered near the ceiling in a gray haze. The bar to his right was busy without being crowded. Most seats in the large room were taken. The pool table at the back was occupied. He didn’t recognize the music playing.

  No one paid him any attention.

  Collins approached the bar, twisting his body to squeeze into a gap at the front. A quick nod to the bartender caught his attention. He had thick, gray hair and skin like worn leather.

  He stopped in front of Collins. “What’s your poison, son?”

  “Two fingers of Bushmills, if ya have it,” replied Collins.

  The barman raised his eyebrow. “You overshot your landing for the goddamn Four Seasons by about five miles. Care to try again?”

  Collins sighed. “Jack Daniels?”

  The bartender snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “There you go.”

  He walked away, then returned a moment later with a tumbler. He set it down heavily in front of Collins.

  Collins stared at the faint stain on one side of the rim, then looked up at the bartender. “Can I… ah… can I get a clean one there, buddy?”

  The bartender stared back at him blankly. “Seriously, son, you need me to draw you a map?”

  Collins rolled his eyes. “Just… pour, would ya?”

  The bartender filled the glass about a quarter full with whiskey. “You want a little umbrella with that? Maybe a sparkler or something?”

  “You could try using a little less sarcasm in the next one, eh?”

  “You got it, Princess,” the bartender said as he walked away to serve another customer.

  Collins turned the glass in his hand to move the stain away from his mouth, then took a grateful sip. He didn’t look around, try to make eye contact with anyone, or engage in small talk. He knew how to work crowds like this. He simply needed to bide his time.

  Ten minutes passed. He had finished his drink quietly, content with listening to the sounds of the world around him. He signaled for another with a shake of his empty glass, then placed it down in front of him, ready for the next one.

  As the bartender began pouring, Collins took his chance.

  “Hey, buddy—anyone in here I could speak to about some work?” he asked.

  The bartender glanced at him as he put the whiskey bottle back behind the bar. “What kinda work?”

  Collins smiled. He picked up his new drink. “The kind ya can only find in a place like this.”

  “Do we look like the unemployment line to you, boy?”

  “Do I look like I’m new to this, old man?”

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then the bartender looked away.

  “Enjoy your drink,” he said.

  Collins watched him walk away out of the corner of his eye. He noticed the subtle nod toward an area of the bar over his left shoulder. He took a sip of his drink.

  There it is.

  He waited patiently. A few minutes ticked by. Then a man appeared beside him, on his left. The new arrival leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the bar, staring ahead as if deciding which drink to order from the shelf of spirits behind it.

  “What are you drinking, friend?” asked the guy.

  Collins glanced sideways at him. The man had a thick, styled beard and dark eyes. He wore a baseball cap with the Yankees logo stitched to the front, which was faded and yellowed in places. He also wore a red bodywarmer over a plaid shirt.

  Collins figured him for a truck driver.

  “Whiskey,” he replied. “Jack Daniels.”

  The man nodded and looked over at the barman, holding up two fingers. “Get some Jack over here?”

  The bartender approached without a word. He produced an empty glass and placed it beside Collins’s, then filled them both.

  The man turned to face Collins, resting an elbow on the bar. He took a sip.

  “Heard you’re looking for work?” he asked.

  Collins didn’t move. “Ya heard right.”

  “Got any experience?”

  “Plenty.”

  “You local?”

  Collins shook his head. “International. But I’m in town for a few days. Figured I’d head to my old stomping grounds and see if I can find something to do.”

  The man watched him for a moment, then stood straight. “Come and have a drink with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  He walked away. Collins got to his feet and followed. The man led him to a table against the left wall. Two men were sitting there. Both looked of similar age to the bartender.

  As they approached, one of the men stood and stepped away, remaining close to the table but at a respectable distance. The other remained seated, his back to the wall.

  The man from the bar gestured for Collins to take a seat. When he did, the man sat opposite.

  “I’m Harris,” he said.

  Collins raised his glass. “Ray.”

  “Okay, Ray. My friend here is a go-between for a local fixer. You want work, we refer you. That’s the only way this works. Understand?”

  “Aye,” said Collins. He turned to the other man. “And what do I call ya, buddy?”

  “You don’t,” answered Harris. “You deal with me.”

  Collins let his gaze linger for a moment, then turned back to Harris. “No problem. I know how this works. Don’t worry. So, who’s the fixer?”

  Harris smiled. “If you need to ask, you don’t deserve to know.”

  “Listen, buddy. I’m not a rookie, and I’m not new to these parts, all right? I’m only here because I can’t go to Mama directly.”

  The two men exchanged a glance.

  “You know Mama?” asked Harris.

  Collins shrugged. “Of course. She and I go way back. Used to get me the best gigs back in the day, ya know.”

  “Is that right?” Harris stroked his chin. “I didn’t realize. My apologies, Ray. I guess you’re not a rookie. You know how cautious we have to be about new faces.”

  Collins smiled. “Aye, I know. So, Mama was the fixer ya boy here spoke to, right?”

  Harris nodded.

  “Damn. So, how do you ge
t work now?”

  The men exchanged another glance. Brows furrowed.

  “How do you mean?” asked Harris.

  The sincerity of the question caught Collins off-guard.

  “Well, ya know… I heard someone took her out a couple of days ago. That was a big loss and a hell of a shock. But I know the business. Someone must’ve stepped up by now, right?”

  Harris leapt to his feet and took a small step away from the table. “You think Mama is dead? Are you serious?”

  Silence fell in the bar instantly, as if someone had stuck a pin in a balloon, killing the atmosphere. Collins glanced around, suddenly self-conscious about everyone staring their way.

  He thought quickly.

  “Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “Like I say, I heard tell someone shot her. That’s why I’m in town—to pay my respects. Figured I might as well do a job while I’m here.”

  Harris narrowed his eyes, staring hard at Collins.

  Collins played on the situation. “Wait… did ya not know?”

  Harris moved quickly. His hand disappeared behind him and came back around holding a gun. He aimed at Collins, who raised his hands slightly, still holding his drink.

  “Whoa, easy there, Tex!” he said.

  He looked around. Everyone was staring. He figured most were packing. Perks of being local. All eyes were on him except for one person sitting in the far corner, behind the pool table, mostly in shadow. They were staring at their drink.

  It struck Collins as strange, but he figured it wasn’t the time to question it.

  “What did I do?” he asked.

  Harris glared at him, then turned to the man sitting next to him. He nodded, and the man took out his cell phone and made a call. There was a long, tense pause. Then the man shook his head.

  No answer.

  “Who told you?” he demanded.

  Collins frowned. “About Mama? I just heard it on the grapevine is all. Marvin Gaye style.”

  Harris looked at someone in the crowd of people that had all moved to surround the table. “Go to the bakery and check on her. Now.”

  The crowd parted to let the person through.

  Harris turned back to Collins. “If she’s dead…”