by Michael Kerr
“The guy has to be soft in the head,” Dusty said. “Why does he want to take us on?”
“He’s on a mission,” Max said. “People like Logan don’t go away till they’ve finished what they started, or get themselves whacked. We know he’s back in the city now, so he’ll come for us, which will be a big mistake on his part.”
“He managed to take Jack out.”
“Jack was a soft target in a hospital bed. We’re ready for him.”
CHAPTER TWENTY‒ONE
Sonny was back driving and looking out for Dusty, due to Jake Demski being in hospital. Jake was stable, following a procedure to patch up his split skull and wire up his broken jaw, but would be out of the picture for weeks. And Henry had needed surgery on his bitten wrist, so now had his arm in a sling and was about as useful as a book in the dark. Mickey had lost the sight of one eye and needed skin grafts to his face. The boiling oil had turned him into the Phantom of the Opera.
“Do you think that Logan will make a move against us, boss?” Sonny asked Dusty as he poured them both cups of coffee.
“Hard to figure what a guy like him will do next,” Dusty said. “The cop, Reynolds, used to work with the squad that Logan was in. He didn’t like him, but said he was exceptional at what he did, but was never a team player. Said he’s dangerous because he believes in right and wrong and will do whatever he considers necessary to ‘take out the trash’. What we have here Sonny is a Dirty Harry archetype. He has no qualms over hurting or killing anyone that he deems deserving of it. He does what he thinks is right, not legal. The guy took Protect and Serve to a whole new level, and it would appear he still does.”
“So why did he walk away from it?”
“Maybe the bureaucracy and the flak he got from his superiors cramped his style. I’ll ask him before I put a bullet through his skull.”
Logan woke up at six a.m., got up and switched on the antiquated coffeemaker, which wheezed like an asthmatic as it heated the brew. He then roused Benny and Paulie. Half an hour later they were on the move. And twenty minutes after that they were parked on the corner of a street a hundred feet from their intended destination. Benny got out and ambled down the sidewalk to the down ramp of the parking garage that was for residents only and, using the knife he had filched from Skeeter’s, took less than three seconds to ram it in the card slot and short out the mechanism. He then manually lifted the pole up before walking back across the sidewalk to raise his thumb.
Paulie drove down the ramp and parked in a slot between two other cars; one of which was a bronze Nissan that Logan knew belonged to Quaid. He also knew that a black Lincoln opposite the Nissan was Quaid’s.
“What about the camera above the elevator door?” Benny asked.
“I doubt it’s even workin’,” Paulie said. “And even if it is it’ll be goin’ straight to a recorder. There won’t be a live feed that someone’s sitting looking at twenty-four-seven on a monitor.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Benny said.
“I’ll do it,” Logan said. “You aren’t tall enough to reach it.”
“Okay, big guy,” Benny said. “Do you know how to disable it?”
Logan gave Benny a ‘does your mother know how to cook eggs’ look, then, keeping his face angled down, walked purposely to the steel-faced door, half expecting it to open, for him to be faced by Quaid or one of his men, which would be fine, because with the element of surprise he would negate them as a threat in seconds.
Reaching up from the side, Logan grasped the fixed camera and forced it upwards so that the only view the lens had was of the gray concrete ceiling above it.
With all three of them back in the Malibu, Paulie said, “What now? Do we sit here all day and wait for Quaid to come out?”
Logan took the burner phone out of his fleece pocket and checked his notes, then punched up a number. After four rings it was answered.
“That you, Quaid?” Logan said when no one spoke.
“Who wants to know?”
Logan recognized the voice. “How’s your head, Sonny?” he asked.
Sonny gritted his teeth. He knew who it was, and had promised himself that he would gut shoot Logan and stomp him to death if he got the chance. He tried for a calm, not give a shit tone of voice and said, “What do you want, Logan?”
“To speak to the organ grinder, not one of his pet monkeys.”
Sonny almost spat down the phone. His pretence of attempting to sound as cool as the Fonz had deserted him. “We’ll meet again, Logan,” he said. “And when we do―”
“Stow the empty words and put your boss on,” Logan said. “I’m surprised he even trusts you to answer his phone.”
Sonny walked from the kitchen to the living room and held out the cell to Dusty, who was on the computer checking the balance of one of his offshore accounts.
“Logan,” Sonny mouthed.
Dusty hit a button to bring up his screensaver, and took the call. “What can I do for you, Logan?” he asked.
“You get a one-off, never to be repeated chance to end this,” Logan said.
“I’m listening.”
“You want a flash drive that I gave Reynolds a copy of. Correct?”
“You could have made a dozen copies.”
“True. Thing is, I don’t give a fuck what people like you, Dalton and Fallon do, as long as it doesn’t affect me or my friends.”
“Sensible man, if you’re on the level. What do you propose?”
“I give you everything, you never hear from or see me again, and Arnie Newman his wife and their neighbor stay safe.”
“Newman is at death’s door, I doubt that he bored his wife with police business, and the neighbor is of no interest to me. The only problem would be if Newman made a miraculous recovery and still wanted to malign my boss’s good name.”
“If he makes it, I guarantee that he’ll take a medical retirement, leave the city and just be happy to be alive.”
“And if I don’t buy any of this?”
“Then we go the distance, Quaid. You won’t find me, or see me coming. I’ll pick my moment and take you, Dalton and Fallon down.”
“Big words.”
“I can back them up; if that’s the road you want to go down.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“How about the waterfront warehouse at Red Hook that Fallon owns?”
“I’m impressed. You do your homework, Logan.”
“Your hired help are only too glad to tell me stuff to save their asses. I’ll be there in ninety minutes with the flash drives. If you’re a no show, then I’ll drive away and decide on the best way to take you out.”
“Relax, Logan, this is just unfinished business,” Dusty said. “No need for you to make it personal.”
Logan ended the call and smiled. Knew that Quaid would make a few calls to muster his troops, then head for Brooklyn with the full intention of killing him. He would want to personally deal with the man that was causing them so much trouble. But he and Quaid would rendezvous here in the garage of the apartment building, not in Brooklyn.
“Well?” Paulie said.
“Quaid and his lackey will be down in less than ten minutes,” Logan said. “So let’s take up positions where we can see the doors to the stairwell and the elevator. And make sure that if bullets start flying we don’t blow each other away in the crossfire.”
Benny hid behind a BMW. Paulie made his way to the other side of the garage to kneel at the back of a Jag, and Logan stood behind a concrete pillar less than twenty feet from the elevator.
Margie wanted to phone the hospital. Needed to know what Arnie’s current condition was, but Logan had told her and Della not to call anyone for any reason. He’d said that he would check on Arnie, and would phone her if there was any improvement, or deterioration.
Time was dragging slower than an octogenarian with crocked knees, pushing a walker, with a piano on his back. Della had slept a lot after the men had left, but Margie could onl
y doze fitfully. She had bad dreams, of Arnie having died. In the worst of them she was standing next to his open grave, and the coffin at the bottom of it had a glass panel to show the face of her dead husband. Mourners filed past, and as the first one threw a handful of soil into the hole, she saw condensation on the glass, and Arnie’s eyelids snapped open. He was breathing; alive. His mouth opened and a silent scream of terror issued from it, to be heard only by Margie. “He’s alive,” she shrieked to everyone, but they said nothing, just continued to throw soil, until the panel was covered and Arnie could no longer be seen.
Waking up lathered in perspiration before dawn, and trembling as the deeply distressing nightmare lingered in her mind, Margie got out of bed, dressed and went through to the dining kitchen, to open the door and let the late October air filter through the screen door and cool her down. She began to shiver, but stepped out onto the porch to grip the handrail with both hands and prayed to God that Arnie would be spared, and that no harm would befall Logan, Paulie and Benny.
“Dear God,” she whispered, looking up to where everyone presumably believed the creator of everything resided, although deep down she supposed that the god she set her faith by was everywhere; not a solid entity, but a universal power of goodness that was forever doing battle with the evil that existed as an unholy counterpart. “If Your ear is tuned in to this part of the world, I’d be forever grateful if You returned Arnie to me in as good a condition as You can manage. He’s a good man, and I’d like to spend a few more years with him here on earth before we move on to wherever You see fit.
“And the three men that are risking their lives for us are doing it for the right reasons, working against forces that choose to corrupt and harm others to serve their ends, however much suffering they cause. Logan, Paulie and Benny are also deserving of Your mercy, to my way of thinking. Amen.”
The door opened behind Margie, and Della appeared looking sleepy-eyed but worried and said: “What’s the matter, Margie, I thought I heard voices?”
“Just mine. I was saying a little prayer. I don’t often talk to God, well, not out loud, but I thought it wouldn’t harm to ask Him for a little help here.”
“Whatever Margie said goes for me too,” Della said, looking up at the stars. “Logan has broad shoulders and is a very capable man with high ideals, but he hasn’t got Your clout, so what do You say, will You join the team?”
A shooting star arced across the sky, its trail of light cutting through the darkness.
“There you go,” Della said. “I think that was a yes. He’s looking out for us.”
Margie smiled. “I hope so, but He can’t be outguessed. He truly does work in mysterious ways.”
Della hugged her. “Let’s go in, have a hot drink and discuss what kind of party we’ll throw when everything turns out for the best and Arnie is back on his feet.”
They sat and talked for hours, and Della mentioned that she had slept with Logan. It was something that she wanted to share, not keep a secret.
Margie’s mouth actually dropped open: “You’re kidding,” she said. “When? Where?”
“When we went for a stroll around the lake, I lured him into the boathouse.”
“And?”
“And it was terrific. I’d gotten pissed off with being celibate, and Logan pressed all the right buttons. I popped like a cork out of a champagne bottle. When whoever owns that boat goes on board he’ll think it’s sprung a leak.”
“You lustful woman, Della,” Margie said with a Cheshire Cat smile. “But it’s about time you had some fun.”
“I know. I’ve tried to rejoin the human race since Ray died, even had a couple of dates, but backed-off from doing any more than kiss them goodnight on the doorstep. I knew that even though Ray had told me to get on with life and enjoy it as much as possible when he was gone, I’d freeze up with another man.”
“So what made it different with Joe?”
“The danger that we’re in. When he saved my life in the basement, something clicked. I was a second away from being shot dead before Logan showed up. Surviving changed the state of mind I’d been in. I suddenly knew that I wanted to live, and not just spend each and every day feeling depressed and going through the motions, stuck in a rut of my own making.”
“What will you do if we make it through this and get our lives back?”
“Take a lesson from some old quote or song I heard and dance like nobody’s watchin’, and love like I’ll never get hurt.”
“You think you can do that?”
“I stabbed a man to death with a broom handle, Margie. It was in self defense, but it woke me up to just how fragile life is, and that wasting a second of it is a crying shame.”
“I hope I can be that brave if I lose Arnie. Sometimes it seems that life is out to get you, and that whatever you do you can’t win.”
“I’ve decided that you just have to do what you can while you can, and not let it drag you down.”
Margie agreed with that sentiment, but wasn’t sure that she had the fortitude to contemplate a new life without Arnie. She was a lot older than Della and more set in her ways.
“Do you really believe that Logan and the others can deal with the people that want to kill us?” Della asked.
“Yes,” Margie said. “We both know too well that there are no guarantees in life, but Joe is a force to be reckoned with. I wouldn’t want to be any of the men that he’s gone to deal with.”
Della had needed to hear that. “Let’s go to bed and try to sleep for another couple of hours,” she said. “And then I’ll rustle up some eggs, bacon and coffee.”
When Margie stirred at nine a.m. she felt a lot more positive. She could also smell coffee, and the ray of sunlight shining through a gap in the drapes promised a fine day. She went through to find that Della was out on the porch, sitting on one of the two green plastic garden chairs; a steaming mug cupped in her hands as she watched dozens of honking wildfowl splash land onto the surface of the lake.
“Good morning,” Margie said. “Do you need a refill?”
“Please,” Della replied. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby. I feel more positive this morning. I think that everything will turn out fine.”
But things were far from fine. Someone that they had begun to care for had died in a parking garage in New York City.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The elevator door slid open and Sonny and Dusty strode out into the garage, both eager to get to Brooklyn and deal with Logan.
As the two men walked towards the Nissan, Logan stepped out from behind the pillar with his hands half raised, palms facing them.
Dusty stopped dead with a look of total surprise on his face, and Sonny banged into him from behind, causing Dusty to stagger forward a couple of paces.
“There are two armed men pointing guns at both of you,” Logan said. “If either of you make a move it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Dusty scanned the garage and spotted one shooter crouched behind a maroon Jaguar, holding a pistol two-handed.
Sonny was partly obscured by his boss. He had also seen the man using the Jag for cover, and decided that he could take him out. He drew the new Ruger pistol that Dusty had furnished him with ‒ to replace the one that Logan had taken from him outside Bellevue ‒ and took a step to the side and loosed off four bullets as Dusty dropped to one knee, smoothly withdrawing his Glock from its shoulder rig with the intention of shooting Logan.
He was a half-second too late: didn’t get the chance to take aim. Logan had not hesitated, just reacted and exploded forward, leaning to the left and bringing his knee up like a piston to connect with Quaid’s abdomen and knock him back off his feet.
It all happened so fast. Benny saw Sonny Gilmore fire at Paulie, and momentarily drew back behind the BMW, to then reappear almost instantaneously take careful aim at Gilmore and pull the trigger of the revolver three times. The pistol kicked in his hand and the first bullet whined harmlessly a
bove Sonny, to hit the ceiling, flatten out and ricochet off to smash through the windshield of a late model SUV. But the second slug hit Sonny in the upper arm, and the third took the side of his head off.
As the thunderous reports echoed around what was in all but name an underground box of concrete construction, Sonny spun round, and a mist of blood, brain tissue and gleaming splinters of bone whirled through the air, painting his face in a broad band of scarlet. He raised his gun in Benny’s direction, and then froze for a moment as all communication between his brain and body became totally disrupted. His eyes rolled back, his mouth dropped open, and the gun he held slipped through his slack fingers, to hit the ground a second before sonny collapsed next to it.
Dusty had instinctively tensed his abs, which saved him from being badly winded, but not from falling down.
Logan stamped on the back of Quaid’s right hand, mashing it as he twisted his foot back and forth to let the pressure of weight and the deep grooves of his boot sole tear open the skin and break small bones.
Issuing a guttural sound of combined pain and rage, Dusty sat up, fisted his left hand and struck Logan high and hard with a looping yet heavy punch to his right kidney.
Logan sagged down to his knees and was head butted, fortunately on the forehead and not the nose, which had been Dusty’s intended target.
Dipping his head, Logan bit down with all of his force on the top half of his opponent’s ear, wrenched his head to the side and tore it free.
Dusty roared in defiance at the resulting pain, but became suddenly silent as a fist hammered into his temple with enough force to stun an ox.
Benny ran to Logan. He didn’t know that Paulie had been hit.
“Go and see if Paulie’s okay,” Logan said.
Benny rounded the front of the car and saw Paulie sitting with his back up against the side of the Kia that was parked next to the Jag. He knew that he was dead. There was a dime-sized hole above his left eyebrow, and his eyes were open but totally vacant.
