by Ty Patterson
He held a hand up to forestall Broker. ‘I’m working on it, boss. Hold your horses.’
‘Did you get anything else on Shattner?’
‘Pretty much what Ms Rocka told you. An E-5, he had an ordinary service record till the time he got transferred to Iraq during Desert Storm. There, he was a Unit Supply Specialist in Iraq during Desert Storm and started selling small arms on the side. During his army trial, he said he did this out of desperation since he needed funds to fight his wife over the custody of their kids. He was discharged, but get this, he retained his pension. How he swung this is not recorded, but I suspect this is where Zeb stepped in. You know how he was.’
‘No obvious link to Zeb, I guess?’
Tony shook his head. ‘They were in the same base, but other than that, no record. I’m speculating obviously, but I think it was Zeb’s intervention that got him his benefits. I have left a few messages for those who were involved in Shattner’s case, but haven’t heard back from them yet.’
‘So we’ve got squat,’ growled Bear and grinned suddenly as Tony’s shoulders tightened.
‘Relax, Tony. Not aimed at you.’ He looked at Broker. ‘Does the why of the Zeb-Shattner connection really matter?’
Broker returned his look. ‘Nope. It’ll come to us eventually. We’re going to find Shattner, aren’t we?’
Chloe’s answer was low and fierce and spoke for them all. ‘Hell yes. If Zeb was involved, so are we.’
They bumped fists, and Broker took charge.
‘Tony, keep digging and let us know. Also dig more into Elaine Rocka.’
Bwana ventured, ‘You don’t think–’
‘I don’t, but intel never hurt us. We should keep the pressure on the gang, and I’m thinking the four of you should take down the strip club. You can clear out the club so that there is no collateral damage.’
‘You’ll not join us?’ Roger asked him.
‘I need to work the street, talk to some junkies I know, and see what they can tell us about the Brooklyn chapter.’
Roger looked at him doubtfully. ‘Alone?’
‘Yeah. These guys will clam up at the sight of strangers.’ He grinned. ‘I can take care of myself… don’t forget I’ve saved your butts many a time.’
Bwana nudged Roger. ‘And he’ll never let us forget that. Broker, about those kids and Elaine Rocka… I really think the cops should be informed about Shattner’s absence.’
Broker nodded in agreement. ‘We need to persuade her, but let’s go back to her after a few days. I didn’t press her today since her defenses were all up and we’d have ended up in a confrontation in front of the kids.’
The Watcher was deep inside another café, across the street, a baseball cap pulled low over his head, shades covering most of his face, the collar of his thick jacket rolled up. A crossword puzzle in front of him, he had the air of a man in no hurry and no particular purpose.
He had found them the previous night after hours of driving past cheap hotels and run-down neighborhoods that hope had left behind. He had cut downtown into grids and searched, looking out for two vehicles that were on the right side of anonymous and were company owned. With his laptop running on the passenger seat, he had driven for hours, taking his chances on Broker staying in hotels that didn’t come with basement or valet parking, and therefore the vehicles would be street-parked.
Company-owned, anonymous cars were aplenty, but the Watcher was seeking transport that was owned by a series of shell companies, and when he finally found two of them in the early hours of the morning, he kept watch on them.
When the group came out and surveyed the street, they didn’t spot him. He was prone in his car, several car lengths away, watching them through the mirrors, and when they left, he merged in their wake.
At the Rocka residence, he’d briefly considered approaching the rear of the house to overhear them – briefly considered and rapidly discarded when he noted the proximity of the houses and the barking from inside.
He looked up Rocka, covering the same ground Tony had, and pieces started falling into place. He dug out his phone and called the garage and got nothing. He was politely turned away at Rocka’s workplace. He looked down at his scribbling, at the various names he’d written. He called the next number, a school, and the jigsaw was complete.
Bwana led them out of the café, and he paused, scanning the neighborhood. Nothing unusual stood out, yet his radar was uneasy. He didn’t feel followed, yet he felt something. His shoulders moved in the smallest shrug when the street gazed back at him blankly, intent on its own course for the day.
‘Yes, I’ve felt it too,’ Chloe said behind him, ‘and I haven’t spotted anyone. Bear too. If we’re being followed, it’s by a ghost.’
‘I’m sure the gang is searching for us, but I’m also pretty sure they haven’t found us yet,’ Broker commented as he led them to the Wagon. ‘I had Tony search our Rovers for bugs, and he didn’t find any. There aren’t any on the Wagons. This other player can see us, but not hear us… let’s wait till he shows his hand. If he’s real!’
He noticed Bwana grinning, sunlight across the dark man’s face. ‘I know. To you, the bigger the party, the better.’
It was late evening when Broker approached Snarky in Brooklyn, when schools and offices closed and apartment windows were lit, and different beasts roamed the street.
Snarky was a junkie who teetered on the edge of the precipice, knowing enough when to back off, but not having the resolution to walk away. A part-time dealer and user, he was a frequent partaker of the NYPD’s hospitality, and after one such sojourn, Broker had tapped him. The NYPD squeezed him for juice when it found him, for Snarky had one redeeming quality in its eyes – he knew the streets better than any cop or junkie, and was quick to part with it and get back to the street.
In Broker, Snarky found a better paymaster, and someone who didn’t judge him and treated him with respect. Respect. Snarky found that the word warmed him and stirred something deep inside him in a way Broker’s money didn’t. That too helped, though.
Snarky was lying where he usually lay, sprawled against the shutters of a long-dead store in Lorimer Street, a trilby covering his face, legs and arms sprawled out. He was king of his section of the pavement. He was singing, what he called it, and waving a bottle in a brown wrapper when Broker passed him. Broker thought it might have been a popular tune, but he could be wrong. Alcohol and Snarky’s abilities had a unique way of reshaping songs.
Snarky twitched when Broker passed him – Broker had never figured out how he recognized passersby with the hat covering his face – and lurched to his feet and followed at a shambling pace.
Broker entered a bar, a slight improvement from a hole in the wall, very slight, and had ordered drinks for Snarky and himself by the time Snarky’s body odor announced his presence.
‘Snarky, you know there’s such an invention as a shower?’
‘Conserve earth’s resources, that’s what they say at the home,’ replied Snarky piously, in his thin, reedy tone. Snarky frequented a shelter for the homeless when he wasn’t dealing or housed at the NYPD. ‘Besides, it’s my shield. No one willingly gets close to me.’ He laughed, and Broker was reminded of hyenas barking.
Snarky had surprisingly perfect diction, and Broker had occasionally seen dog-eared books on philosophy in his pockets.
They drank, the pleasantries over. ‘Which gang runs Brooklyn?’
‘Gangs, they’re a dime a dozen. They come and go. No one rules any place for long. There’s always another bigger, stronger, dirtier that comes up. Way of the jungle and all that.’
You had to be patient with Snarky. He got to the point, but not in the way a crow flew.
Broker seated himself more comfortably and listened to a mix of science and philosophy, and eventually Snarky addressed his question.
‘Only one gang. 5Clubs. Came from nowhere, and now nothing happens without their knowing or permission. Ruthless. They want to be feared,
and they are.’
‘They’ve a chapter here?’ Broker knew, but he wanted to hear it from Snarky.
Snarky nodded. ‘In Brownsville, which, as you know, is not exactly where you’d want to bring up your kids. Guy’s called Jose Cruz, and he has one real badass dude by his side. Diego, his enforcer. Real bad, that hombre.’
He reflected for a moment. ‘You know, I’ve been here a long time and seen gangs come and go. These guys are different.’
‘Different in what way?’ Broker moved his seat back a couple of inches. Everything was fair in a battle against odor.
‘They’ve written the book on best practices for gang survival. I’ve heard that this gang recruits from the military, but they’ve adapted to survive on the street.’
Broker didn’t reply. This junkie probably knows the gang better than the JTF.
Snarky edged closer to Broker. ‘What’s your interest in them?’ He paused and then continued when Broker didn’t answer. ‘Keep your distance from them. They’re scum, but they’re disciplined about it and all the more dangerous.’
‘Where does this Cruz hang out?’
Snarky pushed the trilby back fully, exposing gray stubble and sunken eyes. The eyes were sharp. ‘They hung out in a garage a while back, but moved to the edge of Brownsville recently. Was that your doing?’
‘Where?’
‘A Laundromat. A big one. Used to be Chinese-owned one day, and the next day, Cruz and his gang had all but unfurled their flag over it. But they’re keeping very low-key about it. The garage saw a lot of their heavies coming and going, and some of them were always there… this one here, they’ve just three guys or four all day, and Cruz comes irregularly. Most of the time he comes at night.’
Broker dug into his pocket and pushed a roll of bills toward Snarky. ‘I need more than this drip feed. I want to know who and how many exactly is at that place, how often Cruz appears, who’s with him… the works. You know the drill.’
Snarky eyed the bills and wet his lips. They were enough to feed him, or his habit, for months.
‘Shit, man, why did you go and do that? Tempting me like that. What you’re asking me to do is too dangerous. Word gets to them about me, I’m dead. In their world, you’re either minding your own business, or theirs. If theirs, you’re doing it for them else you’re dead. And you don’t die easy. That family… I heard whispers… they’ve disappeared.’
He shivered and, wrapping his coat tightly around his skinny frame, tipped his bottle back and took a long pull.
His eyes shone brighter as he looked into Broker’s for a long time, knowing very little of what Broker did, but knowing enough, and his shivering slowed.
‘They’ve no idea, do they? No idea of the dragon they’ve poked,’ he whispered.
Broker said nothing, kept looking back at him.
Snarky caressed the bills, picked them up, and smelt them. His voice was steadier when he spoke. ‘How do I contact you?’
Broker gave him a number. It was a toll-free messaging number, totally unreachable by the gang. ‘Call that number from a pay phone. Where are their other hides? Their businesses?’
Snarky bared his lips, his version of a smile, the roll disappearing from his hand, and recited a long list of names. Some of those, the strip club and a couple of others, tallied with Broker’s intel.
Broker kept looking at his back when he left, the door swinging in the shadows.
I should warn him, but he’s survived the streets a long time. He knows what he’s getting into.
Broker walked back the way he came, deep in thought. Much later, that would be his excuse for not noticing the shadow across the street, behind him.
Chapter 27
The strip club had an anonymous façade, its sole distinguishing feature the full-size cutout of a nude woman. Its front had limited parking spaces, and small darkened show windows stared out either side of the large door.
The strip club had a narrow alley at one side, which led to a walled and valeted parking lot at the rear, a rear entrance linking the lot to the club. Parking was important. Business types didn’t like walking, and the rear parking offered anonymity. The alley side had an entrance, presumably for supplies.
The front of the strip club merged into storefronts for salons, convenience stores, Mexican take-aways… everything that men would need on the same street.
‘Three cameras facing the street, one in the alley.’ Bwana was driving, Chloe was in the front, Roger and Bear were taking notes in the rear. Bwana turned left at the lights at the end of the street, another left and a right, and he was driving up the street on the same side as the entrance.
Chloe glanced inside the alley as they drove past. ‘Can’t see much. It’s a dead end with just one drive leading to the lot. The camera is right on top of the alley entrance.’
Bwana drove to a gas station a couple of streets away and pulled into a vacant lot. He swiveled as Roger and Bear opened the building plan for the club.
‘Broker said it might not be recent, but this’s the only plan he could get.’
They studied it in silence for a moment. The front and rear entrances led the patrons to seating and the stage to the right, while a bar, changing rooms and restrooms took over the left.
‘Three entrances, the rear doubles up as the fire exit.’ Chloe traced them with a lacquered finger. ‘I bet the alley entrance is also the staff entrance.’
‘Night?’ Bwana asked hopefully.
‘Nah. Too many people and there’ll be enough goons to outnumber us,’ Bear replied.
‘So when?’
‘Evening, around four. They open at six, so that’s when they’ll be stocking up and have enough cash in the place, but not that many heavies.’
‘I was them, I’d have heavies round the clock,’ Roger commented.
Chloe turned off the iPad and handed it to Bear. ‘Which’s why we’ll recon all day tomorrow, hit the day after.’
Roger winked at Bear. ‘She bosses you all the time?’
Bear pulled a long face. ‘I’m not allowed to say.’
Roger arrived early the next day driving a cab and left it parked on the street, in the opposite lane, and placed an ‘NYPD. Impounded’ card on the dashboard with a number on it. Broker had tossed him the keys with an all-taken-care-of grunt in the morning.
He locked the cab and walked without a backward glance down an alley and behind the street. He thumped twice on a black Escalade and hauled himself inside when it opened.
The cab had a hi-res, hi-zoom camera rigged in its advert canopy, swivel mounted, with a sixty-degree turn capability and a parabolic mic. It fed images wirelessly to base and relay stations they had mounted the previous night, leading the feed and controls to the Escalade. Bear looked up when he entered and turned back to the display and control panel. He nudged the joystick, watched for a few more minutes, and then pushed back.
‘These gadgets would have saved us a lot of grief in Iraq and ’Stan.’
Bwana, lying on the rear bench, opened one eye and snorted. ‘You’d have ended up fat and lazy, a bottom broader than this truck.’
Bwana caught the balled-up napkin thrown his way and went back to snoozing.
‘Where’s Chloe?’
‘Should be back soon. Coffees and all that.’
When Chloe joined them, they seemed to be asleep, an impression that had cost many an ambusher dearly. The Warriors were used to recon and could go for hours, days, in silent stillness. Zero to lethal in a second, she thought as she surveyed them, glanced at the monitor, and settled herself next to Bear.
They broke off the surveillance late at night and watched the feed from the start.
The first employees at the club arrived close to midday, the kitchen staff, via the alley entrance. Then came a series of deliveries, drinks, groceries, maintenance guys, cleaners, the invisible operators of the club. At half-past three, a Camry rolled up, low on its wheels. Four toughs inside would do that. Three of them hopped
off at the alley entrance, one carrying a heavy backpack. The fourth drove the car behind, to the parking lot, and disappeared from the recon cam.
Bear paused the video and zoomed in so they could see the bag, its shape and weight, and resumed the feed.
At four, the girls started arriving and a fifth heavy, who escorted them. Roger looked at the girls and started to say something… and kept silent when he felt Chloe’s steady gaze on him. At seven p.m. the last heavy arrived, this time at the front entrance. He rapped on the door and withdrew red rope barriers and their stands and laid them out in the front, went back inside, and the lights and hoarding on the front came on.
The club was ready for business, and its patrons started arriving at six.
They continued watching the feed till midnight, though there wasn’t much more to watch. During its busy hours, two of the thugs came to the front and acted as bouncers.
‘I count about ten staff not including the girls, and seven goons,’ Bwana said when Bear turned off the feed.
He looked around at all of them. ‘Let’s hit them when they’ve just the four heavies. I suspect we’ll have about twenty minutes before the other goons come in and maybe backup hitters rush to the club.’
They all nodded. ‘Yup. If we aren’t out of there by then, we’ll be in a whole heap of trouble.’ Chloe tapped a polished fingernail on the laptop. ‘Where would you guys position yourself, if you were them?’
‘At the rear. Most people go for the front entrance, and hence that’s always the one heavily manned. At this club, I’d go for a force at the back,’ Roger replied promptly.
‘Way I figured. So, assuming that, I’ll take the front; Bwana, you take the rear; and Bear will take the staff entrance.’
She noticed Bear frowning. ‘Don’t agree?’
‘They’ll be expecting us, won’t they?’
She nodded. ‘They won’t know when, but yeah.’
‘Let’s do the unexpected, then. Same approach, but different tactics.’ He outlined his plan.
