The Tanner Series - Books 1-11: Tanner - The hit man with a heart

by Remington Kane

  “Let me see your hands.”

  The man gave Tanner an odd look, but he raised his hands up tentatively.

  As they were still rising, Tanner gripped the fingers of both hands and twisted viciously, which caused several digits to become dislocated. The man howled in fresh agony as hot tears fell unbidden from his eyes.

  Tanner glared down at him. “That will teach you to keep your hands to yourself.”

  Tanner left the room and Sara followed with a wide grin on her face, while fighting the urge to laugh.

  289

  Weird

  That night, Tanner had showered first and was lying in bed wearing only a pair of black boxers, when Sara walked out of the bathroom dressed in silk pajamas, which bore a floral print.

  The bed was large enough to accommodate three or four people if needed, and Tanner was perched on the far side, near the windows that overlooked the pool.

  Sara walked over to the bed, looked down, and shook her head. “This is too weird.”

  “I won’t touch you, Blake. I promise.”

  Sara kicked off her slippers, lay down, and the soft bed felt so good that most of the tension left her body.

  “I am tired, and still a little jet-lagged. Goodnight, Tanner.”

  “Goodnight, Blake.”

  Sara turned off the light, but despite being exhausted, she just lay there staring at the dark ceiling while listening to the sound of the central air unit and the infrequent footfalls and muffled voices, as someone passed by in the hallway.

  She looked to her right and could just make out the shadowy shape that was Tanner. She recalled her hatred for him, the blind rage of vengeance she carried around night and day as she sought the man’s death. Now, he was likely the only one who could find and rescue her sister.

  “Are you asleep?” she whispered.

  “No,” Tanner said.

  “Why didn’t you kill me? I mean when we were inside the freezer. I know that you wanted to, so what stopped you?”

  “I guess I let you live because you gave up your gun.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought that maybe you felt sorry for me.”

  “You did look pathetic.”

  “Oh, thank you. That makes me feel better.”

  They were silent again, but Tanner broke it with a question.

  “Will you be coming back to New York when we free your sister?”

  “No. I need to get away, and my apartment holds too many memories. Memories of Brian, and now Johnny. And I need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”

  “That’s simple; just take it one day at a time.”

  Sara smiled in the dark. “That’s easier said than done, but then, what isn’t, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Goodnight again, Tanner.”

  “Goodnight, Blake.”

  “It’s Sara; after all, we are sharing a bed.”

  “Goodnight, Sara.”

  Sara laughed. “This is so weird.”

  “Yes.”

  Sara awoke the next morning to find herself alone in the bed, but there was a note propped up on Tanner’s pillow telling her that he would be back by ten a.m.

  When he reentered the room at 9:46, Sara was dressed and on the phone with her father.

  “I have to go, Daddy, but I’ll call again soon.”

  After she ended the call, Tanner gestured at her phone. “Your family doesn’t know that you’re here, do they?”

  “No, but if Duke doesn’t hear from me for more than a month, he’ll let them know what I tried to do… and that I likely failed.”

  “I was out looking for a way to get past the border and into Guambi. I had no luck since they doubled the number of guards on patrol. I guess it’s time that Mr. and Mrs. Coleman made themselves very noticeable.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that?”

  The bartender at the pool was working as fast as he could and was still having difficulty keeping up with the drink orders, as Tanner, in the guise of rich American Robert Coleman, was buying drinks for everyone.

  He was also telling an endless parade of stories about his travels around the world and had caught the eye of several young ladies, even though his wife, Sara, known as Linda, was seated beside him in a chaise lounge.

  One particular lovely was a French woman named Nicole, who carried on a conversation with Tanner in her native language. She giggled when she realized he had once eaten at her father’s bistro. As she was leaving the table, Nicole whispered something in Tanner’s ear, before sending a guilty glance toward Sara.

  “You speak French very well,” Sara said. “And did I also hear you speaking Italian?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have spent time in Europe.”

  “And so have you. I heard you telling that bodybuilder type about the German ski resort you liked so much; it sounded as if you had been there more than once.”

  “So, the Roberts are both well-traveled, flirts, and big spenders. That should attract attention. By the way, what did that French tart whisper in your ear?”

  “She was letting me know what room she was staying in and that her friend would be out all evening.”

  “And will you be taking her up on that offer?”

  “No, we shouldn’t separate, or there’s a chance that you’ll be taken alone, and I’ll return to find a ransom demand.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that, too bad for you.”

  Tanner’s eyes flowed over Sara in her red bikini. “Any man with a wife that looks like you would be staying in at night anyway.”

  Sara lowered her head and stared over the tops of her sunglasses. “Don’t forget that this is all pretend, Mr. Roberts.”

  Tanner didn’t respond, but there was a smile on his face.

  290

  Junior

  Michael Krupin kept an office above the restaurant he owned in Manhattan. It was there that he met with FBI agents, Tamir Ivanov and Justina Moretti.

  Ivanov was the lead agent of the pair and was forty-two, while his young female partner was only twenty-seven. They were both in shape and dressed in well-tailored conservative suits that made them look more like businesspeople and less like the Feds they were.

  Despite the Russian name, Tamir Ivanov was as American as could be. The Brooklyn born former New York City cop spoke his mind plainly, often too plainly, as the numerous reprimands inside his personnel folder could attest.

  Tamir stood just short of six feet tall, had trimmed brown hair, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to look right through you.

  Justina Moretti appeared haughty and just had that look that said bitch, although it was not her way and she was actually kind and unpretentious. However, nature had seen fit to have the beautiful woman with the lustrous dark hair broadcast that impression, and it did have its advantages in her line of work. She was also not averse to displaying a sharp tongue if provoked.

  Fedor stared at Justina’s ass as he followed them up the stairs to Krupin’s office. Vance was leading the way, and when he opened the door, Ivanov and Moretti saw that Krupin had six lawyers present. The men were all lined up behind Krupin, where the young would-be King of New York sat at his desk with his palms lying flat atop the surface.

  The agents also noticed that there were no other chairs in the room, except for the love seat against the right wall, and Vance and Fedor promptly occupied it.

  Tamir smiled at Michael Krupin. “Hey there, Junior. I bet wearing the Daddy pants isn’t as much fun as you thought it would be, hmm?”

  Michael Krupin’s brow furrowed. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yeah, and as far as I know, you’re the only junior here. Mikhail Krupin Jr., son of Mikhail Krupin Sr., who was a former dirtbag commie and KGB agent. Your dad came here and went into the drug trade. He recently received payback in the form of a stroke, which I understand has left him a drooling vegetable.”

  Five of the six lawyer
s opened their mouths to protest, but Tamir raised a hand.

  “You’re right; I’m sorry, I should have said allegedly went into the drug trade. But we all know there’s no doubt that the kid’s father was a former KGB agent and a dirtbag, and I bet he drools on himself too.”

  Krupin’s face reddened. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  “He’s talking to you,” Justina said, and Krupin stared at her as if she had just appeared.

  “What’s your name? And what’s his name? All I know is that you two are Feds.”

  Tamir told Krupin their names and the young man stared back at him in shock.

  “You’re Russian?”

  “I’m an American, and like you, I was born in Brooklyn.”

  “You’re still Russian.”

  “No boy, I’m a Special Agent with the FBI and I would like to know what you know about the men who got killed in those warehouses.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You’re telling us that you don’t know anything about those eighty-four men?”

  “I thought there were eighty-two?”

  “Ah, so you do know something.”

  One of Krupin’s lawyers bent over and spoke in his ear.

  “My lawyer has advised me to remain silent. I think I’ll take his advice.”

  “That’s fine,” Tamir said, as he walked over and stared down at Vance and Fedor. “You two have anything you want to say?”

  “We don’t know a thing,” Vance said.

  “I know something,” Fedor said, and Krupin squirmed behind his desk.

  “What is it you know?” Tamir asked.

  Fedor pointed toward Justina. “I know that she is one fine piece of Italian ass and I’d like to see her naked.”

  Krupin laughed nervously at that. He stopped when Tamir stared at him with his blue eyes of ice.

  “Justina?”

  “Yes, Tamir?”

  “This old goat here would like to see you naked. What are the odds of that happening?”

  “About the same odds as him getting hard without the help of a pill. It’s always the ones with the limp dicks that talk the most.”

  This time Vance laughed, while Fedor cursed under his breath.

  Tamir turned back to look at Krupin. “Okay Junior, you don’t want to talk to us like a man, so I’ll do the talking. We know that many of the dead men were employed by a security firm, and although we can’t yet prove that you own the firm, we both know that it’s true. All of the dead men were of Russian descent and most of them had arrest records. Overall, I’d say the city is a safer place. Still, it’s my job to stop the violence from escalating, so I’m here to tell you to end the war and make peace with the Giacconi Family.”

  The most senior of the lawyers spoke up. Like Justina, the man gave off an air of haughtiness, but unlike Justina, his was well earned and practiced.

  “My client knows nothing about the explosions, the warehouses, or the dead men, and he certainly has no knowledge about a ‘mob war.’ If you have nothing else to say, I suggest you take your leave.”

  “Your client is a punk who is in over his head. He’ll likely be eaten alive if he continues to mess around with the big boys. And yeah, I think I’ll go. Justina, do you have anything else you want to say?”

  “Nah, as usual, you said it all.”

  They were at the door when Krupin called out to Tamir.

  “Hey Fed, why don’t you go harass Joe Pullo?”

  Tamir turned back around and smiled at Krupin. “I’ll be speaking to Mr. Pullo very soon.”

  “Mr. Pullo? Don’t you have any cute names for him? Aren’t you going to insult him the way you’ve insulted me?”

  Tamir shrugged. “I doubt it. Unlike you, Joe Pullo has a pair of balls. While I still think the man is a criminal, he’s not a namby-pamby little Daddy’s boy like you are. Then again, you never know, the guy might rub me the wrong way.”

  Krupin’s hands were still laying atop the desk, but they were balled into fists and shaking with rage.

  “If you weren’t a Fed…”

  Tamir laughed. “Anytime Junior, bring it on anytime man to man and I promise you I’ll leave my badge out of it. Hell kid, you must be twenty years younger than me. That might help you, but I doubt it.”

  Fedor stood, held the door open, and the sound of conversation and the tinkle of silverware drifted up from the restaurant below.

  “It’s time you two left.”

  “Whatever you say, gramps, and don’t forget to burp the kid after you feed him. Oh, and change his diaper, will you? It smells like shit in here.”

  Tamir left with a laughing Justina at his side, as the sound of Krupin cursing in Russian filled the air.

  291

  Deny, Deny, Deny

  Tanner excused himself from the card game he was in as Sara pretended to nag him about his drinking. A short time later, they returned to their suite after a day spent playing rich and clueless tourists.

  Sara locked the door and let out a sigh. “I think the guests and the staff certainly know we’re here, but what do you really think the odds are that we’ll be kidnapped?”

  “I’m not sure of the odds, but I say we give this some time before trying something else.”

  “Fine, but Jenny has been gone for days and I can only imagine what she’s going through.”

  “It’s the best I could think of, but there are no guarantees.”

  Sara stifled a yawn. “I’m tired, do you mind if I shower first?”

  “No, and I’ll be out on the balcony enjoying the quiet. Today was noisier than I’m used to.”

  Sara smiled. “I don’t think you stopped talking for more than a minute.”

  “Yes, Robert Coleman is a big mouth with too many dollars and not enough sense.”

  “And what part was I playing?”

  “You’re my trophy wife.”

  Sara made a face. “I suppose that’s better than being called the old ball and chain.”

  Sleep eluded both for a time, as they waited to see if their playacting would bear fruit. If it did, that meant they might be attacked and abducted at any moment.

  “Tanner.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember, don’t fight back; just let them take us.”

  “Don’t worry, and you try to appear afraid.”

  “I won’t have to act, trust me.”

  “You’re the bravest woman I know, Blake, and you’re smart. If you weren’t, I’d have killed you the first time I tried.”

  “I was just driven by hate and it made me too stupid to be afraid.”

  “We should get some sleep.”

  “Right, goodnight.”

  They became silent, but neither of them would fall asleep until more than another hour had passed.

  After their visit to see Krupin, Tamir and Justina visited the Cabaret Strip Club, where Sammy Giacconi escorted the FBI agents into the office and offered them seats in front of Joe’s desk.

  Sammy was about to leave when Joe told him to stay. The young man grabbed a folding chair and sat beside Joe behind the desk.

  Tamir made a show of looking around. “Where are your lawyers, Pullo?”

  Joe smiled. “Knowing those bums, they’re probably out playing golf.”

  “Michael Krupin had six lawyers with him. What do you think of that?”

  “I think I should have went to law school with suckers like Krupin around.”

  “I did go to law school and let me tell you, you didn’t miss anything. Now, as you probably know, I’m here to ask you about the pipe bombs that went off inside the warehouses earlier this week. We have reason to believe that you were behind it. That also makes you responsible for the deaths of eighty-two men.”

  Joe said nothing and Tamir and Justina looked at each other.

  “What do you think, Justina?”

  “I think that Mr. Pullo is too smart to open his mouth and he doesn’t need a lawyer to tell him t
o keep it shut.”

  “I agree.”

  Joe smiled at them. “You two want a drink?”

  Tamir waved the offer off. “Since you won’t talk, I will. It’s believed that you and the Russians are involved in a turf war and that it was little Mikey Krupin that started it. We also believe but have yet to prove that you were behind those bombings and the deaths of those men. That said, let it be known that this sort of shit won’t be tolerated by the Federal government and that if this war, vendetta, or whatever you want to call it continues, every effort will be employed to stop it.”

  Sammy spoke up. “How would you stop something like that?”

  Tamir pointed at him, but he looked at Pullo. “Is he your kid?”

  “This is Sammy Giacconi.”

  “The grandson? Well hell, kid, it looks like you’ve joined the family business.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Sammy said. “How would you stop a mob war? Because if you can stop it, why not do it now?”

  Tamir looked at him for several moments and saw that the ice-blue stare wasn’t working on Sammy the way it did on Michael Krupin. He leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.

  “That’s the kind of shit they teach us to say, but you and I both know that the war will end when one side wins.”

  Sammy smiled at him and Tamir leaned back in his seat.

  “Our main concern is that no civilians get hurt,” Justina said. “It’s bad for the tourist trade, you know?”

  Joe nodded. “My guess is that the only people who will be hurt are the ones that deserve it, but again, that would just be a guess on my part.”

  Tamir smiled at that before turning to his partner. “Anything else, Justina?”

  “Nah, Joe there knows the score and he also knows that we’ll be back.”

  Tamir stood along with Justina, but turned in the doorway, as Sammy held it open for them. He gestured around at the office.

  “You’re a Don now, Pullo. Why not get fancier digs?”