“Mandy,” Drake repeated, and this time the man his head.
He had a thick black beard and shortly cropped hair that was graying at the temples. Even though Drake had never seen a picture of the man, he knew without a doubt who this person was.
It was Boris Brackovich.
There was something in his eyes and that, combined with the slight smirk on his lips that he shared with Ken Smith and everyone else who had fuck you money, that gave him away.
The tattoo was a fairly good indication, as well.
He was also the man responsible for all of this mess, for the sex auction, for the dead girls in the shipping container.
For Veronica being trapped in a glass box.
And while Drake recognized this man, it was clear that Boris also knew who he was.
“Damien Drake,” he said in a voice that lacked any accent at all.
Drake aimed the gun directly at the center of Boris’s back.
He felt like putting a bullet in the man then, putting an end to it all of this. But that would be too easy.
And besides, it wasn’t part of the plan.
Drake wanted Boris, but he wanted Ken Smith even more.
“Guilty,” Drake said with a shrug. “Mandy, come over here.”
As he spoke, Drake took the two pieces of his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Mandy, come over here,” Drake repeated.
Boris might be tough, but if he could snap a few pictures of the man in this place, in a compromised situation, they would go a long way to getting him to flip on Ken Smith.
It would either be that or prison, and even men as well connected as Boris would have a difficult time surviving in Rikers, especially considering what he’d done to the girls.
Drake slipped the battery into his cell phone and it clicked into place. He waited for the screen to boot up.
“I know what you’re thinking, Drake, because I was once like you. Naive, broke, at the whim of others. You think you can snap a few pictures and that’ll be enough to put me away,” Boris chuckled, a dry, irritating sound. “Drake, you could take pictures of me strangling this Colombian shlyukha and it wouldn’t do shit. I’d get off and the best part? My lawyers would get you and all of the NYPD to issue a public apology. That’s what having money means. It’s pure, unadulterated power. Power to do what—”
Drake was only half listening when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Mandy had a pair of scissors in her hand and she lunged at Boris.
“Mandy, no!”
She was aiming for his neck, but even though Boris had been focused on Drake, he managed to get his arm up in time. The scissors embedded in his triceps, but this didn’t seem to faze him. Boris’s other arm shot out with lightning speed and collided with the side of Mandy’s head. She fell backward off the bed and landed with a loud thunk.
Drake grit his teeth and strode forward.
“I won’t put you in prison, I’ll put you in a pine box, you—”
But now it was his turn to be cut off.
Something smashed into the back of Drake’s head, something big and hard. Something that sent stars across his vision.
Drake collapsed to one knee and then someone pressed down on the bullet hole in his right calf, and the stars vanished.
They were replaced by pure darkness.
Chapter 55
Drake couldn’t have been out for more than a minute or two, but in that time, his assailant had somehow managed to place him in a chair and bind his hands behind his back.
His eyelids fluttered and it took several seconds for his vision to clear.
Boris was standing in front of him, fully dressed now, holding Drake’s cell phone only inches from his face.
The man was smiling, a thin line of perfectly white teeth embedded in his dark beard.
“I guess we’ll never find out if your pictures would do any good,” Boris said, wagging the phone. “You fucked up, Drake. You didn’t take any pictures, didn’t even call the cops. My men will have this place cleaned up in under an hour. But you’ll be long gone by then. Nothing you did you today matters, Drake. Don’t you get that? None of it matters. Tomorrow we’ll open up a new shop, with new girls, and more buyers than you can imagine. This is only the start of our empire. The beginning. With what—”
Drake started to laugh. He hadn’t intended to, but it just felt natural given the circumstances.
“Why are you laughing?” Boris demanded, his smile vanishing. Then he lifted his head to somebody hovering over Drake’s left shoulder. “Why the fuck is he laughing?”
Drake craned his head to see who it was, who had knocked him out.
And then he laughed even harder.
“I should have known that you’d be here, you slimy bastard,” he said between breaths.
Raul stepped out from behind him and crouched down low.
“We could have worked together, Drake. That’s what Ken wanted. But now it has come to this. I’m afraid that your usefulness has run out — you and your brother.”
This only made Drake laugh even harder. He laughed so hard that his face got hot and he felt himself on the verge of hyperventilating.
Boris backed away from Drake.
“Raul, why the fuck is he laughing? Why in God’s name is he laughing?”
“Because—” Drake began, but couldn’t get any more words out.
Raul leaned back and slapped Drake hard across the face. But the laughter didn’t stop.
“Raul, what the fuck is going on here?”
Raul shook his head and said, “I dunno. But we should get out of here.”
Boris grimaced.
“Because it’s not—” but Drake broke down again before he could finish.
Raul leaned back again, but this time instead of slapping him, he placed his thumb directly on the bullet hole in his calf and pressed down.
Drake screamed in agony.
“Now are you going to tell us why you’re laughing, Drake?”
Drake hissed through clenched teeth.
“Because,” he finally managed. “This wasn’t about pictures, you fucking idiots. This wasn’t a photoshoot and I never intended to call the police.” Drake’s tone suddenly turned deadly serious. “I was relying on them to trace the phone that you’re holding in your hand.”
Boris’s face went completely slack and he dropped the cell phone as if it was suddenly scalding. Even Raul, who had the emotional spectrum of a slug, seemed to become agitated.
“That’s right you fucking morons. Your buddy DI Palmer should be in here any minute. He’s gonna bring the Sgt. with him and I’d like to see you explain this situation. So, yeah, you should run. You should run as fast as you can. Because I’m going to get you. You and that bastard Ken Smith. I’m not going to stop until everyone involved with ANGUIS Holdings is either dead or in jail. And that, Boris, is true power.”
Chapter 56
“It’s back online! It’s back online!” Dunbar shouted. “Drake’s cell phone is online!”
Sgt. Yasiv leaned over the back of the detective’s chair as he punched away on the keyboard.
“Do you have a lock on it? Do you know where Drake is?”
“Working on it. It’s somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen, gimme a second,” Dunbar replied, still hammering away at the keys.
Sgt. Yasiv lift his head to the driver.
“Go!” he instructed. “Murray, drive! Take us to Hell’s Kitchen!”
The mobile command center lurched forward and Yasiv braced himself on the back of Dunbar’s chair.
I hope you got out of there, Drake, Yasiv thought. I hope to god that you had enough time to get the fuck out of there.
“Got it!” Detective Dunbar exclaimed, leaning back from his computer. “It’s on West 41st! West 41st and 11th Ave!”
The van immediately careened to the right.
“Hold on!” Officer Murray called back.
They veered around a corner and
then Dunbar turned to look at Yasiv with wide eyes.
“Should I call him now? Should I call DI Palmer?”
Yasiv chewed the inside of his lip and then nodded.
If it were up to him, he’d hold out as long as possible before getting Palmer involved. But this was Drake’s operation, not his.
And Drake wanted the Deputy Inspector to see this.
“Call him. Call DI Palmer and let him know we’ve found Drake.”
“ETA Six minutes!” Murray hollered. “Hold on tight, it’s gonna get dicey.”
Yasiv gripped the back of Dunbar’s chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.
I hope to God you got out of there, Drake.
Chapter 57
As soon as the pain in his calf subsided, Drake started laughing again. He laughed when Boris tripped over the bed as he scrambled toward the door. He laughed at the expression on Raul’s previously unflappable face.
He laughed at the absurdity, the sheer lunacy of it all.
When he heard the muted sounds of sirens reach him from within the nearly soundproof room, he continued to laugh.
He pictured the auction bidders stuck in their stalls, waiting to be rescued.
Waiting to be arrested.
And this made him laugh even harder.
He hadn’t gotten Ken, and both Raul and Boris were more than likely going to get away. But Boris was wrong. What he’d done here, what Drake and his friends had accomplished, meant something. They had put a serious wrench in Ken’s plans. And people would take notice.
DI Palmer would have no choice but to let Sgt. Yasiv dig deep into the connections between Smith and Brakovich. The public pressure would be too great, the outrage at the idea of auctioning off human lives right here in New York would not go ignored.
Sure, it meant that Drake would likely be pining away in a prison cell somewhere for what he’d done to Officer Kramer, but it was worth it.
Eventually, he’d get out. And when he did, he’d continue his pursuit of Ken Smith and the other people behind ANGUIS Holdings.
The only thing that stopped Drake’s chuckling was the sound of someone groaning.
Mandy pulled herself to her feet and massaged the side of her head. Other than a welt above her right eye, she looked no worse for wear.
Veronica was right, this girl had some stones. She could look after herself.
I just hope you’re okay, too, V.
At first, when Mandy’s eyes fell on Drake, confusion washed over her. But when she realized that they were alone in the room, that Raul and Boris were gone, she grabbed something off the dresser and hurried over to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
The back of his head throbbed from where Raul had struck him, but Drake didn’t think that it was serious. He was more concerned about his leg; he could no longer feel anything below his right knee.
“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “You should get out of here.”
Mandy took a step back and observed him for a moment.
“Drake, you’re the one who needs to get out of here. The police are coming, and they’re going to arrest you. They’re going to arrest you for what I did out at the—”
Drake shook his head.
“I did that,” he said. “I hit Kramer and locked him in the container. Go with Veronica, she’ll take of you. Please.”
Mandy bowed her head and walked behind Drake.
But she didn’t go to the door. Instead, she cut him free of his bindings.
And then she leaned close to his ear.
“Thank you,” Mandy said, before kissing him on the cheek.
Still confused by this sudden turn of events, Drake shook his head and then groaned as he pulled himself to his feet.
“No, thank you, Mandy.”
But Mandy was already gone.
The sirens were louder now and Drake knew he didn’t have much time. But with his leg the way it was, he didn’t know if he was going to make it out of there before the cops arrived.
But Drake wasn’t one for quitting.
Chapter 58
Sgt. Henry Yasiv stared in amazement at the parade of men that were brought handcuffed out of the auction. He counted at least eleven of them, eleven well-dressed men sporting everything from pinstripe suits to a sultan’s robes.
He could barely contain his disgust. His first instinct after they’d blown through the door to the auction room was to leave again, to let them rot in there.
But now, seeing them hang their heads in shame as they were led out of the place, he felt a modicum of satisfaction. But it didn’t last long.
“He’s not here!” somebody shouted. Yasiv turned in the direction of the voice. “Drake’s not fucking here!”
Yasiv felt his anger bubble over as he stared at DI Palmer. The man was notorious for keeping his cool, but now that the trace had only revealed Drake’s phone and not the man himself, Palmer was irate.
With Yasiv watching on, Palmer grabbed a uniformed officer by the collar and screamed in his face, demanding to know where Drake was. The young cop was so startled that could barely produce a full sentence.
Yasiv grabbed DI Palmer’s arm, and the man let go of the officer and spun around.
“You knew that he wasn’t going to be here!” Palmer accused. “You knew it, didn’t you!”
Yasiv said nothing, but couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his lips.
DI Palmer leveled a finger directly at his nose.
“If I find out you’ve had something to do with this, that you helped him get away, I swear to God, Yasiv, you won’t just be out of a job, but you’ll be locked away.”
Yasiv felt oddly calm in the face of such anger and remained mum.
But inside, he was begging for Palmer to strike him. With all of these other officers and detectives milling about, there was no way that Palmer could talk his way out of that one. Not even Ken Smith would be able to help him.
“Let me go!” a female voice shouted, drawing both Palmer’s and Yasiv’s attention.
A petite woman with blond hair was thrashing in the arms of a police officer, struggling to free herself. She was wearing a strange nightgown that seemed two sizes too big for her.
Yasiv squinted. The woman seemed familiar and the last time he’d seen her she’d also been wearing a nightgown… only that one had been too small, not too big.
And it had been adorned with Anna from Frozen.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Let her go,” Sgt. Yasiv ordered.
The officer holding her raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry?”
“You heard me: let her go,” Yasiv repeated.
Out of the corner of his eye, Yasiv spotted an officer making his way not toward the scene as most others were, but away from it. He was wearing an NYPD police hat, but the rest of the uniform didn’t match — he was wearing plainclothes. And despite the fact that he was walking with a limp, there was something about his gait that Yasiv recognized.
“And that’s my purse! Give me my fucking purse!” the woman demanded.
This new officer, like the first, turned to Sgt. Yasiv for advice. It was strange how these trained policemen could deal with the likes of Russian mobsters, drug dealers, and biker gangs, but when they were confronted by a feisty woman, they had no idea how to act.
“Give her her purse back, Jesus,” Sgt. Yasiv said with a sigh. The officer obliged, and Yasiv turned back to the strange man with the limp.
DI Palmer must have followed his gaze, because he suddenly spoke up.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?
But the officer didn’t turn; instead, he ducked his head low and hobbled even more quickly away from the scene.
Palmer took a step toward the man.
“I’m talking to you! Hey, officer! Don’t you walk away from me.”
Yasiv’s eyes flicked back to the woman who had since gotten her purse and they exchange a knowing glance. The woma
n’s wide eyes then darted three times over to the man whom Palmer was addressing.
And that’s when Yasiv finally understood; he knew where he’d seen this woman before, and he knew who the man with the limp was.
Human Traffic (Detective Damien Drake Book 5) Page 18
