Burke's War: Bob Burke Action Thriller 1 (Bob Burke Action Thrillers)

by William F. Brown

  “There won’t be any ‘others,’ Burke. I’m going to do you myself!”

  “God, I hope so, because I’ll be waiting. No more ‘mister nice guy.’ ”

  “You got a big mouth for such a little guy.”

  “Yeah I do, and I back it up. The law may not be able to touch you, Greenway, and DiGrigoria but I can.”

  “Oh, really?” Scalese looked down at him and sneered.

  “Count on it,” Burke answered as he formed his right hand into a pistol and pretended to ‘shoot’ him. “Bang, you’re dead,” he said, then turned and walked away. When Burke reached the revolving door, he paused and looked back up. Scalese’s ever-confident sneer was already melting. It was obvious the big man wasn’t accustomed to anyone talking to him like this, but before Scalese could pull out a real pistol, which Bob knew he would be carrying, he slipped through the revolving door and strode away down the sidewalk. Fortunately, Linda was waiting and watching the show from the front seat of the stolen car. She raced up and stopped only long enough for him to open the passenger side door and jump inside, before she tromped on the accelerator. The Taurus sped away down the business’s entry drive and onto the road beyond, leaving a puffy black cloud of exhaust in her wake.

  “I can’t believe you did that. I can’t believe you did that,” she kept repeating until they reached the main road, as if she was in a daze. “Scalese? You're crazy to bait him like that. Do you have any idea how dangerous he and those other men are?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why provoke him like that?”

  “Because that’s exactly the way I want him — angry, off-balance, and out to get me in the worst way.”

  “But he’ll kill you, and then he’ll kill me”

  “Oh, he intended to kill both of us a long time ago, or at least he was going to try. This way, when he does come after us again, he’ll be angry, seeing red, and that’s when he’s going to make even more mistakes than he already has.”

  “But…”

  “No ‘buts.’ ”

  Bob looked at his watch. “We said we’d get your daughter next. Do you want to pull her out of school now?”

  “No, no, that would cause too many questions, and I don’t want to scare her. I thought I’d pick her up when they line up to board the busses, so we should wait,” she told him as she looked at the notebook computer case on the floor. “You found that at Charlie’s? It looks broken.”

  “Sort of. One of Scalese’s morons put a bullet through it,” he told her as he held it up, put his index finger through the hole, and wiggled it at her.

  She shook her head and gave him a curious look. “Seriously? Do you really think you can make that thing work?”

  “What? You don’t think I can?” he asked her straight-faced. “Actually, I’m sure this one is toast, but if they missed the hard drive, I might be able to re-install it in another machine and use Charlie’s software to crack that flash drive Eleanor left.”

  “Then, why don’t we go to Best Buy now and buy one? There’s a store in Woodfield.”

  “With what? We’d need $1,000 or maybe $2,000 to buy a decent laptop. The wallets I took off of Scalese’s two gunmen were pretty thin, and neither you nor I have that kind of cash handy right now.”

  “We don’t need cash, I still have the CHC Visa Card that Eleanor got for me. I use it to charge office supplies at Best Buy, Staples, Office Max, and a bunch of other places. Of course, it has a five-thousand-dollar limit.”

  “Five thousand? You’re kidding?”

  “Not at all, and I can see no reason why Dr. Greenway shouldn’t pick up the tab, do you?”

  “Won’t they call and verify a credit card charge like that?”

  “CHC is a bunch of crooks, but they aren’t stupid. There is an approved signatory list, and my name is on it. I have the corporate credit card and corporate ID, and the Purchasing Protocol Eleanor that set up with all of the vendors requires them to email her within 24 hours on any charge over fifty dollars. I’m sure that’s exactly what they’ll do, but I don’t think she’s going to be around to read it do you? And after 24 hours, I doubt you’re going to care anyway.”

  “A computer would be great, but the flash drive is probably encrypted. You knew Eleanor. How sophisticated was she when it came to data protection? Do you know of any particular software she might have used? Or passwords she liked?”

  “Me? As the Army people in the movies say, that’s way above my pay grade.”

  “Charlie’s got the best encryption and decryption software on the market, so if we can make his hard drive work, there’s no problem. If not, there’s a ton of other programs on line I can download and try.”

  Linda looked at her watch. “You said that laptop is an Asus. After we run over to Best Buy, we can swing back and pick up Ellie in Des Plaines.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lawrence Greenway tried without much success to relax on the overstuffed leather couch in his office. He flipped nervously through the pages of the new issue of Health and Medicine Magazine with one hand, while swirling two fingers of his favorite Makers Mark bourbon in a hand-cut crystal tumbler with the other. This was his third drink and he was still unable to forget that horrid trip to the house in Wheeling. Damn that Scalese! Greenway knew his thugs were animals, but he couldn’t believe what he saw Tony do. He beat that man to death with his bare fists. Worse, the big bastard made Greenway stand there and watch, until the doctor turned away and vomited. That was all he could take. He ran up the stairs, out of the house, and drove back here to the office, to his sanctuary.

  Things weren’t supposed to be this way. His expensive suit jacket lay in a heap on the floor. His usually perfectly knotted silk tie hung askew, his crisp white shirt was sweaty and badly wrinkled, and his freshly polished black leather dress shoes showed bits and pieces of his breakfast. From his fifty-dollar haircut to his capped teeth and impeccably tailored suits, since he moved up to the suburbs, Dr. Lawrence Greenway, M.D., took intense pride in looking like one of those Hollywood plastic surgeons who get their studio portrait shots on the cover of GQ. Looking around his expensively furnished office and out the window across the panorama of the north suburbs, he couldn’t help remembering that first rat-infested clinic of his at 63rd and Cottage Grove. It was in the heart of “gangland” on Chicago’s infamous South Side, complete with break-ins, muggings on the sidewalk, and paying “protection” by patching up bullet and knife wounds without asking any questions. They say poverty builds character, but that was usually said by people who had never experienced it “up close and personal.” No, he left “Larry Greenway” behind on Cottage Grove Avenue, and he hated that name now. Rich was much more fun than poor and he would never go back to that dreary life again.

  Still, as he scanned through the pages of the glossy medical magazine and saw the feature story on “Top Doctors” of Chicagoland, he was more than a little peeved. He had paid a lot of money — or, to be accurate, CHC paid a lot of money — to have their PR flacks get him recognized by his professional peers. He sponsored elaborate receptions at the state and area AMA conventions and large booths at the tradeshows; took out pricy ads in the glitzier industry magazines; and bought so many lunches with top regional AMA and HHS staff that his extensive wardrobe of custom-tailored suits were beginning to feel snug. Despite these efforts, the city’s AMA crowd continued to snub him, all because of his “alleged” and completely unproven ties to the DiGrigoria Mob and those nasty whispers about his sexual improprieties. As if any of them were perfect, or produced one-tenth of the good work he did on the mean streets of the city’s South and West Sides. What was a man to do, he wondered.

  He placed the heavy tumbler on the wide leather arm of the sofa, and ran his fingers lightly across the soft leather before he brought his hand up to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed his fingers. The hand-tooled leather did a marvelous job of trapping all the smells, the memories, and the excitement of the many things
that occurred on this couch over the past year. Perhaps it was only his vivid imagination, but he got hard thinking about them. Yes, after a horrid afternoon such as this, perhaps it was time he held another “counseling session” up here with one of the younger, female staff members.

  Greenway looked at his watch. Linda Sylvester was due in his office at 3 o’clock. He was becoming both impatient and randy, convinced she would show with the documents Eleanor Purdue stole. That would prove to Tony Scalese and the rest of those animals that his methods of persuasion could be far more effective with the women than theirs, and ever so much more fun. He knew she was coming, because she wanted him. So did all the others. He knew what these thirty-ish suburban women were like, lying in the bathtub after the kids were in bed, with candles, a cheap romance novel, and a vibrator. Sylvester had been single long enough now. Her marriage may not have worked out, but she was a woman with needs. She would make a fine replacement for Eleanor Purdue, because a man who wanted her and took her hard was exactly what she dreamed of at night. She might have screamed and scratched his face this morning, but that was merely a sign of her passion, part of the little “game” they like to play to make it seem more exciting. Yes, she wanted him and he would have seduced her long ago, were it not for that meddlesome twerp, Burke.

  He looked at his watch again. She should be here any minute now.

  Greenway leaned back into the soft cushions, raised the tumbler, and let the last of his bourbon roll down his throat. The more he thought about Sylvester, however, he must admit she was getting a touch old and haggard for his tastes. So was Eleanor Purdue, but she had had her moments right here on this couch. Still, one of the younger ones would be much more tantalizing. What was that nosy new girl’s name? Patsy Evans? Yes, that was it he remembered and smiled. She was much more to his taste — younger, buxom, slightly plump, with the kind of soft, well-rounded bottom he loved to bump up against. She would do very nicely! He closed his eyes and imagined Patsy up here with him this afternoon, her bare bottom bent over the arm of his couch, waiting for him, wanting him.

  However, Greenway forced himself to admit that it must be business before pleasure. Scalese had become a major annoyance. Someday soon, Greenway must rid himself of the loud, crude, Italian, but he must do it in a way that Salvatore DiGrigoria wouldn’t come after him. But why should he? His boys say the old man stays up all night watching Marcus Welby reruns on cable TV, sitting in his recliner in his stocking feet. So a dapper middle-aged doctor with graying hair should be the last one he’d suspect.

  Know thy enemy, went the old adage, and Greenway had done his research. Sal DiGrigoria was a dinosaur and Tony Scalese was an arrogant psychopath. Neither man was as smart as he thought he was. Perhaps he could arrange things to let the police do the heavy lifting by planting some evidence that would point toward the big Italian. If he was arrested and facing jail time, Tony would be a dangerous liability to Salvatore DiGrigoria. The old man would figure Tony might roll on him, and Sal would dump him in the lake without giving it a second thought. Yes, perhaps he could plant drugs in Tony’s car, or do something with that signature 9-inch stiletto knife he was so proud of. If Greenway had his choice, however, he would prefer killing the big bastard himself. Scalese usually parked in the rear lot. It was dark back there, and he could walk up to him in the parking lot and put a couple of bullets in the back of his head with his .32-caliber Mauser automatic. Tony’s guard would be down and he would never expect that Greenway was capable of doing such a thing. Yes, two small-caliber bullets to the back of the head would make it look like a mob hit, and be the perfect solution.

  Greenway went to his desk and opened the center drawer where he kept the Mauser under some papers, but it wasn’t there. He went through the drawer again, all the way to the bottom, and then through the other drawers, but it wasn’t there either. As he did, he saw scratches and chips around the locks and realized the drawers had been forced open. He sat back in his chair and wondered who would dare come in here and do such a thing. He wondered, but he already knew the answer. It was Tony. But why? The inescapable conclusion was that Scalese was planning some moves on his own, which meant Greenway couldn’t wait to strike first.

  That was when his meditations were disturbed by the sound of loud, heavy footsteps coming down the corridor toward his office. His office door suddenly flew open and crashed into the sidewall. Unfortunately, instead of the lovely Linda Sylvester arriving early for her reluctant rendezvous, it was Tony Scalese who stormed in. One look at the big Italian told Greenway the lovely Mrs. Sylvester was not coming.

  “Where the hell did you go,” Scalese yelled at him. “I needed you.”

  “Hardly! The only thing you needed in that basement was a mortician, and that is not in my job description.” The two men glared at each other with angry unyielding expressions. Finally, Greenway sat back in his chair and looked up at the big man with a thin, plastic smile. “Anthony, Anthony,” Greenway said in a condescending tone and shook his head. “You really do need to learn how to knock.”

  Scalese stopped halfway across the floor and glared down at him. “Greenway, we’ve got big problems. Get your head out of your ass before it ends up there permanently.”

  “All right, what did you do now?”

  “It isn’t me! It’s that son-of-a-bitch Burke, who you brought into this thing, because you couldn’t keep it in your pants and went after that Purdue woman up on the roof. Remember?”

  “There was nothing sexual about that. I caught her rifling through my desk, as it appears someone else has now been doing,” he said as he glared across at Scalese. “As I told you before, Eleanor gave me no choice. Besides, you disposed of her body, and Bentley’s task was to ‘dispose’ of our little ‘telephone repairman,’ wasn’t it?”

  “You moron! Last night, your ‘telephone repairman’ took out three of my men who were watching Purdue’s house and they never even knew he was there. All he did was tie them up, take their wallets and guns, and make them look stupid.”

  “Not a terribly difficult thing to do, from the sound of it.”

  “Well, a little while ago, that little son-of-a-bitch pulls up in front of the building here, driving Gino Santucci’s Lincoln Town Car. You remember Gino, don’t you, from our trip to Wheeling?”

  “One of those knuckle-dragging thugs who was with you in that basement, wasn’t he?”

  “One of my… you dumbass! They’re what keep you sitting here.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Gino was in the Lincoln’s trunk. So was Peter Fabiano. It seems the ‘telephone guy,’ as you called him, isn’t playing games anymore. They’re both on their way to the hospital with gunshots and badly broken legs. Now, who the hell is that guy?”

  “How am I supposed to know? Why don’t you go ask your boss? Isn’t ‘Old Sal’ the one with all the contacts?”

  “We did,” Scalese shot back angrily. “Burke was in the Army before he went to work for this Toler outfit, but beyond that, nobody’s heard of him — State, City, County, not even the goddamned FBI. We checked with all our sources and they come up with nothing. Nothing! His freakin’ Army records are all classified.”

  “Hardly my department then, is it?”

  “It is now, Larry. You and I are going to find out who the hell he is.”

  “Me? He’s a security problem. That is your department, Anthony, and you’re supposed to deal with those kinds of ‘loose ends,’ as I recall, not I.”

  “Yeah? Well, let me clue you in, Doc!” Scalese said as he bent over the couch and poked Greenway in the chest with his index finger. “Has it ever occurred to you that you and I are the ones who are becoming the ‘lose ends?’ Mr. D don’t like screw-ups, mistakes, or freakin’ ‘lose ends.’ What he usually does is snip ’em off, so that nothing ever blows back on him. You understand what I’m tellin’ you?”

  “Yes, but I did nothing wrong.”

  “No? You started this thing, you damned fool. Y
ou’re the one who caught Burke’s attention, and if we don’t put an end to him, Mr. D’s gonna to put an end to us. Now get up off your dead ass. I want you to track down Burke’s wife and pay her a little visit. Getting women to cooperate with you is something you’re supposed to be good at, isn’t it, Larry?”

  “Well, I can’t disagree with you there, Anthony, but I don’t even know the woman.”

  “And fortunately, she doesn’t know you. I don’t care how, just do it.”

  “All right, all right, I’ll try my ‘charm’ on her.”

  “Good, and while you’re doing that, I’m going to apply some serious leverage to our missing receptionist, Linda Sylvester. It looks like she threw in with Burke.”

  “Linda did?” Greenway answered. “Oh, how disappointing.”

  “Yes, she was driving the other car when Burke dropped off the Lincoln.”

  “Then, it would appear she won’t be making our 3 o’clock play date.”

  “Your what?” Scalese glared at Greenway. “No! She won’t. So get your ass up and track down Burke’s wife. I want you to find out where he is, and what makes him tick.”

  “His wife?” Greenway thought it over for a moment as a sly grin crossed his lips. “Well, Anthony, if you insist.”

  It took Bob and Linda twenty minutes to drive to the Best Buy store on the perimeter of Woodfield Mall. It stocked all the items he needed to crack Eleanor Purdue’s flash drive, with the exception of some exotic software he hoped to find on Charlie’s hard drive, if he could get it to work, or online if he couldn’t. Bob walked quickly through the aisles, while Linda pushed the shopping cart and tried to keep up.