Whelan got off of Viktor, and returned the pliers to the table. “I know you’re ready now, son. Go ahead and tell me the rest.”
He turned and patted Viktor on the back, and then walked over to Morgan.
“Get that idiot Jimmy to get rid of the van in the back. Someone might recognize it and we don’t need any other visitors tonight.”
Morgan straightened his suit blazer and left the room. He stared at Whelan’s back for a few seconds a sour expression on his face. He wasn’t used to taking orders from Whelan. Then he turned and stared at Kenny before leaving the room.
I heard a low sawing noise, but wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Kenny was rocking slightly, his body pulsing in the chair. I realized as his hands came around and he continued cutting his bonds that Kenny was free.
Jumping up, he ran up behind Whelan and shoved a knife into his back three times. Each thrust made a wet thud. Whelan grunted with each stab. He slid to the floor, and after a final gasp, he was still. Blood pooled beneath him and flowed under Viktor’s chair.
At the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, Kenny ran to the side of the stairs and pressed himself against the wall. He picked up his chair and swung it into Morgan’s face as he walked into the room. Morgan crumbled to the floor in a heap.
Kenny slowly walked over to Morgan and kicked him in the face several times even though he was unconscious. Something ruptured with a sickening crack on the last kick.
Kenny bent over and took a gun out of Morgan’s jacket. “I’ll take this back now. It’s my favorite gun,” he said.
Then he walked over to Mikhail and cut him free. Mikhail rushed to the aid of his bloody friend in the center of the room, cursing in Russian as he untied his bonds.
Mikhail picked up Viktor. Bloody spittle oozed from his mouth, down his chin, and onto his shirt. I got one last look at Viktor’s bloody face as Mikhail carried him towards the stairs. Kenny ran in front of them and glanced my way.
“Sorry, Bill, you’re on your own.” A grim smile crossed his face as they left the room.
Moments later three shots rang out, and then all was still. I bucked in my chair, trying to loosen the ropes that held me in place. I hoped I could break free by banging on the chair, but my struggles were fruitless. I continued to struggle, bucking and shaking the chair apart. The ropes started to cut into my wrists and I could feel blood dripping down into my hands. I pushed off the floor with all I had, the chair left the ground, tipping over. The last thing I saw was the floor rushing up to meet my face, and everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A small voice buzzed in my ear. It started as a whisper and became louder as I came back to consciousness. I blinked and slowly opened my eyes. My hands and feet were free. My head was wet and sticky with blood that was coming from a wound above my eyes. A face came into focus. It was Jimmy and he looked upset. “Are you okay? What the fuck happened?” He asked.
I was too groggy to reply, but sat up and looked around. Jimmy was over by Morgan, holding his head against his chest. Jimmy looked up. “He’s still alive. We have to get him to the hospital.”
“Are you kidding? He was going to kill me,” I said.
“You don’t know that for sure. I spoke to Morgan and he believed the whole thing. He just wanted to talk to you. Help me get him up,” he said.
“They strapped me to a chair like the others. Whelan was going to torture all of us for info on Sullivan’s assassins,” I replied.
“Bill, come on. This is the only chance we have. Whelan is dead and if we can’t save Morgan we’re dead too. Sullivan will kill us if we can’t do something to right this,” he pleaded.
I tried to shake myself back from the pain in my head and I stood up. Spots of all different colors dotted in my vision. I became light-headed and dizzy, then quickly sat down before passing out.
“Dude, your face is all white. Stay here and I’ll come back for you after I get Morgan to the hospital,” he said.
“No, I’ll try to help. And besides, I might need some attention too,” I said.
I stood a little steadier on my feet and helped Jimmy carry Morgan up the stairs. Everyone upstairs was dead. Kenny had killed the bartender and the two injured guys. They laid sprawled, blood soaking their clothes and the floor.
We stepped over them and outside into the fresh air. The lights glared and sparkled as my vision and mind cleared. Jimmy hailed a taxi and we jumped in. “Take us to the nearest hospital, quick. Our friend is hurt,” he shouted.
The taxi driver started to give us some shit, so I gave him a wad of cash and he jammed on the gas, rushing us to the hospital.
Hours later, after they stitched up my forehead, I was sitting in the emergency room when Jimmy came and sat next to me. “The doctor says he might make it. His jaw and cheekbones are broken and his skull is fractured in a few places. They’re not sure how much brain damage there is yet. He’s going into surgery now to relieve the pressure on his brain,” he said.
I heard every word, but the shock of the whole night was too much. The painkillers had made me dopey. “Thanks, Jimmy. You saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you, but I’ll find a way. Sorry, but I’m a little out of it from the meds.” I said.
“We have to find Kenny and the Russians and find out who tried to kill Sullivan. If we can take care of this, Sullivan will have to take us seriously,” he said.
“I heard Viktor confess to Whelan that Kenny told the Mexicans where to hit Sullivan,” I said.
“Holy shit, this is totally fucked up,” he blurted.
“Kenny played every side, collecting money all the way. He used Rudy until he got caught, then blamed it on him. Whelan knew all about Kenny’s ways, but I guess as long as he was a good earner, Sullivan kept him alive,” I said. “Whelan was gonna kill us all, and once he had the information he wanted we were doomed. He knew Kenny set up Sullivan, but wanted to verify it.”
“We need to check out Kenny’s apartment. Dana might be there,” Jimmy said.
“First we need to go to my place and get my Lincoln. I’m not taking taxis all over town,” I said.
By the time we left the hospital, it was ten o’clock in the morning. The sun was shining, and it was a beautiful clear day. We grabbed a taxi and headed to my place. We picked up the car and drove up Broadway to Kenny’s.
I double-parked and opened the door. “Keep an eye out for anyone we know. Call my cell if you see anything funny going on,” I said.
“Here, take this,” said Jimmy. He reached into his jacket and handed me my gun. “I took it from Morgan. You might need it.”
“Thanks Jimmy. If the cops tell you to move, just circle around the block.”
As I headed for Kenny’s building, I saw Dana coming up the block carrying a couple of grocery bags. She didn't look hurt or abused in any way. I took a step toward her, but then someone called out. She stopped, and a big smile lit up her face. My heart dropped as I saw Kenny come up and kiss her on the mouth. He took the groceries from her, and together they walked up the block looking very much like a couple.
I became overwhelmed by sadness. Feeling completely exposed, naked with confusion and embarrassed. I had to get out of there.
Jimmy got out of the car. “Why are you standing there? What’s going on?” he yelled.
“Get in the car, we have to go,” I said, wiping tears from my face.
Jimmy looked down the block and saw them coming. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Just get in!” I shouted.
He got in and slammed the door. “Let’s just shoot the fucking bastard.”
“I can’t do this now. It’s not the right time. Just drive.”
Jimmy put the car in drive and stepped on the accelerator. “How can this be? I don’t understand,” I said.
I tried to shake myself out of the shock I was feeling. I felt like someone punched me hard in the gut. My whole world seemed turned upside down.
“Th
ey’re a fucking couple. That motherfucker played me again, and he’s been living with her the whole time I was out of commission. The Russians never had her.”
“What about the proof of life picture on Dmitry’s phone?” he asked.
“Kenny probably sent him a picture,” I said, staring at the floor.
Jimmy looked around and then pounded the steering wheel. “This is a fucking mess,” he said.
“Go east to NY Presbyterian. We gotta speak to Sullivan.”
We were stuck in traffic near Fifth Avenue when I asked, “With Morgan down, who’s taking care of things for Sullivan?”
“Mr. Sullivan’s son Patrick came in from South Boston. He’s been running that branch of the family business for years. Except Patrick has a reputation of flying off the handle and killing the messenger,” Jimmy said.
“Great, this is just what I needed now. I thought Morgan was running things,” I said.
“You’ll see. Patrick’s a real prick. He’ll go ape shit when he hears about this bullshit with Kenny and the Russians. Man, he completely missed out on his old man’s smoothness,” he said.
We pulled up to the hospital at valet parking and climbed out. The attendant handed Jimmy a ticket and he gave it to me.
We walked into a huge lobby and towards an information desk. I asked what room Mr. Sullivan was in. The chubby blond receptionist said, “Visiting hours are over. Come back tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”
Jimmy rushed over and pulled me back by the arm. “What are you doing? He’s not in the regular wing. Follow me.”
I followed Jimmy past the information desk and down a long hallway to a bank of elevators. He pressed the button and we waited for it to arrive. After about fifteen minutes a bell sounded and the elevator doors opened.
We got out at the fourth floor, made a right, and walked past rooms packed with patients. Jimmy led the way past the nurses’ station to a set of double doors at the end of the floor.
Inside the double doors was another short hallway. Three men stood up, looking very nervous.
Jimmy said, “We’re here to see Mr. Sullivan, its important.”
One guy stepped forward. “Wait here.”
He knocked on the door and stepped in. A few minutes later someone else came out. This guy was short and stocky, and he looked like a younger version of Mr. Sullivan. Only this guy was chewing on a toothpick. He was dressed in a navy sports blazer with gold buttons, and a red Polo shirt underneath.
Jimmy stuck out his hand. “Hello, Patrick I’m Jimmy and this is--”
“Why the fuck are you idiots here?”
“We wanted to speak to your dad. We have a problem,” Jimmy tried to explain.
“Oh yeah, what’s the problem?” he asked, taking the toothpick out of his mouth.
Jimmy explained what happened at McKenzie’s. As Patrick Sullivan listened, his temper started to rise, and he reached into his jacket.
I jumped in. “Hold it Mr. Sullivan, we meant no disrespect. Jimmy saved Morgan, and me then brought us to the hospital. We needed your guidance.”
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, aggravated by my interruption.
“Sorry, sir. I’m Bill Conlin,” I apologized.
“Oh, you’re William Conlin? My dad’s been telling me all about what a great job you’ve been doing. I heard about your trouble with the Russians,” he said, his tone softening a little.
“This Russian thing has spilled over into McKenzie’s. Kenny Shea killed Bran Whelan, put Morgan in a coma, and escaped with the Russians. Morgan told us to ask for permission before taking action. That’s why we’re here,” I explained.
I thought he was going to shoot both of us when he reached into his jacket again. He took out his wallet, looked through it and gave me a card. “Call this number. Ask for Mrs. Goldberg and tell her you need some dry cleaning picked up. Give her McKenzie’s address. Go there and wait. After everything is cleaned up, call my cell. The number is on the front of the card,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. It was good to meet you,” I said and shook his hand.
“Likewise,” he replied.
I pulled Jimmy through the double doors and back to the elevators. We headed down into the lobby and smoked a cig while waiting for the valet to bring the car around. We didn’t say a word to each other, trying to take in all that had happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
On the way back to McKenzie’s I called the number Patrick Sullivan had given me. An older woman’s voice answered.
“Goldberg's Cleaners, can I help you?”
“Hi is this Mi...Miss... Mrs. Goldberg?” I was stammering like an idiot, nervous about the whole mess.
“Yes, this is Mrs. Goldberg. How can I be of service?” she asked, with a polite disposition.
“We need some special dry cleaning picked up,” I said, and gave her the address.
“I understand. How many suits do you need cleaned?”
I paused, mulling over the question. “Um, four suits,” I answered.
“Is there a rear entrance?”
“Yes, there's a parking lot entrance on 39th near Ninth Avenue.”
“Who will greet us?”
“I will. Bill,” I replied.
“Very good. We will arrive in half an hour. Be outside waiting,” she said. Then the phone went dead.
Morgan had about twenty keys on his ring, and it took a few minutes to find the right one for the back door. Inside, the bodies still lay where they fell. I could see the feet of one of the guys, surrounded by a large dark pool of blackish-red blood. A foul odor assaulted my senses and I began to dry heave.
“Oh god that's putrid!” I uttered, rushing to cover my nose and mouth.
“That's fucking horrid! Uh, like old pennies and shit!” Jimmy cried out.
I couldn't breathe and began backing up. “Let's wait outside,” I said.
Jimmy ran out the back ahead of me, the door swinging closed behind him. I rushed outside after him, gagging and coughing. The air was sweet and fresh. We both took it in and tried to get ourselves under control.
We were sitting on the ground leaning against the wall when a white van pulled up. On the side of the van was a red decal that read “Mr. Speedy Cleaners,” with a picture of a smiling guy, one thumb held up. Two fat guys in white overalls jumped out. “Which one of yous is Bill?” asked the driver. His voice was gruff, with a heavy New York accent.
“I am,” I said, getting up off the pavement and brushing myself off.
“Okay here’s da deal,” he started to say.
“Where are Mrs. Goldberg’s people?” I interrupted.
He scowled at me. “Don't ask any questions, she contracts these jobs out to us. Do we have your approval to begin?” he said, starting me down. Then he started over. “Okay here's da deal. No one comes in, and I mean no one. Anyone comes in while we’re working and we'll be cleaning you up, too. Got it?”
“Got it,” I said.
The cleaning guys opened up the back of the van and lowered an attached lift. They rolled out four large plastic containers, each about chest high and half-filled with some kind of liquid. It sloshed around as they moved them off the van and through the door.
I watched as they brought out a power washer gun attached to a motor on wheels, various cleaning supplies, two large pails on wheels with mops, a tray of spray bottles, and several large duffle bags. For fat guys they moved pretty quickly.
“Now lock her up after me and wait for me to bang on da door,” the driver barked.
We sat outside waiting for what felt like hours. Cigarette butts peppered the pavement around us as we smoked and tossed the butts. The sun started to go down, and the light faded as the shadows disappeared.
“I'm out of smokes. You want anything?” Jimmy asked, as he started heading off to a deli up the block.
“Get me a pack of Reds and a regular coffee,” I replied.
I watched Jimmy leave and wondered how much longer it would be befo
re the cleaners finished.
A loud series of bangs startled me. “Come on, open up.”
I unlocked the door and they came rushing out. In a mad scramble of activity they loaded everything back into the van. The last to come out were the plastic containers. Each time a container was brought out they struggled with its weight to get it onto the lift and into the van.
Jimmy came back just in time to see the last plastic container being loaded into the van. They closed the doors and jumped in without a word. The driver cooked the engine, it roared to life. As the van pulled away, we choked and coughed from the noxious exhaust fumes.
“Let’s go in and see how they did,” I said.
Jimmy stamped out his cigarette on the ground. “Let’s check it out.”
Inside, everything was completely cleaned up. The place was spotless. The only odor was a slight lingering aroma of pine. The place looked ready to open for business. I headed down the stairs to check on the sub basement, my legs aching.
I stopped in the storage room to give myself a break. A rush of memories flashed through my mind, images of the night I was tortured. I started to lose hope, as everything that kept me going seemed lost. The only thing I had left was a dull ache and a haunting feeling that I still had some tough decisions to make.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind. I had to refocus and take my life back. Anger welled up from the pit of my stomach. The anger turned into rage and I heard a distant sound, then realized it was my teeth grinding. The time had come to channel my rage into massive action.
Back upstairs; Jimmy was sitting at the bar, cigarette hanging from his mouth. A cloud of smoke floated in the air above his head.
I walked over to him, my boots thumping heavily on the wooden floor. “I see you're breaking the place in already?”
“Yeah, I think we deserve a few drinks. After all, we're still alive,” he said, handing me a shot of Scotch.
Bourbon & Blood: A Crime Fiction Novel (Bill Conlin Thriller) Page 13
