“Freddie?” He furrowed his brow. “She’s in Chicago.”
“She also eats people,” Caitlin said. “I’ve found that cannibalism is a curiously social vice. She may network with them. And why are you looking for these…individuals?”
He raised his glass, swirling the liquor around, and sighed before tipping it back. Straight whiskey burned a gasoline trail down his throat.
“Because a crazy witch who lives in a cave told me she wants a magic knife, and I’m expecting that’s where I’ll find it because the universe hates me.”
“Oh,” she said, “is that all? I’ll expect you home soon, then.”
Forty
Night fell over Bedford-Stuyvesant, draping the tattered streets under a cloak of twilight. Marie prowled the edge of the AJ Shipping and Freight office. She kept low and moved from delivery truck to delivery truck for cover, working her way closer to the building. She poked her head out, and Tony’s hand, fast on her shoulder, pulled her back. He shook his head, silent, and pointed.
A security camera perched in the eaves at one corner of the mud-brown warehouse, lazily panning its onyx eye across the parking lot.
Marie timed it, watching carefully, holding her breath as she waited for it to sweep away. Then she raced across the open patch of pavement, ducking underneath the camera and darting around the corner. She pressed her back to the rough brick wall. Tony waited for the next pass, breathless as he caught up with her.
Idling truck engines rumbled behind the building. She heard the metallic rippling sound of a loading-bay door rolling open.
“We shouldn’t even be here,” Tony whispered. “We should call for backup.”
Marie glanced over her shoulder. “Either this is a stash house like the one in Monticello or the place they’re actually manufacturing the stuff. Either way we’re only getting one shot at taking these guys down. We’ve got to find out exactly what we’re dealing with before we call in the cavalry.”
She eased along the wall, knees bent, eyes sharp, listening to heavy bootsteps and the sounds of wooden crates dragging along steel. Around the corner, a team of men drifted in and out of headlight beams, lugging boxes from a pair of AJ Shipping delivery trucks and hauling them inside.
Every one of them was carrying a weapon, toting pistols in open holsters or barely concealed under windbreakers. A man smoked a cigarette, headlights at his back, keeping casual watch with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He started to turn, and Marie ducked back into cover.
“Now we’re leaving,” she breathed.
They slipped away in silence, timing their movements to duck under the camera’s eye, and skirted the edge of the parking lot. They crossed the street under cover of darkness and found a doorway to crouch in while Marie waited for the kick of adrenaline to wear off.
“We don’t just need backup,” she said. “We need SWAT.”
Tony nodded. “If this is anything like Monticello, these guys are the ‘shoot first and ask questions never’ type. Did you get a head count?”
“At least seven, all carrying. No idea how many are inside. If these guys even suspect we’re onto them, they’ll clear out in ten minutes flat. I say we go straight to Captain Traynor, find a friendly judge to get our warrants in order, and see if we can hit this place tonight.”
“My kind of overtime—” Tony hushed as a square of light fell upon the pavement across the street, a side door whistling open. Juicy came out alone. He wore a cheap canvas backpack, looking fat and weighing his shoulder down.
“You know who can tell us how many guys are in there…” Tony murmured.
They tailed him for a block and a half, enough room that his friends wouldn’t hear him if he shouted for help. Tony pointed up an alley. Marie broke off and jogged around the long way. Juicy stopped dead in his tracks as she rounded the corner in front of him. Then he turned on a dime, speed-walking back the way he came, stopping a second time when he found Tony standing in his path.
Tony pulled back his jacket and flashed the shield on his belt.
“Don’t make us chase you. We get real mean when we have to chase people.”
Juicy rolled his eyes, shrugged the backpack to the sidewalk, and clasped his hands behind his head in sullen resignation. Marie walked up from behind. She grabbed one of his wrists and slapped the cuffs on.
“I want a lawyer,” was all he’d say, all the way back to the precinct.
* * *
“Lawyer,” Juicy said, sitting handcuffed at a battered steel table in the interview room.
Marie slapped her palm against the backpack. Unzipped, with a tidal wave of glossy baggies spilling out, each bag stuffed to bursting with oily black pearls.
“There is nothing a lawyer can do for you right now. Don’t you get that? You’ve got a choice to make: you can go down for all this weight, all by yourself, or you can help us put your bosses away.”
“Lawyer,” he told her.
Sitting next to Marie, Tony leaned back and spread his hands, nice and easy.
“Hey, my man. Trying to help you out here. See, when my partner goes fishing, she wants to keep all the fish. Me? I toss the little ones back. All you got to do is tell us what to expect behind those doors. Sketch a map for us. Tell us how many guns are in play—”
Juicy raised his voice, stretching his mouth as he carefully enunciated for them. “Law-yer.”
A knock sounded at the interview room door. Captain Traynor poked his head in. “Detectives?”
They joined him out in the hall, leaving their guest to stew in silence.
“Judge Gaines is moving on the warrants, and I just got off the phone with the Emergency Service Unit,” he told them. “We’ve got a green light. The Apprehension Tactical Team is taking point.”
“Bringing the A-Team,” Tony said. “Nice. Are we in on this, Captain?”
“You think I was going to bench you? You two are helping with support. I’m setting up a perimeter detail, in case anyone slips past tactical.”
Marie nodded at the closed door. “We’re not going to get anything out of this guy, but we’ve got a bigger problem. You know how these people operate: the second he calls his lawyer, the lawyer’s going to report back to his bosses. They’ll know exactly when and where we grabbed him. By the time we close in on that warehouse, it’ll be a ghost town. Happens every time we get anywhere near their operation.”
Traynor glanced over his shoulder, then gestured for the detectives to huddle in as he pitched his voice low.
“Take him to holding. Accidentally lose his paperwork on the way back to your desk.”
Marie furrowed her brow. “Sir?”
“We made a mistake. He got lost in the system for a couple of hours. It happens.”
She stood at attention, sharp. “Sir.”
“Once you’re done, gear up, see me in my office. Don’t tell anyone what you’re working on. ESU thinks we need to keep this operation as quiet as humanly possible, and I’m in full agreement. These people have a habit of turning into vapor at the first whiff of trouble. This time, we’re not giving them a chance.”
* * *
A convoy rolled across the Brooklyn Bridge with uniform speed and military precision. No lights, no sirens. A pair of matte-black BearCats took the lead, the armored trucks outfitted with firing ports and battering rams. Next came a heavy rescue truck in blue and white, then a string of unmarked cars. Marie and Tony were halfway down the line. The dashboard squawked as the convoy stayed in contact, laying out the plan of attack.
The staff at Interfaith Medical was on notice. No details, but they’d been told to anticipate a potential number of trauma patients. Hopefully them and not us, Marie thought. She held the wheel in a firm, dry grip and stared dead ahead. SWAT was trained to save lives and minimize casualties, but after what happened in Monticello, nobody had much hope for a peaceful surrender. If the gunmen at AJ Shipping wanted to go out shooting, they’d go out shooting.
“Left up here,”
Tony said. Captain Traynor had laid out a perimeter, his handpicked units covering every approach to the warehouse. If anyone got past SWAT, it’d be their job to close the net. One by one, the support cars broke from the convoy, circling the streets like sharks on a blood trail. Marie turned onto Pulaski Street, found an open spot at the curb, and pulled over.
There was nothing to do now but wait. A quiet tension hung in the air, electric and gathering fast.
Marie took out her phone, her fingertips hovering over an empty text message to Nessa. That same old divide when it came to her job. The things she could talk about, the things she couldn’t.
Hey, she wrote, sorry I haven’t checked in. I’m still at work. Long day at the office.
* * *
On the other side of the city, Nessa lay awake in bed. She stared at the ceiling, listening to Richard snore on the far side of the mattress, trying to sleep while her brain fed her a steady list of reasons to hate herself.
The face of her phone glowed in the dark. She snatched it from the nightstand and clung to Marie’s words like a life preserver. She clutched the phone to her chest, slipped out from under the covers and padded across the bedroom, the hem of her silk nightgown rippling around her bare ankles. In the safety of her workroom, she tapped out a reply.
I was worried.
Marie’s response came back in a heartbeat. I’m sorry.
Nessa smiled down at the phone. She held it against her heart, squeezing it like she was giving Marie a hug, then wrote her reply.
It’s okay. Catching all the bad guys?
All of them, Marie texted back. We started with bank robbers and car thieves this morning then worked our way down the list. About to bust the last jaywalker in New York. Ending it with locking up a guy who tore the tags off his mattress. You can sleep soundly tonight.
My knight in shining armor, Nessa replied.
At your service, my lady.
Nessa glanced at the workroom door. Her smile faded. She could feel Richard’s presence in the house like a storm cloud hanging over her head. Part of her was still at the dinner table, cringing in her chair as he loomed over her and drew his fist back.
Marie, she wrote, will you always protect me?
* * *
Marie listened to the radio chatter, bursts of static humming over the dashboard, and stared at her phone.
Always, she wrote. I don’t know where we’re going with this, or what happens next. But I will always keep you safe.
“TOC,” crackled a voice on the radio. “Able and Baker squads are in position and prepared to breach. Breach ready. Over.”
Tony cracked his knuckles and craned his neck, looking back down the quiet street. “Here we go.”
Gotta go, Marie texted fast, just spotted that jaywalker.
She pocketed her phone and shifted in her seat. More instructions, terse and precise, shot back and forth between the tactical squads.
“Probably don’t even need to be here,” Tony murmured. “A-Team’s going to take these dudes down before they know what hit ’em.”
“Even so,” Marie said.
“Even so.”
The final order came down. Teams moving on three. Marie glanced into the rearview mirror. Then she squeezed her eyes shut against a blinding flash as the end of the street erupted in flame.
Forty-One
Gouts of fire licked the starless sky, billowing with an earsplitting crack of thunder. The radio lit up with shouts, screams, voices overlapping and cutting out under the clatter of automatic weapons fire.
“—men down, men down. We’ve got—”
“—both doors, incendiaries,” another voice shouted. “Jesus, it’s white phosphorus—”
The sedan’s engine roared. Marie slammed on the gas. She peeled away from the curb, hooked a screaming U-turn, and barreled up the street. Tony gripped the armrest as they headed straight for the fire and roiling clouds of smoke.
“They knew we were coming,” Tony said. “How the hell did they know we were coming?”
“We’re pinned down in the back lot,” a voice screamed over the radio, almost drowned out by the sound of gunshots, “in a crossfire, shooters from the building and across the street. We need backup now!”
“This is TOC,” a crisp voice said. “All perimeter units move in, all perimeter units move in. Emergency services on standby, hold at the staging ground.”
The unmarked sedan’s lights kicked on, flashing from behind the grill. Marie veered around a taxi, flipped the sirens on, and clenched her jaw tight.
“What are we gonna do?” Tony said.
“Whatever we can.”
One of the BearCats was up ahead, a gutted, smoking ruin, white fire crackling through the open gunports. Survivors from the second tactical squad were buttoned down inside its twin as rifle shots pitted the truck’s armored hull. Muzzle flare erupted from inside the warehouse, the upper windows smashed out, and from the second floor of a tenement across the street. Marie slammed on the brakes and spun the sedan to a stop in the middle of the road. A pair of unmarked units roared up behind them as she and Tony jumped out. Others joined them, taking cover behind open car doors.
A shot blew out the window an inch above Marie’s head, showering her tangled hair in chunks of safety glass. She stuck her gun hand around the side of the door, aimed toward the warehouse windows, and fired. The pistol bucked in her hand as she squeezed off round after round. Someone in the tenement was screaming, a gut-shot howl as the crossfire died. The shooters in the warehouse windows doubled down and alternated their reloads like professional soldiers, flooding the air with lead-jacketed wasps.
One of the loading bay doors slowly rattled upward. Headlights flared against the dark.
“They’re gonna make a run for it,” Tony shouted, sticking his hand over the roof and firing blind toward the windows.
There were bodies in the street, slumped and broken and bleeding out. Dead cops, their shields gleaming in the light of the burning warehouse.
“The fuck they are,” Marie growled.
She popped the trunk and scrambled around the back of the car. A slug slammed into the hood, sparking, another round ricocheting against the pavement. Tony ducked low and looked back at her with his eyes wide.
“What are you doing?”
She hoisted a tire-puncture strip over her shoulder. The heavy segmented chain, barbed with steel quills, rattled as it dragged behind her. She answered him through gritted teeth.
“Not letting these assholes get away. Not this time.”
Marie broke from cover. She kept her head down and zigzagged across the open black asphalt. The loading bay door rolled three-quarters high now, the delivery truck crouched just behind it like a sprinter at the starting line. Its engine revved, headlights blazing like twin spotlights. Gunshots chewed into the pavement at Marie’s feet as she dropped one end of the spike strip, dragging the other while she ran, drawing a line across the parking lot. She dropped the far end and yanked it taut. Spikes erupted like porcupine quills. She threw herself behind the burning wreck of the first BearCat, landing hard and rolling on her shoulder as a fusillade of gunfire tore into the tactical truck’s flame-scorched armor.
The delivery truck lurched from the bay. It screamed out and hit the spike strip full-on. The front tires blew out, loud as the gunshots, and the strip tangled up in the axle. The driver didn’t take his foot off the gas. Sparks flew from the bent rims, tortured metal shrieking, chunks of shredded rubber scattering in the truck’s wake. The truck fishtailed and veered hard left. It jumped the curb on the far side of the street, out of control, and crashed into a boarded-up storefront. Plywood ruptured and filthy glass sprayed across the crumpled hood. The driver launched face-first through the windshield, thrown like a rag doll, landing with a chunk of bloody spine jutting from his broken neck.
The gunfire from the warehouse went silent. One shooter dangled motionless from a window, slumped over the broken sill.
The r
everberations from the final shot faded away. Then there was no sound at all, nothing but the crackling flames. The stench of smoke fogged the midnight air, burning metal and the burning dead.
Then came the wail of sirens as ambulances and a fire crew rolled in under police cover, red and blue lights strobing in Marie’s dazed, exhausted eyes.
* * *
It was five in the morning by the time Marie came home. The first pale threads of dawn kissed the streets of Queens. Marie was only moving on inertia now, fueled by black coffee and her last shreds of raw willpower. Her keys rattled in the door.
Janine jumped up from the futon. She had bags under her eyes and her laptop was streaming a news report.
“You were there, weren’t you?” Janine pointed at her screen. A helicopter camera captured long-distance shots of the cleanup, arcs of cold water billowing from fire hoses. “You never came home last night, and you weren’t answering your phone—”
“You stayed up?” Marie rubbed a knuckle against one eye. She shut the door and leaned against it, unsteady. “You didn’t have to stay up.”
“They said…they said eight cops are dead. Five more are in critical.”
“I’m okay. Tony’s okay.”
Janine pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight. Marie let her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Janine asked, her voice muffled by Marie’s shoulder.
Marie patted her on the back. She gently untangled herself from Janine’s arms.
“I’ve got reports, and paperwork, and…” Marie shook her head. “I need five hours of shut-eye. Then it’s back to the squad.”
“Marie.” Janine waved a frustrated, helpless hand at the laptop screen. “Who are these people? Who does this? I mean, ambushing the police? A shootout in the middle of Brooklyn? This doesn’t happen in our city. It’s not supposed to happen. I took a sick day because I waited up all night, but honestly, right now I’m just afraid to go outside. Or take the bus, or do…anything.”
“Hey.” Marie put her hands on Janine’s shoulders. “Hey. Listen to me. That’s why I’m just crashing for a few hours, then going back on my tour, okay? We all are. The NYPD is thirty-four thousand members strong, and these creeps just picked a fight with all of us. And we are going to do everything we can to keep you safe out there.”
Sworn to the Night (The Wisdom's Grave Trilogy Book 1) Page 25
