The Silencer (The Silencer Series Book 1)

by Mike Ryan

  “I thought you’d let me work things through my way?”

  “Merely a suggestion, Mr. Recker. Maybe try my way first…”

  “And then throw him off the rooftop?” Recker interrupted.

  “I’d prefer our first case to not wind up with a dead body.”

  “Well aren’t we picky?” he joked.

  They discussed Hendricks and her situation for a few more minutes before Recker stood up, ready to start moving. Recker put on his long, grey trench coat.

  “Where are you going?” Jones wondered.

  “Need more guns and ammunition. Have to be properly equipped in case something happens.”

  “How much money do you think you’ll need?”

  “Not sure. Have to find someone first.”

  “Can’t you just get them from a dealer?”

  “Not the kind of dealer I’m looking for.”

  “You mean criminals? The very same people we’re trying to put away?”

  “Well, buying the stuff we’ll need, can’t just walk into a store and ask for a bunch of guns and put it on the credit card,” Recker remarked. “Those stores have cameras. I think it’s a good idea if we try to avoid video surveillance. Plus, you need to fill out forms and the guns are registered. If you want to stay under the radar, you need guns that are untraceable and avoid putting your name to anything.”

  “Sounds logical.”

  “Plus there’s only so much you can learn from computers and emails and such. Sometimes you need good old fashioned intelligence. Eyes and ears on the street. Connections. Most decent people won’t have the kind of information we’ll need sometimes.”

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it I suppose. Although I do appreciate your thoroughness, I did establish new identities for us to use so that wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Trust me. I’ve tracked people down for a living for the past eight years. If you leave a paper trail, eventually someone will find you. No matter how careful and deceptive you think you are. If you leave a crumb, someone will eventually find it. It’s best to stick to using cash, staying out of cameras, and not filling out forms that can leave a trace.”

  “I will agree with your judgment on the matter.”

  “How will I contact you?”

  “I took the liberty of acquiring phones. They’re prepaid to avoid detection,” Jones said. “I already programmed my number in yours.”

  “Good. One other thing…we’re gonna need a base of operations to work in. Don’t tell me you’re planning on doing this out of a hotel room or a bedroom or something.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. Recker. I’ve acquired a little business just outside the city where we can set up in.”

  “A business?”

  “A legitimate business on the first floor and office space on the second.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Recker asked.

  “Of course. It wouldn’t look good if two men were seen going into a vacant warehouse or building all the time, would it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I’m the legitimate owner of a business and I have every right to use that office for whatever purpose I see fit. Who’d think twice?” Jones said.

  “You’re probably right. What kind of business is it, anyway?”

  Jones wrote down the address on a piece of paper and handed it to Recker. “Here’s the address. You’ll see when you get there. There’s a private entrance in the back with steps leading up to it.”

  “OK.”

  “Oh, Mr. Recker?” Jones said, remembering something.

  Recker had just gotten out the door when he heard Jones call for him. He came back into the room and saw Jones taking keys out of his pocket and holding them in front of him.

  “I almost forgot,” Jones said, handing the keys over.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Well it’s tough to get around the city on foot or by public transportation. So I took the liberty of acquiring a car. An SUV to be exact. A brand new black Ford Explorer with tinted windows is in the parking lot.”

  “Company car?” Recker asked with a smile.

  “On the contrary, it’s yours.”

  “Mine? Gonna take it out of my salary?”

  “No. Consider it a signing bonus.”

  Recker nodded. “Thanks, Jones.”

  “I’m gonna stay here for a few more minutes and check a few things on Ms. Hendricks. After that I’ll head back to the office. There’s still a few more things that need to be settled there.”

  “All right. After I’ve…done what I need to do, I’ll meet you over there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “By the way, you can save me a little time. Where would you suggest I go to meet some rough looking characters who might, by chance, have some guns?”

  “There’s several areas. You could try Hunting Park, that’s North Philly between 2nd and 9th streets I believe. Or you could go a little farther until you hit Germantown. Or there’s Kensington. Or…”

  “Basically what you’re telling me is just drive into the city and park anywhere.”

  “There’s a lot of good parts to this city, Mr. Recker. Most areas are good. But there’s a few that’s not. You asked for the not as nice ones.”

  “Do me a favor and lock up when you’re done?” Recker asked. “Unless you, by chance, took the liberty of acquiring a house or an apartment for me as well?”

  “Oh, thank you for reminding me,” Jones said, grinning. He tossed another set of keys toward Recker that he snagged out of the air. “It’s a nice little apartment, quiet community, you should like it.”

  Recker returned the smile and continued out the door. He went to the parking lot to find the new truck that he’d just received. He hit the alarm button on his keypad and saw the lights blinking on a truck parked on the far right of the lot and heard the horn sound. He walked over to it and got in. He checked out the interior and fiddled around with some of the controls.

  “This gig might not be so bad after all.”

  Chapter 3

  Recker drove through the city for a couple of hours, just trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He’d been in Philadelphia before about five years prior to this, but only for a few days, and he really didn’t get to see much of the city. He’d have to rely on Jones, at least for a little while, to get him familiar with the city. He did take Jones’ advice and drove around through Hunting Park. It was a rough looking area. He turned onto 6th street near an elementary school, a three story brick building with a raised basement. He parked near the curb as he saw several youthful looking guys in the school playground area. Recker watched them for a few minutes, looking like they were buying and selling drugs, as money and small bags passed between the parties. He waited until they were finished concluding their business until he made his move. Recker fixated on one guy and as the group broke up, he got out of his car and started walking towards him. The other four guys went separate ways. Recker looked back to make sure they were still going in the opposite direction. He started closing in on his target and picked up his pace. The guy he was following had a suspicion he was being tailed and turned his head back, seeing Recker coming towards him. He darted across the street towards a mini-mart, Recker running after him. Recker anticipated he’d run and had already began in that direction before the guy even took off. Recker grabbed the collar of the man’s jacket, and pushed him into the wall of the building.

  “Yo, man, what’d you do that for?” the man asked, turning around to face his attacker.

  “Just want some information, sonny.”

  “What’re you, a cop?”

  “Nope.”

  “You look like a cop,” the man said, noting Recker’s hairstyle and the way he dressed. “You in narcotics or somethin?”

  “I’m not a cop,” Recker responded.

  “Well if you’re not a cop then what you want with me? You’re in the wrong neighborhood, pal.”

  “Look
ing for some information. I figured you were the guy that could give it to me,” Recker told him, taking his hands off the guy.

  “Got the wrong guy, dude. I don’t know nothin.”

  Recker smiled. “Oh, I think you do.”

  “If you ain’t a cop then what you want information for?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Cause I’m asking.”

  The man looked at Recker kind of strangely, wondering what he was up to. He didn’t look like the usual kind of guy that was in that neighborhood.

  “I need to do some business,” Recker finally stated. “You look like the kind of guy that can help me do that.”

  “That all depends. What kind of business you talking about?”

  “I need weapons. Unregistered and untraceable,” Recker told him, looking around to make sure nobody else was nearby.

  “What you need weapons for?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “How do I know you’re not a cop just looking to set me up or something?”

  “If I was a cop I’d have busted you and your friends back there for dealing. I’m not a cop. Now can you help me or not?”

  “Maybe. Whatcha need?”

  “A few handguns, assault rifles, maybe a few grenades, a missile launcher’d be nice,” Recker told him.

  The man’s eyes widened, surprised at the request. “What’re you, trying to start a war?”

  “Nope. Just like to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “Like I said, that’s my business. Can you help me or not?”

  “Uhh…yeah, I might know some people.”

  “I would like to have it within the next few days if you can arrange it.”

  “You got the money ready if I can?”

  “Money’s not an object. If you can get something set up for tomorrow, I’ll give you a little something extra for your troubles,” Recker said. “I also prefer Glocks and Sig Sauers if you can get them.”

  The man moved his head around like he was thinking. “Aight. I’ll let you know.”

  “Give me a call at this number when you’re ready,” Recker said, handing him a paper with his number on it.

  The man nodded, “aight.”

  “One more thing…I don’t do business with people I don’t know. So what’s your name?”

  “Tyrell.”

  “Tyrell what?”

  “Gibson. You didn’t tell me your name yet.”

  “You can call me Recker.”

  “Recker? That a nickname or something?”

  Recker shook his head, “no.”

  “That’s a fitting name then, cause it seems like you’re the kind of guy who likes to wreck things.”

  “Yeah. Almost like I picked the name myself or something.”

  “You like a mobster or somethin?”

  “If I was a mobster, do you think I’d be here asking you about guns?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Just to warn you, these guys I’ll talk to about the guns, they’re not the kind of people you mess with. You better not be yanking their chain or try to cheat them with money or anything. You better have it. Or else. You don’t wanna mess with them.”

  “Same could be said for me,” Recker smiled.

  “I dunno man, you’re like all calm and shit, but there’s something crazy about you.”

  “Glad you noticed.”

  Recker ended the conversation and went back to his truck. He looked at the address that Jones gave to him and plugged it into the gps in the truck. It was in Bensalem, a large suburb located just outside of the city. He took the I-95 highway to get there, arriving at the strip center business in about half an hour. There were five business located in the shopping center, a pharmacy, a pizza place, a self serve laundromat, a real estate office, and an insurance office. Recker stood there by his truck, looking over the small complex. He looked at the address on the signs of the businesses until he saw the one he was looking for. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. The type of business they were running sitting overtop of a laundromat.

  “This is a new one,” he said to himself.

  He made his way around to the back of the building and walked up the wooden steps to the second floor. Recker turned the knob but it was locked. He knocked on the door and heard movement inside. The door opened just a sliver, with only one of Jones’ eyes visible. As soon as he saw it was Recker, he opened it further and let him in.

  “Glad to see you made it,” Jones said. “Find the place all right?”

  “Yeah, no problems. You really think having this place over a laundromat is appropriate?”

  “Why not? It’s a perfect cover. A legitimate business. People coming and going all the time. But it’s not something that needs hands on management to run, letting us focus our attention on the more important matters that we have to attend to.”

  “What if a machine breaks down? You doing the repairs?” Recker sarcastically asked.

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Recker. I’ve hired someone to look after the place every couple of days, clean, make repairs and such.”

  Recker was walking around the room, sizing up the office. He was a little surprised at how it looked. He anticipated some dingy lit room with an antique desk, maybe a lamp, and one or two computers. What he found was what seemed like a very high tech establishment. Brightly lit, a huge l-shaped desk that had six computers on it, three of which were laptops. There was maps of the area on a wall, a big whiteboard on another one, as well as two micro fiber couches.

  “How do you like it?” Jones wondered.

  “I’m impressed. I wasn’t picturing something so involved. When you first told me about all this, I thought it might be some rinky dink operation out of your bedroom or something.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I’m gonna need something to house the guns and weapons we’ll need.”

  “About that…do you really think it’s gonna be necessary to have all these weapons you’re talking about?”

  “If you wanna help people, then you’re gonna have to be prepared for whatever we might come across. What if I’m protecting someone? Bullet proof vest would be nice. Night stake out? Night vision goggles would sure do the trick. It’d be easy to come back here and grab what’s needed for the assignment. If not, you might not always get the chance to go out and acquire those types of things,” Recker explained. “They don’t just sell that stuff at the local supermarket you know.”

  Jones nodded. “Your point’s been made. What size will you need?”

  Recker walked over to the desk and found a pen and some paper. He jotted down a few ideas and drawings and handed it to his new partner. Jones looked at it for a few minutes.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Jones said.

  “The sooner the better. I’ll probably be able to start stocking it tomorrow.”

  “Have something lined up with whoever you were seeking earlier?”

  “We’ll see. Looks promising though,” Recker replied. “Can you run a check on a Tyrell Gibson?”

  “Should be able to. Might take a few minutes,” Jones said, sitting down at one of the laptops. “I’ll run the name through the DMV so we can get a photo so you can verify.”

  “You can hack the DMV?”

  “I can get into just about anything. Some things are easier than others, of course. Is this the guy you’re getting your equipment from?”

  “More like the third party connecting two interested people together.”

  They waited a few minutes before a match popped up, showing Gibson’s driver license photo and information.

  “That’s him,” Recker stated. “Let’s get whatever else we can on him.”

  “Why? For what purpose?”

  “He might be of some use to us. If he’s got eyes and ears on everything happening on the street, he might be someone I can pump for inf
ormation if the need arises.”

  “I’ll tap into police records.”

  “Seems a little sketchy, Jones. Hacking into all these databases. Some might say you’re no better than the people you’re trying to put away.”

  “Hardly, Mr. Recker. You could scarcely compare a rapist, a child abuser, a murderer, an assault perpetrator, or someone of that ilk, to me, who’s simply acquiring information.”

  “Sounds like the rationale of a criminal, spinning whatever lawbreaking thing you’re doing to suit your own tastes and needs.”

  Jones took a break from spun his chair around, a little perturbed at what he deemed to be ridiculous accusations. While he obviously knew he was breaking multiple laws by hacking into private government databases, he felt since he was doing so with good intentions, it wasn’t as egregious offense as it looked, though he knew others would not have the same outlook as he did.

  “I am not doing anything that the NSA hasn’t done, or won’t do. They’ve done the same things that I’m doing, only on a much larger scale,” Jones stated.

  “I’m just messing with you. With the things I’ve done, I’m hardly in a position to be critiquing other peoples’ judgments,” Recker said.

  Jones spun his chair back around and focused on his work again, pulling up what he could find on Gibson. He appeared to be a small time criminal, no major offenses to his name. From what Jones could gather, Gibson didn’t appear to be a part of any gang that he could trace. He seemed to operate on his own.

  “Here’s what you’re looking for,” Jones said.

  Recker pulled his chair alongside the computer genius. “How’s he looking?”

  “He appears to have a modest record. Nothing major though. Mostly petty crimes. Shoplifting, robbery, theft, receiving stolen property, pick pocketing, fraud, and smuggling. Longest he spent in jail was twelve months. No hard time, just local facilities. No known gang affiliations.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “If he’s affiliated with a gang it’s unlikely he’d be any help to us at all. If he’s a loner, or just small time, it’s more likely he’d be willing to talk,” Recker answered.