by Ty Patterson
‘Prick disappeared three months back. Left the babies here and said he had some work to attend to.’ She snorted. ‘Work! Asswipe never did an honest day’s work in his life.
‘Not a peep from him since then. No way to contact him. My babies… just as I got them on the mend, you fuckers show up.’ Her look burnt the air around them.
Broker kept his voice neutral. ‘He’s been missing for three months? Ma’am, have you reported his absence to the police? Do the children know he’s missing?’
If a glare could burn, Broker would have been ashes.
She spat. ‘William Shattner is a thief. He was sacked from the army for stealing and selling arms. When his wife, my sister, broke up with him, he conned the judge into granting him custody of the kids. He drifted all over the country with the kids in tow, never stayed in one place for long, doing odd jobs. I kept track of him because I wanted the kids, wanted to bring them up. He started dealing in arms again, supplying them to gangs.
‘When he brought the kids here, they came home.’ The word filled the room.
‘I go to the police, they’re going to want to speak to the kids, go to their school… you think I’m going to subject my babies to that? I’ll tell the police in good time. My good time.’
Chloe broke the silence gently. ‘Elaine, we’re here just to understand the connection to Zeb, not say or do anything that will hurt the children. We aren’t here to change any circumstances. Perhaps we could speak to them? Talking might help them remember.’
The lasers turned on Chloe. ‘Honey, I work in the mayor’s office. I deal with smooth-talking scumbags all the time. I know all the tricks in the book and those that aren’t. I know what you’re doing with your sweet-as-syrup voice. Won’t work. You aren’t talking to my babies. I’m going to make life good for them, not remind them of that worthless piece of shit, their dad.’
She glared at each of them, the dogs barking once to punctuate her.
Roger’s voice rumbled in the room, surprising them all. ‘Ma’am, we lost Zeb over a year back, and while we are moving on, the pain is still fresh. If you were in our place, wouldn’t you want to know what the connection was?’
‘Just what do you guys do? If your Zeb was that no-account’s help line, then I’m guessing you guys are up to no good too.’
Broker was unruffled. ‘Ma’am, I’m taking a leap of faith here. We are a Special-Ops unit… we do stuff that cannot be done by any government agency. Commissioner Forzini and Deputy Commissioner Rolando know us and know me personally. I can give you more references if you wish.’
Elaine Rocka studied him, thinking it over. Shawn and Lisa meant the world to her, and her rage at the way the kids had been brought up was matched by her determination to give them a happier life. Broker had mentioned those names easily, an ease that came with familiarity. The quicker she got them out of her house, the sooner she could get back to her kids and restore normalcy, and maybe it was the only way.
She got up abruptly and left the room, signaling the dogs to stay behind.
She came back shortly leading a tall, brown-eyed, brown-haired boy with her, holding his hand. The boy walked hesitantly and glanced up at Elaine, who smiled at him reassuringly.
Bwana leaned forward, a broad smile splitting his face, lighting up the room. ‘Hey, I’m a Yankees fan too. This guy here’ – he glanced pityingly in Roger’s direction – ‘he supports the Sox.’
Shawn relaxed immediately and, patting his sweatshirt, grinned in return. ‘All of us can’t be perfect, I guess.’
Bwana chuckled and exchanged high fives with Shawn. ‘Damned right.’ He apologized immediately. ‘Excuse my language, ma’am, Shawn. What can I say! These heathens with me lack refinement and try their best to drag me down to their level.’
Broker had his game face on but smiled inside when he noticed the almost imperceptible relaxing in Elaine Rocka. That was almost an approving nod.
Bwana introduced all of them, Broker last. ‘Yes, he’s really called Broker. He peddles information, so we all started calling him that, and the name stuck.’
Broker deadpanned, ‘They couldn’t remember my real name, had to call me something.’
‘Does your dad have any nickname for you, Shawn?’
He shook his head. ‘He says he wouldn’t have named me Shawn if he wanted to call me something else.’
Elaine Rocka shifted subtly in her seat, the pleasantries were over.
‘Honey, what did your father tell you about Zeb?’
Shawn’s smile faded. ‘Dad left a note along with a phone in my school bag. It said if there was any trouble and he wasn’t around, I should call Zeb. He would know what to do. He wrote Zeb’s number on it.’
‘Did he mention where he was going, Shawn?’ Chloe asked him.
Shawn shook his head, his eyes glimmering. ‘No. He worked in a garage and tended to keep late hours, but he never went away for days. He said there was some work stuff he had to attend to and got Lisa and me out of school so that we could stay with Aunt Elaine.’
He bit his lip to keep it from trembling. ‘I waited a couple of days to hear from him, and when I didn’t, I told Aunt Elaine, and she said we should try calling Zeb. We’ve been trying for more than two months.’ He looked accusingly at Broker.
Broker looked pained. ‘Shawn, your aunt might have mentioned, Zeb died over a year back. After that, I just stopped charging his phone. I juiced it up by mistake yesterday and got your call.’
He gave Shawn a searching look. ‘Your father say anything about how he knew Zeb?’
‘No. He never talked about his past. He said just once that if there was anyone in his life who he would go to for help, it was Zeb. I asked who that was, but he didn’t say anything. Is he really dead?’ His voice trembled slightly, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
‘Yes, honey, he died a while back,’ Chloe said gently. ‘Where did your dad work? Did he leave you with anything else, other than the phone?’
‘He was a mechanic in Brownsville Autos, over in Brownsville.’
The bright eyes turned to all of them, struggling to find hope in a world gone bleak. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to my dad… Lisa cries at night and asks me, and I tell her he’s gone for work.’ His hands balled into fists and angrily brushed away the tears rolling down.
Elaine Rocka crushed him in a hug, her eyes shut tight, and when they opened, she reduced all of them to the size of insects.
Chloe cleared her throat, meeting her eyes, hoping she understood, but knowing she didn’t care about their reasons. She turned to Shawn. ‘Honey, I’m sure there are good reasons why he’s been away. We’ll ask at the garage. Maybe they’ll know.’
The battle-axe broke her silence. ‘Did. They’ve shut down. Checked records.’ She nodded in the direction of One Police Plaza, the NYPD headquarters. ‘They’ve disappeared.’
She glanced down at Shawn. ‘Shawn, why don’t you go play with Lisa? I’ll finish up with these people and join you soon.’
He stood slowly, glancing at them, hope dying in his eyes, knowing what that usually meant in adult-speak, and turned to leave. He stopped when he saw the head peeking through the door.
They all turned to look.
Blonde curls framing her expressive eyes, Lisa asked them, ‘Will you find my dad?’
Chapter 26
‘Brownsville Autos is 5Clubs owned.’ The words hung in the air, sinking slowly in them, as Tony turned his laptop screen toward them, showing them a complicated ownership trail of the garage he’d drawn that led back to the gang.
They had driven back in near silence from Elaine Rocka’s home, each lost in their thoughts, Broker breaking the silence once to call Tony to, ‘Get off your ass and earn your money.’
They were in another café, the ‘don’t-even’ vibe around them keeping the waitress away.
‘Jose Cruz, the chapter head, was based out of the auto shop till a few months back when the garage closed abruptly. About the s
ame time as Shattner went missing. I haven’t yet been able to find out why, nor where the gang is working from now.’
He held a hand up to forestall Broker. ‘I’m working on it, boss. Hold your horses.’
‘Did you get anything else on Shattner?’
‘Pretty much what Ms Rocka told you. An E-5, he had an ordinary service record till the time he got transferred to Iraq during Desert Storm. There, he was a Unit Supply Specialist in Iraq during Desert Storm and started selling small arms on the side. During his army trial, he said he did this out of desperation since he needed funds to fight his wife over the custody of their kids. He was discharged, but get this, he retained his pension. How he swung this is not recorded, but I suspect this is where Zeb stepped in. You know how he was.’
‘No obvious link to Zeb, I guess?’
Tony shook his head. ‘They were in the same base, but other than that, no record. I’m speculating obviously, but I think it was Zeb’s intervention that got him his benefits. I have left a few messages for those who were involved in Shattner’s case, but haven’t heard back from them yet.’
‘So we’ve got squat,’ growled Bear and grinned suddenly as Tony’s shoulders tightened.
‘Relax, Tony. Not aimed at you.’ He looked at Broker. ‘Does the why of the Zeb-Shattner connection really matter?’
Broker returned his look. ‘Nope. It’ll come to us eventually. We’re going to find Shattner, aren’t we?’
Chloe’s answer was low and fierce and spoke for them all. ‘Hell yes. If Zeb was involved, so are we.’
They bumped fists, and Broker took charge.
‘Tony, keep digging and let us know. Also dig more into Elaine Rocka.’
Bwana ventured, ‘You don’t think–’
‘I don’t, but intel never hurt us. We should keep the pressure on the gang, and I’m thinking the four of you should take down the strip club. You can clear out the club so that there is no collateral damage.’
‘You’ll not join us?’ Roger asked him.
‘I need to work the street, talk to some junkies I know, and see what they can tell us about the Brooklyn chapter.’
Roger looked at him doubtfully. ‘Alone?’
‘Yeah. These guys will clam up at the sight of strangers.’ He grinned. ‘I can take care of myself… don’t forget I’ve saved your butts many a time.’
Bwana nudged Roger. ‘And he’ll never let us forget that. Broker, about those kids and Elaine Rocka… I really think the cops should be informed about Shattner’s absence.’
Broker nodded in agreement. ‘We need to persuade her, but let’s go back to her after a few days. I didn’t press her today since her defenses were all up and we’d have ended up in a confrontation in front of the kids.’
The Watcher was deep inside another café, across the street, a baseball cap pulled low over his head, shades covering most of his face, the collar of his thick jacket rolled up. A crossword puzzle in front of him, he had the air of a man in no hurry and no particular purpose.
He had found them the previous night after hours of driving past cheap hotels and run-down neighborhoods that hope had left behind. He had cut downtown into grids and searched, looking out for two vehicles that were on the right side of anonymous and were company owned. With his laptop running on the passenger seat, he had driven for hours, taking his chances on Broker staying in hotels that didn’t come with basement or valet parking, and therefore the vehicles would be street-parked.
Company-owned, anonymous cars were aplenty, but the Watcher was seeking transport that was owned by a series of shell companies, and when he finally found two of them in the early hours of the morning, he kept watch on them.
When the group came out and surveyed the street, they didn’t spot him. He was prone in his car, several car lengths away, watching them through the mirrors, and when they left, he merged in their wake.
At the Rocka residence, he’d briefly considered approaching the rear of the house to overhear them – briefly considered and rapidly discarded when he noted the proximity of the houses and the barking from inside.
He looked up Rocka, covering the same ground Tony had, and pieces started falling into place. He dug out his phone and called the garage and got nothing. He was politely turned away at Rocka’s workplace. He looked down at his scribbling, at the various names he’d written. He called the next number, a school, and the jigsaw was complete.
Bwana led them out of the café, and he paused, scanning the neighborhood. Nothing unusual stood out, yet his radar was uneasy. He didn’t feel followed, yet he felt something. His shoulders moved in the smallest shrug when the street gazed back at him blankly, intent on its own course for the day.
‘Yes, I’ve felt it too,’ Chloe said behind him, ‘and I haven’t spotted anyone. Bear too. If we’re being followed, it’s by a ghost.’
‘I’m sure the gang is searching for us, but I’m also pretty sure they haven’t found us yet,’ Broker commented as he led them to the Wagon. ‘I had Tony search our Rovers for bugs, and he didn’t find any. There aren’t any on the Wagons. This other player can see us, but not hear us… let’s wait till he shows his hand. If he’s real!’
He noticed Bwana grinning, sunlight across the dark man’s face. ‘I know. To you, the bigger the party, the better.’
It was late evening when Broker approached Snarky in Brooklyn, when schools and offices closed and apartment windows were lit, and different beasts roamed the street.
Snarky was a junkie who teetered on the edge of the precipice, knowing enough when to back off, but not having the resolution to walk away. A part-time dealer and user, he was a frequent partaker of the NYPD’s hospitality, and after one such sojourn, Broker had tapped him. The NYPD squeezed him for juice when it found him, for Snarky had one redeeming quality in its eyes – he knew the streets better than any cop or junkie, and was quick to part with it and get back to the street.
In Broker, Snarky found a better paymaster, and someone who didn’t judge him and treated him with respect. Respect. Snarky found that the word warmed him and stirred something deep inside him in a way Broker’s money didn’t. That too helped, though.
Snarky was lying where he usually lay, sprawled against the shutters of a long-dead store in Lorimer Street, a trilby covering his face, legs and arms sprawled out. He was king of his section of the pavement. He was singing, what he called it, and waving a bottle in a brown wrapper when Broker passed him. Broker thought it might have been a popular tune, but he could be wrong. Alcohol and Snarky’s abilities had a unique way of reshaping songs.
Snarky twitched when Broker passed him – Broker had never figured out how he recognized passersby with the hat covering his face – and lurched to his feet and followed at a shambling pace.
Broker entered a bar, a slight improvement from a hole in the wall, very slight, and had ordered drinks for Snarky and himself by the time Snarky’s body odor announced his presence.
‘Snarky, you know there’s such an invention as a shower?’
‘Conserve earth’s resources, that’s what they say at the home,’ replied Snarky piously, in his thin, reedy tone. Snarky frequented a shelter for the homeless when he wasn’t dealing or housed at the NYPD. ‘Besides, it’s my shield. No one willingly gets close to me.’ He laughed, and Broker was reminded of hyenas barking.
Snarky had surprisingly perfect diction, and Broker had occasionally seen dog-eared books on philosophy in his pockets.
They drank, the pleasantries over. ‘Which gang runs Brooklyn?’
‘Gangs, they’re a dime a dozen. They come and go. No one rules any place for long. There’s always another bigger, stronger, dirtier that comes up. Way of the jungle and all that.’
You had to be patient with Snarky. He got to the point, but not in the way a crow flew.
Broker seated himself more comfortably and listened to a mix of science and philosophy, and eventually Snarky addressed his question.
‘Only one gang. 5
Clubs. Came from nowhere, and now nothing happens without their knowing or permission. Ruthless. They want to be feared, and they are.’
‘They’ve a chapter here?’ Broker knew, but he wanted to hear it from Snarky.
Snarky nodded. ‘In Brownsville, which, as you know, is not exactly where you’d want to bring up your kids. Guy’s called Jose Cruz, and he has one real badass dude by his side. Diego, his enforcer. Real bad, that hombre.’
He reflected for a moment. ‘You know, I’ve been here a long time and seen gangs come and go. These guys are different.’
‘Different in what way?’ Broker moved his seat back a couple of inches. Everything was fair in a battle against odor.
‘They’ve written the book on best practices for gang survival. I’ve heard that this gang recruits from the military, but they’ve adapted to survive on the street.’
Broker didn’t reply. This junkie probably knows the gang better than the JTF.
Snarky edged closer to Broker. ‘What’s your interest in them?’ He paused and then continued when Broker didn’t answer. ‘Keep your distance from them. They’re scum, but they’re disciplined about it and all the more dangerous.’
‘Where does this Cruz hang out?’
Snarky pushed the trilby back fully, exposing gray stubble and sunken eyes. The eyes were sharp. ‘They hung out in a garage a while back, but moved to the edge of Brownsville recently. Was that your doing?’
‘Where?’
‘A Laundromat. A big one. Used to be Chinese-owned one day, and the next day, Cruz and his gang had all but unfurled their flag over it. But they’re keeping very low-key about it. The garage saw a lot of their heavies coming and going, and some of them were always there… this one here, they’ve just three guys or four all day, and Cruz comes irregularly. Most of the time he comes at night.’
Broker dug into his pocket and pushed a roll of bills toward Snarky. ‘I need more than this drip feed. I want to know who and how many exactly is at that place, how often Cruz appears, who’s with him… the works. You know the drill.’
