“Bullshit,” says Johnson. “One man couldn’t do that. There must’ve been twenty guys in there that night.”
“Twenty-one, actually. What can I tell you? Like the old saying goes: you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry...”
“So what does this have to do with The Shark?” asks Chambers.
“I saw a news report on TV about it a few hours afterward, and it said there was one survivor—Danny Pellaggio, Roberto’s youngest son. He’d been shot in the leg and chest and was listed as critical. I thought about going back to finish things, but decided against it.”
“Everything The Shark does is a message to you...” says Wallis, putting the pieces together for himself.
“That’s right,” I confirm. “The Shark is Danny Pellaggio. He shot Josh exactly the same way I'd shot him a year ago, to send another message to me about who he is.”
“This is valuable information, Adrian,” says Chambers. “I appreciate you being honest with us.”
“I just want this to end. Like I said, just because you don’t approve of my chosen career, it doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy. I don’t want people suffering any more than you do. Especially when it’s because somebody is playing a game with me.”
“So what would you suggest our next move should be?”
“First of all, I want someone watching Josh. Around the clock. Just because Shark Boy survived, it doesn’t mean he intends for Josh to do the same.”
“I’ll do what I can for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing up.
“Where are you going?” asks Johnson.
I point at the jukebox at the far end of the bar. “I need some music,” I reply, walking off and leaving them all exchanging bewildered glances.
I wander over to the back of the bar, past three tables full with the SFPD’s finest. I reach into my pocket for some change and feed some quarters into the machine, cycling through the song list to find something to suit the mood.
It doesn’t take me long. This is a good jukebox.
I walk back over to the table and sit down just as the haunting sounds of the guitar at the beginning of Hell’s Bells by AC/DC is kicking in.
“You good?” asks Chambers, sarcastically.
“I am now,” I reply, smiling.
“Right,” she says, addressing the group. “The way I see it, we need to work on everything we can, as quickly as possible. Bottom line is, we don’t know where to find Danny Pellaggio or what his endgame is. So until we hear from him—which I assume will be soon—Wallis, I want you to work on tracing the gun used. I think Adrian’s logic is sound, and I’m confident the ballistics will confirm his theory. So start checking everything we can to find where he got the weapon from. Distributors, the military, whatever you can.”
“Will do,” he says.
“Johnson, I want you to work with forensics and put together a real picture of how today happened. Look at how he was able to orchestrate such an elaborate attack—the materials used, trajectory of the bullets to pinpoint a location… anything. It might give us some clue about what he’s got planned next.”
He nods in acknowledgement.
“And you,” she says, turning to me. “You don’t work for me, and you’re likely to disregard any type of order I think about giving you—”
“You know me so well,” I say, smiling and winking at her, which she ignores.
“But I don’t want you doing anything stupid in the meantime, so you’re with me. You don’t go anywhere without me or my say-so. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Then drink up, gentleman. We’ve got work to do.”
She stands and walks through the bar and out of the front doors without looking back. I watch her leave. She looks fantastic.
Johnson gets to his feet, stretching a little and then waiting. Wallis goes to stand, but I remain in my chair.
“You coming?” he asks.
“Not ‘til this song’s finished,” I reply.
They look at each other and shrug before sitting back down in their seats.
10.
September 24th, 2014
09:31
THE LAST TWELVE hours or so have passed by surprisingly fast. We’d all left the bar last night and headed by to the FBI field office. From there, people took it in turns sleeping and running around getting stressed. It didn’t take long for me to feel out of place and useless, so I resigned myself to trying to get some sleep and sorting everything out in my head.
Chambers insisted I stay by her side as much as possible, but for the most part, I stayed in the conference room while she moved around the office. She must be running on fumes by now, but she hasn’t skipped a beat.
Johnson and Wallis had worked hard through the night and turned up some good information. I’m sitting opposite Chambers now, reviewing what they've managed to turn up so far.
Johnson had been working with the crime scene investigators and the forensic reports to piece together details of the scene. One of their tech guys has generated a 3D computer model of the area using reports and video surveillance footage of the surrounding area at the time.
The computer model is on the big screen at the far end of the room, and Chambers is working the keyboard and mouse, navigating it. I’m the first to admit that high-end technology is beyond my mental capabilities. The whole thing looks like a scene out of Tron. And I don’t mean that recent disaster of a movie either. I mean the classic from 1982 that starred Jeff Bridges.
Given the trajectory of the bullets as they hit Josh, and the distance we were working on based on my estimations about the bullet and the weapon, they’ve managed to pinpoint roughly where Pellaggio was standing as the nightmare unfolded.
If Josh were here, he’d be having a geekgasm all over the place…
“See here,” she says, pointing to an area on the topographical layout that’s north and east of the Academy. “He must have been on the roof of one of these buildings on Balboa Street to have line of sight to what was happening, and to make the shot.”
I look at the screen and imagine myself in Pellaggio’s shoes, carrying out the hit. It’s easily nine hundred meters away, if not further. Taking into account the wind and position of the sun, not to mention trajectory, the fact he hit Josh exactly where he wanted to, twice, is worryingly impressive. Which is a major cause for concern…
“It’s a helluva shot,” I say.
She goes to say something but hesitates and decides against it. I give her a minute to change her mind, but she doesn’t.
“What is it?” I ask.
She sighs, as if in defeat. “Could you have made that shot?” she asks.
She sounds almost timid—nothing like the woman I’d come to know over the last thirty-six hours. Since leaving the hospital, I wouldn’t say she’s been frosty with me, but she’s certainly kept conversation to a minimum. Looking at her, now she’s calmed down, I can see it’s left her with questions.
I think about it for a moment. I might as well be honest…
“Yes. Quite easily,” I reply.
“I don’t get you,” she says, pushing the keyboard away from her and clasping her hands in front of her on the desk. “You’re the strangest person I think I’ve ever met.”
“Not the worst thing a woman’s ever said to me,” I say, laughing.
“Everyone kind of knows who you are and what you do, but you openly admitted it to us surrounded by police. You’re obviously a lot more intelligent than you act, and you have a curiously adorable arrogance about you. Yet you seem so concerned with doing the right thing all the time, it's like you forget you commit murder on a regular basis.”
“I wanna say it’s because I’m mysterious, or because I’m trying to keep this enigma about myself to attract women, or something equally smart and cool. But that would be bullshit, and I won’t ever bullshit you, Grace. I don’t try to fit into a particular category. I don’t live to anyone else’s standards. I have my own opinion on w
hat’s morally right and wrong, and I’m paid very well to kill people who I believe have done bad things in this world. That’s all.”
“I don’t get how you can make what you do sound almost noble,” she says, smiling reluctantly.
“Years of practice,” I reply, returning the smile
“I’m trying so hard to fight every natural urge I have right now to arrest you, you know that, right?”
“I do, and don’t think it’s not appreciated.”
She regards me a moment longer, then retrieves the keyboard and continues navigating her way around the computer model of the events from yesterday.
We study the screen in silence for a few minutes. A knock on the door disturbs us. We both look up to see Agent Wallis standing there, holding a file and looking pleased with himself.
“Wallis, what’ve you got?” asks Chambers, gesturing for him to sit down.
“I’ve got the ballistics back from the bullets that we removed from Josh,” he says, taking a seat at the head of the table between us.
I sit up in my chair. My jaw muscles tense when he mentions Josh by name.
“And?” I say, eagerly.
“You were right,” he says, placing the file in front of him on the table and opening it. “The bullets were indeed fired from a Remington XM2010 sniper rifle.”
“Any idea where he got the hardware from?” asked Chambers.
‘I did some digging around through old and existing cases, and managed to narrow down the search for who might have sold it to Pellaggio to two individuals. Both are known arms dealers operating within the city. One of them is small time, so I ruled him out on the basis that we’ve got no evidence to suggest he’ll have the ability to supply this kind of weaponry. Which leaves us with this guy…”
He turns the page in his file and spins it round to face Chambers, who takes a quick glance and immediately has an ‘I knew it’ look on her face. She turns the file so it faces me.
In front of me is an eight-by-ten black and white mug shot. It’s of a man who looks about my age, with long, spiked hair and piercing, evil eyes. He’s clean-shaven, with a network of scars running across his face.
“Joseph Turner,” says Chambers. “Known locally as Jo-Jo. He’s the only real player in black market weaponry in the city, having murdered or partnered up with anyone who could be classed as a rival.”
“We’ve never been able to make anything against him stick,” adds Wallis. “But the guy’s a real piece of work. It has to be him that sold the rifle to Pellaggio.”
I take another look at Joseph Turner. As far as I’m concerned, he put the gun in Pellaggio’s hands, so he may as well have pulled the trigger himself...
My jaw muscles tense again and a wave of anger washes over me. I push the file away and look up at Chambers.
“Where do I find him?” I ask.
“Easy,” she says. “You can’t just walk in the front door and confront someone like him. We need to play this smart. We need to build evidence and get a warrant and some major back-up before we go after him.”
“And how long’s that going to take?” I ask. “End of the day, this piece of shit is our only lead to finding Pellaggio. The longer you take to get permission to go after the guy, the less chance we have of stopping Pellaggio before it’s too late.”
“Welcome to our world,” she says, abruptly. “But that’s what happens in real life, Adrian. You don’t get to just walk up to someone and shoot them because it’s easier.”
“I would’ve interrogated him first…”
“There’s something else you need to know about him,” says Wallis, tentatively interrupting.
We both look at him expectantly.
“He’s the biggest arms dealer in the city, and as such has ties to local criminal organizations… including the Triads.”
He lets the words hang there for a moment before continuing.
“Adrian, what happened at the hospital… that’s just the tip of the iceberg if the Red Dragon has you in their crosshairs, but if they get word that you’re going after Turner… they’ll protect their business relationship with him any way they can… It could lead to a street war. They’ll put a price on your head—you’ll have nowhere to run.”
“I wouldn’t be running,” I say. “But I see your point. Enough people have been hurt because of someone’s vendetta against me. I won’t allow it to happen again.”
“So let us do this by the book,” says Chambers. “It’s the only way to go about this without causing chaos.”
Thinking, I sit there quietly, looking at every angle and every option. Pellaggio’s the priority here, there’s no question about that. But to get to him, I have to get to this Joseph Turner and I can’t do that without further pissing off a Triad gang who already want me dead for no valid reason.
Unless…
I stand and leave the room, forgetting for a moment I’m in an FBI building. The answer just presented itself to me and my instincts have taken over, immediately rushing toward it.
“Adrian, I’m ordering you not to leave this building!” yells Agent Chambers behind me.
She and Wallis come running after me, stepping in front of me as I reach the main corridor of the building.
“Adrian, will you stop, please?” says Chambers, this time asking instead of telling.
I sigh, feeling bad for pushing them away, but knowing I have no choice if I want to end this.
“Grace, all due respect, but I don’t work for you. Plus, given I’m still not under arrest, there’s pretty much nothing you can actually tell me to do that I have to listen to.”
She sighs. “I know,” she says. “But, please, just wait and let’s do this properly. I don’t disagree that Turner is the best lead we have right now, but you’re going about this all wrong.”
“Am I?” I ask. “I intend going over there and knocking on his front door and saying that I’m in town and in the market for a couple of weapons for a job. I’m going to negotiate a face-to-face meeting with him and explain what guns I need, then offer him a small percentage as a goodwill gesture for supplying me with the hardware. I’ll be inside his operation, I’ll know how many men he has and how protected he is. I’ll be able to gather intel and give you something to justify making an arrest, and if I’m lucky and ask really nicely, he might give me something to go on with Pellaggio.”
Chambers and Wallis exchange a surprised and embarrassed look. He shrugs and she looks bewildered for a moment before looking back at me. Her eyes soften and she glances down before speaking.
“That’s... actually a pretty good plan,” she concedes. “I’m sorry.”
I smile. Ordinarily, right about now I’d launch into a tirade of sarcasm and I-told-you-so’s, but there’s no need. Not with Grace.
“You said yourself: I’m not as dumb as I look,” I say, winking at her.
It’s her turn to smile. “I guess you’re not. But it is stupid thinking you can do all this alone and with no preparation.”
I take a deep breath as an image of Josh flashes into my mind, of him lying in a coma, vulnerable…
“Look, we’re not trying to replace your friend, alright?” says Wallis, as if reading my mind. “But we can help each other here. There’s no doubt you’re the best person for this type of undercover operation. But this is our show. Let us help you prepare for this and we’ll watch your back the whole time.”
“I don’t need your help,” I say, defensively.
“I know,” says Chambers. “But that doesn’t mean it’ll do any harm if you accept it anyway.”
She’s right. They both are. I know it, and they know I know it. It’s more of a pride thing, which sounds silly, given the circumstances. But I feel like I’m betraying Josh if I let someone else do his job. But they make sense—going into something like this could get nasty. And while that doesn’t bother me, and I’m sure I can handle it, it’s simply easier if they were outside ready to back me up.
“Fine,” I
say, eventually. “Do what you need to do to make this happen, and I’ll do it your way.”
“Really?” asks Chambers, not even trying to hide the surprise in her voice.
“Well, when I say ‘I’ll do it your way’, I mean I’ll stick to your plan as long as I think it’ll work. If it all goes to shit, as these things tend to do, then I’ll revert to doing things my way.”
Wallis looks nervous.
Chambers says, “That’s fair enough. It’s your life on the line in there. Given how little we have to go on, and how much worse things could get, do what you need to do, alright? Just...” She pauses, as if trying to find the right words. “Just try not to create more trouble than we already have.”
I smile and nod. “Deal.”
They turn to walk back to the conference room but I stop them.
“Oh, there’s one more thing I need for my plan to work,” I say.
“What’s that?” asks Chambers.
“I need to know how I can get a message to the Red Dragon.”
They exchange nervous looks.
“Do I want to know why?” she asks.
“Probably not,” I reply, smiling. “But you have my word it’s a great plan that will definitely work… maybe.”
10:26
After a few minutes of failing to reason with me, we headed back to the conference room. Agent Johnson joined us and Chambers has spent the last quarter of an hour filling him in on what’s happened and what I intend doing.
We’re sitting as we were before, with Johnson now next to Chambers on her right.
“You’re insane,” he says to me. “Are you in a rush to die or something?”
I smile and shake my head. “I’m just looking at the big picture,” I explain. “I’ve got The Shark terrorizing the city to get to me, and I’ve managed to get the Triads to mark me for death because of a misunderstanding in the street. As luck would have it, both problems have something in common—Joseph Turner. He’s supplied weapons to both of them recently, so I need to get to him to track down The Shark. My job here is going to be made very difficult by this Red Dragon outfit, so I need to figure out a way to get them off my back. I’m not going to carry on and let them come at me. I need to make a pre-emptive effort to take them out.”
Hunter's Games Page 9
