Gone Bad

by J. B. Turner

Meyerstein nodded and looked at the gang officer. “You want to speculate, Jackson?”

  “Question is, where’s the other one?”

  Reznick said, “Roy, have we got any other footage of this guy?”

  “That’s it.”

  “So the question is, is Hunter Cain with this guy Pearce, or is there anyone else? Also, are they all together?”

  Stamper scrunched up his face. “Why would they split up?”

  “If one gets caught, for example Pearce, it doesn’t bring down the whole operation.”

  Meyerstein nodded. “Cell structure?”

  “Basically, yeah,” Reznick said. “We got lucky with this clip of Pearce. But if that camera hadn’t been working at that time, we’d have nothing. If I was in Cain’s shoes, I’d make sure I was apart from the others.”

  Meyerstein looked across at Jackson. “You think they were hunkered down there. Do you think they might still be there?”

  Jackson blew out his cheeks. “Possibly. Who the hell knows what these guys are planning? That’s part of the problem. We don’t know what they’re up to.”

  Reznick said, “Hunter Cain is not a stupid man. He’ll know it’s only a matter of time till they’re tracked down. So that’s why they won’t be sticking around for long.”

  Meyerstein glanced up at the image of Pearce on the big screen. Then she stared across at Roy. “What’s the latest analysis we’re getting from your team on this?”

  “It’s all pointing to one thing. Miami, clearly.”

  “Okay, I get that, but exactly what? What’s going to go down?”

  Reznick leaned back in his seat. “Roy, we know about this message that was smuggled out. The assassination code. But we need to be further along the line with analysis at this stage, don’t we?”

  Stamper stood and pointed at Reznick. “Who the hell do you think you’re speaking to?”

  “It’s a simple question, Roy, and you don’t seem to be able to answer it.”

  “I don’t answer to you, you understand?”

  Meyerstein stared long and hard at Reznick before she fixed her gaze on Stamper. “No. But you do answer to me, Roy. So where are we with this?”

  Stamper slumped back down into his seat. “We have nothing. Hunter Cain and his guys are out there, and we don’t have a clue where they are at this moment, or what they’re about to do.”

  An icy silence descended on the room.

  Meyerstein’s cellphone began to ring. She picked up. “Who’s this?” She nodded. “Mr Samson, thanks for taking the time to call back. What is it?” She scribbled some notes. “Are you sure?” She scribbled some more notes. “Now are you positive?” She let out a long sigh and stared across at Reznick. “I appreciate your time, Mr Samson. We’ll look into this. Thanks again for your help.” She ended the call and leaned back in her seat.

  Reznick said, “What is it? He knows something.”

  Meyerstein nodded. “He said there was something else he forgot to tell us. Something about Hunter that escaped his memory till now.”

  Stamper shifted in his seat. “What?”

  Meyerstein’s gaze wandered round the room. “This sounds crazy. He said one night Hunter and his crew were playing cards. And someone asked about his girl. Hunter said she wouldn’t fuck around as he knew where she was 24/7.”

  Stamper said, “That’s bullshit.”

  Meyerstein shook her head. “Sadly not. Remember the cross round Kathleen’s neck. Samson said Hunter said he’d got a jeweler friend of his to make a piece of jewelry. A silver cross. And he sent it to her.”

  Stamper shrugged. “I don’t follow.”

  “Hunter got the jeweler to insert a minuscule GPS sensor inside the cross . It would track her movements, night and day, till he got out.”

  Stamper shook his head. “Martha, we need to get Kathleen Burke out of the safe house right away!”

  Reznick shook his head. “Wrong move, bro.”

  “What the hell you talking about, Jon? This is not your call.”

  Reznick looked first at Stamper, then fixed his gaze on Meyerstein. “It sounds like the right play, but it’s not. It absolutely is not.”

  Stamper blew out his cheeks, hands on hips. “Martha, the safe house has been compromised. She needs to move.”

  “Roy,” said Stamper, “think this through. Jesus …”

  Meyerstein held up her hand. “Jon, what’s your rationale?”

  “Rationale? Firstly, we’ve got to assume they’ve got someone at this moment aware of where she is. Secondly, we’ve got to assume they’ve got someone in place ready to kill her, as Cain said he would. Therefore, logically, it would be harebrained to do anything this overtly.”

  Meyerstein shrugged. “So what do we do with Kathleen Burke?”

  “Get three cars out front. But get one to reverse right up the driveway to a side door. Screen off with a sheet or whatever, tarpaulin. Then get her into the trunk of the second car. And get the hell out of there. We’d effectively have blockers in front and covering the rear. Then get her to a secure facility. Military preferably.”

  Stamper shook his head. “Jon, with all due respect, that’s going to draw attention to matters. It’s a bit convoluted.”

  “If that was my daughter in that situation, that’s what I’d do.”

  Meyerstein got to her feet and began to pace the room. “We need to alert Miami FBI to what we’re going to need.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Kathleen Burke was on her second packet of cigarettes, drinking a glass of rum and Coke to wash down the methadone, when one of the Feds’ phone rang.

  The Fed got to his feet and began to pace the room. “Ma’am, I got it. I’ll pass that on to her now.” He passed Kathleen the cellphone. “Assistant Director Meyerstein for you.”

  Burke dragged on her cigarette as she took the call, pressing the phone tight to her ear. “Yeah, what is it now?”

  “Kathleen, tell me about the cross around your neck.”

  “What the hell do you want to know about that for? You wanna buy it off me, is that it?”

  “No, Kathleen, that’s not it. Who gave it you?”

  “Why the hell do you wanna know that?” She dragged again on the cigarette and tried to waft the smoke away from the Feds. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Answer me, goddamn it!”

  Burke was surprised at the sharpness of Meyerstein’s reply. “Man, you really need to dial it down a notch. What is it with you?”

  “Kathleen, I’m asking a simple question.”

  “Yeah, but why are you wanting to know that? Does it matter who gave it to me?”

  “Yes, it does. Can you answer my question, please?”

  Burke shrugged. “It was Hunter. Hunter gave it me.”

  “He handed it to you?”

  “No, he got a friend of his to deliver it. Thought it was pretty sweet of him. Looks expensive, doesn’t it? Hand-made in New York, you believe that?”

  “Kathleen, I want you to take it off and hand it to the agent who gave you the phone.”

  “Fuck off! That’s mine! You ain’t taking that. Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with?”

  “Kathleen, listen to me. We have reason to believe that within the cross is a GPS tracking device.”

  Burke took a few moments to allow the information to sink into her fuzzy head. “Aw, gimme a goddamn break will you? That’s bullshit. What a crock of shit.”

  “Kathleen, if you don’t take it off, I have authorized the federal agent who handed you the phone to take it off you. Are we clear?”

  “That’s illegal!”

  “I’m asking you for your cooperation. Kathleen, do you want me to spell it out for you? Hunter gave you the present so he knew where you were at all times. He could log onto a computer within Leavenworth and check each and every day where you were.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  Meyerstein s
ighed down the line. “You want to find out for sure?”

  “This is crazy. Are you saying he’d know I’d been out and about? Where? When?”

  “We believe so. That is, if our information is correct. But we need to check.”

  Burke took the cigarette from her mouth and crushed it in an ashtray. “That’s disgusting.”

  “I know. Can you help us find out for sure?”

  Burke felt tears spill down her face. She unhooked the necklace and handed it to the Fed. “I’ve done that now – happy?”

  “Stay on the line …”

  Burke slumped in a seat as the Fed prized off the back with a Swiss army knife. She watched him tease off a tiny metal sensor with a pinprick green light on the side, and hold it up. “Motherfucker!”

  “Kathleen, was it there?”

  “Yes, it goddamn was. Your agent has it now.”

  “Kathleen, stay on the line. Jon Reznick wants to speak to you.”

  “What does he want?”

  Meyerstein said, “Here he is now.”

  A deep sigh down the line. “Kathleen, Jon Reznick.”

  “Everyone having a good laugh at my expense?”

  “Not at all, Kathleen. Listen to me, what this means is that you are in grave danger. I have recommended to Assistant Director Meyerstein that you are moved as soon as we can do so in a controlled way. Do you understand?”

  “I ain’t going anywhere, man.”

  “Not an option, Kathleen. You either cooperate and do as you’re told and get in the trunk of a car unseen, or you will be bundled into a car in the next five minutes and driven out of there. So you either play nice or you get a rough ride. You choose.”

  Burke felt tears spill down her face. “What the fuck … what the fuck is happening?”

  “It is what it is. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not getting in any fucking trunk. I’m claustrophobic. Do you understand?”

  “We can get you sedated.”

  Burke felt helpless. “Jon, can I say something?”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “I’m scared … I’m real scared now.”

  “Kathleen, now listen to me. That’s natural. Don’t be ashamed to be scared. We all get scared.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You didn’t look like the sort of guy that would get scared. You must think I’m stupid.”

  “Kathleen, you need to focus and pull yourself together. The Feds will get you out of there in an unmarked car. But you need to get in the trunk, and we can get you to a safe house.”

  Burke dabbed her eyes. “I can’t do that.”

  “Can’t do what?”

  “I can’t get in a fucking trunk. So that’s it. I just want to go now!”

  Burke ended the call and handed the phone to the Fed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, why don’t we?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Matt Pearce snorted a line of coke off the back of his hand using a rolled-up twenty- dollar bill as he sat in his car, concealed in an alley in sight of the front of the house. He felt the rush washing through his body. He felt euphoric. The drug was touching his senses. He felt invincible.

  He stared down the dirt road, partially concealed by palm trees and on-street parked cars. The postman’s outfit was in the trunk of his car. And he was seriously considering whether it would be needed, as there was no sign of the target.

  Pearce had to get this right. If not, his brother would be next. It was the way it was. It was brutal. But effective. He felt a secondary wave through his body as the blood rushed through his veins and arteries to his brain. The high was indescribable. He felt aroused.

  He didn’t care now if time dragged. It took however long it took.

  Pearce had been told by his brother that the Feds would be protecting her. He assumed there would be two, maybe three inside the property with Burke. He knew this would be a tricky one. His usual modus operandi was a knife to the neck. Quick, silent and deadly. He didn’t mind staring into some fuck’s eyes as they gasped their last breath.

  In the distance an SUV turned into the street and pulled up outside the house.

  Pearce’s heart began to race. His watching and waiting had paid off. He sniffed hard and felt the last residue of the coke shoot straight to his brain. He was wired. Then three guys in suits came into view. It was the Feds flanking a small woman wearing shades and a Panama hat. She slid into the back seat, one Fed either side. The third Fed sat in the passenger seat up front.

  The car pulled away.

  Pearce started up the car and pulled away. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Meyerstein was pacing the room, cellphone pressed to her ear, waiting for the Miami Fed to answer.

  “Special Agent O’Halloran, ma’am. How can I help?” His voice was measured and calm.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Why didn’t you stop Kathleen Burke leaving the house in such a manner?”

  “Ma’am, she’s a goddamn law unto herself. I made the decision to just go with it, get her out of the house, and take it from there.”

  Meyerstein sighed. “Where exactly are you?”

  “Ma’am, we’re headed into Pensacola. We’ve got a perfect place lined up for her.”

  “Goddamn.”

  “Ma’am, I thought it was important to get the subject out asap.”

  “Unfortunately, a more controlled low-key exit might have been better. We could have had a decoy car or two – you know the drill.”

  “Ma’am, we’ve got an ETA of six minutes and we’re fine.”

  “O’Halloran, is she with you just now?”

  “Yeah, you want to talk?”

  “Put her on.”

  A woman coughing. “Yeah, Meyerstein, what is it now?”

  Meyerstein bristled at Burke’s arrogance. She wondered if she should give her a ticking-off for not following instructions. But that was difficult if the special agent in charge was going to allow her to walk all over him. “Just to let you know you’ll be in a nice new place in a few minutes.”

  Silence down the line.

  “Are you still there, Kathleen?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Just freaked out to find that fuck’s been tracking me for years. He must’ve known I was hanging out at the Outlaws clubhouse.”

  “Well, that’s in the past. Let’s start looking forward to a new future.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to live in fear of Hunter and his crew.”

  “You’re safe from them now.”

  “I don’t feel very safe.”

  A loud bang like a car backfiring.

  “What was that, Kathleen?”

  “Think we’ve got a blowout.”

  “You kidding me?”

  “Hang on … we’re slowing down. The right rear has blown out. Fuck.”

  Meyerstein shook her head and snapped her fingers to get Reznick’s attention. “Jon, they’ve got a blowout.”

  Reznick grabbed the phone off her. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Kathleen.”

  “Kathleen, now listen to me. Get on the floor. And tell your driver not to slow down. I repeat, do not slow down.”

  “They’re pulling over.”

  “No! Put the Fed on the line!”

  A brief pause. “Special Agent O’Halloran speaking.”

  “This is Jon Reznick, working with Assistant Director Meyerstein. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Relax, just a blowout.”

  “Have you pulled over?”

  “Yeah, our driver is having a look.”

  “Get the fuck out of there! Do not stop!”

  “What are you talking about?” A silence opened up for a few moments. “Shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “
Hold on … I’ve just got out the car to have a look. The tire’s been shot out. High-powered rifle by the look of it.”

  Reznick felt sick. “O’Halloran, get your ass out of there. Do you understand?”

  Then the line went dead.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kathleen Burke was sitting in the back of the SUV, a Fed beside her on the phone, two of the Feds outside. “I thought O’Halloran was getting me to a new place. We’re stuck in some shithole in Pensacola. This is bullshit.”

  The Fed beside her held up his finger as if she should be quiet. “Yeah, we need a back-up vehicle right away. And a tow truck. Seemingly there’s no spare tire. No idea why.”

  Burke shook her head. “Un-be-fucking-lievable. You don’t have a spare set of wheels? You’re the FBI for chrissakes. Are you kidding me?”

  The Fed ended the call. “You mind?”

  “Look, I heard O’Halloran. Someone shot out the tire.”

  “We don’t know. It looks like that.”

  “So how long do I have to wait?”

  “Help’s on the way. A matter of minutes. It’s a priority.”

  “I don’t like this. I’m scared.”

  “Kathleen, take a deep breath and get yourself under control.”

  Burke closed her eyes. Was it a warning? Or was it a signal they were about to kill her?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Matt Pearce parked up just over a block away after taking the long-range shot on the move. He adjusted the stolen Pensacola police badge round his neck He couldn’t help the grin on his face. He felt on fire.

  He was wearing a denim shirt to cover up his jailhouse tattoos, jeans, sneakers and a Dolphins hat and shades. He got out of the car and walked the block toward the SUV with its lights flashing, two suits standing outside, one talking into a cellphone.

  Pearce walked up to the Fed on the phone. “Just passing. Can I give you guys a hand?”

  The Fed smiled, covered the phone with his hand. “Thanks all the same, officer.” He flashed his badge. “FBI. We got this.”

  “You got a flat?”

  “I said we got this, officer. Thank you very much.”

  Pearce smiled and pulled the 9mm out from the back of his jeans and pressed it against the Fed’s head. He fired once and the blood and brain matter exploded onto the side of the car. He spun round, shot the other Fed point-blank. Then he trained the gun on the Fed inside and blew his brains out.