“Don’t you say shit, Chet!”
“It seems it’s either deal with the cops or deal with Muerto, Meya.” Chet put his hands behind his back to be cuffed. “I’ll deal with the police. What tipped you off, Lancaster, if I might ask?”
“We received a disc from an anonymous source with names, places, dates, telephone records, payoffs, and everything conceivable. The Attorney General’s no law and order stickler. He’s a liberal enabler. When he is forced to do what’s right, he comes to me. We’ll play show and tell downtown. I’m certain you’ll see cooperation would be the smart way to go.”
Chet glanced at the furious and sullen Atwar. “I believe you’re right. You do know this guy running around wiping out gangbangers probably supplied you with the evidence, right? That would make it inadmissible.”
“It would, if we knew who hit the ‘Black Souls’ and whether he actually sent us the disc. We’ve investigated the information already. It’s golden.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Chet shrugged. “Sorry, Meya. It was a nice run while it lasted. Knowing this state’s politics, we may have made you Governor.”
* * *
Nick answered the door. Clyde Bacall and Paul Gilbrech entered. After the usual warm greetings were exchanged, Nick motioned them inside. “I was surprised when I received your call. It’s not a good idea to be seen around Chicago, my friends.”
“My wife heard about all the trouble in Chicago. She forced me to fly into town for a talk with the recalcitrant Amelia.”
“I wasn’t working at all this past weekend when forty-eight people were shot,” Nick replied. “My work barely raised the city’s figures.”
“They didn’t at all. When rumor hit the streets El Muerto was on a rampage under contract, the gangs took a few days off,” Clyde said. “Chet Sampson and his boys turned state’s evidence saying they’d rather go to prison than get cleansed by Muerto. Atwar accepted a plea deal, putting her in prison without parole for fifteen years. Otherwise, DA Lancaster threatened her with life in prison.”
“We noted you didn’t go home after bringing down hell on Amelia’s adversaries,” Paul noted, accepting a whiskey from Nick.
“Follow-up is important,” Nick replied, toasting with Clyde and Paul. “I know it was pissing into the windy city wind, but damn, it sure felt right.”
“Amen to that,” Clyde said, sipping his whiskey. “John Harding sent me a text that you put in a good word for me with Clint and Lynn about seeing Dannie. Thank you.”
“I told them the truth. You’re a great guy and Dannie would be lucky to have you. I know it’s a big deal because having those two as worrisome parents on your neck rivals impalement as a punishment.”
“Exactly. When Dannie and I hit it off so well, I knew it would be important to make it right in advance with her two, stone-cold killer guardians. I have to admit, when I heard about this mission in Chicago, I thought there would be no way in hell for you to pull it off. I stand corrected, Nick. You played the El Muerto card and trumped the shit out of the ‘Black Souls’ and Atwar.”
Paul toasted again with his friends. “Okay… Muerto… lay it on me, brother. Something else captured your monster imagination in the windy city. After this bright success, I figured you’d be on the first secret military flight back I could arrange.”
Nick paced for a moment, drink in hand. “I got to know those people in that bitch’s district, paying protection, getting gunned down in the streets, bullied, robbed, raped, and made shut-ins unable to walk their own sidewalks.”
Paul exchanged worried glances with Clyde. “Please go home, brother. You did good here, I thought if successful, would end in me snatching you out of jail. It didn’t. You succeeded beyond all expectations.”
“Doin’ good ain’t got no end,” Nick quipped.
Paul drained his whiskey. “Uh oh.”
The Director of the CIA sat down. He waved Nick over to the suite’s table. “Sit down and tell me where you’re going with this, Muerto. Don’t think I won’t call Rachel and tell her your mission’s over. She won’t like it, Muerto. She’ll fly here and yank you back to the coast by your ear.”
Nick sat down, along with Clyde. He refilled their drinks. “It’s not nice to threaten El Muerto, Paul.”
“Believe me… I don’t do such a thing without fear,” Paul replied. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m going to freelance for a few weeks more. It won’t mean much, but I could back off the current upswing of violence this past year.”
“Do you have targets?”
“I do, Paul. I’ve learned more aspects of the gang extortion racket perpetrated throughout the city. I have a Chinese American shopkeeper willing to help me with a few high up targets.”
“How the hell did you get a contact like that?”
“I saved his daughter’s life, Clyde. He would rip his own heart out rather than betray me.”
“You’ve been lucky so far, Nick. Your expose of Atwar knocked the gang killings off the news. Your actions clearly saved a lot of people, while getting rid of a potential national threat in the person of Meya Atwar, a career criminal.”
“I figured I’d have to kill Atwar until I checked all the electronics I took off ‘Black Souls’ gang members. I knew I had her then. I knew better than to turn the information over to the Chicago DA’s office. I found the proper guy at the state level. If DA Lancaster was mayor of Chicago, I believe he would lead the city into a law and order phase unheard of… if they didn’t kill him first.”
“Any chance you can handle these other names in the same way?”
“Sure, Paul, if I wanted to live here for five years without a life. In other words, no. I will seek information while interacting with Chicago’s underbelly. Have I ruined Amelia and Deirdre? I didn’t use them as bait. I was out to get the gang that night. Amelia surprised me by going shopping at the store the gang worked their extortion racket at. I knew they planned to take her and Deirdre. I didn’t know Amelia planned on an outing, putting her in the gang’s crosshairs.”
“Amelia thinks you’re a cold-blooded killer named Muerto, and you’re just as bad as the gang. Deirdre loves El Muerto. It’s funny when a young girl has more sense than her adult Mom.”
“Tell me about it,” Nick said. “Jean was the same way. Besides, I am a cold-blooded killer named Muerto. I never figured to turn Amelia to the dark side. I didn’t want to make her crazy. She knows I did the killings. She doesn’t know my true identity, but many goofball liberals would somehow feel responsible for the killings done, even though they were to save her life.”
“No,” Paul answered. “Amelia blamed you completely, Muerto.”
“Good. With all the shootings and murders in this city every day, who does she blame for those?”
“Societal factors, bad childhoods, government not spending enough on education – you know the mantra. Personal responsibility, common sense and logic are nearly extinct. People would rather import thousands of possible Muslim infiltrators, hell bent on destroying us from the inside of our nation rather than be labeled politically incorrect.”
“We’re doomed,” Clyde said.
“Maybe we’ll get some competent leaders before America disappears altogether,” Nick replied. “Anyway, thanks for coming by, guys. I’ll let you know when I’m done fooling around, and need a military flight back to the coast. Do you still want updates?”
“It would probably be better if I waited to hear about your adjustments after you get home, safe and sound.”
“Plausible deniability… huh, Paul?”
“Absolutely.”
* * *
“We need to stay off the streets for a while,” the driver told his companion. “That shithead, Muerto, is a pro. Why take a chance collecting on your own, Tal?”
“You see what went down in Atwar’s district. The store owners and cops have the place locked against new ‘bangers. We can’t have that. I need to keep my peop
le in line. If they think for a damn second I’m in hiding… they get ideas maybe we’re on the run. I need you to step up, Bo.”
“I’m here with you, ain’t I,” Bo replied. “I don’t think it would hurt to take a vacation for a couple weeks. Cops is huntin’ this Muerto guy. My guess is he gone in a little while. Muerto can’t afford to hang around for much longer. I’m glad we doin’ this in the day. The ‘Souls’ never saw him comin’. They got iced before a damn slug from their guns made it into the barrel. Muerto have a hard time frontin’ us in daylight.”
“Yeah, that’s my take too. We’ll drive around the block by Lau’s store. We make sure no dude in black has a bead on the store. Be ready, Bo! No talk. We see him… we kill him.”
“I’m with you on that, dog,” Bo answered.
Bo drove the BMW around the block slowly, looking into every car on the snow swept street. Because of the weather, very few pedestrians wandered anywhere on the sidewalks. A few dark tinted vehicles drew their attention. Tal checked inside each one, from a perspective with his eyes staring through the window, nose against glass. After widening their search without finding anything suspicious, Bo parked the car next to a Chinese storefront. Talender Jannings exited the vehicle. Before he could take two steps, his head seemed to explode, showering the white snow with blood and brain matter.
Bo saw him drop. He quickly put the BMW into reverse, but another slug passed through his driver’s side window and into his temple. The BMW drifted to the curb, gently tapping it to a standstill, where it continued to idle. A white clad figure nearly five hundred yards away on a rooftop, gathered his gear. By the time police were summoned to the store, the older Chinese man and young woman waved excitedly at them. They huddled in warm clothing near the storefront.
The police approached cautiously with weapons drawn. The lead officer motioned for the pair to calm down while he did a quick examination of the body, in that he circled the corpse, saw the damage, and called it in. His partner, a woman in her middle thirties, brushed back her weather cap, opened the driver’s side door, and reached in to turn the engine off. She backed away from the smell of the dead, subjected to the car heater for nearly an hour. She left the driver’s side door open a crack.
The partners approached the two figures in front of the store, motioning for them to go inside the warm interior, away from the wind. The black officer took a deep breath before speaking to the two witnesses. “I’m Sergeant Morgan. This is my partner, Officer Borkowski. Did you see what happened?”
“I am Leia Zhoe. My Father’s friend called me because his English is not so good. I came right away and saw the body in front of his shop. He did not know what to do. I called 911 and waited with him. He told me he looked outside and there was a body and red spatter everywhere.”
“Yes…yes!” The older man confirmed. “I am Lee Wu. I own store. I come to door, see body, and call Leia.”
Morgan nodded, glancing at his partner. “See anything in the car, Bri?”
“Other than blood and… sorry.” Borkowski hesitated before going on. “Nothing of note on my first look, Zeke. You called it in. Let’s fix the crime scene and wait. I doubt the shooter is still around. We can wait inside if you think there’s a chance of him looking for random targets, including cops.”
Morgan scanned the snowy skyline of buildings. “I think it would be prudent to wait in here. We’ll let the detectives make a decision on procedure, if any will venture out in this weather. I let them know, it’s already a cold case. Ms. Zhoe… is there anything else you can tell us about this? Did you notice any movement or people around?”
Leia shook her head in the negative. “No. It is so cold outside, I saw very few people anywhere on the way here.”
“I know it’s very difficult to identify the man on the sidewalk, but does his face look familiar to you Mr. Wu,” Morgan asked.
“His face… I check. He has been in store sometimes.”
“So, he’s local?” Borkowski asked.
“I think so,” Wu answered, glancing at Leia.
* * *
Leia stepped out of her apartment building as the heavily dressed, hooded man approached her apartment building front. She descended the steps, waving at him with a smile. “Hello, Muerto.”
Nick grinned from under his black mask, with black scarf tied around his hood. “Hi, Leia. Is your friend okay?”
“He doesn’t know what to think. Lee realizes those men were there to collect his weekly protection money. The one on the sidewalk was Talender Jannings, the gang’s leader who had threatened him some time ago. Lee told me this was the first time Jannings had collected in a long time.”
“The rumor I’m around town might be the cause,” Nick replied. “I know where his branch of the ‘Black Disciples’ meet at times.”
“Are you going to kill them all?”
“No, but I am going to make a rather violent and bloody statement. You don’t seem bothered much by consorting with a known serial killer, Leia,” Nick stated, watching her eyes.
Leia shrugged while smiling at Nick. “I would be raped or dead, and my Father’s store still looted by gangsters, if not for you. What do I care about a bunch of round-eyes getting killed?”
Nick, caught by surprise, began chortling in Darth Vader voice which set Leia off in appreciative amusement. She gripped his arm as the two stood in the middle of a swirling snow storm. “You…you’re okay, Leia. I’m sure you will hear how my visitation on the ‘Black Disciples’ turns out. More importantly, have you noticed anyone trying to fill in for the ‘Black Souls’?”
“No, Muerto. The police have visited everyone in the district, gathering firsthand information on Meya Atwar, finding out how many were victimized by her protection schemes. The police are now a welcome presence here. The residents know the police want to establish a base to prevent reentry of gangs in the area. You have done quite well for a round eye, Muerto.”
“How do you know I am not the second coming of Bruce Lee,” Nick asked in Mandarin Chinese which he’d heard her talk in while monitoring Leia’s approach to Lee Wu.
Leia stumbled back in shock. “You speak our language…” Leia giggled. “You are good, but you speak Mandarin with a round-eye accent.”
“I have been corrupted in my language skill by round-eye influences.”
“Yeah… I’ll bet. I will be watching the news, round-eye.”
“You do that, Leia. I cannot meet with you again after tonight. Be safe, my friend. Get your neighbors armed with anything they can get. Use the police to help with communication and defense. Don’t let the gangs take your neighborhood again.”
“I won’t, Muerto.”
Nick handed her a card with a ‘Dark Web’ drop. “If you’re ever in danger or things change back before you can prevent it, leave the letters SOS from Chicago there.”
“Thank you.”
“El Muerto… away!” Nick spun with a wave. “Bye, Leia.”
Leia waved back. “Bye… round-eye.”
* * *
Solemn and grim faces gathered, hooded and masked against the cold they came out of. They began to take off their foul weather gear, some already heading to their makeshift bar in the warehouse. One figure, in particular, stomped around in a frenzy of movement, mouthing muttering curses. The others kept their distance.
He stopped finally in the center of the gathering, numbering nearly twenty gang members. “Tal and Bo dead! Executed! We standin’ here… doin’ shit! This means war! We-”
An ET-MP grenade hit and bounced to the speaker’s feet. A split second later, it vaporized him into bloody mist and limbs, leaving his cohorts in varying stages of misery or death. The warehouse rocked, light fixtures crashed to the cement floor, and the air filled with explosive residue, dust, and screams. A figure bundled against the cold who had not stripped off his outer clothing, straightened from his prone position near the entrance. He slipped out into the refreshing cold. The whistling refrain of ‘Amazing
Grace’ blew off into the swirling wind as if in tantalizing cold hard witness to justice dealt in brutal fashion.
* * *
Nick answered his satellite phone on the second buzz, noting it was Grace, and the green light showed the call not to be traced. “Marshal Stanwick. This is Marshal McCarty speaking. How the hell are you?”
“For God’s sake, Nick… please go home. We’re worried about you. A grenade? Really?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m buried in literature, writing day and night to complete a novel. What heinous crime am I being accused of now?”
“We know you’re in Chicago, Muerto. Rumors flood into the DOJ daily concerning a certain serial killer vigilante named Muerto. You’re going to get caught… damn it!”
“I have no control over the rumor mill out of murder-town central. I read the statistics in that hellhole. We have BLM goons ambushing cops, beating and torturing innocent people, pillaging the country, claiming white injustice. In Chicago, black gangbangers kill more blacks than anywhere else in the world outside of Somalia. Have you considered there might be a black Muerto finally standing against the thug culture in Chicago?”
“Oh sure, and where would this righteous black vigilante get an ET-MP grenade. That’s your signature move, Muerto. Rachel called me. She’s worried.”
Bullshit. Nick laughed. “Rachel never called you, Grace Slickster. I’ll have her call you to let you know she doesn’t appreciate you lying about her.”
Grace sighed. “That’s because you wouldn’t let her call me. What’s your little menace, Jean, going to do without your guidance?”
“I have to get back to work on my novel, Slickster. Say hello to Timmy for me. I bet he knew better than to bother me with this crap.”
“The powers that be ordered the DOJ to establish a task force with your name on it over the grenade incident. Get back to the coast. You’ve done enough… and don’t give me that ‘doin’ good ain’t got no end’ crap.”
Nick made snoring noises and a startled waking sound. “Oh… sorry, Grace… I faded off there for a moment. Bored now. I’ll see you when I see you.”
Cold Blooded Assassin Book 7: Hell on Earth (Nick McCarty Assassin) Page 9
