Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “They’re cop killers,” Nick said. “After setting off the alarm, they remain in place until the police arrive. Then they execute the police sent to the scene. Usually only one car is ordered to check a routine alarm call, because there are so many false alarms. There’s a driver somewhere around here with a van to pick up the cop-killers the moment they fire on the arriving police. Watch what they do when the bricklayer busts the front door handle, setting off the security alarm. They won’t run.”

  Three minutes later, they heard the brick smashed into the door handle until the alarm went off. The security alarm, loud enough to wake the dead, blasted out its wailing tune. The so called bricklayer, got into position away from the entrance on the North Market Street side, moving to a distance of ten feet to the rear of his nearest accomplice. With all six lined in the darkness, next to the brick wall, they awaited the arrival of police in the shadows. Nick smiled. The group of thugs aligned along the building wall reminded Nick of ducks at a shooting gallery.

  “Heh… heh.”

  “First off, I hate that you’re smiling, Muerto,” Gus said. “Secondly, I hate when you go heh… heh in a life or death circumstance.”

  The scene awakened the cold blooded killer skittering just below the surface of Nick’s mind, in a shadowy damp refuge of mayhem and murder. He glanced at the grim faces in the darkness, and Jean’s arm around Deke’s neck. Nick whispered with a sarcastic edge. “This wasn’t my idea, kiddies. I’m here, and I don’t plan to allow these jackasses to execute a couple of cops. We should have followed my directions, and walked to the hotel instead of playing Dudley Doright and Scooby Doo meet the Backstreet Cop-killers. Now that we’re here, we have no choice.”

  “We could warn the police,” Gus said. “Don’t surrender to that deviant mind of yours, Muerto. I know you’ve concocted a weird plan to somehow take out the gang using your giant intellect or should I say ego.”

  “What do you have planned, Dad?” Still clutching Deke by the neck, Jean pointed at the small shed type structure immediately behind them. “Payaso and I can hide behind the small building behind us.”

  “Exactly. Once the shooting starts I want you both heading to the hotel. Wait out the initial gunfire, and then head away on a path to the hotel. There will be a police dragnet to avoid. Play the dumb-shit tourist card if you get stopped, featuring that both of you heard the gunfire. There won’t be a problem. You’ve activated El Muerto, my beloved daughter. Don’t be hatin’ when Muerto doesn’t perform quite as expected – and don’t be blaming yourself if this goes sideways. Payaso will make sure nothing happens to you or the Dekester.”

  Jean hugged Nick tightly as they crouched behind the wall, whispering fiercely. “I love you, Dad. I’ll make sure Payaso is okay too.”

  Having said that, Jean whispered a command to Deke, gesturing him to her side before running in a crouch to the structure behind them. Gus turned to Nick before following his young charge and Fang.

  “This is a dumb idea,” Gus admitted. “Good luck. Want me to be in position for covering fire?”

  Nick slipped on Nitrile gloves from his pocket, along with his black mask he now carried as a joke to get a rise out of Gus. “Absolutely not. If I need covering fire, then I’m in trouble. You look after Jean. I have to get going while this one act play unfolds.”

  Having said that, Nick went over the wall, moving silently twenty-five yards to the rear of his prey. From there, he stalked his targets, careful of every footfall in the darkness. The city sounds covered his approach. When he heard a siren in the distance, Nick ran forward with Stiletto knife fully extended. He grabbed the hooded head in front of him, pulled it back, and slit the man’s throat, arterial spray shooting out.

  In an instant, Nick caught the 9mm Glock the man dropped while clutching his ruined neck. Nick turned the Glock on the man in front of his victim, firing two shots into his head. From a shooter’s crouch behind his first victim’s twitching body, Nick executed the next three. He wounded the fourth in both shoulders, while taking wild return fire. The would-be cop-killers had no idea what they were shooting at. Panic enveloped them as they died. Two shots they fired hit each other.

  With the siren drawing ever closer, Nick switched the guns, his two rearmost victims carried. He searched with calm speed, finding a switchblade in the first victim’s pocket. Nick swiped the dead man’s neck once with it, finishing his ploy by placing it into the second victim’s free hand. Nick used the dead second victim’s hand to fire a killing round into the front man he had wounded in the shoulders. Chuckling, he ran to the front man, and boosted him into an upright position, Nick could fire on the second man, he had planted the killing weapon on. With the first man’s weapon aimed, Nick took aim.

  “Not much time, scooter. Make these count.” Nick fired a couple into the dead man, and into a couple of his cohorts. He scanned the scene and area around him. Satisfied, he vaulted the wall across the street, and continued in a route taking him away from the scene. Unfortunately, because of the gunfire, two helicopters began a weaving pattern over the suspected area. They did not appear to be leaving until someone or something was found. Nick called Grace.

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Grace answered, seeing the caller ID.

  “I need an official extraction. Sending the coordinates to your phone. You and Timmy are still around, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, thanks to bad karma, I guess. We’ll be over in ten minutes. Our hotel’s not far from that spot. Do we get to know what we’re extracting you from?”

  “Not if you want our slightly seedy partnership to continue. Drive to me, stop, and I’ll load into the backseat. From there, you can stop by the scene of the crime like two helpful US Marshals. Flash your badges, and ask if the locals could use your help. When they say no thanks, take me to my hotel.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to play the innocent victim of circumstance here? We’re on our way. US Marshals’ service to the rescue. Hang tight, you little desperado.”

  “One of these days, Alice… right to the moon,” Nick hissed, mimicking the Jackie Gleason line from the old TV show ‘The Honeymooners’.

  Grace disconnected with a laugh. Nick stayed in the shadows, avoiding flyovers by police helicopter spotlights. A burgundy SUV stopped near his position. Nick ran over, and entered the rear passenger compartment.

  “Timmy. Look who dropped in. It’s that famous novelist, Nick McCarty,” Grace needled him while driving toward the nearby commotion, complete with flashing lights, and arriving ambulance sirens. “I’ll bet those ambulances are a waste of time.”

  “Don’t be impolite, Grace,” Tim urged. “Do you want us to introduce you, Nick, or just refer to you if they ask?”

  “Only if they ask, Tim. Very funny, Grace. I’m trying to provide my new partners with plausible deniability. Turn on your interior light for a moment.” Nick checked himself for excess blood, but except for a few spots on the sleeves of his jacket, his clothing appeared clean of any other evidence. He had turned the Nitrile gloves inside out, stuffing them inside his jacket. His Muerto mask was also inside his jacket again.

  “Do you have your US Marshal’s credentials,” Grace asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, here we are.” Grace parked outside the cordoned off area. “Let’s go see what Marshal McCarty got into tonight.”

  * * *

  Grace and Tim flashed their badges and ID’s at the police taped off line. The officer checked them over carefully before grinning at the two Marshals. “What the heck do two US Marshals want in a Charleston crime scene?”

  “We’re in Charleston on business,” Grace explained. “We were driving to our hotel when we saw the lights and helicopters. My partner thought it would be a good idea to offer our help if you wanted it. If not, we’ll leave you guys to do your jobs. What happened here anyway?”

  “Six bad guys had a wild shootout. They’re all dead,” the officer explained. “I doubt we’ll need th
e US Marshal’s service in on this, but you can offer your help to the Lieutenant next to the building there. Her name’s Moragado.”

  Lieutenant Moragado glanced at Grace and Tim with a confused expression. “Can I help you?”

  The US Marshals went through the ID and introduction with the Lieutenant, again offering their help.

  The Lieutenant thought about it for a few moments. She looked to be in her mid-forties: short dark hair, no makeup, and a cynical wry expression which appeared to be her normal feature. “I don’t see how you could help, but thanks for stopping by. What business in Charleston were you here on?”

  “Meeting with a colleague,” Grace replied. “He’ll be working with us out west soon. We wanted to touch base with him before then. We’ll be flying out tomorrow.”

  “Have a safe flight,” Moragado said by way of dismissal.

  “Thank you.” Grace led Tim away while both marshals watched the crime scene prep with police officers ringing the sidewalk area, where Nick left his staged gang battle event. “What do you think, Tim?”

  “I think plausible deniability is a good thing.”

  “Don’t you want to know what happened? Jesus… six dead thugs.”

  “Let’s get Nick to his hotel, and go have a couple beers at the hotel bar.”

  “Good idea, Timmy,” Grace agreed. “I wish he’d volunteer the info.”

  * * *

  When Grace and Tim returned to their SUV, Nick sat up straighter. “I’d like you to drive around this block slowly, Grace. I think there’s a bad guy driver staying in place because of the helicopters. We’re going to help him see the light.”

  “Six dead, Nick,” Grace stated. “How do you know they had a driver?”

  “They were using a store alarm as bait to draw cops to the scene. Those six planned to execute the cops investigating the alarm. They would need a driver. Trust me. You’ll see.”

  “On it, boss,” Grace replied. She did as Nick directed.

  Nick watched both sides of the streets they drove down, searching for the right kind of van with possibly a driver sitting in place. When they reached Hassell Street, Nick spotted what he had been looking for. A Chevy Tahoe SUV, parked half a block ahead, fit the picture he had in mind. As they passed it, Nick saw a man smoking a cigarette while in the driver’s seat with the window down.

  “That’s my bitch. Drive around the block. Turn out your lights as we round the corner again toward him. Stop along the curb once we are about a hundred feet behind. I’ll check him out.”

  “When you say check him out, do you mean put a bullet in his head?”

  “No bullets, Grace. Relax. I’m going to nab him for you to arrest. The locals will have a guy to question about this cop-killing ploy. If you two don’t care about the locals questioning him, I’ll find out what their intentions were.”

  “Thank you for asking, but Tim and I would be glad to have this kind of collar. We’ll play the hunch card when we drive him to the crime scene.” Grace handed Nick her phone. “Take some pictures of the Tahoe’s inside if there’s any incriminating evidence.”

  “Will do.” Nick took the phone, and began his approach on the Tahoe.

  * * *

  “What do you make of this,” Grace asked her partner. “How does he get into shit like this? He killed six guys on a speculation they were baiting cops for killing.”

  “I know this much after meeting Nick,” Tim replied. “However he does what he does, it would be better on the outside of the action than in the middle of it. If he’s right about this guy being the driver, we’re going to look real good at the crime scene delivering him. I try to concentrate on the reality of outcome with Nick. Everything we tangle into with him, he always manages to find a shady right path to completion.”

  “So we play see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, huh?”

  Tim smiled. “How perceptive of you, Grace.”

  * * *

  Nick passed the rear driver’s wheel well a few minutes later. When the driver flicked his cigarette to the road, Nick used his stun-gun on the casually placed arm, moving with it as the driver jerked backwards. He passed out five seconds later. Nick flung open the driver’s door, and waved to his US Marshal friends. Grace drove alongside. Tim secured the driver. He loaded him into the backseat while Nick inspected the Tahoe interior. The only items of interest he found were the eight by ten pictures of two police officers: a male and female. Nick took pictures of the two photos taped to the Tahoe interior rear hull, exited the vehicle, and photographed the outside of the Tahoe along with the license plate.

  “Find anything interesting?”

  Nick handed Grace her phone as he entered the vehicle, pushing the groaning prisoner over to the other side. “I did indeed. It seems two Charleston police officers have been targeted by this bunch for a reason yet to be discovered. Their pictures were taped inside the Tahoe. That item of interest opens other possibilities I’m sure either you or Timmy can conjure on your own.”

  “It would mean the dead perps had inside help at those cops’ precinct to know when they would be on duty at the right time for an ambush,” Tim replied.

  “You’re thinking two cops not on the take causing hard times for local dealers or crooks,” Grace added. “This someone on the inside is probably getting paid to steer the two crime busters away from certain street transactions, and they’re not going along with it. Hell of a bloody way to discourage their incentive.”

  “A random cop killing when answering a security alarm report is an easy way to provide an unspoken warning to any other police officers being overzealous in their duties,” Nick pointed out. “I think you two can appear very knowledgeable and intuitive if the Lieutenant you’re reporting this too isn’t the one who set it up. Well, kids, are you fighting crime tonight, or searching for an escape route.”

  “You have a distasteful manner when cracking the whip on us poor civil servants,” Grace complained. “This isn’t our jurisdiction. We weren’t asked in on the case, yet here we are on the verge of a possible crooked cop ring. How is it our responsibility to do anything beyond turning the clown beside you in, along with giving local police the hints you found in their escape vehicle?”

  Nick clucked his comical disapproval. “Oh for shame. Are we not US Marshals? Didn’t you ever see the movies with Tommy Lee Jones? We are a force of good in a bad world. We-”

  “Oh barf! Okay… okay…” Grace relented, while Tim enjoyed yet another Nick and Grace sparring match where his partner came in second place once again.

  “That’s the spirit,” Nick said. “Onward to the crime scene, Marshal Stanwick.”

  “By your command, Marshal McCarty. I knew this partnership would be trouble,” Grace admitted. “I didn’t know it would happen this quickly though.”

  “I’d bet if you get invited in on the case because of this stellar US Marshal work, you’ll be able to bring in your special consultant to ferret out this blight on otherwise upstanding local law enforcement. Enter US Marshal Nick McCarty, detective supreme, to root around the suspected precinct in question, using his precognitive powers of deduction.”

  “You’re joking,” Grace stammered, having halted at the roadside curb. “C’mon, Nick. Talking about yourself in third person is annoying enough. You contemplating interference into local police internal affairs is not a laughing matter. Tim… don’t just sit there chortling like a baboon peeling an overripe banana. Say something.”

  “I agree with Nick.” Tim shrugged off Grace’s immediate stare of impending doom. “You asked. We either enforce the law, or we should turn in our badges.”

  “Bravo, Timmy,” Nick said. “There you have it, Grace. Even your long suffering partner wants you to do the right thing. Step up!”

  “Oh, you two are a riot,” Grace replied, amidst humorous appreciation by Tim and Nick.

  “God… get me to the hospital. I’ve been tased,” the prisoner moaned. “You…you can’t do this shit. You can’t arres
t me for-”

  Nick lit off an arc from the tool he had used to capture the man. Then he jammed it against their prisoner’s groin, giving the man a momentary jolt from the electrode discharge after releasing the button. It caused the prisoner to buck into the backseat, curling into a sobbing fetal position. Nick grabbed the man’s hair.

  “I’d be careful about what you say, Toasty. Stay quiet, the grownups are talking now. If you behave yourself, it’s possible you’ll make it to jail alive. What do you say, Grace? The Pacific Grove police force actually offered to let me be their Writer/Consultant like that TV show ‘Castle’. You already know I have legal ID’s with the FBI and US Marshal’s Service. All the Lieutenant can say is no thanks. It’ll be fun. I was railroaded into tonight’s show while walking Deke by Jean, who wanted to play superhero.”

  Even Grace laughed at Nick’s admission. “Only you, Nick… only you. I’m in. Let’s go see if the Lieutenant would like some assistance.”

  * * *

  After perusing the pictures, and hearing Grace and Tim explain following a hunch to nab the driver, Lieutenant Moragado seemed more confused than she did when first seeing the two US Marshals. “I know these two officers. I’ll get people over there to secure the van. I don’t know why you did it, but that was damn good work.”

  She turned to Nick with a gesture. “And who is this again? Did you say he was some kind of specialist?”

  “It’s a long story,” Grace replied. “Nick McCarty has helped the Department of Justice several times in the past, finding and securing stolen high tech items, which would have been deadly in the hands of our enemies. He also helped find a leak in our Witness Protection program. He’s an ex-Delta Force member, and also a New York Times Bestselling author. He has an Assassin series about a contract killer named-”

  “Diego,” Moragado finished for Grace. “I read one of those pulp masterpieces. It read like a damn comic book… a bad one at that. We can’t have some cop wannabe working on this. I’m not even sure I want you two Marshals anywhere near our department. Since you brought in the only live suspect, I considered allowing you Feds to take a whack at finding our crime mole, but I’m not interested in civilians fooling around on something like this.”