by Tom Barber
The gunman took two rounds to the chest, knocking him back against the vehicle before he fell to the ground. As two other officers quickly detained the other gunmen, Shepherd and Hendricks moved forward quickly, seeing April inside the shot-up car. Shepherd opened the door, catching her as she toppled out sideways. Grunting with pain from his wounded arm as he lowered her to the ground, he looked up at Hendricks, who was peering inside the car.
‘Anything?’
Hendricks shook his head, staring at the empty seats, no sign of Archer.
‘Where the hell is he?’
FIFTY
At the East-side docks, Karen was impatiently checking her watch when Henderson’s and Tully’s van finally pulled into the yard. Swinging right, it drew to a halt directly in front of her with the lights on full beam. Shielding her eyes with her forearm, Karen caught a brief glimpse of the driver, who was wearing a black Yankees cap with the peak pulled down and thick green coat; Henderson.
She walked over to the newly-arrived vehicle and pulled open the sliding door, lifting out a large container of bleach and unscrewing the cap. As she started to splash the contents inside the van, she heard the driver’s door close on the other side, followed by footsteps as he walked round the front of the vehicle.
However, with the stink of bleach filling the air, Karen suddenly froze, the container still in her hand.
She turned slowly.
Wearing Henderson’s coat, the baseball cap tossed to the ground, Archer was standing there, his pistol aimed at her head.
‘Your two boys aren’t gonna make it,’ he said. ‘Henderson’s taking a nap and Tully’s having a bath.’
She didn’t waste time with a reply, her face expressionless as she stared at the cop, her brain racing as she computed this completely unexpected development.
Looking through his sights, Archer stared back, seeing a very different woman from the one he’d left behind in her apartment two days ago. Gone was the cowed and grieving mother.
This woman looked to be exactly what she was, a hard-faced killer.
‘Turn around,’ Archer said.
Karen didn’t move; he cocked the hammer.
‘Last chance.’
Moving slowly, she turned around until she had her back to him.
‘Lift up the back of your shirt.’
She did, revealing an elaborate white rose pattern just above her waistband.
‘That’s a Suki tattoo,’ he said.
She turned back around. ‘Very good.’
‘Henderson had an identical one. So did Tully, on his chest. I checked. Just in time.’
‘You got me.’
‘But you’re not Suki. You’re Prizraki. That tattoo is bullshit.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘OCCB told us the New York Prizraki had only lost one major figure in the past two years; their head of trafficking. Two months after he’s replaced, Brooklyn South picked up some unusual activity; apparently members of the gang had started to disappear. I’m guessing Henderson, Tully and Lister’s handiwork. Those tattoos confirmed they’re members of the rival gang; Suki.’
‘Why the hell would they take on the Prizraki?’
‘Payback. We were told the Pittsburgh Suki were wiped off the map ten years ago. According to a bartender who turned informant, their leader was killed by a woman in a South-Side nightclub; she was blonde, late twenties or early thirties, worked as a waitress and had Suki tattoos. I think that woman was you.’
Karen stayed silent.
‘According to this bartender, the Suki leader’s sons were killed that night but his grandchildren all disappeared; Mikhail, Seva and Ninochka. Michael, Seb and Nina.’
He fixed her gaze.
‘Henderson, Tully and Lister.’
Karen snorted. ‘They have different surnames.’
‘Which they probably adopted to avoid being identified for who they really were. The Suki have been persecuted for decades. But that’s why the three grandchildren suddenly appeared in San Diego after being born and raised in Pittsburgh. That’s why they’re here now.’
‘So how do you get to them apparently killing men in New York?’
‘Because the man who was responsible for what happened to them is right here. He ran the show in Pittsburgh; he was the guy brought in to take over the Prizraki operation here when the original boss was killed.’
Karen didn’t reply for a moment. ‘So where do I fit in to all this?’
‘You ran April and Leann’s escort service. Goya and Santiago worked for you. They were probably running it but April told us the whole operation suddenly changed at the beginning of this year, the exact same time that you moved here with Leann. But you didn’t come here to escape an abusive husband, did you? Instead, you came here to find and kill him.’
‘There’s no proof of that.’
‘OCCB sent us a picture of the Prizraki boss in Little Odessa; Bashev. He and Leann had identical eyes; it was obvious. They had to be related, which meant she was probably his kid. And your husband. But I’m guessing you’re not her mother.’
She stayed silent.
‘Anyway, we found Henderson, Tully and Lister had a history of targeting successful prostitution rings and taking them over, killing the people who’d originally run them. Goya and Santiago worked for you, which made you the head and therefore a target. I can guess the only reason they spared you was because they saw your tattoos. They couldn’t kill a fellow Suki; they had no idea you’re actually Prizraki, the woman who killed their grandfather. If they had, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. You both had a common enemy, so you struck up an alliance; you bullshitted them, claiming you were on their side, and used them against your old crew.’
‘Why would I want to put moves against my own crew, dumbass?’
‘The Thieves Law, that’s why. I heard about it, a code of honour that Russian Mafia live by. A detective from Brooklyn South gave us a few examples and one stuck in my head. A true vor can’t have a family, isn’t that right?’
Karen stayed silent.’
‘So if Bashev was inducted, he’d have to get rid of his family. We haven’t found any evidence that Bashev showed any interest in Leann; if she worked as an escort, he probably didn’t give a shit about her. She didn’t need to die. However, you were his wife so you did. Despite the fact that you killed the head of the Pittsburgh Suki, the Prizraki betrayed you in the end.’
‘You still haven’t told me why you think I’m one of them. This is all guesswork.’
‘When I came to see you, you dropped that cup on the floor, remember? But you made no attempt to pick it up. You didn’t even react when you dropped it. Because the code you live by as Prizraki forbids you picking anything up from the floor, doesn’t it? Seems crazy to me but Detective Massaro says you guys live and die by that stuff. But apparently Sukis don’t live by the same rules, being outcasts and all. Am I getting close? I think so.’
Her lips thinned but she didn’t reply.
‘Your husband’s not a drunk, and he’s not back in Pennsylvania. He’s here in New York. You’re here for the same reason as Henderson, Tully and Lister; revenge.’
‘He buried me alive in a coffin. I’m supposed to let that pass?’
‘What about the men who disappeared? All these Prizraki?’
‘To humiliate him first and scare the shit out of that son of a bitch, to have him watch his entire faction disappear around him before he joined them, last of all. I wanted him to suffer.’
‘What about the escorts? And Vargas? Did they deserve to die too?’
‘I had my reasons. And your girlfriend was just a bonus.’
‘You had something on Royston too, didn’t you?’ Archer continued, refusing to be goaded. ‘You needed more time to finish off the Prizraki and told him to delay the investigation. That’s why he ran interference from day one. That’s why our homes received a visit tonight.’
‘Real shame you’re never getting your girl bac
k,’ Karen replied quietly, staring him in the eyes. ‘What was her name; Alice?’
Archer didn’t take his eyes off her. ‘It wasn’t a coincidence I got arrested when I came to see you either. You must have messaged Royston and told him I was there. You told him to get me into Rikers and make sure I didn’t leave.’
‘Yet you survived,’ Karen said. ‘You’re just like me, Detective. We’re both survivors. So put that gun down and let’s talk about it.’
‘You’re done.’
She smiled. ‘You have no idea how many times people have tried to kill me. But I’m still here. Just like you.’
‘I’m nothing like you.’
The moment he finished speaking there was a racking sound a foot from his head, a shotgun being pumped.
He froze, then quickly glanced to his right.
Royston.
Looking back at Karen, Archer saw her smile.
‘Well now look at this,’ Karen said, Archer’s advantage of a few seconds ago gone. ‘I was wrong, Detective. You and I aren’t alike after all.’
‘You stupid bitch,’ Royston said, not taking his shotgun off Archer as he addressed Karen. ‘I’m not here just for him. I’m here for both of you.’
He’d barely finished speaking when Karen suddenly moved, throwing the container of bleach towards Royston and taking him by surprise. Pulling his aim off Archer, the lieutenant swung the Mossberg and fired but Karen had already darted behind the van as the shell destroyed a trash can just beyond where she’d been standing.
Archer immediately snapped his elbow back into Royston’s face as the Lieutenant racked the pump. With a silenced pistol she pulled from her jacket, Karen fired, aiming at Archer, her biggest threat, but he was already moving and she missed, hitting Royston in the leg instead. Shouting in pain, the Lieutenant fell back but before Archer could grab the shotgun from him, Royston turned it on him.
Exposed, Archer threw himself behind a concrete bollard in the middle of the yard, the only cover available, but the shot never came.
Snapping out, Archer went to fire but hesitated when he saw Royston had ducked for cover behind another bollard.
Just as a grenade rolled to a stop fifteen feet from Archer.
It exploded a beat later, blowing Archer off his feet and back onto the concrete, leaving him lying in a limp heap.
Seeing the blond detective go down, Royston rose from his cover and racked the pump to finish him off but then heard the screech of tyres behind him, a fast-moving car pulling into the yard. Turning, he fired, blowing out a front tyre on the Bureau Ford. As the car skewed to a halt, Royston fired again at the front windshield then racked the pump; ignoring Archer, who he could see was either dead or unconscious, he turned and looked for his tormentor, Karen Casey. Realising there was only one place she could be, he limped forward into the warehouse.
The shotgun was one he’d lifted a while ago from the Precinct’s lock-up, as well as the grenade, after the blackmail had started; already trying to track down who was working him at that point, he wanted weapons that could never be traced back to him in case he struck gold and could put moves on his blackmailers.
Retrieving them from his home and arming up, he’d parked outside the docks and stolen in through the gate. He’d heard Archer and Karen’s entire conversation and now understood what was going on. Apparently Henderson and Tully were dead, he could finish off Archer shortly, which left Karen Casey and the cops who’d just arrived.
After months of misery, he was finally going to finish this.
Inside the Ford, Marquez and Palmer had caught sight of the explosion, watching Archer go down, and could now see him lying unmoving on the concrete. Marquez had also seen Royston limping into a warehouse to her right after being shot in the leg by Karen Casey.
That call Palmer received had been from Polaris telling her that two girls in Pittsburgh had been arrested for prostitution last night, working a street-corner. Their English had been poor, but they’d understood the threat of deportation, and with an interpreter brought in, one of them had opened up. Apparently they were both from Moscow and had been trafficked through the South Side docks, then forced to work in the city as high-end prostitutes for a blonde woman called Karen, who’d suddenly disappeared without warning at the end of last year. The cops had put a search out for the name and contacted Polaris to check their records; one of Palmer’s colleagues in Pittsburgh who’d already checked out Leann Casey’s history at Theresa’s request took the call, saw the timings and worked on a hunch. He sent over Karen Casey’s DMV photo, asking the police to run it past the two women. Apparently they’d both immediately identified her as the woman who’d run the escort ring they’d been forced to join.
Marquez had called the Bureau to pass on in the information, when Ethan told her Archer was following Karen Casey to the docks.
Ripping open her door, she started to run towards Archer then realised Palmer was following her.
‘Get back inside!’ she ordered, pointing towards the car. ‘And stay down!’
Reluctantly Palmer turned back, but not before glancing worriedly at Archer lying unmoving on the ground.
‘Is he alright?’ she called.
Not bothering to answer, Marquez arrived by her team-mate and saw he wasn’t moving, blood running down his neck.
‘Arch,’ she said, kneeling down and checking for a pulse. ‘Arch?’
He didn’t respond.
Pushing him over gently, she saw he was out cold; she felt for a pulse again and was relieved to feel it under her fingers, constant and strong.
Looking down at her colleague for a moment, unwilling to leave him lying there, Marquez suddenly heard a gunshot from inside the warehouse.
She had to make a choice.
Looking down at Archer again and knowing he’d make the same decision, she turned him onto his side then rose and made her way quickly towards the warehouse, the lapping of the East River waves filling the silence behind her.
FIFTY ONE
Inside the warehouse, Karen darted behind a container, just avoiding a second shotgun blast from Royston. As the sound reverberated around the hangar, she ran down the aisle, ducking around the corner then listened, training her weapon on the gap as she waited for Royston to appear.
She’d seen Archer go down, but she’d also seen the Ford arrive and knew more police officers would be here any minute. Weighing up her options, she quickly checked her surroundings. A large truck was parked across the warehouse, a beer company logo painted on the side, the vehicle she, Henderson and Tully were going to use to get out of the city. It was too slow though, weighed down with cargo.
The warehouse seemed to be a holding area for metal pipes, stacks of them piled neatly around her, several on a metal forklift waiting to be moved outside and onto waiting ships.
Looking at the aisles, she saw the pipes were held in place by plastic binding straps, several for each stack.
And beside her, the forklift still had the keys in the ignition.
Stalking between the tall corridors created by the stacked pipes, Marquez was moving silently, holding her pistol double-handed. The noise of the city was muted in here, the only sound a quiet whisper of wind through the large space.
From what Ethan had hurriedly told her, she now knew that Karen and Royston had fed information to the Russians, helping them put moves on the families of Shepherd’s team, resulting in Michelle getting shot. Apparently, having failed to get Archer killed in prison, they’d arranged to finish the job at his apartment. And these two had been responsible for Vargas being lye-bathed. That made this more than personal.
Pausing, she stopped and listened, the place silent.
Suddenly she heard the sound of an engine bursting into life.
Spinning round, trying to locate it, she heard something smash into the other side of the aisle on her right. Looking up, she saw the entire column above her start to rock.
Then there was a ping of metal on metal as the
furthermost wrap holding a stack of pipes on the rack above her suddenly gave way.
Now free from one side, the pipes started to tilt, their weight causing the other straps to snap one after the other. Turning and running as fast as she could, Marquez sprinted for the end of the corridor and threw herself out of the aisle just as scores of pipes clattered to the ground behind her.
The sound ringing in her ears and echoing around the warehouse, Marquez went to rise.
But then found herself looking at a pair of feet.
Looking up, she saw Royston standing over her, his shotgun aimed straight at her head. She froze as she stared down the barrel and he racked the pump, a shell jumping out of the Mossberg.
‘You should have stayed out of this, bitch,’ he told her, his finger tightening on the trigger.
‘So should’ve you,’ a voice suddenly said from behind him.
As Royston swung round, Josh fired twice, putting two bullets in his chest, the Lieutenant dead before he hit the ground. The gunshots from the Sig echoed around the warehouse then faded away. Staring at Josh in surprise and relief, Marquez took his hand as he helped her back up.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
She nodded quickly. ‘How did you know?’
‘Arch called and told me on his way over. I just got here. Where is he?’
Before Marquez could reply, the pair heard a noise near the door and turned, snapping up their weapons.
Royston was down but Karen was still out there somewhere.
Back on the concrete dock-front, Archer opened his eyes.
His neck was wet; reaching up to touch it, he saw blood on his fingers. He vaguely remembered the grenade exploding and guessed something must have sliced him open. His clothing was hot from the blast, smoke on his face, blood on his hands and wrists from the broken zip-ties, the cuts on his chest and arm from the prison shower fight opened up once again.
The concrete was cold and unforgiving under him. He tried to sit up but his body wouldn’t obey, his vision blurry.
