by Jack Quaid
The Sergeant thought about it for a moment before nodding. ‘If you change your mind, just get on the blower.’
The patrol was about to pull away from the curb when Sullivan stepped into the street blocking its way. ‘Whoa, hold on,’ he said. ‘You boys don’t mind if Lieutenant Jones and I hitch a ride back to the station with you?’
Rayburn gripped his shotgun and inched forward with his foot to raise it but stopped short when he noticed where Sullivan was staring. Directly into the camera on the dashboard of the patrol car. Through a fiber-optic cable, Sullivan’s image was being carried to a router in the trunk and relayed back to the 10th Precinct police station and captured.
‘Sure thing,’ Graham said. ‘Climb in.’
Sullivan smiled. ‘I guess we’ll see you guys later.’
‘It may be sooner than you think,’ Rayburn said.
Sullivan and Jones climbed in the back of the patrol and then headed down the street. The uniforms made small talk and Sullivan played along, but every once in a while when he looked out the rear windshield, he saw a pair of headlights following them and knew that all this little trip had done was buy them some time.
Chapter Eighteen
The uniforms dropped them off at the front door of the 10th Precinct, but they didn’t go in.
‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ Sullivan said, stepping off over the road and into the sprawling parking lot of the local shopping mall. Except for the odd vehicle that had broken down or been dumped, the place was empty.
The muscles in Jones’s knee didn’t respond to the workout he was putting it through, and he struggled to keep up. A couple of times he fell and had to be pulled to his feet by Sullivan, only to fall again a few steps later.
‘Do you need a hand?’
‘No.’
He watched Jones struggle to his feet once more, and when he regained his balance, Sullivan wrapped an arm around Jones’s shoulders only to be pushed away.
‘I can do it.’
They heard a vehicle screech to a stop and looked over their shoulders to the police station across the parking lot and over the road. The SUV had pulled up with Rayburn and his crew pushing through the doors and going inside.
Sullivan looked to Jones. ‘Get the hell up.’ He held out his hand. ‘Take it.’
Jones nodded. Sullivan put his arm around him, and they made the shuffle across the car park. It was a slow struggle, and they were making progress until they reached the row of closed shops that surrounded the mall and Jones tripped, taking them both to the concrete.
Jones tried to catch his breath. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘This damn leg.’
‘Hey,’ Warren yelled, his voice cutting through the car park. He was standing by the SUV with Rayburn and his whole crew, his finger aimed at Sullivan and Jones. ‘They’re over there.’
The three of them piled into the SUV, its engine roared to life, and tires squealed on the asphalt.
Sullivan pulled at Jones. ‘Get up.’
The SUV barreled over an embankment. Its high beams coming at them.
‘We won’t make it,’ Jones said. ‘But you will. Find out who Hailstrum is and bury him.’ Jones wrapped his fingers around his service weapon. ‘I’ll hold them off for a few minutes.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Go.’
The SUV gunned through the car park. It was almost on them.
Sullivan took a step back. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘GO.’
The weapon felt like a brick in his hand, but Jones managed to level it up at the SUV. He looked to Sullivan. ‘If you die here, they get away with it. Run!’
Sullivan turned on his heels.
He heard six quick shots and never looked back.
Chapter Nineteen
Sullivan put his hand on the door: it was warm. There was someone inside. He pushed his key into the lock, slowly, one groove at a time.
Turned it.
Wilson sat at his kitchen table, a cigarette between his fingers. It stayed there as he picked up a cup of coffee and wet his lips with it. ‘I see you still have your key.’
‘Is there any more coffee?’
Wilson dragged himself to his feet, moved to the bench, and switched on the kettle. It didn’t take long to boil. He made two coffees and placed one in front of Sullivan. ‘We’re out of milk.’
‘Got anything stronger?’
From his dressing-gown pocket came a hip flask. He poured a generous shot into each mug.
‘The telephone rang before.’
‘What did it say?’
‘That you and Taylor pulled the armored truck job yesterday morning. Later on, you had a falling out and you shot him dead. Rayburn arrested you, and to escape you shot Scott Garcia.’
‘What happened to me destroying a house by the 10th?’
‘I didn’t hear about that.’
‘You will,’ Sullivan said. ‘Sounds like I had a busy day.’
Wilson nodded. ‘It does.’ He lit another cigarette.
‘What did you say?’
‘That we need to bring you in. One way or another.’
‘And here I am.’
He took a long sip of his coffee. ‘And here you are.’
‘What are my options?’
‘Well.’ He smiled. ‘There’s fucked, and then there’s fucked. I can rustle up ten, maybe twelve grand.’
‘For what?’
‘It won’t get you far, but it’ll get you far enough.’
It took a moment for Sullivan to realize what he was getting at. ‘I’m not the running kind, Pat.’
‘I can’t protect you, not against this. You shot a cop, a dirty cop. If Rayburn and his crew are dirty, then who knows who else is. It’s not safe here anymore.’
Sullivan slumped over the Laminex table, his head in his hands. His mind was tired from racing and his body aching from the past two days and thirty rough years. He closed his eyes.
‘I’m not running, Pat.’
Downing his drink, Wilson shifted his weight on the uncomfortable chair. ‘There may be another way.’
Chapter Twenty
It was a twenty-four-hour diner on Wyoming Avenue. Six-hour-old fried chicken sat in one bain-marie, and an assortment of congealing Indian curries were in the other. Despite the hour, the place was packed with cab drivers starting early or finishing late, their yellow vehicles littering the small car park and street outside. They were loud and sweaty and unsure of Sullivan and Wilson sitting in the rear corner booth.
Chief Mackler pushed through the finger-smudged glass doors. She was out of her uniform and dressed in civvies of denim and leather. She sat next to Wilson and across from Sullivan.
‘Sorry to get you out of bed so early, Chief,’ Wilson said.
‘Fourteen dead bodies, Patrick. Do you really think I was asleep? Now, for fuck’s sake, tell me what this is all about.’
Wilson shot Sullivan a look that said, ‘good luck,’ then motioned with his hand for him to begin.
‘Rayburn, Cooper, Garcia, Warren, and Taylor, of Major Crimes: they pulled the armored truck job yesterday morning. Then turned up to investigate it. They had everyone chasing bullshit and put the whole thing on a couple of poor nobodies with half a history.’
‘The suspects are dead,’ Mackler said. ‘Tore up their shirts and hanged themselves.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘That’s sixteen people dead is what it is. All right, say I believe you; how did you come to this?’
‘At the scene, I pulled an SD card from a Merc. It got tapped with a bullet and its alarm went off, which in turn activated the reverse camera. It captured everything from the first shots fired.’
‘How many shooters?’
‘Four. And a spotter in a backup vehicle parked across the road.’
‘Stolen?’
‘No. Taylor got lazy. It was registered to an Alison Allen. I followed her and found him. Told him what I just told you, and he d
idn’t like the sound of it. He went for a weapon. I was faster.’
‘The girl? Was she there?’
‘No.’
‘And then you called it in.’
‘Uh huh. Rayburn turned up just after the murder boys. I told him what was what, he played dumb, and I bought it. We were on our way to see you when he made his move.’
‘Which is when you shot Garcia.’
Sullivan shook his head. ‘Wasn’t me. They shot Garcia.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘And the SD footage?’
‘Gone.’
Mackler stared, tried to figure him out. She could fall either way, and Sullivan didn’t know her well enough to gauge her reaction. Her leather jacket creaked as she leaned forward. ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘I just don’t know. Where’s your evidence?’
‘You have my word.’
‘I don’t know what that’s worth.’
‘With all due respect, Chief, ask around.’
‘This is not my first time around the block with you. You’ve got a laundry list of breaking rules and breaking bones. I’ve only kept you on active duty as a personal favor to Patrick. He seemed to think that you would be good at this type of work?’
Sullivan bit his tongue, spoke though clenched teeth. ‘You have dirty cops pulling armed robberies.’
‘I don’t know what I have yet. For a start, why would one of our elite units do something like this?’
Wilson scoffed, ‘Really? This is the lowest-paid department in the country. I’ve got guys who have to take out personal loans to pay their electricity bill, while half the crims they steal from everywhere drive Lamborghinis and get let off with not much more than a slap on the wrist. The only surprise is that it’s taken this long to happen.’
She let it slide and focused her attention on Sullivan. ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Detective. I’m not saying that at all. Everything you’ve told me could be one hundred percent true. Or everything you’ve told me could be for some other reason. All I know is that somehow you’re involved.’
Sullivan couldn’t believe his ears. ‘This was a waste of fucking time.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ Wilson warned him. He turned to Mackler. ‘The question is: where do we go from here?’
‘Into custody.’
Sullivan let the air leak slowly out of his lungs. He stared out the window and said nothing.
‘It’s the only way,’ she continued. ‘Until this can be cleaned up.’
‘What about Rayburn?’ Wilson asked.
‘He’ll be questioned.’
‘Questioned?’
‘I can’t go and arrest the hero of the day on his word alone. I can’t do that. It needs to be by the book.’
‘An inquiry.’
She nodded. ‘That’s most likely what will happen, yes.’
‘By the time it takes to run a full investigation,’ Sullivan said, ‘the cash will be gone. They’ll be gone, and there’s a very high chance that I’ll have some kind of unfortunate accident.’
Mackler turned to Wilson. ‘Can you give us a minute?’
He nodded, climbed up, and moved through the taxi drivers toward the toilets.
When he was out of earshot, Mackler turned to Sullivan. ‘I don’t like you. You think your gut instinct is law, and it isn’t. If what you are saying is true, then yes, you need protection. If it’s not true, then you need to be in jail. Either way, you are going into custody.’
As Sullivan was taking that in, the doors busted open. Gunmen, two of them. Balaclavas and shotguns. Taxi drivers tried to scatter. They made it a couple of steps before a shotgun blast to the roof froze the shit out of them.
‘Everybody just stay calm, and you’ll live through this. We want your wallets and your night’s takings.’
‘You,’ the second gunman yelled at the waitress behind the counter. ‘Get that cash register open.’
The first gunman paced the length of the eatery. Wallets, rings, and watches clattered into his open garbage bag. The other thug reached over the counter, snatching up the night’s takings. They moved fast, but were sloppy, letting some of the loot fall on the floor.
The first gunman passed Sullivan and stopped. ‘What the fuck did you just say?’
Mackler looked at Sullivan. Everybody did.
He moved closer, got up in Sullivan’s face. ‘What the fuck did you just say?’
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ an old taxi driver yelled.
‘Looks like we got a smart prick here,’ the gunman yelled to his buddy. ‘Can’t keep his mouth shut.’
‘He didn’t say anything,’ Mackler said.
‘Shut up, bitch.’ He pressed the muzzle of his shotgun into Sullivan’s temple. ‘I don’t like mouthy pricks.’
Sullivan’s eyes dipped low. The gunman’s shoes: black, basic, rubber soled. Police issue. He cast a glance at Mackler. She was thinking the same thing. This wasn’t a robbery; it was a hit.
The second gunman was getting anxious. ‘Do the bastard, and let’s go.’
Mackler shifted her eyes to the other side of the room. Sullivan followed. Wilson had come out of the bathroom, his weapon in hand. He pulled it up onto the second gunman, back of the head, and squeezed off a round.
Pink mist.
Sullivan shifted from the shooter’s barrel and slammed his gun hand into the table, breaking his wrist. He relieved him of his weapon.
‘He’s got another,’ Mackler yelled.
He pulled a snub out from God knew where. Mackler tried to get hold but slipped. A round fired into the floor, another into the wall, and before he could get off a third, Sullivan buried the piece into the attacker’s chest and pulled back on the trigger.
Blood sprayed Mackler’s face from the exit wound.
The corpse slumped onto the table.
Taxi drivers cleaned out of the joint. The yellow in the street disappeared.
Mackler sucked in a breath. Blood dripped from her chin onto the table. ‘Give. Me. The. Gun,’ she said.
Sullivan unloaded the weapon, left it on the table for her. Wilson holstered his piece. ‘Are you two okay?’
Mackler couldn’t muster up the words, so Sullivan spoke for the both of them. ‘We’re fine.’
Wilson pulled the balaclava off the gunman’s head. He took one look at the face and stepped back. ‘Christ.’
Sullivan recognized him.
‘What?’ Mackler whispered.
‘He’s a cop,’ Sullivan said, settling his gaze on Mackler. ‘Do you believe me now?’
Chapter Twenty-One
Sullivan pushed through the doors and into the street.
‘Angus, stop and think about what you’re doing,’ Wilson said.
Sullivan slowed by the footpath. The street empty, the sky breaking in shards of chrome grey and white. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Do this the right way,’ Wilson said.
The chief tried to light a cigarette. Her hands too shaky. Threw it to the concrete. ‘You need to come with us, now.’
‘Your department’s gone bad, Chief. How do you think they found us?’
‘I don’t know?’ she said.
‘Did you sign out your address before you came here?’
‘Yes.’
That was it.
‘I go into custody, and I’m dead. You don’t know who to trust, and I’m not going to be the way you find out. A long, drawn-out investigation isn’t going to get this done. The only way out of this mess is to find out who Hailstrum is, and to do that I need to follow the money. I need to find that fifteen million dollars.’
‘Careful what you’re saying here, Angus. What you’re talking about is not being a cop. You need to stick to the system. You need to stick to the rules. It’s what makes us better than them.’
‘The world doesn’t work that way, not anymore.’
‘This is vigilantism.’
‘Our rules don’t
work anymore. People are getting hurt. That’s what’s happening.’
‘You walk and you’re on your own,’ Mackler said.
‘I stay and it’s no different.’
Pat rubbed his tired face, ‘Where you’re going, what you’re doing, I can’t be a part of.’
‘I’m not asking you to.’
Wilson sighed. Then took Sullivan by the arm, and they stepped out of earshot of Mackler. ‘If you’re going to do this thing,’ he said, ‘you have to go all in. You have to be as bad as they are.’
‘I know.’
He tapped Sullivan’s chest with the back of his knuckle. ‘That feeling you have inside sometimes, the one you try and keep in line and buried deep? It’s time to let it out,’ Wilson said. ‘Do you have a weapon?’
‘No.’
He pulled the pearl-handled .45 his father had used in World War II, and slapped it into Sullivan’s palm. ‘You’re going to need it.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
A cop wasn’t something Angus Sullivan thought he’d ever be. There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to be just like his father, and Angus’s father was the furthest thing from a cop there could be.
His name was Sebastian Russell, and he was an assassin.
Those in the business of killing called him God, on account that he could take out anybody, anywhere in the world, at any time. But to a young Angus Sullivan, he was simply known as ‘Dad.’
The year was 2006, and Russell was running late for Angus’s fifteenth birthday party. It was three days before Christmas. He was walking down State Street in the city of Chicago when Russell saw the man with a .38 in his waistband.
He opened the door to a Lincoln limousine and motioned for Russell to take a seat inside. Unless he wanted to start a gunfight outside of Macy’s, Russell figured he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He did what he was told and climbed inside.
The door closed. The car pulled out from the curb, and Russell settled his eyes on the woman sitting across from him. He figured her to be Columbian, in her late forties, despite looking like she was in her late thirties, and judging by the .38 driving the car, the tailored Italian suit, and the thirty-thousand-dollar Rolex on her wrist, he would put his money on the woman sitting across from him as cartel.
