Give No Chance: An Unputdownable Crime Thriller Packed With Mystery And Suspense (A Lawson & Abernathy Novella)

by Lily Campbell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Lily Campbell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  What Did You Think Of

  Give No Chance?

  Lawson & Abernathy Series

  Illusive Series

  Learn Brenda And Mack’s Past

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  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  Special Agent Brenda Lawson snatched a brown coffee cup, angry and impatient.

  “This is serious,” she snapped at the man rubbing his eyes across the desk from her. “The IP address is connected to the house Joey Curanto lives in. The scumbag is recruiting innocent kids, probably to run drugs or guns.”

  “Come on, Brenda,” Henry complained, “it's after midnight and I'm tired. Who cares what Curanto is doing? No one’s gonna go after that guy. He's too much of a liability and has too many connections. Who cares if he's recruiting a bunch of wasted teenagers to run drugs or guns for him.”

  Oh, how Brenda hated working for the FBI. The FBI was filled with too many clowns. Henry Tillers was a rat in a suit who kissed a lot of unclean backsides to further a career that offered power and money.

  He is just another political weasel. Why do I even waste my time? Brenda felt like a stuffed turkey in the gray suit she was wearing. Henry's cramped office was hot and stuffed with a bunch of golfing junk intermingled with a few important legal items. Sure it was freezing outside, but even in the dead of summer, Henry kept his office boiling.

  Henry didn't notice Brenda's discontent. No. He was too tired to care about 'Ms. Wyatt Earp' who was now determined to run down another gang of outlaws. Brenda was too high speed for his taste—a woman who cared too much about the letter of the law rather than leaning back and enjoying a free ride. Why care if Joey Curanto was recruiting a bunch of deadbeat teenagers? Henry wasn't going to get on Joey's bad side and risk losing his life. Curanto had some serious contacts.

  “Look, Brenda. Director Summers assigned us to work on the new 'Social Media Terror Task Force' to search for political terrorism, not to annoy a deadly mafia boss. Our job is to protect the big guys in Washington, okay?”

  Brenda stared at Henry. The guy resembled a tall, scrawny alley cat that smelled of cheap cologne. Brenda guessed she didn't look much better. She had gotten the impression that her looks favored a war torn soldier who had just walked off a bloody battlefield. Brenda knew she was a rough woman who didn't carry a feminine beauty, but so what? She was forty-two years old, in good shape, healthy, and able to take care of herself in a real fight. Brenda was too battle scarred by life to ever become a housewife that wore pretty little dresses and baked muffins all day.

  “Yeah sure, Henry. Have it your way, you boot licker.”

  Henry raised his sour, exhausted eyes to Brenda. “What did you call me?”

  “I called you a boot licker,” Brenda confirmed in a hard tone. “You make me sick.”

  “Hey, I'm not risking my life over a bunch of low life teenagers who don't have anything better to do than hang out on a lousy social media site and complain about not having a new smartphone!” Henry barked. “Curanto is a deadly man. No one with any common sense messes with him unless you want to end up dead, get me?”

  Henry’s thick Brooklyn accent began to flow from his angry mouth. “I don't mess with him and you don’t mess with him. Now get out of my office.”

  “You're pathetic,” Brenda snapped in a disgusted voice and then stormed out into a stuffy hallway lined with closed doors.

  “Director Summers will have your job if you don't back off,” Henry yelled after Brenda. Our job is to monitor—”

  Brenda slammed Henry's office door before he could finish his sentence.

  “My job is to take down the bad guys,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I'm not backing down.”

  She checked the time and hurried to a small, cramped office that resembled a military barrack. Brenda plopped down behind a spotlessly clean pine desk, and fished a cell phone out of her gray suit jacket.

  “Be awake,” she muttered as she dialed.

  Brenda’s office was located in Jamaica, New York. Brenda preferred to be in the city, but Jamaica would have to do. Detective Mack Abernathy wasn’t too far away.

  “If you're calling me at this hour then something is wrong,” a gruff voice answered. “What is it?”

  “The new social media site called 'Dazed'. A user that goes by the name 'Underyournose' is recruiting local teenagers. The user is attached to an IP address that belongs to Joey Curanto.” Brenda spoke in a low and direct voice. “What's the word on the streets?”

  Mack was sitting in a gray, unmarked police car across from a lousy, ramshackle diner filled with late night drug dealers.

  “The word is I'm looking for a street dealer that gunned down another street dealer.” Mack respected and liked Brenda, but he was on a case. “I'll call you back in a few hours.”

  Brenda imagined Mack, who looked like an old street fighter who had his face beaten in too many times, sitting in a cold Oldsmobile, drinking lousy coffee, munching on lousy Chinese food, while waiting for some street gang to show up.

  “I'm not far—”

  “I'm sitting in front of the Side Alley Diner. Know where it is?” Mack asked, taking a drink of warm coffee.

  “Yeah, been there...food is junk. I'll be to you in about half an hour.”

  “Snowing pretty hard,” Mack told Brenda and then ended the call.

  Brenda grinned a little. She stood up, grabbed a heavy gray coat off a wooden coat rack, and then headed out into a cold, icy, snowy night.

  A black BMW clicked on a pair of headlights as soon as Brenda walked out into the night and began making her way down a dimly lit, snow-covered sidewalk lined with sleeping vehicles. Brenda felt the headlights splash through the heavy falling snow and kick her back. She eased her right hand under her coat and gripped the Glock 17 hidden in a secure shoulder holster, and kept walking. The black BMW eased forward like a slithering snake preparing to strike.

  “I've got trouble,” Brenda said under her breath.

  The black BMW tailed Brenda until she reached the end of Gardens Road and then roared forward at a dangerous speed. Brenda spun around, snatching her gun out as she did, and watched the car slide to a stop. Seconds later, the passenger side window rolled down. Brenda recognizes the deadly face peered out i
nto the falling snow.

  “Got a message for you from my boss,” Vincent Santoro growled at Brenda.

  “Curanto?” Brenda asked, holding her Glock at the ready.

  “He says to back off, or else,” Vincent told Brenda in a soulless voice. “This is your only warning, so be smart. It ain't nice to upset the boss. Get it?”

  The guy’s eyes clearly told Brenda that he was high on something. Vincent was known to favor white powders.

  “It ain't nice to threaten an FBI Agent, either. Get it?” Brenda fired back, keeping her trigger finger firmly at the ready. “Feels good to be released after I arrested you a few days ago, huh? You can tell your boss that we will uphold the law.”

  “You bunch of suits can't uphold anything except the few measly dollars the boss gives you to shut your mouths, lady!” Vincent yelled at Brenda. “Get me out of here, Paulie.”

  Brenda watched Vincent stick his head back into the BMW as the driver kicked the gas and sped away into the falling snow.

  Wonder who has been talking? Henry? No… just told Henry about Joey tonight. Haven't told anyone else except… Director Summers. I shouldn't be surprised.

  Brenda put her pistol away and got her legs moving, moving toward Mack's location as the heavy snow piled onto her.

  Brenda walked through the snow, keeping her eyes sharp and alert. By the time she reached Mack’s unmarked police car, she felt frozen to the core but still prepared to tackle a long and dangerous night. Mack spotted Brenda approaching from the rear, leaned over, and popped the passenger side door open with a hard hand. Brenda quickly slid in without being seen.

  “Had a visit from Vincent,” Brenda uttered.

  Mack glanced into Brenda's frozen face and nodded his head. “You're alive, so that means you were given a warning.”

  “I don't like being threatened, Mack.” Brenda reached her hands forward to warm them against the car vent. Mack wasn't a gentleman by any means, but he did care about Brenda. They enjoyed being friends that could depend on each other when the bullets began to fly.

  “Joey Curanto is a killer. 'Dazed' is nothing more than a drug room, Brenda. We're going to be fighting a losing battle.” Mack cautioned and then nodded through the snow-covered windshield toward the diner. Mack had the car running and the heat going, keeping the windshield warm enough to back the snow off.

  “We're a dying breed, right?” Brenda asked, ripping a gray snow cap off her head.

  “Cops are paid political enforcers, nothing else. That's why Joey Curanto can't be touched.” Mack replied in a low tone, keeping his eyes peeled on the diner.

  “Then why are you sitting here?”

  “Because the street dealer I'm after killed the son of a city council member. Her son was nothing but a street dealer himself, but money talks,” Mack explained in a hard voice. “To the outside world we're supposed to look clean and caring, honest and protective, right? It's all a sick game”

  Brenda sat in silence for a few minutes as she watched street rats buzz in and out of the filthy diner, buying drugs and then drifting off into the frozen night to get high. “We can go in there and make a real bust—”

  “I'd lose my shield,” Mack cut Brenda off. “All the drugs going in and out of that diner are connected to the higher ups in one way or another. My job is to arrest one person.”

  Brenda heard disgust in Mack's voice.

  “Many wear a badge to protect the interests of criminals,” Mack sighed and then nearly spit into his coffee. “I'd rather be on the inside of the fence than the outside. At least if I'm on the inside I can see what's going on. And speaking of being on the inside...there's him. See you in a few minutes.”

  Brenda watched Mack ease out into the heavy falling snow while smoothly removing a hidden pistol from his black trench coat. Seconds later, Mack was running across an icy road like a vicious soldier determined to kill a few of his enemies. In a matter of minutes Mack had a stringy kid that looked like a 1980's punk band singer slammed down onto a frozen sidewalk while a group of drug-addled teenagers scattered into the wind like scared flies.

  “So you arrest a punk carrying some drugs and a gun, but Joey Curanto is the real deal. I swore an oath. I can’t back down. I have a job to do.”

  Chapter 2

  Mack slumped down behind a messy desk stacked with files, empty coffee cups, and scraps of old notes. Unlike Brenda, he was organizationally challenged. But so what? It wasn't like Mack had anyone to be organized for. He was single, had no children, and lived in a shabby one-bedroom apartment that cost him an arm and a leg to rent.

  “Hey Mack!” A face wearing a lopsided smile popped through the half-opened wooden door lined with snow glass. “Heard you made a good bust last night. Way to go, buddy!”

  Tim Cunningham was a rookie cop who carried a positive attitude wherever he went. The kid is twenty-four and thinks he can save the world. I remember those days… too bad life has beaten the truth into me.

  “Just doing my job, Tim,” Mack grunted without looking at Tim. He pulled a brown file and opened it on his desk. “Take one off the street and two more will appear.”

  Tim invited himself into Mack's office.

  “Yeah, but we make a dent, right?” he asked, proud to be wearing an ironed uniform that made him look handsome and intelligent.

  “No,” Mack grunted again. “Look, I'm busy.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” Tim turned to leave but popped his head back. “Listen, Mack. My older sister is visiting me… she's thirty-eight…my parents had me late …I was a surprise. Anyway. Shelia, my sis. Single, and a real pretty woman. A little on the chubby side, but still—”

  “No,” Mack told Tim in a hard tone.

  Tim sighed.

  “Yeah, I kind of figured. Never hurts to ask, though.“Well, I'll see you later, good buddy,” he said, forcing a smile to his face. “Keep up the good work.”

  Mack watched Tim leave his office and then shook his head. “A kid from Oklahoma working as a cop in New York. He'll get broken real quick. He'll—” The gray phone on his desk rang. “Detective Abernathy.”

  “You're sitting at your desk wearing a wrinkled up black suit, right?”

  Mack grinned after hearing her voice.

  “Right, Brenda.” He glanced down at a cheap black suit that he always wore. The suit was worn down, and tattered and torn from street fights. “What’s happening?”

  Brenda gulped down a glass of orange juice as a piece of toast popped out of the toaster.

  “On my way to the office,” she explained, catching the toast. “Director Summers called. He wants to have a meeting.”

  “In other words he's going to push you into a corner and give you two choices: Protect the criminals or lose your job.”

  “Yeah, that's the feeling I get,” Brenda nodded her head as her eyes surveyed her small, neatly organized kitchen. “We're getting older, Mack. We have different problems now. Seems like yesterday when we first met.”

  “I remember,” Mack answered in a quiet voice, feeling his memories walk back through time.

  “I was down and out,” Brenda confessed, buttering her toast. “I managed to stay alive, Mack, and fought my way through a deadly night. But did I really come out okay?”

  “You're doing better than okay, Brenda.”

  “Yeah, sure. I've got my gambling problem under control but other than that… I don't know, Mack? Lately I've been feeling… pretty useless. I saw a play a few days ago, but I just ended up wondering why bother with anything,” Brenda sat down at her small round wooden kitchen table.

  Mack usually backed away when a friend pressed their personal life on him, but Brenda was different. “We can't change what is done, Brenda. All we can do is keep taking one day… one bullet… one tear … one funeral… one birth… one life… at a time.”

  “Yeah, but—” Brenda heard someone knock on the front door of her apartment.

  “Hey, Mack. I have a visitor. I'll call you back.” Brenda tos
sed down her cell phone, checked the dark blue suit she was wearing, and glanced at the time. She trudged from the kitchen to an equally small living room with a simple brown couch, a writing desk and a sitting chair; no television or nice decorations.

  “Who is it?”

  “Summers,” a hard voice answered.

  Brenda stared at the front door of her apartment for a few seconds. There is no way Curanto is that fast.

  “Director,” Brenda said in a professional voice as she opened the door. “I thought our meeting was to take place in your office.”

  A tall, skinny man brushed past Brenda.

  “Look, Brenda.” Brent Summers spoke in an angry voice, his black coat damp with melting snow. “You need to cool the cowboy stuff.”

  “Cowboy stuff?” Brenda questioned, closing the door.

  Brent spun around and aimed a hard finger at Brenda.

  “You know what I mean. You can't mess with Joey Curanto. This isn't the old days. Curanto is a powerful man, and he's connected to some powerful people. Do you understand?”

  “I'm afraid so,” Brenda nodded, staring at a yellow-bellied coward. “You're scared to do your job.”

  “I'm not going to ruin my career on a useless chase, Agent Lawson. I have a son in law school and a wife who enjoys belonging to a very nice flower club. I'm not about to throw my life down the drain because our people are messing with him, is that clear?” Director Summers’s thin face turned red with anger.

  “I'm afraid it is.”

  “Oh, don't look at me like that,” Brent snapped, staring into Brenda’s disgusted face. “You're no saint, Brenda. I know your background. You're lucky to even be working for the FBI. And let me warn you, I would fire you in a second if I could. But that doesn't mean I'll stand by and let you turn Curanto into a hungry shark, is that clear?”

  “What do you expect me to do, Director? Sit around and watch a drug lord suck the life out of innocent kids?”

  “There's not an innocent kid in all of Brooklyn,” Brent barked. “The kids...teenagers… who walk these streets are nothing but future prison inmates.”