“Mack?” Brenda asked, looking into Mack's troubled face.
Mack shook snow off his face. “These warehouses have become tombs. Even the bums holed up in these warehouses are sitting in a tomb...”
Brenda eyed the row of warehouses as hard snow battered her face. “We're never going to make a difference, Mack. I guess that's the way God said it would be… the days of Noah, you know?”
Mack glanced at Brenda. Brenda never talked much about her faith—and neither did he—but when Brenda did mention the Bible, he paid attention. “Good guys still wear white, though, right?” he asked.
“I try to be part of the wheat and not part of the tares,” Brenda nodded her head. “I know I'm no saint, Mack, but someone knows my heart. Well… we better get inside.”
“I'll go first,” Mack told Brenda, pushing his mind into a sharp bullet. “Let's move.”
Mack cautiously pulled his eyes away from the line of warehouses and eased into a small front room filled with cold darkness. The front room smelled of old cigarette smoke, slimy vodka bottles, and drugs. Mack pulled a small pen light from the pocket of his trench coat. He fished the pen light around the front room, spotting a wooden desk, a rusted filing cabinet, and a cigarette-stained brown carpet connected to wood-paneled walls that were badly warping.
“Clear.”
Brenda pointed to a wooden door in the back wall. “Let's get in.”
Mack turned and looked at Brenda with stern eyes. “Brenda, I know you can handle yourself, probably better than I can, but here's the deal: We stay together. We fight as a team. No hero stuff.”
Brenda understood Mack's concern. “No hero, stuff, Mack. I'm your shadow and you’re my shadow. That's the deal.”
A blast of icy wind rushed through the open front door and attacked her back. Death is in the wind. When this day is through, this warehouse will be somebody's tomb.
“We’re all marked for death, now, Mack. We won't live to see night arrive if we don't end this now. Joey Curanto has power and sooner or later, his bullets will find us. We have to stand and fight, but you better know I'm standing at your side, okay?”
“Good enough,” Mack replied, feeling a little relief touch his troubled face. “Let's get into the warehouse.”
Brenda agreed. She covered Mack as he eased open the door leading into a large, dark warehouse packed with rows and rows of wooden crates filled with rotted bags of flour, sugar, and spices that rats continually feasted on. Brenda quickly sniffed the air, searching for the scent of cologne or live cigarette smoke. Joey Curanto was known to wear a very heavy, potent cologne. The man also smoked expensive Russian cigarettes. Brenda caught only the whiff of stale air, still tainted with the scent of drugs.
No one has been in this warehouse for a while. Brenda thought.
“We need a good place to hide,” she whispered, easing down a lane between the wooden crates.
Mack held the pen light he was holding down onto a cracked concrete floor stained with oil marks. If anyone was hiding inside the warehouse, he didn't want to make his position obvious.
“We need to search out any other entrances,” he whispered back. “Curanto isn't likely to walk in through the front door.”
“I agree. Let's go.”
Mack checked his watch and then got moving. He and Brenda kept to the walls of the warehouse while walking a full square chalk line. Together they located a backdoor that was directly facing the river, along with a set of wooden doors that open outward for deliveries. Chains covered the double doors from the inside, so Joey Curanto would have to enter through the front door or the back door.
“Okay,” Mack spoke, keeping his voice low, “let's get a feel for this place.”
Brenda didn't ask any questions. Instead, she followed Mack into the middle of the warehouse, navigating past one tall row of wooden crates after another. Mack had a plan and Brenda was confident in her partner.
“Brent Summers never called me back and gave me the information I wanted about Joey Jr.,” she whispered. “Joey Curanto will be here very soon.”
***
Brent Summers informed Curanto about Brenda's position.
“Mr. Curanto, I warned her to back down, but she refused to listen. Now she's threatening to tell you lies.” Brent spoke to Joey in a nervous voice as he paced around his fancy office.
“Where is the woman, Brent?” Joey asked in a slithery voice, hungry to swallow a mouse.
“Agent Lawson said she is going to the east river warehouse district,” Brent confessed.
“I see,” Joey told Brent, standing up from behind an expensive desk that gleamed with dirty blood money. He walked to a large set of double windows, pulled back a heavy red drape, and looked over his snow-covered estate.
He particularly liked the small, frozen lake surrounded by shivering, bare trees. Then he spotted the reflection of a large, fat man in the window—a man wearing the eyes of a vicious killer that didn't mind if his jowls drooped or if his face looked like aged beef jerky. No. Joey Curanto didn't concern himself with appearances, although he did take pride in the fancy suits he wore.
“I have eyes everywhere,” he said.
Brent heard the thick 'Mafia' accent that gave him the creeps.
“Mr. Curanto, I can make a few calls—”
“No, Director, you did your job. I'll do my job. It seems like Agent Lawson wants to lure me into a trap. Don't worry. She'll be dead before the snow stops falling.”
Joey proceeded to call one of his guards. Stan wasn't Italian, but the man was ex-military and knew his stuff. Furthermore, Stan was loyal, and that counted in Joey's book.
“Stan, get Roberto and Smiley to the warehouse. I'll meet you there in one hour. We have two mice to kill. And Stan, stay out of sight until I arrive, huh? Good.”
Joey put his cell phone away, stared out at the falling snow, and then went for a fancy Russian revolver that he kept hidden in the top right drawer of his desk. “Time to die, Ms. Lawson. You're causing me too much trouble.”
A hard hand knocked on a thick, heavy, walnut door. Joey narrowed his eyes and ordered the visitor to enter. A tall man wearing a black suit stepped through the doors.
“Here she is, Mr. Curanto,” the man hissed, slinging Amy forward into the room. Amy tumbled forward and then crashed down onto her knees.
“Good.” Joey motioned the man to leave his office and stand guard outside. “Joey Jr. is dead, Amy.”
“Please, Mr. Curanto, I didn't tell the cops anything,” Amy cried, trembling all over as a stream of blood left her nose. “I swear—”
“I know, I know.” Joey spoke in a softer tone that gave Amy a little hope. He approached Amy and touched her bruised face. “I see that Andy has been a little rough with you. He's a brute. I must have a talk with him. In the meantime, my dear, why don't you take a little ride with me?”
Amy looked up into Joey's eyes, and any hope she had shriveled and died. She didn't see a human being. She saw a vicious, hungry, cobra waiting to devour her.
“Please, Mr. Curanto, I didn't… I didn't...” Amy dropped her eyes, unable to look at Joey. “I'm so dead…”
“Only if you don't do as I say,” Joey promised, reaching down and taking Amy's arm. “Let's go for a ride and let me explain to you what your part is going to be. If you obey and help me, then I'll let you live.”
“Mr. Curanto… Joey told me about your new operation. I didn't want to get involved, but he forced me. That's the truth,” Amy cried, keeping her terrified eyes on the floor. “Please...”
Joey yanked Amy to her feet. Amy let out a loud cry.
“Let's take a ride, my dear,” Joey hissed. He walked Amy to the double doors and then stopped.
“Do as I say,” he warned and then pushed Amy out into a large hallway. “Get the limo ready, Andy. Now!” he barked.
As Andy went to defrost a cold limousine, Stan, Roberto and 'Smiley' jumped into a flashy black SUV and headed for the east warehouse district.
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“Why do you always get put in charge?” A short, thin man wearing a smiling scarecrow face asked Stan as he lugged down a bottle of Vodka.
“Hey, take it easy, we have work,” Stan scolded Smiley.
Smiley looked into Stan's tough military face.
“You ain't even Italian,” he laughed and then slapped Stan on his arm, “but we like you anyways, right, Roberto?”
Roberto raised his head up from his pipe.
“Sure, we like you, Stan. One of these days we're gonna like you so much we're gonna whack you,” he laughed.
Stan shot an eye into the backseat as he drove the black SUV down a snowy street. Roberto was a sixty year old hit man that could still track down a flea. Roberto scared Stan. When Joey called Roberto onto the scene, business was serious. Smiley, on the other hand, was a goofy loose end, but a deadly shot. “Take it easy on the pipe, Roberto, we have—”
Roberto's smile quickly dropped into a vicious snarl. He whipped out a Glock 19 and slammed the gun up against the side of Stan's head.
“Don't give me lip, kid, or you'll eat a bullet,” he warned.
“Sure… I… Roberto… sure,” Stan stuttered.
“Joey should let me kill you,” Roberto spat at Stan. Then he removed his gun and went back to his pipe.
Smiley glanced at Stan with eyes that were no longer laughing. He took a long swig from a deep vodka bottle and sat silently as Stan drove. Stan didn't say a word, either. He was thinking. Roberto hated his guts.
Maybe I can use whatever is going to take place at the warehouse to get rid of that snake? All I'll need is one clear shot.
***
They sat stationed behind a line of wooden crates close to the east wall.
“Okay, now we wait,” Mack whispered, checking his watch and then dousing the pen light. “The warehouse is empty. We have the place all to ourselves, but it's going to get really interesting very soon.”
“Yes, it is. Easy targets, right?” Brenda agreed, speaking in a low whisper as darkness enveloped her eyes.
Mack was smart to turn off the pen light. It gave their eyes time to adjust to the dark. When Joey and his army of thugs arrive, they would be walking blind for a while. And they had cut the main power line.
“Let's hope so.” Mack checked his gun and then waited in silence, listening to the icy wind outside grab at the pieces of ice floating in the east river. As the wind howled, Joey Curanto's black limousine pulled up in front of the warehouse.
Chapter 7
Joey ordered Andy to drive away as he dragged Amy out of the back of his limousine. He spotted the front door to the warehouse kicked open.
“Move,” he snapped at Amy, pushing her through the front door. “Remember your part.”
As Andy drove away, he called Stan.
“The boss is inside. Get into your position.”
“Got it.” Stan parked the black SUV a few warehouses down from Joey's warehouse and then jumped out into the snow.
“Let's move,” he ordered.
Fortunately for Stan, Roberto was now too high on crack cocaine to even think straight. The leather faced snake slithered out of the back seat with wild eyes. Stan watched Roberto's hands remain at his side as he looked out at the frozen river.
It has to be now. I'll deal with Smiley later.
Without wasting a second, Stan walked around to the back of the SUV and acted as if he were withdrawing a set of AR-15's. But as soon as Roberto's back was to him, the man spun around, whipped out his gun, and plowed Roberto down with three hard shots.
“What are you doing?” Smiley screamed as Roberto's old body dropped down onto a pile of dirty snow.
“He's high! He turned on us. He threatened to kill the boss...” Stan ran to Smiley and grabbed his face. “Smiley, you and me go back. We served in the military together. I've never done you wrong. Stay with me, man.”
“But… he was my Uncle...” Smiley couldn't stop staring at Roberto's dead body. “You… you whacked my uncle! No… blood is thicker… have to remain loyal...”
Smiley yanked away from Stan and began going for his gun with drunk hands. Stan had no choice but to gun the man down.
“I've got to get out of here. The boss isn't going to take any story I make up. I have to get out of here.”
He quickly dragged his two victims over to the icy river and threw the bodies in.
“Smiley, didn’t have to be this way. Hope we can meet again someday. Roberto, well, just rest in hell.”
He flew to the flashy SUV and sped away without anyone seeing him.
***
The icy wind howled too loud for any sound to be heard, not even gunshots. Joey was still under the assumption that his best men were going to burst through the back door of the warehouse and trap his enemies while he covered the front door.
“It's time to play, girl,” he hissed at Amy, stepping up to the door leading into the main part of the warehouse.
“Lawson, I know you're inside and I know you can hear me! I want you to listen to me very closely. Come out with your hands held high or I'm going to feed this girl a lunch filled with bullets. And don't call for help because your own people have put you to death!”
Joey nudged Amy with his elbow while holding his Russian gun into his right hand.
Amy winced and then cried out: “He's going to kill me. Please, help me.”
“The game has changed,” Mack moaned in their hiding spot.
“Yes, it has,” Brenda agreed, looking at Mack through the darkness. “Mack—”
“We have to split up, now, Brenda. You go for the girl and I'll stay here and pick off our enemies,” Mack ordered in a reluctant voice. “Go.”
Right outside, Stan slid the SUV he was trying to escape in into a stop, nearly crashing into the side of a warehouse.
“If I run, I'll be running forever. I have to play this hand out. Maybe if I kill off the cops, Mr. Curanto will forgive me. I can tell him Roberto was high. Tried to kill me. Smiley turned on me when I killed in self defense.” Stan looked back at the line of warehouses and decided to play a very deadly hand. “I have to go back.”
“See you in a few minutes,” Brenda whispered to Mack as Stan returned to Joey's warehouse.
Mack watched Brenda disappear into the darkness. Sure, it would be easy for him to secure the back door, but that would only cause Joey's men to take cover outside. Mack wanted to lure Joey's men inside and pick them off one at a time.
“But the game has changed. Joey has a hostage. What's his game?” Mack asked himself, struggling to see how Joey's mind was working. “He's at the front and luring our attention to him...”
Mack shot his eyes through the darkness. He could barely see the back door from the stack of wooden crates he was hiding behind. “Right, old trick. I need to keep Curanto's men from even entering, keep them at bay while Brenda handles her end?”
Brenda moved forward, slipping through the darkness, moving toward the front of the warehouse where Joey was standing with Amy. The dim, cold, gray light gave weak life to the area, allowing Brenda to move with ease.
“You have five minutes to give yourselves up or she's dead!” Joey called out into the dark warehouse, expecting Stan, Smiley, and Roberto to come crashing through the back door at any second. When only silence replied back and the back door remained closed, Joey frowned.
“Where are they?” he whispered. “Any day now.”
Joey pulled Amy away from the door, stepping back into the front room. “Andy, check the alley!” he whispered into a gray cell phone.
Andy jumped out of the limo he was sitting in, ran around to the back of the crummy warehouse, arriving just in time to see Stan slicing the back door of Joey's warehouse open with a hunting knife. Roberto and Smiley were nowhere in sight.
“Stan is coming through the back door now, Mr. Curanto. I don't see Roberto or Smiley.”
“Stan probably repositioned them,” Joey suggested, feeling confidence surge through hi
s chest again. “Get back to the limo and wait.”
“Move,” he told Amy, pushing her back to the door. But this time he placed his gun up against the side of her head. “Lawson. You have—”
Joey saw gray light appear in the back of the warehouse. Stan was moving inside.
“You're now trapped. My guys are moving inside. Either give yourself up or this girl dies. If you cooperate I'll let you all live. All I want is the tape.” Joey threw the lame lie into the air. “I know you taped Amy's confession. Give me the tape and I'll let you live.”
What a liar. Brenda thought with disgust, easing closer to Joey's position with her gun at the ready. It's time to kill this rat.
Brenda slipped behind a stack of crates and eyed the door Joey was standing in. She had a clear shot. “Time to—” Brenda stopped speaking when she heard gun fire erupt in the back of the warehouse.
Joey quickly pulled Amy away from the door, kicking the door closed with his foot. At the same time, she tried to kick Joey in his foot and push the large man away from her.
Joey growled, pushed Amy down, and aimed his fancy Russian gun at her.
“Wrong move, girl,” he hissed.
Brenda kicked the door open just as Joey was about to feed Amy the full clip of bullets.
Joey spun around on surprisingly swift legs and began firing. Brenda rolled off to her side and fired off her own round of bullets, all but two, catching Joey square in the chest. Joey's fat body jerked violently and then hit the floor.
The bullet bounced off Joey’s bulletproof vest but Brenda didn’t seem to notice. He groaned with intense pain, but still very much alive.
“I'm out of here!” Amy screamed, crashing out of the front door and vanishing into the snow.
“Amy!” Brenda yelled, chasing after the girl. As soon as she reached the front door, Joey fired off the last bullet in his gun. It struck Brenda in her left shoulder. Brenda let out a painful cry as her body was flung forward and crashed down outside onto a hard snow. The fall knocked Brenda’s Glock from her grip.
Give No Chance: An Unputdownable Crime Thriller Packed With Mystery And Suspense (A Lawson & Abernathy Novella) Page 4
