by G. K. Parks
“Sgt. Rostokowski?”
“Yep.”
“Are you sure you can handle this?”
“There’s only one way to find out. But if this is it, you know what to do.”
“Rename the business and order new stationery?”
I smiled. “Exactly.”
Thirty-one
“Hey, Sara.” I kept my sunglasses on as I waited for her to step out for lunch. She always took her break at the same time each day, unless something pressing was going on inside. Luckily, today was a slow day for the city’s finest.
“Jesus,” she clutched her chest dramatically, “you know better than to sneak up on a cop.” She peered at me. “What the hell happened to you? You didn’t look like that a few hours ago.”
“I got into a fight with my desk chair. It slid out from beneath me, and I hit my face right on the edge of my desk.”
“Ouch.” She didn’t believe me, but that didn’t matter. “Why are you back to pester me?”
“I need a favor.”
“That’ll cost you lunch.”
“I don’t have time for lunch, but I need to know if gangs, narcotics, or organized crime has any operations in the works.”
She grabbed my arm and stopped dead in her tracks. “What are you doing? You know better than to mess with people like that. Drugs are bad. Don’t you remember the egg in the frying pan?”
“I just need to know if any big exchanges are going down.”
She pursed her lips and turned to stare at the people passing us on the sidewalk. “I work the desk.”
“And everyone talks to you. You know more about what goes on inside the precinct than anyone else.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Morbid curiosity.”
“Try again.”
“Sara, please.”
She looked the other way before looking back at me. “I heard something about the KXDs wanting to make a play for the big time. They’re hoping to get into business with one of the syndicates to run drugs and girls.”
“When?”
“I have no idea.” Before I could open my mouth, she added, “And no, I can’t find out.”
“Anything else?”
“Whatever you’re doing or thinking about doing, don’t. You are private security, Lucien Cross. Organized crime and gang activity has absolutely nothing to do with you. That is a police matter. You interfere, and I’ll personally throw your ass in jail.”
“You’d arrest me? I thought you liked me. Don’t you think of me like a nephew? What about all those times you babysat me?”
“You mean on the rare occasion your dad brought you to work and didn’t have any idea what to do with you?”
“Yeah.” I offered up a charming smile.
“That’s precisely why I’ll taser you and handcuff you to my desk. Arresting you would be a kindness, a necessity to save your life.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You better not.” She thought about the way I hugged her this morning. “The last time you asked me for information, you nearly died. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
* * *
After my visit to the precinct, I returned to the office and did some digging on the intel Sara had provided. I didn’t know much about the local gangs or what they planned to do, so I asked around. Apparently, one of the gangs wanted to make a power play. They figured the easiest way to do that would be to convince the Russians to enter into a partnership. The gang would move product, take a cut, and hand the rest back to Vasili.
However, from what I’d been told, the rest of the Russian crime syndicate wasn’t pleased with this arrangement. They wanted to keep things in house. Sourcing out drugs and girls to a gang was beneath them. It would harm their reputation and decrease the perceived power they held. But Vasili thought this would be a great opportunity to gain more power and expand into gang-controlled territories. He figured he’d use the gang to his benefit, just another pawn in his game. That meant everything had to go right, and I’d screwed that up by having his shipment intercepted by the police.
Why didn’t the Russians just send for another shipment? I wondered. This wasn’t making much sense, but they might have had transport issues or customs issues. More than likely, it was neither. Vasili still had his own territories to supply—the strip joints, the clubs, and the street corners he controlled. He needed back those fifty kilos and the guns to go with it.
I brought up blueprints on the evidence warehouse and dug into the police database, searching for info on protocols and procedures. The evidence warehouse was one of the most secure buildings in the city. It contained everything to make or break cases, convict offenders, and enough cash and contraband to finance someone’s own private island and army.
Getting inside would be hard enough. Getting through the gate and into the locker would be even harder. This wasn’t like the evidence room at the precinct. This was centralized for the entire city. I couldn’t get in and out without detection, especially if I had to lug out two crates of assault weapons and fifty bricks of cocaine.
I’d need forklifts and diversions. “Stop it,” I mumbled. My mind had gone to dark places, daydreaming about blowing up the side of the building and hauling off the loot. Truthfully, I had no desire to give any of these things back to Vasili. He’d put them on the street and people would die. It was that simple, and I wanted no part of it.
Plan B, it is. I just didn’t know what that was. If I could con the gangster, I could buy some time. But even if I succeeded, that wouldn’t solve my problem in the long-term. As soon as he found out I couldn’t deliver, he’d kill me. So I had to deliver or make him believe I could. But then what?
He’s going to kill you either way, the voice in my head reminded me.
My phone rang. I picked it up, staring at it a bit too long before figuring out what to do with it. Yep, that probably meant I needed to lay off the painkillers. They didn’t help me think, but since I figured I was a dead man walking, I hadn’t exactly refrained from making my remaining hours as pleasant as possible. And with a broken nose and a looming death threat, that wasn’t an easy feat.
Sober up, Cross. You have too much riding on this. I answered the phone. “What did you find out?”
“Deal’s supposed to go down at four a.m., right after the club closes. Vasili’s supposed to make the exchange in the back room of one of his strip joints. He’s unloading all the coke and the weapons,” Freddy said.
“Same buyer?”
“As far as I know. I didn’t ask too many questions. You said you didn’t want this getting back to him.”
“No, you’re right. Thanks.” If it hadn’t been for Freddy’s continued rambling, I might have hung up before he got to his second point. I made a few exaggerated blinks to focus my mind. It might not have been the pills. It could have been lack of sleep.
“I set up a meet between you and the Irish. They might know more about what’s going on than you do. They definitely aren’t fans of Mr. Petrov, so I think they’ll help for a price.”
“How much did you agree on?”
“Twelve. Guns aren’t cheap, especially the ones you want.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up and counted the money I kept on hand for emergency use. Five grand. I could withdraw another seven from the bank. Cash was nearly untraceable, which would be good because I didn’t want my name tied to organized crime or possible terrorist activity across the pond. This had to be the lesser of two evils, but I still didn’t like it.
Hoping my gun problem was solved, I now had to deal with the drug problem. More importantly, I needed to figure out exactly what I was working with. I hadn’t paid much attention before I tipped off the cops, so I’d have to pay more attention now. First stop, the bank, then the evidence warehouse. After that, the grocery store for supplies. I’d swing by and pick up the guns, and then I’d be set. Except that would only bu
y me a bit more time. I still had to figure out how to eliminate the threat, and aside from waging a one-man war against Vasili and his men, I was out of ideas.
“All right, I’m leaving.” I looked around my office for what might be the final time. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Maybe.
“You’re not driving,” Justin said, more of a statement than a question. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“You always watch out for me. That means a lot.”
He gave me a look and picked up the phone. Luckily, Gloria had already gone home for the day, so I didn’t have to deal with her concerned looks or questions. Her heart was in the right place, but I didn’t want to drag her into any of this.
When the cab arrived, I went downstairs and climbed in. After giving the driver the address for the bank, I settled into the seat and closed my eyes. Sleep when you can, my mentor had said when I’d been shadowing him for those two hundred hours to get my license. He’d meant on stakeouts, when working with another investigator, but I’d been awake for the last thirty-something hours. Given the circumstances, I decided that meant it applied now. I just hoped Vasili didn’t have men tailing me because I would never notice.
Thirty-two
“We’re here.” The cabbie turned around, knocking his fist against the partition that separated us. “Wake up, mister. This is your stop.”
Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked around. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like much.”
“This is the address you gave me.” He stared at me. “You want me to take you somewhere else instead?”
“Actually,” I reached into my wallet, “would you mind keeping the meter running? This shouldn’t take long.” I passed him fifty dollars. The first cabbie, who’d driven me to the bank, had no interest in chauffeuring me around for the day and had taken off as soon as I got out of the car. I hoped my luck would improve with this second taxi driver. “I’ll give you another hundred if you’re still here when I get back.”
The cabbie peered out the windshield. “Yeah, okay, but this better not be a drug deal.”
“It’s not. My drug dealer lives in a much nicer neighborhood.”
He snorted, thinking it was a joke. “I’ll be here.”
“Great.” Stumbling out of the cab, I regretted popping those painkillers when I’d returned to the office the first time. The benefits had worn off, leaving me a little dizzy, groggy, and nauseous. At least I’d listened to Justin and didn’t drive myself. Heavy machinery and narcotics didn’t mix. That’s why the bottle came with a warning label.
I blinked a few times and stared bleary-eyed at the numbers above the door. This was the place. On my way inside, I unbuttoned my jacket. The police officer behind the desk barely glanced up when I walked into the evidence warehouse.
“Sign-in.” He slid the clipboard through the opening in the cage. I picked up the pen, wondering what I should write. But this guy appeared to be bored. He’d do everything by the book. So I wrote my John Hancock neatly on the line and slowly reached into my jacket for my ID. He took the clipboard back and read what I had written. “Badge number?”
“I don’t have one.” I handed him my ID. “I just wanted to check on what was catalogued. My dad said it’d be okay.”
“Who the hell’s your dad?”
“Commissioner Cross.”
“Seriously?” He exchanged a look with one of the cops posted on the outside of the cage.
“Call him up and ask. I’ll wait. I’m sure he doesn’t have anything better to do.”
“What did you want to know?”
“I provided the department with a tip about a bust at a storage facility two weeks ago. Lots of stuff came in. I just wanted to know about the drugs and guns.”
“Why?”
“You realize informants get rewarded based on a percentage of the bust. I wanted to know how many kilos and how many guns we’re talking.”
The officer stared at me. “What happened to your face?”
“I got in an accident.”
“With someone’s fist?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.” He pulled up the inventory list. “Fifty bricks, two dozen assault rifles, and six handguns.”
“Make and model?”
“Why do you need to know that?”
“I just do.”
“Knowledge like this isn’t for public consumption.”
“It’ll be introduced into evidence at trial. Those records will be made public. I don’t see what the big deal is if I find out then or I find out now.”
“I just want to know why you want to know.”
“Because Dad’s worried about things going missing from here. I’m not supposed to say anything, but you seem like an upstanding guy and a decent cop. The DA’s office has complained that evidence has disappeared a time or two.” I stared at him for a moment before flicking my gaze over my shoulder at the other cops. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? That’s why I was asked to check in. IA has their suspicions who’s involved, but if they are wrong, they can’t risk telling a dirty cop what they’re doing.”
“So they sent you? You’re not even a cop.”
“No, but I’m the commissioner’s best kept secret.” Actually, my father would probably do everything in his power to make my entire existence a secret if he could, but that was beside the point.
I didn’t think the officer believed me, but since I didn’t actually ask him to do anything illegal, he pushed away from the desk.
“Hang on a sec.” He disappeared into the rows of shelves. When he returned, he had a few evidence bags in his hands. “You can see for yourself.”
I stared at the assault rifles. Kalashnikovs. I’d remembered them correctly. At least I hadn’t made plans to purchase incorrect assault weapons. “What are those, AK-12s?”
“Uh-huh.”
Those weren’t easy to find. No wonder the price was so high. “What about the handguns?”
“They’re just Sigs. Nothing special.” He held one up, and I analyzed the details and notations on the evidence bags.
“What about the coke?”
He held up a brick, which had been tested and carefully wrapped. Official police evidence tape covered the bottom portion. The lab results were marked on the form, along with the tech’s initials, date tested, and date collected. “It’s coke. What do you want with it?”
“Nothing.” It hadn’t been divided into little baggies, so that’d make my life easier. “I just wanted to make sure it was still here and sealed. None of the bricks have walked off, right?”
“Nope.”
“Did you count them?”
“Give me a break.” The cop jerked his chin toward the door, indicating it was time I leave. “Tell the commissioner everything’s good, unless you think it’d be better if I call him and tell him myself.”
I held up my palms and stepped back. “Nope. It looks like you have everything squared away,” I squinted at his nameplate, “Officer DeLaine.” I headed for the door. “Dad will be pleased.”
When I got back into the waiting cab, I handed the driver the hundred dollars I promised him. “Now where do you want to go?” he asked.
“I need to get some groceries.”
“Any store in particular?”
I gave him the address of one of the bigger supermarkets and eased deeper into the seat. Before I took another unintentional catnap, I sent a message to Freddy and gave him the updated list. He knew arms dealers. Supposedly, he never did direct business with them, but he claimed to be able to get anyone anything. And right now, I needed to make sure the Irish had two dozen Kalashnikovs and a few Sigs waiting for me.
Less than twenty seconds passed before he gave me an affirmative, along with a name, address, time, and place for the exchange. Reassured that Vasili would have no way of knowing what I was up to, I let my eyes close and thought about how costly this endeavor would be. Money wasn’t important, I reminded myself, but I didn’t completel
y believe it. However, in the grand scheme of things, I could always find ways to make more money. I couldn’t exactly find a way to resurrect myself if Vasili Petrov shot me dead or the police decided to lock me away in a deep, dark hole and throw away the key.
Still, it would be cheaper and safer to take back Vasili’s shipment from the police evidence locker. But the police department wouldn’t agree, and if things went south, I didn’t want Vasili to win. Returning the contraband wouldn’t ensure my survival. If anything, it’d give him a reason to kill me faster.
“What a mess,” I mumbled.
The cabbie cleared his throat, but he didn’t speak. For the brief ride, I slept, wondering if today would be my final day on Earth. If it was, it was a really shitty day. I wanted a do-over somewhere warm with tropical drinks and skinny dipping with Jade. That’d be nice. Maybe she would agree to meet up for the occasional vacation, but I didn’t know. Right now, I didn’t even know if it’d ever be safe for her to be around me again. Everything rested on tonight.
Thirty-three
“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Freddy G stared at the cases covering the counter and table of the penthouse. “This is insane.”
“Yeah, so?”
He laughed. “I always knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“I thought it’s because I pay well and don’t ask for anything too ridiculous.”
“No elephants or tigers on a leash.”
“Someone asked you for a tiger on a leash?”
“Not to keep, just to show up at a birthday party. A rented tiger on a leash.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Probably not for the tiger, but his trainer was pleased.”
I shook my head, not wanting to think about the illegalities of the exotic animal trade. As it was, I already had plenty of other illegal ventures to think about. Breaking down another assault rifle, I made sure the weapon was unloaded and removed the firing pin. Then I reassembled it and tossed it in a box.
