Perilous (25 page)

Lasowski and the other sheriffs finished up just before two in the morning. I’d spoken with Callie once and my sister twice since they’d been at the hospital. My father was still in the process of being patched up. The doctors said my father’s injuries were just flesh wounds, but there was enough tissue damage that he wouldn’t be fully healed for a month or more. They were admitting him to the facility and monitoring him for a day before sending him home.

A wrecker pulled my father’s truck from the driveway. A few minutes prior, another had taken the sheriff’s cruiser. I imagined the Mercedes down on the ice had already gotten the same treatment. I locked up Jim’s place and took a seat in the passenger side of Lasowski’s squad car.

“We’ll get your statement back at the station and let you go to your family,” Lasowski said.

I nodded.

He pulled from the driveway.

Viktor was awoken from his sleep by a bang on his cell door. “Yard time,” a guard called.

“What time is it?” Viktor asked.

“Time to put your hands through the slot.” A key clanked in the small rectangular door, and the slot opened.

Viktor scooted his legs off the edge of the mattress and sat up. He rubbed his eyes. He had no way of knowing the time, but he’d been out just a few hours prior. “I was just out,” Viktor said.

“Don’t care. You’re on the list for my rounds. Hands in the slot,” the guard said.

Maybe the extra yard time is for what I said happened with the guard.

Viktor stood and walked to his cell door. He placed his hands in the opening.

The guard linked cuffs around his wrists. “Back wall. You know the drill.”

Viktor obeyed and put his nose to the back wall of his cell. He heard the guard’s key working the lock on the main door.

The cell door opened.

The guard entered and chained Viktor’s ankles. He ran the chain up and secured it to the cuffs around Viktor’s wrists. Viktor felt the guard back away.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor filled the room. Viktor snapped his head to the right to look behind himself. A hand came toward his face and pressed it into the wall. Between the man’s fingers, he saw the faces of two white men. One was Kenny, Darryl’s sidekick. The other man Viktor didn’t recognize. Cuffed, Viktor tried to break away from the men. A forearm hammered him in the back of the neck, and Viktor’s face bounced off of the wall. As soon as his face touched the concrete, he felt shooting pain in his lower back. Viktor tried to spin around and protect himself, but it was no use.

“The Brotherhood says hello,” Kenny said, “and goodbye.”

He felt another stab—then again and again. The two men held him against the wall and repeatedly stabbed him in the lower back. They released their hold. Viktor turned toward them and fell to his knees.

“He’s ready, Mr. White,” Kenny said.

Darryl walked into the cell. He grabbed Viktor by the hair and jerked his head back. “You should have just paid,” Darryl said.

Viktor felt the blade swipe across his throat.

The clock, protruding sideways from the long glossy-white hall of the hospital, read a quarter to eight in the morning. I’d been at the hospital for a couple hours, already having visited my father. He was awake and doing well. The doctors estimated he would be discharged midday the following day. He wasn’t happy they were keeping him for observation. Sandy remained at his side in his room. Callie, Melissa, Jeff, and Tommy sat in the family waiting area beside me.

Deputy Sommer walked around the corner, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I turned to Callie, next to me. “I should be back in about an hour or so.”

She sat with one leg crossed over her other knee, thumbing through a
Good Parenting
magazine. “Okay.”

“Try giving your parents a call again.”

She nodded.

I stood and followed Sommer down the hall. We took the elevator down a level and walked the hall to room 209. A sheriff sat outside the door.

“Newman,” Sommer said.

The deputy stood. “The doc is in there with him now.”

Sommer gave the door a tap, and it opened a second later. A doctor stood at the door. The name Simpson was embroidered in blue on his white coat.

“He’s alert. Try not to be too long, though.”

“Okay,” Sommer said.

The doctor stepped out of the door and allowed us inside.

In the hospital bed lay Ramon Bega, or from what his fingerprints told us, Carlos Cruz. His back was elevated, and he faced us. We stood at the foot of his bed.

“Mr. Cruz,” Sommer said.

The man looked away.

“You are in fact Carlos Cruz, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” the man said.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Sommer asked.

Mr. Cruz said nothing.

“Why were you trying to kill me? Who hired you?” I asked.

He still didn’t speak.

“You’re looking at multiple life sentences with no opportunity for parole. It would be in your best interest to cooperate with us.”

He remained quiet.

“This isn’t the time for protecting your accomplices or those that you work for,” Sommer said.

His head shot toward us. “I have no interest in protecting those that hired me. Give me immunity in writing, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“You’re not getting immunity. There’s zero chance,” Sommer said.

Cruz stared down. “What can you offer me?”

“I’d have to talk with the DA,” Sommer said. “You’ll need to give us something as good faith first.”

“The man that hired me was named Yury. He’s Russian. He’s probably still up here. The guy is driving a white Mercedes.”

“He’s dead,” I said. “Who was he working for?”

“Dead?” Cruz asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Good?” I asked.

“He executed one of my guys in front of me and then placed the gun in my hand. He left me for dead.”

“Who was this Yury working for?” I asked again.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“What was this Yury’s last name?” I asked.

Cruz shook his head. “I never got a last name.”

“Was he from Florida as well?” I asked.

Cruz nodded. “I have more. I’ll tell you everything, but I need some kind of a deal: reduced sentence, something.”

“I’ll call the DA, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I want an attorney to look over whatever is presented to me,” Cruz said.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Sommer said.

We walked from the room, and Sommer closed the door. We headed back toward the bank of elevators.

“Looks like you may get some answers,” Sommer said.

“I’m not sure what good it’s going to do. I know who is behind it. This attempt may have failed, but I’m sure he will try again. There’s not really a point in giving this guy any kind of deal.”

“He won’t get much. As far as we know, he shot Kinnear. They don’t give deals to people who shoot cops around here. His sentence will be reduced from multiple life sentences without parole to one life sentence at best. Either way, he’ll die incarcerated. It will be worth knocking off the time that won’t matter to hear what he has to say.”

I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Is something on your mind?” he asked.

“I’m just thinking about what I should do with my family. I’m kind of at a loss.”

“The girlfriend is pregnant you said, right?”

I hit the button for the elevator. “Yeah.”

“Maybe you guys should think about lying low, staying off of these guys’ radar for a while?”

“How are we supposed to do that? I have to work. My family has to work. We all have homes, lives, and responsibilities that we can’t just walk away from.”

Sommer didn’t respond.

The elevator opened. We stepped inside and I thumbed the button for our floor.

“I’m fine with looking over my shoulder. It’s part of the job. My family having to do it is another story.”

“Well, I can have some of the guys keep an eye on your parents’ place. I wish I had something more for you, but it’s about all I can do.”

“I appreciate it, Sommer.”

The elevator doors opened and let us off.

“I’m going to make the call over to the district attorney and see what he says,” Sommer said.

“Okay, what room was Kinnear in?” I asked.

“Kinnear is in four seventeen.”

“Thanks, I’m going to pop in his room quick.”

Sommer nodded. “I’ll find you when I hear back from the DA.”

“All right.”

I planned to spend the next hour making my rounds with my father, Deputy Benson, and Deputy Kinnear. All of them were doing well, yet none would be in the hospital if it weren’t for me or, at least, those hunting me. I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking that the situation was over or that there wouldn’t be more attempts and, with them, more people caught in the line of fire. I needed to figure out a way to put an end to it.

I took a seat by myself toward the end of the hall and pulled out my phone. The screen showed a missed call from Hank. I clicked the prompt to call him back, and he picked up right away.

“Kane?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

“What’s the situation?” he asked.

I gave him the shortest version possible.

“Well, it looks like we have some of the pieces coming together,” Hank said. “I got in touch with Faust late last night. He said he was working on the identities of these guys and talking with some people at Coleman, so I figured I’d let him have that while I looked into a few other things—mainly how someone could have been tracking you through your cell phone.”

“What did you find?”

“Well, I talked with Terry on it. He says that either it would have to be done physically or through some kind of an attachment.”

“I’m doubting physically. My phone rarely leaves my pocket unless I’m on it,” I said.

“That leaves us with some kind of an attachment then. Did you open anything? Maybe get a text or email from someone you didn’t know?”

“Not that I know of. I’m pretty good with watching out for that stuff.”

“Okay, either way, Rick says he can find out where it came from as soon as he gets the phone in his hand. I just figured I’d see if you remembered anything off the top of your head.”

“Yeah, nothing. I’ll have to let him take a look when I get back. There is something that you can dig into if you have the time, though,” I said.

“Shoot.”

“See if you can find anything on a Yury that comes back to the Azarovs. Maybe check with Waterman too and see if a Yury flew to Milwaukee recently. The name could be a fake, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll get on it. Glad you guys are all okay, Kane.”

“Thanks, Hank. Call me if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and then dialed Faust.

He answered right away. “Faust.”

“Hey, it’s Kane. I’m doing my morning round of phone calls here. Any news?”

“I tried calling you a couple times late last night. I didn’t leave any messages in case your phone ended up in the wrong hands.”

“You mean in case I was dead and someone had my phone.”

He didn’t respond.

“I was at the police station for a bit. I had my phone off,” I said.

“Okay, well, I just got confirmation on this now, anyway.”

“Confirmation of what?”

“Viktor Azarov is dead.”

My head snapped back. “What? When?”

“Yeah, it happened last night. I sent one of our agents out to USP Coleman to confirm a hundred percent. I just heard back from him.”

“How?”

“Azarov was found with his throat slashed in his cell in the SHU. The agent I sent is looking into the how and why. Someone from the prison’s staff had to let the attacker in, though.”

I was quiet. I didn’t know what to say.

“Still there?” Faust asked.

“Yeah, just trying to wrap my head around it. Um, what have you found about the hit that was put out on me? Can you tie it to Viktor without question? Is this still something I should be worried about, or am I in the clear?”

“Still working on it, Kane. However, yes, it’s pretty safe to assume it came from him. I have a team going through all of the documents on the Azarovs that you gave me. Plus, we’ve been running our own investigation. First impressions are that it should be put to bed, though. From everything we have on his organization, Viktor was in charge, and everyone was an employee. They weren’t working like the mafia, where someone else is next up in line. Sure, Viktor had associates, but none that would be doing his bidding after he was dead.”

I ran my hand over my head, let out a deep breath, and slouched down. “You couldn’t have given me better news, Faust.”

“Well, don’t stop looking over your shoulder quite yet. We’re still trying to find out if this was a one-time thing, or this contract, or whatever you want to call it, went out to multiple parties.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“What’s going on up there?” he asked.

I gave him the story, start to finish.

“Damn,” Faust said. “Well, I guess the silver lining is that everyone should be all right. Hey, I figured I’d give you the big news first, but we did get identifications back on all your guys, including the prints that someone sent us this morning.”

“Um, hold on.” I walked to the floor’s nurse’s station and borrowed a pen and piece of scratch paper. “I’m ready, Faust.”

“Okay, your five Hispanic gunmen are Carlos Cruz, Jose Gomez, Manuel Acosta, Tomas Basco, and Matias Lugo. Every last one of these men spent time at Coleman. The only one that served any significant time was Cruz, though.”

“He’s alive here at the hospital. The local sheriff I’ve been working with is talking with his DA. They are going to get this Cruz guy some kind of a reduced sentence to talk.”

“Is the guy going to go for that?”

“It was his request. Hopefully, he can connect some dots for us.”

“Good. The prints that came in to us this morning belong to a Yury Sokoloff. The guy was technically an attorney with direct ties to Azarov. I say technically because everything about him screamed
henchman
—very checkered past, to say the least.”