SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (27 page)

“
Are the cops there?”

“
Yeah. Burgess and about ten other uniforms.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” I paused
, telling him what he already knew. “Stay out of sight.” My fear for the crew grew. Sal had killed Neil, and had attempted to kill Mickey and Beth. Now it was only a matter of time before he got the rest of them. Before hanging up with Mickey, I said, “Call Drew and Andy. Make sure they’ve gone to ground.”

After I hung up, Frankie touched my arm.
“It’s not a mistake.” 

I shook my head. No, it
wasn’t a mistake. Neil was dead.

B
ecause of me.

“I want to see him,” I said, stabbing my finger into Detective Burgess’ chest. He stood in the doorway of Neil’s loft, blocking me from entering. Police tape circled the door and random cops filled the room, smoking cigarettes and sipping lattes.

“No. Y
ou’ll compromise the crime scene.” He pushed me away, eyes sparkling with power. Cops got off on authority, on the power they held. Burgess was no different.

I blew out a harsh breath, swallowing my pride. “Please. Let me see him.”

The plea registered somewhere in his reptilian brain. He nodded once and led me inside. “Don’t touch a damn thing.”

The place reeked of
the sickly sweet stench of blood and death, mixing with the spiced cologne Neil favored. In the center of the room lay a body draped in a thin white sheet. Had the cops brought the sheet with them or was it one of Neil’s?

Blood pooled around
the body. No sign of a struggle. Nothing overturned or broken. Like Neil had let the shooter in, and laid down to die. Somehow that made the whole scene much worse. Violent death wasn’t peaceful or clean.

Burgess stood over the body,
gesturing to the sheet. “Are you sure you wanna see this?”

I nodded,
kneeling next to the body. I peeled the sheet from his face. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he looked almost happy, or at least at peace. I touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry, my friend.”

Burgess cleared his throat.
“Looks like Sal isn’t fucking around. What are the odds you’ll survive the weekend?”

My smile was filled with bitterness and hate as I pushed
myself from the floor to face the detective. “Fifty-fifty. Better odds than I’d give Sal.”

He
raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better I’d think that was a threat.”

“
So arrest me.” I stared at him, my eyes as cold as Neil’s corpse. “Warn Sal I’m coming. It doesn’t matter. He’s not getting away with this.” Burgess blinked and I knew Sal owned him. One more cop in Sal’s corrupt pocket.

“I’ll reserve you a spot
at the morgue,” he said.

I laughed.
“You’d better make it a table for two.”

******

“Report?” I motioned to Mickey. We stood outside Neil’s building, watching with vacant eyes as they wheeled his body into a waiting ambulance. No sirens or flashing lights. Nothing but silence and the drone of morning street traffic.

“
Drew’s in Virginia. No problems to report.”

“
And Andy?”

Mickey
shook his head. “He’s safe, but there was an attempt. Blew the shit out of his apartment—fire bomb—all his electronics are destroyed. He was at Roxanne’s at the time. Billy took them to a safe house.”

I nodded, my eyes drifting up the street.
Children played kickball on the corner. Life went on. “I want you, Frankie, and Beth to leave town. Today. Now.”

“C
ome with us.”

“No.”

Mickey grabbed my arm. “It doesn’t have to end like this. We can regroup. Make Sal pay another day.”

I pushed him away.
“No, Sal pays today.” I turned from Mickey, my eyes searching for Frankie. She stood a few feet away, numbed by shock and sorrow. My voice lowered to a whisper, “Sal won’t quit until I’m dead. So it’s him or me. I won’t put the rest of you at risk again.”

“I know you’re hurting. W
e all are. But I can’t let you go on a suicide mission.” He paused, eyes filling with unshed tears. “I can’t bury you too.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t do this, Ian.”

I nodded toward Frankie.
“Tell her…I…Tell her I said goodbye.”

“Ian, no, wait,” Mickey yelled after me, but I ignored him and
continued walking.

Sal lived in a converted warehouse on 10th Street. Not a bad neighborhood if you overlooked the trendy shops and tourists. In the last few years Hell’s Kitchen had become a sort of Mecca for thrill seekers looking to take a bite out of the big, bad apple. Sal’s warehouse wouldn’t be hard to enter. His lax security and arrogance would prove to be his downfall. My problem was getting out alive.

I waited until dark to make my move.
The sun set, and I gathered my weapons, readying myself for battle. I wasn’t afraid. Hatred numbed the fear, turning me into a machine with one goal. Kill Sal DeMarco. Nothing else mattered.

A dive knife slid into the sheath on my calf. My
M1911 slipped into a holster on my hip, and the .38 in another holster strapped to my ankle. I pocketed two extra clips—nine rounds apiece—if I needed more than twenty-seven bullets I was fucked anyway.

Night fell across the city
as I contemplated death. Mine not Sal’s. Was tonight the night a bullet found the mark? Did it make a difference? No. Neil deserved vengeance, and the crew deserved peace. No one else would die at Sal’s hands. I’d see to it. With my very last breath.

Two buildings
from Sal’s I took to the rooftops. I’m not Superman, so it required a fair amount of dangling from rickety fire escapes and swearing. My arms strained as I dragged my body over the brick ledge and onto the flat rooftop. A rooftop covered in pigeon shit and melted roofing tar.

I t
ook a moment to catch my breath, sucking in clouds of polluted city air. The city lights burned brightly like a spotlight for my nefarious deeds. While good citizens slept I peered through the night sky, murder the only thing on my mind.

I
pulled a slim set of binoculars from my bag of tricks. Sal must’ve expected trouble. His building blazed with light. Every room shined like a beacon, giving me an excellent view of the layout. Warning Burgess had been stupid, but it made no difference. A couple of light bulbs wouldn’t stop me.

I hunkered down,
observing the comings and goings of Sal’s security team. Typical organized crime protection. Big guys with guns. Not too bright, but brutal. You go with what worked and mean men with guns worked for Sal.

For two hours
I watched, waiting. The air grew cold, hovering around forty degrees. I rubbed my hands together to keep them from going numb. The sign I waited for came at 1:15 in the morning. The lights on the third story window winked out. Sal had bedded down for the night.

I jogged in place
, warming up for what was probably the dumbest thing I would ever do. The muscles of my legs uncurled, growing loose and limber. I took one hundred steps backward, counting off each one. I took a deep breath, sent a small prayer to the heavens, and ran full tilt toward the edge of the building. My foot touched the ledge, and I jumped, flying through the air like a confused penguin.

New York City housed eight million people
. That was the bad news. For me, though eight million people meant buildings that stood less than seven feet apart. How did I know that? Well, in high school, I held the record for the high jump. Seven point two feet. When my feet touched the rooftop of the next building with six inches to spare I quickly did the math. Yep, seven feet.

My heart beat so fast
in my chest I thought it might explode. Adrenaline rushed through me, giving me a feeling of invincibility. A feeling that would get me killed unless I took it down a notch. I did some deep breathing, waiting for the rush to subside.

Ten minutes later
I picked the cheap lock on the rooftop entryway. Hell, most roofs didn’t even have locks. I silently made my way to the third floor, stopping every few steps to listen. A dim light in the hallway gave me pause. Sal had posted guards outside his room. Smart, but it wouldn’t save him. I unstrapped the dive knife and crept toward the door. A gun made more sense, but it also made more noise. I refused to tip my hand until I had no other choice.

Gap-
tooth sat on a chair in front of Sal’s inner domain, flipping through a Hustler, his big, dumb features intent on the magazine. I crouched in the dark, waiting with a grim smile. Two minutes later, he stood, stretched, and ambled down the corridor. Bathroom break.

Showtime. I jumped from the shadowed stairwell, grabbing
him around the neck and applied a blood choke. My forearm wrapped around his carotid artery, stopping blood flow to his pea-sized brain. Who said I didn’t learn anything in the Navy?

But before he blacked out
Gap-tooth slammed me against the wall. The force of the impact left a me-sized hole in the plaster. My spine took most of the impact, sending stabbing pain along my nerve ends. I held tight, counting the seconds, hoping like hell he’d pass out before breaking my back. Again, he rammed me into the wall. Stars flickered through my vision. I pulled tighter.

Where was Gap-tooth’s backup? Our fight was anything but quiet. Ten tough guys with guns should have swarmed the corridor by now.
Had I walked into a setup? Were they hiding somewhere, waiting? Finally, Gap-tooth dropped to his knees, but I still didn’t loosen my grip. I pictured Mickey’s burning building, and Neil’s face, pale in death. I pressed harder, grinning when he fell face first onto the carpet.

Time for Sal.

I listened at Sal’s bedroom door, not hearing a thing. Bad sign. I twisted the door handle, keeping my body to the side to avoid any nasty gunshot blasts. Nothing happened. Too fucking easy. My palms began to sweat. 

Darkness filled the bedroom.
I slipped through the door, zigzagging to the bed, knife at ready. My hand touched the sheet as the echo of a round entering the chamber of a nine-millimeter thundered in the otherwise silent room. This was it. Life or death in the twitch of an index finger. I threw myself toward the sound before the gun fired.

My shoulder hit the
gunman’s stomach. He tried to get another shot off but I was too close. The impact threw him against the wall, and the two of us crashed to the floor. I outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, but he had the gun, so the odds evened up.

I palmed
my knife and sliced the tendon in his right hand. “Ow,” he screamed, dropping the gun. It fell soundlessly onto the carpet.

My rage intensified at hearing his voice.
“Bastard,” I yelled, punching Sal in the jaw, his head snapped back like a puppet on a string. I wrapped my hands around his throat. “Why, you fuck? Neil didn’t have anything to do with this.” I squeezed, and his eyes began bulge.

His good hand groped at my arm.
“Wasn’t…me…”

“Liar.” I eased the pressure from his neck. A quick death was too good for
him. He’d suffer before he died, I’d make sure of it.

He
took advantage of the reprieve and sucked in gulps of air. “I swear. I almost wish I had. It’s a fitting revenge for Chris and Nick.”

I smacked him
, feeling his cheekbone snap. “Before you die I want you to know the truth. I didn’t kill Nick. All this was for nothing. How’s that for vengeance?”

“I should ask you the
same. You kill me and your revenge is meaningless. I didn’t hit your friends. You wanna know who did? Look closer to home.”

“What are you saying?” I pressed the knife against his throat. “Tell me or I’ll make you bleed.”

He laughed. “Go ahead.” He grabbed my hand and pressed the cold steel farther into his neck, a thin trail of blood welled from the wound. “Do it. What do I have left? My sons are dead…” A single tear dripped from his eye.

I
pulled the knife away. The blinding rage inside my head receded. Sal hadn’t killed Neil. The phantom Morrissey or someone else had. Gangland style, like the drive-by at the bar, seemed more Sal’s style. Something to show the world he was top dog. To men like him and Billy cruelty equaled power. I stood over Sal, sickened by the pathetic, dried up old man crying in front of me.

I had nothing to fear from him.
In fact I almost felt sorry for him. That was until he reached for a gun and fired a round directly into my heart.

The bullet struck my body, knocking me back against the wall with the force of a wrecking ball. I dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. My ribs felt splintered into a million tiny, jagged pieces. I concentrated on breathing, sucking in stale air. Sal rose to his feet slowly, wrapping a handkerchief around his bloody hand. He kept the gun trained on me. Chambering another round for the kill shot, his hand steady on the gun, Sal smiled. Evilness seeped from him, like a malignant disease.