Rules of Honour (28 page)

Harvey butted in, telling us the base from which Markus worked. ‘Looking at these work rosters I have in front of me, he’s due in on the early shift. You could set up close by and take him as he goes to work.’

‘He won’t be in work tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I shot the piece of shit. Not badly enough to finish him, but he’ll be in no fit state for a day’s work. In fact, you ask me, he’s crawled back to someplace he feels safe.’

‘That’ll be his daddy’s house then.’

‘You have an address?’ Rink asked quickly.

‘Yeah. I got it from his personnel file. Double-checked it to make sure it wasn’t a bogus address Markus was using alongside his bogus identity.’ Harvey was basking in the glow now, and I could picture his grin as he gave us the location. ‘You going there now, guys?’

We shared a look.

‘There’s no time like the present,’ Rink said.

‘Am I wasting my time telling you guys to be careful?’ Harvey asked.

‘You know us better than that, Harve,’ I said.

‘Amen to that,’ he laughed.

Chapter 32

Markus Colby came away from his meeting feeling empowered. Not from learning the identity of the stranger – he still hadn’t got a name – but at his discovery that he’d been correct all along and his nemesis had been drafted in by the murder ring. He was a friend of Jared Rington, the son of the ringleaders, Andrew and Yukiko. Sean Chaney had an intense hatred of both men. Apparently, a tit-for-tat quarrel had erupted between them after they’d mistakenly identified Sean Chaney as the one responsible for Markus’s crimes. Mildly insulted that they thought a lumbering idiot like Chaney capable of what he’d accomplished, he also was thankful that they’d been distracted. It had allowed him free rein for the past few days while they had squabbled with Chaney and his men.

Markus would have liked the meeting to be face to face with Chaney himself, instead of with the thuggish brute who agreed to meet with him. But he was an advocate of the axiom that beggars can’t be choosers. In his trade he’d met many people on both sides of the law, and it had only taken him a couple of well-targeted calls to discover the identity of the two men he’d seen staking out Hayes Tower. One of them was still out of commission, having had his hip dislocated, but the second had recovered from the fight, albeit his face showed signs of who’d lost. A contact playing the middleman had brought Markus and the thug together, and, after Markus plied him with hard liquor, the thug had spouted all that had happened in the past few days. Chaney, he learned, had been attacked while travelling on the BART system, set upon by Jared Rington before his friend intervened by shooting Chaney. His ego damaged, Chaney had responded by sending his guys to Parnell’s apartment earlier this evening. They’d been beaten soundly, but that had only inspired more rage in Chaney, who now demanded a final resolution to the problem.

Markus wasn’t so forthcoming with the information in return, but he’d told the man that it might be mutually beneficial if they worked together to bring Rington and his buddy down, and had sent him back to Chaney with that message. Not for a second did he intend cooperating with Chaney’s knuckle-scrapers, but the extra manpower would be a great distraction to their protectors while he concentrated on finishing off the final trio of conspirators. He was not foolish enough to give his name, only a cellphone number he could be contacted on: he was certain Chaney didn’t have the resources required to identify him from it. Even if he did, what would Chaney do with such information? Chaney was planning on killing Rington and his friend, and wouldn’t jeopardise his liberty for the sake of bringing Markus to justice. Another maxim he believed in: ‘honour amongst thieves’ was bullshit. But, if it meant saving their ass, most criminals learned to keep their mouths shut. Anyway, once this was over with, he’d make sure that Chaney didn’t whisper his name in the wrong ear; he’d pop a cap in the fucker as easily as all the rest.

Having set his plan in motion he drove towards home. Now he was a couple of blocks from the crooked house and made a stop at a drugstore to stock up on some essential medical supplies. The hydrogen peroxide had done the trick, cleansing and anaesthetising his wound, and – once he’d come round from his faint – he’d rubbed in the antiseptic salve and dressed and bandaged his ribs. He’d tested himself, going through a set of prearranged karate moves, and found that he was able to function at almost his usual level. Still, he required a new stock of dressings, plus some stronger painkillers wouldn’t go amiss. He went round the store, collecting the items on his mental list. He added some adhesive sterile strips and then diverted to the cooler cabinet and grabbed some caffeine-laced drinks and a pre-packed sandwich. It was going to be a long night, and important that he stay alert and strong. As an afterthought he also selected a large bottle of glucose-rich Gatorade.

After paying, he lugged his purchases to his car and placed them on the passenger seat. Getting in and out of the vehicle was mildly painful as the action compressed his ribs. Gingerly he backed on to the seat, ducking low for clearance, and then drew his feet in. Even pulling the door shut hurt his side. He swore under his breath, telling himself that pain was simply a frame of mind and to ignore it. He controlled his breathing, and sure enough the pain dissipated. As soon as he was settled, he reached for his bag of goodies and delved in it. No harm in aiding his frame of mind: he tore open a packet of painkillers and deposited six of them in his palm. He chugged them down with a draft of the Gatorade. While he was feeling better, he decided it was a good time to phone work and book a few sick days.

He took the phone from his pocket, but paused as he raised it. His screen saver carried the same image he’d showed to Andrew Rington minutes before killing him. He had found the photograph in his mother’s purse the day he’d walked away from her, leaving her to perish in her own vomit. Other than the clothes he stood in, and the few dollars he’d stolen from her bag, they were all he’d taken away with him when he left. In the shot his father proudly posed in his military uniform. The original had included four guards standing outside the entrance to Rohwer Relocation Facility circa 1940. But when he’d scanned the photo into his computer he had cropped the image so that only his dad was evident. His father looked remarkably like Markus, tall and broad, with a dash of Nordic heritage in his pale eyes, high forehead and stern jaw. He often gazed at the picture, staring into the eyes of his father, determining whether Charles was staring back at him, and if he was proud of the son he’d never known. ‘It’s almost done, Dad. Only three more of the bastards to go and all the lies will be over with.’

He sat back briefly, breaking the connection that threatened to hold him, and prepared to key the digits that would take him to his work control room. The phone began vibrating in his palm. He checked the screen. Displayed upon it was
unknown number
. There was only one call he was expecting, but he acted noncommittal. ‘Who is this?’

‘You gave a friend of mine this number an hour ago; apparently you have a business proposition to make.’

‘Is that you, Chaney?’

‘Please, try not to use my name.’

‘You’re worried someone could be listening in?’

‘In this day and age you’d be a fool not to. I’m pretty sure my phone’s secure, it’s yours I don’t know about.’

Fair comment, Markus thought. Unlike him, Sean Chaney was well known to the police and there was always a possibility that they were listening in to his communications. Markus had stayed under the radar to date and wanted things to remain that way.

‘Don’t worry about mine,’ Markus said.

‘So?’

‘Like I told your friend, we share a common problem. By working together we can eradicate it quite successfully.’

‘How can you be sure we have a
common problem?
’

‘Look, quit the bullshit, OK. You know we have because your fucking lackey just told you all about it. Otherwise, why’d you return my call?’

‘The thing is,’ Chaney replied, ‘I don’t understand your interest in this: you didn’t make that clear to my friend.’

‘Let’s just say we have the same competition. Does
that
suffice?’

‘There’s no need for sarcasm, buddy. I only want to know why you’re involved.’

Markus exhaled. ‘Here it is then: the two guys you want out of your hair are equally troublesome to me. You know who I’m referring to, right?’

‘I do.’

‘Good. I propose we work in partnership to eliminate the opposition.’

‘Eliminate is a strong term.’ Chaney was silent for a few seconds and Markus tried to determine what was giving the man pause. Before he could decide one way or the other, Chaney came back on the phone. ‘But it does describe my intention. How do you suggest we get this done?’

‘I take it you know where our rivals are holed up?’

‘I have addresses, yes, but no current whereabouts for them.’

‘It doesn’t matter about that. I know a way to draw them out.’ Continuing in phrases couched in careful terms, he explained what he required Chaney to do, and when.

‘It seems a bit . . . extreme.’

‘But something you’re willing to do?’

Again a pause followed, with Markus waiting patiently for the man to make a decision. When none was forthcoming he added some motivation. ‘You want these two men gone. Have your boys do as I asked, and I’ll see to eliminating our rivals. It’s a win-win deal for us both.’

‘We’ll see. I don’t even know who you are; how can you expect me to trust you when I know nothing about you or your background? For all I know you’re an undercover cop trying to sucker me into a conspiracy charge.’

‘Do I sound like a fucking cop?’

‘I need something more from you than that, buddy.’

‘Haven’t you been following the news?’

‘You’re talking about all those old bastards? You’re the one that capped Andrew Rington?’

‘Among others.’

‘You already did me a huge favour there. But, it was also because of that I ended up with a bullet in my leg, and why two of my guys had their asses kicked tonight.’

‘You can’t hold any of that against me. Rington’s son and his friend are the ones you should blame. It was them who came after the wrong guy. This is your opportunity to get them back . . . good and proper, man.’

Chaney grunted, and Markus could almost feel the smile in the man’s next words. ‘If you’re the man you claim to be, you’ve
definitely
proven your worth.’

‘I am.’ Markus smiled. ‘And after tonight you’ll be even more impressed when I hand you their heads in a basket.’

‘That I look forward to, buddy.’

‘We have a deal then?’

‘Deal.’

Chapter 33

While we made our final plans in the kitchen of Bridget Lanaghan’s home, I used the time to run through the ingrained habit of cleaning and checking my gun. I could disassemble and rebuild my SIG blindfolded, and going through the routine this time I did so in a methodical fashion, without once having to take my mind off the coming events.

‘I’m not worried about what we have to do, but how we’re going to avoid being arrested afterwards,’ I told Rink.

My friend was in a dark place, one that ensured he had no fear of incarceration, and all he cared about was neutralising the threat to his mom, and avenging his dad. He only shrugged as he too worked on his weapons. The Glock he’d employed earlier was his weapon of choice, as well as a KA-BAR combat knife he had honed to razor-sharpness.

I had brought my gun with me from Florida – carrying it in a hotbox under ‘official papers’ that would satisfy the scrutiny of Homeland Security, supplied to me by my old CIA handler, Walter Conrad, when he’d employed my services a few months ago. I should have handed back the papers at conclusion of the job, but Walter didn’t ask, so I didn’t offer. I had no idea how Rink got his hands on his weapons, but he was resourceful and acquiring firepower must have been his first task after he’d fled his mom’s bedside at the hospital that time. Watching him, though, he did not show any enthusiasm for either gun or knife, and I guessed that he preferred to end Markus’s life with his bare hands. If it weren’t for the fact that Markus had shown a penchant for firearms and edged weapons during the previous murders, I’d have been happy to go along empty-handed too. There was less chance of forensic evidence pointing back to a murder weapon if either of us ended up snapping his spine with a kick.

Rink checked his mom was OK.

While he was inside I waited in his father’s car, allowing them their privacy.

When Rink slid in beside me his eyes looked dry and hard.

‘Ready?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, about avoiding the cops. We can take the bastard at his house, but we can’t do him there.’ He nodded. ‘The trunk’s a tight fit but it will have to do while we take him out in the hills.’

We shared a look. This wouldn’t be the first time we had abducted a killer and taken him to a place of execution. This time was different though. I didn’t like the unfamiliar feeling creeping through my gut. On those occasions we’d been acting on sanctioned orders, to take out a known terrorist or war criminal. Much of what we had learned about Markus Colby – or whichever name he went by now – was based on supposition and hastily strung together theories.