SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (22 page)

*****

“This is never going to work.” Andy shook his head.

“It will.” I watched the nine-to-
fivers rush from the station to train platform, never once glancing up from their five-dollar coffees. It would work. I hit redial on my phone and Drew’s rang in response. He stood a hundred yards away at the main entrance. “How’s it look?” I asked.

“Like you
’re gonna get shot.”

I flipped him off. “If you were the guy, where would you take the shot?”

“Second floor, balcony to your right,” he replied through the crackle of cell phone static.

I glanced up. “I agree.” I turned to Andy. “I want you to cover that balc
ony. The idea is to get an i.d. and if possible keep him from putting a bullet in my head.”

“Fine, but let me reiterate—
this is a BAD IDEA.” Andy moved toward the staircase. His long legs skipping every odd step.

“Andy’s in position. What about Mickey?”
I asked Drew.

Static crackled before he replied,
“He’s covering the west end. That leaves two exits uncovered. We need help, Ian. Too many things can go wrong.”

“Fine,” I agreed. This
had been an ongoing argument. Drew had offered to call some friends, i.e., drug dealers for assistance. Until right now, I’d refused. I didn’t want this to turn into a bloodbath. But Drew was right. The only way to cover our asses was to bring in extra lookouts. I hung up the phone and glanced at my watch. Three hours to go.

I dialed Billy’s number. “
I need your help.”

“
What do you need?”

“I have a meet with Sal tonight.”

“Are you stupid, boy?”

I ran a hand along my jaw
. “No. I have a plan, but I need you to spread the word. I want every lowlife in the city to know it.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Surprise, surprise, Billy actually sounded like he’d care.

“If I do
save some money and keep my real name off the headstone.”

“What do you have against it? It’s a good name.”

“Cahan is not a good name. It reminds me of a horse.” I shook my head. “You and mom are the only ones who ever call me that, and I think you do it out of spite.”

“It means warrior, son. I can’t think of a more appropriate name…well, maybe idiot.”

“Thanks. Will you help me or not?”

Silence. Finally
he agreed. “I’ll spread the word, but if you die your mom will skin me alive.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” I paused. “Billy, thanks
, I mean it.”

“Watch your back, boy.”
He hung up.

One hour till game time. I knocked bedroom door of the safe house. I didn’t wait for her to answer, but barged in. “It’s time?” She glanced at the clock, her face tight, expression grim.

“
Yeah.” I headed for the dresser, pulling out the heavy firepower—a M1911 Special Forces pistol. This gun was a work of art. It packed a punch, weighing thirty-eight ounces, and held nine rounds. If it weren’t for its bulky nature I’d carry it all the time. It was what a weapon should be.

“
You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be careful. Y
ou’ll stay here?”

“Yes.” She turned away.

I grabbed her chin and forced her to look into my eyes. “I mean it. I have to know you’re safe. Promise me.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Promise me you won’t get killed.”

“I won’t.”

“Fine. I
’ll stay here. But if you’re not back in three hours, I’m coming to find you, so don’t get sidetracked.” She kissed me then, a sweet, complicated kiss. “Make it back in two hours, and in one piece, I’ll make it worth your while.” She smiled, kissing me again.

“Deal.”
My lips grazed her forehead as I stuck the pistol in the holster at the small of my back. “I’ll be back in less than two hour.”

An hour later,
in the middle of Grand Central station, Sal approached me. He wasn’t alone, not that I’d expected him to be. I leaned against the station wall and waited for him. Timing was everything.

“Y
ou’re either the stupid or crazy. Which one is it?” Sal paused five feet from me.

“Stupid, I suspect.” I peeled
myself from the wall, looking him over. Sal seemed old, much older than Billy, but they were roughly the same age. His eyes burned with bitterness and hate. Losing a son could do that to you, and Sal had lost two.

“So where’s the hitter who killed Nick? Or was that a lie
to get me here?”

“I’m sure he’s close. Don’t
worry. I have no designs to end the DeMarco gene pool. That is, unless you fuck with my family again. The Hurley’s are out of this. In two days Mickey will pay off his debt. Once that’s done, you’ll leave them alone. Billy too.”

“I give the orders.
” His face grew red. “I don’t take them from some punk.”

“Fair enough. But in any case, take my advice.”

“What’s stopping me from killing you right now?” The two goons flanking him drew their weapons, one I recognized as Gap-tooth. He’d be my first target. Payback for the sucker punch at the bar.

“Nothing.
But you’d better make the first shot count.” I pulled my own weapon, keeping it low to my side. Suddenly the quiet pop of a silencer sounded to my right. The heat of a bullet flying inches from my head trailed soon after, smashing into the wall next to me. Bits of concrete and plaster showered me.

Sal’s goons sandwiched him as they
drew down on me. I returned the favor, slipping around the concrete column for cover. I pointed the M1911 at Sal’s forehead. A standoff. Two more bullets hit the concrete wall. A woman screamed. All hell broke loose. People ran for cover, stampeding for the exits.

“I’m going to ki
ll you slow. Make you suffer for your sins. I’ll kill everyone you care about,” Sal screamed over the commotion, spittle dripping from his lips. At his words, my finger tensed on the trigger. His bodyguards, sensing the danger, quickly pulled him away and out of the building.

“Fuck. What happened?” I yelled into the two-way receiver taped to my chest. “Talk to me
Drew.” I heard the crackle of static and nothing else. Shit. I ran for the main doors. A crowd gathered around the entrance. I pushed my way through until I saw Mickey. He crouched on the ground, face white. “What happened?” I growled, seeing Drew lying on the concrete, blood dripping from his arm.

“Fucker shot me,
” he answered.

“Sal?”

“No. The other one—the one who killed Nick. I got a good look at him though.” Drew tried to stand, blood staining the expensive leather of his jacket. “We have to get out of here before the cops come.”

“W
e need to get you to the hospital.” Mickey helped him stand.

Drew
weaved like a drunken teenager, but stayed upright. “No, I’m all right.”

“Damn it,
Drew. Don’t argue with us.” The scream of sirens and brakes ended the discussion. “Andy,” I called into the radio. “Meet us at the bar. We’re taking Drew to the hospital.” Mickey flagged down a passing cab and we helped Drew into the taxi. The cab driver didn’t even blink. “Where to?’

“
Bellevue. There’s a hundred in it if you can get us there in ten minutes.” I stripped off a bill and pasted it against the bulletproof shield. The taxi peeled out, throwing the three of us against the hard-coated seat.

******

“I got a good look at him. I’ve seen him somewhere before.” Drew scratched his head, and stared off in a morphine haze. The bullet had struck his upper arm, missing any major arteries or bones. He’d live. No thanks to me.

A
nurse entered, looking suspiciously at the three of us. “You have to be more careful when cleaning your weapon, Detective.”

Drew
smiled at her disbelieving tone. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Arriving at the hospital, Drew had tossed a fake police badge on the counter, hoping to discourage further questions and the real cops. The nurse began probing the hole in his arm. The bleeding had slowed, now no more than a trickle.

“Ouch.”
Drew pulled from her.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said,
winding a strip of gauze around his arm. After she finished, she gave us a quick smile and left.

Once the door closed behind her, I asked,
“So what did the guy look like?”

Drew
took his time before answering. “Brown hair, medium height. He had a tattoo on his gun hand. A spider I think. I wish I could remember where I know him from…”

Mickey slapped his hands together.
“That sounds like that guy Frankie dated a year ago. You remember him, Drew…Mike something…”

“That’s him. I knew I recognized him.”
Drew pushed himself from the gurney, a grimace of pain wrinkling his features. I had no idea who he was, but at least, we were getting somewhere. My cell phone rang. At a doctor’s glare, I quickly silenced it. I checked the caller ID. Frankie. Fuck, the two-hour mark had passed.

“Let’s get out of here,”
Drew said.

I nodded, shoving
the phone back in my pocket. We left the hospital room and headed down the corridor toward the exit door. Two cops rushed in. One of them thrust a mug shot of me at an attractive nurse. “Have you seen this man?” She shook her head.

I nodded to the passing cops, and winked at the nurse before slipping out the door. Lucky for me the NYPD didn’t require brains or glasses. Once on the street, we
grabbed a cab, and I dialed Frankie’s cell while Mickey gave the cabbie directions.

“Are you
okay? The news said there was a shootout at Grand Central.” Her voice shook with the same quiver I’d heard in my mother’s tone a hundred times before.

“
Yeah, we’re fine. Drew took a bullet in the arm, but he’ll live.”

“Thank God.
” Her breath came out in a rush. “Where are you?”

“On the way to the bar.”

“Did you find out who’s behind Nick’s murder?”

“Maybe.
” I paused, unsure just how much to tell her over the phone. “Drew got a look at the guy.”

“So who is he?”

“Mickey thinks it’s some guy you dated last year…Mike something.”

Silence.

“Morrissey? Mike Morrissey? But it can’t be.”

“Why? Too nice a guy?”
I hated her naivety, one day it would get her seriously hurt.

“
No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” Jealousy crept into my voice.

“Ian, he’s dead. According to his sister, Mike died in a car accident in Canada a couple of months back.” She paused, sucking in a long breath. “What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, but
right now, he’s all we’ve got.” The cab rolled to a stop in front of the bar. It looked dark and deserted, but looks could be deceiving. “Listen, we’re here. I’ll give you a call later. Stay out of sight.” I hung up without waiting for a response.

Forty-five minutes later a cab pulled in front of O’Malley’s. Frankie jumped from it, disguised in a black overcoat, big hooker hoop earrings, and ruby red lipstick. I wasn’t surprised. I took a sip of beer and shook my head. She’d be the death of me. “What are you doing here?” Mickey asked when she stepped inside the dark room. The five of us sat around the bar, throwing back shots of whiskey and arguing about what went wrong this afternoon.

Frankie’s eyes searched my body for injuries, finding none, her expression lightened. “I had to make sure you guys were a
ll right.”

“I could use some tender
loving care.” Drew waggled his bandaged arm at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, and walked around the bar to pour herself a drink.

One of
Drew’s associates who’d helped earlier stepped in front of her. “Well, hello. I’m Roberto.” I studied Roberto, none too happy at the frank appraisal of Frankie in his eyes. While not a bad looking guy with straight black hair and dark eyes, he was also a drug dealing scumbag, not to mention, he was currently stripping her naked with his eyes while her brother and lover looked on.

“
I’m Frankie.” She took his outstretched hand, smiling like a schoolgirl. Did she have to encourage him?             

“So Roberto…
,” I started. “How’s the drug dealing scumbag business? I’m thinking of diversifying.” Mickey laughed, and Andy shook his head.

Frankie frowned at me. “Just ignore him.”

I grinned. “No, really. I hear you can make a killing at it.” I hated dealers. Guys like Roberto survived off the miseries of addicts and school kids. I’d seen addiction up close, watching with helpless rage as it stole years of Colin’s life, While I blamed Colin for his weakness, I blamed the asshole willing and ready to take advantage of said weakness all the more,