Justice for Hire (25 page)

“A list a mile long. We’ll go over it and see if anything stands out, but it’s a slim lead until we get the color.”

Jake broke in. “How about lending us your pistol, Hank?”

Hank chuckled. “Can’t do that. I don’t mind bending the law once in a while, but not that much.”

“Just thought I’d ask. Anyway, I’ll call you later. I need a shower,” he said, as he dropped the towel over his shoulder and left the kitchen.

Hank finished his drink with two more gulps, stood and headed for the front door. “Thanks for the coffee,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

Matty wandered back into the kitchen a few minutes later, grabbed his lunch and kissed his mother.

“I’m off to school, Mom.”

“No you’re not. We’re driving you again today. You can go and get Kyle, and then come back here. Your father will be ready any minute, and then we’ll go.”

“Aw, Mom,” Matty said, and he went out the back door.

Annie cleaned up the kitchen while waiting for Jake to get ready. In a few minutes he came down, Matty and Kyle were back, and they were ready to leave.

They drove two blocks, dropped the boys at school and a few minutes later, screeched to a stop in front of a row of townhouses.

They stepped from the vehicle, squeezed past a banged-up Hyundai and ran up the steps of #633. The door opened as they approached it.

“Come on in, my friends. Annie, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Hi, Jeremiah,” Annie said, as she stepped inside.

He approached her, half bowed, and kissed her hand.

“Hey, Geekly,” Jake said, holding out his hand.

“I’ll just shake yours.”

Jeremiah Everest was appropriately nicknamed Geekly for obvious reasons. He looked the part, with hair down over his ears, a thin, stringy goatee, and glasses only a true geek would wear.

He and Jake had been friends for a long time, and his expertise had been useful to their investigations several times in the past.

Jake slapped him on the back and followed him into the living room.

Annie couldn’t tell if it was a living room, an office, or a computer parts warehouse.

The walls were lined with makeshift shelving containing computers, printers, and a variety of other electronic stuff. Dials and meters adorned other equipment.

Off to the side, within easy reach of his chair, was a tower, and a shelf stuffed with DVDs, drives, mice, and cables.

A small television and an easy chair in one corner of the room were all that gave any indication of a life outside of microchips.

A desk in the corner sported a pair of monitors, a keyboard and a mouse. Geekly slid over a pair of extra chairs and dropped into his own. “Have a seat. Let’s see what you have there.”

They sat and Jake slipped out the bag and handed it to his friend. Geekly held it up to the light and squinted at the chip. He swung around, found a magnifying glass under a stack of paper, held it up and squinted some more.

“Yeah, I’d say it’s a GPS transmitter. Maybe. I’ll have to do some tests.”

“Can you do it now?” Jake asked.

Geekly tilted his chair and combed his hair back with his fingers. “May take a while.”

Jake and Annie exchanged a look. “We’ll call you,” Annie said.

“How about, I’ll call you,” Geekly said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I may have to consult with a friend on this one. He’s got more equipment for this sort of thing than I do.”

“Can you see him right away?” Jake asked.

“Yup. I already called him yesterday, straight after you phoned. He’s expecting me. We’ll get this thing figured out, no problem.”

Jake stood. “We need it asap.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it. Now get out of here and let me do my job.”

Chapter 53

Friday, August 26th, 9:14 AM

THE TEAM of Hank Corning and Simon King approached Auburn Street and circled the block for the third time.

It was a decrepit part of the city, narrow streets, squat two-story tenements, dark alleys and steaming sewers. A row of government subsidized housing held a mix of the lazy, the lonely and the leeches; many preying on others, some struggling to live, most surviving honestly and praying for better days.

Hank turned down Auburn again, and from the passenger’s seat, King scrutinized the few who trod the dusty, littered streets. None yet fitted the description of the drug dealer they were searching for.

“I think we’re chasing a bum lead,” King said. “How can you trust the word of someone who lives on the street and probably never worked a day in his life?”

Hank shot King a frown. “Just relax, will you? We’ll find him. You worked narcotics, so you know he has to show up eventually or he’s out of business.”

King pointed down an alleyway to his right. “That could be a crack house.”

Hank slowed and peered at the ravaged building, long ago neglected, with broken windows and graffiti-clad walls.

“There he is,” King said. “Keep moving. Pull over up there.”

Hank steered to the curb past the alleyway and King jumped out. He shut the door and spoke through the open window, “Drive around to the next street and come down the alley from the other end. I’ll come at him from here, and if he tries to run, he’ll be trapped.”

Hank nodded and touched the gas. He circled the block, pulled over and jumped out. As he entered the alley he saw King step into view at the other end.

He closed the gap, avoiding overflowing dumpsters, a skittering rat or two, broken bottles and rusty tin cans.

The quarry turned his head toward Hank and watched a moment, and then spun the other way, but stopped short when he saw King. He turned back and dashed into the building.

Hank and King scrambled to the doorway. Hank kicked the half-open door and it sprang inward, threatening to fall from its hinges. They could hear the target ahead, running up a flight of stairs.

“Police. Stop.”

The man payed no mind.

They charged inside, Hank first, King behind, the taste of foul air in their mouth. Hank withdrew his gun, held it ready and moved cautiously up the steps. King drew his weapon and followed.

The sound of running feet thumped the floorboards above.

At the top of the stairs, a hallway led to several rooms. Hank caught sight of a leather jacket disappear through a doorway down the hall. The door slammed, but Hank’s jackboot splintered it open.

Their prey scrambled through a window in the room, trying to get to a fire escape. His cap fell to the floor as he attempted to twist around. Too late. Hank caught a handful of jacket and heaved the frightened man in.

He landed on the floor, panting. “I didn’t do nothin’. What do you want?” His voice quivered as he whined.

King trained his gun on the squirming man. “We want to talk to you. Stand up.”

The man lay still. “What’re you going to do? Let me go.”

Hank slipped his pistol back into its holder and turned to King. “Put your gun away.”

King holstered his weapon, bent down and gripped the suspect by the jacket with both hands. He yanked him to his feet, slammed him against the wall and held him. The terrified man’s feet dangled, inches off the floor.

“We want to talk to you,” King said.

“What about? I ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

King freed one hand and reached into the pocket of the man’s jacket. He pulled out a handful of small, neatly wrapped packages. “What’s this?” he asked, tossing the packets over his shoulder. They fluttered to the floor.

The dealer looked down at his scattered wares. “That ain’t mine.”

King laughed. “Whose is it?”

A shrug, fear in his eyes, and then, “What do you want?”

Hank put his hand on King’s shoulder. “Let him loose. He’s not going anywhere.”

The man brought his hands up chest-high and tried to look honest. “He’s right. I’m not going anywhere. I swear.”

King released his grip on the jacket and stood back. The dealer’s feet reached for the floor, and then he stumbled, tottered and fell back against the wall but managed to stay upright.

“What’s your name?” Hank asked.

The hood straightened the collar of his jacket and looked sheepish. “John.”

“Last name?”

He thought a moment. “Jones.”

Hank laughed. “Well John Jones, we want to ask you about what you saw yesterday.”

“And you won’t run me in?”

King looked at Hank, and then moved in, his face a few inches away from the villain. He glared, “I oughta run you in just for being an idiot.”

“Take it easy, King,” Hank said. King stepped back and the dealer watched in horror as the cop stomped a couple of his precious baggies into the floor.

“We won’t run you in, Mr. Jones,” Hank said. “If you tell us about the boy you saw abducted yesterday.”

The man lifted his eyes. “What boy?”

Hank sighed and waved toward King. “Do you want this guy to ask you next time, or would you sooner I did?”

The dope peddler looked at King, and then back at Hank. “All right. I seen him.”

“What did you see?”

“The kid was in the alley. I never seen him before and he just walked past and out to the street.”

“And?”

“And this car pulls up and he got in. But I think they pulled him in. Kidnapped him, maybe.”

“What kind of car?”

“It was an Escalade. Black.”

“You’re sure it was black? Not dark blue?”

“It was black for sure. I swear, it was . . .”

King interrupted with, “What else did you see?”

“Nothin’. It just drove away.”

“How many guys?”

“Two . . . I think. Plus the driver.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“Nope. I swear, I never seen none of them before.”

King leaned in, his fist clenched. “If you’re lying to us I know where to find you.”

The man raised his hands as if to protect himself from a blow. “Why would I lie? That’s what I saw.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Hank said.

“Can I go now?”

Hank stood back and waved toward the door. “Go.”

King stepped aside and the pusher crouched down and scrambled to gather up his scattered merchandise. King’s boot caught him heavily in the shoulder and sent the dealer tumbling to his back. He glared up at the cop. “What’d you do that for?”

“Leave that and get out of here.” King pointed to the door.

The dealer looked at his packets on the floor, and then stumbled to his feet, grabbed his cap, and limped from the room, holding his bruised shoulder.

King folded his arms and watched him leave. “I may come back for that low-life later.”

Hank looked at King. “You can if you want, but wait until you get back into narcotics. Right now, you’re a homicide cop, and we have a lead to follow.”

Chapter 54

Friday, August 26th, 9:22 AM

WOLFF STRAIGHTENED his back and pushed his chair away from the desk. The boy had seemed to be making progress but had caught him completely by surprise the evening before.

He went into the adjoining washroom and checked the bandage on the back of his head. He no longer needed it. The bleeding had stopped now, but his head was still sore. He decided to be more careful.

He didn’t really blame the boy. He was obviously frightened and desperate, and like a caged animal, did what he could to escape.

Wolff was satisfied with the overall results they were achieving. The conditioning of the candidates was going well, though he wasn’t pleased with losing them when their mission had been completed. He still firmly believed in the cause, but all this killing was not to his liking. Sure, the targets deserved it, but there was no reason the assassins should be eliminated.

In a way, they were just victims of circumstances, but now with the tracker, he hoped they could bring them in when the job was completed, and only eliminate them if necessary. That would be more efficient and would allow him the proper amount of time to assure each candidate was at peak conditioning.

He thought back to the period, decades ago, when he’d been working on the official project with his mentor, Oliver Craig, Sr. They hadn’t had the same technology at the time, and once the mission was begun, it was impossible to track progress, and often things didn’t go as planned.

Thanks to new technology, combined with his own research and Mr. Craig’s personal notes that survived the project, he was seeing vast improvements in the whole process, and he had perfected the methodology.

He didn’t really enjoy the first stages of the procedure. The kids were frightened and, at times, Wolff felt some compassion toward them, especially during the periods when the various forms of torture were necessary. However, he was convinced it was for the best and would benefit society as a whole.

The later stages however, were what he enjoyed most. Watching as he shaped them into what was needed, and then, when they were fully formed, he felt like he’d created something wonderful. It made him feel like a Wizard, not just in name for the sake of conditioning, but in reality.

He went back to the laboratory and looked at the vast array of equipment amassed since this current project was founded. He was adept in the use of everything he saw before him, and though he knew he might not be long for this world, he was pleased Craig in his wisdom had found another who would carry on his work.

Muller was young but showed definite promise, and his dedication to the cause reminded him of himself in his younger years.

Yes, Muller would be the future of the project, and their efforts would continue through him.

He was startled by the phone ringing. He hurried to his desk and picked it up.

It was Mr. Craig.

“Wolff, the girl failed in her second attempt.”

“I’m not happy to hear that, sir.”

He heard Craig sigh over the line. “Neither am I.”

“Are you convinced the Lincolns are a threat?” Wolff asked.

“I am. We must try again.”

“We have no more candidates ready, sir.”