Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (26 page)

“C’mon. It’ll be fun. Help me out here, Payaso,” Jean pleaded.

Gus snorted in amusement at Jean’s assumption Gus might side with her. “You must be kidding. In all this time we’ve been together, Jean, have I ever went against, Muerto?

“I thought maybe you might step up for a change, Payaso,” Jean retorted with a giggle.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Nick complained, seeing Gus go into laughing fits at Jean’s upbraiding. How dare you call my partner Payaso’s manhood into question? This outrage will not go unpunished.”

Jean grabbed Nick’s coat, yanking on it with a violent tug. “They’re on the move. Fang will be our perfect cover if they spot us. We’re just a family walking the dog.”

“We are just a family walking the dog,” Nick reminded her. He saw the group move to the corner of Church Street and North Market. Nick, having been around the proverbial block many times, knew whatever this bunch planned, it would not be a good deed. “These youngsters do plan some kind of dastardly act, Dagger. You have good instincts, but we will be skipping the superhero trail tonight. I have Fang’s tennis ball. If you show it to him, you’ll really see some excitement.”

“You and Payaso are both packin’. I saw your holsters in the back under your jackets,” Jean said. “Let’s follow them, and call the cops when we see the perps act out.”

“I’m warning you, Payaso. Stop laughing at her ‘Bad Boys’ clichés,” Nick said, pointing at Gus with emphasis.

Gus raised his arms. “Okay, but I don’t see the harm in following the hoodlums for a while. I have my range finders in my jacket.” He shrugged off Nick’s look of death as Jean began clapping her hands with delight. “We wouldn’t have to get close. We’ll stay in the shadows, and far enough back not to be noticed. I’ll keep an eye on them from long range.”

“Yeah, that always works. How many doubles did you have before dinner, Payaso. I think I hear the booze talkin’. Remember, friends don’t let friends drink and be idiots.”

“Let’s do this, Muerto. I’m fine. Hell, they probably aren’t doing anything, but slouching around, acting like they’re gangsters.”

Nick considered all the ways he pictured Jean’s superhero play could go wrong. Seeing Jean’s face perked into a pleading, twisted mask of nine year old angst, Nick folded. “Do exactly what I say. We stay at least fifty to seventy-five yards back on the trail. Gus scopes out what they’re up to if anything, and we either return to the hotel, or call the cops if needed. If I say abort, it ends instantly. Understood?”

“I’m Payaso the feared tonight,” Gus tweaked his partner’s patience.

“Don’t I get a vote on operations now that we’re mission enabled?” Jean added a corkscrew jab into Nick’s last nerve.

“One more word out of either you or Payaso, and I frog march you both to the hotel with Fang on guard duty.”

Jean and Deke scooted ahead with Jean slinking along in a stealthy crouch next to Deke. Gus followed, using the range finders every other minute to check on their prey. Nick shadowed the three, moving into different firing positions, wondering how the hell he agreed to this obvious folly. He smiled watching Deke get into stealthy tracking mode, hunching down along with Jean as they moved ahead.

As the hoodies rounded the corner onto Church Street, they huddled under the green awning of a store. From the distance, Nick couldn’t tell what they were doing. He allowed Jean and Deke close the distance to fifty yards before whispering a halt to the expedition. They waited quietly in place. Nick took the lead. He leaped over a short barrier, with Deke leaping over after him. Jean vaulted the wall as did Gus at the rear. Using the cars parked in the lot to shield their movements, Nick stopped at the barrier directly across from the half dozen young men. They remained motionless, but watching in all directions.

“I don’t know what the hell they’re doing,” Gus whispered. “Maybe you were right about this being a fool’s errand.”

“Stay calm, partner. They’ll be revealing their bad choices shortly.”

“I love this,” Jean whispered happily. “This was a great idea. We’re even closer than fifty yards. What do you think they’re doing, Muerto?”

“Nothing good. They’re watching the area to see if they’ve been noticed before they make their play. We have a barrier in front of us as a shield. Now we show the patience of superhero stalking. Stay quiet. This is what you wanted to learn, Dagger. The first lesson is never lose control over your anxious side during the takedown. The quickest way to die while stalking any prey is to rush into a blind situation, where facts are missing. We don’t know what the hell these guys’ objective is.”

“It looks like they’re robbing the store, Sherlock.” Jean stifled a giggle.

“I don’t think so,” Nick replied, suddenly very serious. “They’re spreading out around the corner, blending in against the darkened building. What do you see, Gus?”

Gus looked away from his night vision range finders. “They’re all packing. I can see a weapon on display by every gangsta’ except one. He’s standing in front of the plate glass display window with a brick.”

“They’re cop killers,” Nick said. “After setting off the alarm, they remain in place until the police arrive. Then they execute the police sent to the scene. Usually only one car is ordered to check a routine alarm call, because there are so many false alarms. There’s a driver somewhere around here with a van to pick up the cop-killers the moment they fire on the arriving police. Watch what they do when the bricklayer busts the front door handle, setting off the security alarm. They won’t run.”

Three minutes later, they heard the brick smashed into the door handle until the alarm went off. The security alarm, loud enough to wake the dead, blasted out its wailing tune. The so called bricklayer, got into position away from the entrance on the North Market Street side, moving to a distance of ten feet to the rear of his nearest accomplice. With all six lined in the darkness, next to the brick wall, they awaited the arrival of police in the shadows. Nick smiled. The group of thugs aligned along the building wall reminded Nick of ducks at a shooting gallery.

“Heh… heh.”

“First off, I hate that you’re smiling, Muerto,” Gus said. “Secondly, I hate when you go heh… heh in a life or death circumstance.”

The scene awakened the cold blooded killer skittering just below the surface of Nick’s mind, in a shadowy damp refuge of mayhem and murder. He glanced at the grim faces in the darkness, and Jean’s arm around Deke’s neck. Nick whispered with a sarcastic edge. “This wasn’t my idea, kiddies. I’m here, and I don’t plan to allow these jackasses to execute a couple of cops. We should have followed my directions, and walked to the hotel instead of playing Dudley Doright and Scooby Doo meet the Backstreet Cop-killers. Now that we’re here, we have no choice.”

“We could warn the police,” Gus said. “Don’t surrender to that deviant mind of yours, Muerto. I know you’ve concocted a weird plan to somehow take out the gang using your giant intellect or should I say ego.”

“What do you have planned, Dad?” Still clutching Deke by the neck, Jean pointed at the small shed type structure immediately behind them. “Payaso and I can hide behind the small building behind us.”

“Exactly. Once the shooting starts I want you both heading to the hotel. Wait out the initial gunfire, and then head away on a path to the hotel. There will be a police dragnet to avoid. Play the dumb-shit tourist card if you get stopped, featuring that both of you heard the gunfire. There won’t be a problem. You’ve activated El Muerto, my beloved daughter. Don’t be hatin’ when Muerto doesn’t perform quite as expected – and don’t be blaming yourself if this goes sideways. Payaso will make sure nothing happens to you or the Dekester.”

Jean hugged Nick tightly as they crouched behind the wall, whispering fiercely. “I love you, Dad. I’ll make sure Payaso is okay too.”

Having said that, Jean whispered a command to Deke, gesturing him to her side before running in a crouch to the structure behind them. Gus turned to Nick before following his young charge and Fang.

“This is a dumb idea,” Gus admitted. “Good luck. Want me to be in position for covering fire?”

Nick slipped on Nitrile gloves from his pocket, along with his black mask he now carried as a joke to get a rise out of Gus. “Absolutely not. If I need covering fire, then I’m in trouble. You look after Jean. I have to get going while this one act play unfolds.”

Having said that, Nick went over the wall, moving silently twenty-five yards to the rear of his prey. From there, he stalked his targets, careful of every footfall in the darkness. The city sounds covered his approach. When he heard a siren in the distance, Nick ran forward with Stiletto knife fully extended. He grabbed the hooded head in front of him, pulled it back, and slit the man’s throat, arterial spray shooting out.

In an instant, Nick caught the 9mm Glock the man dropped while clutching his ruined neck. Nick turned the Glock on the man in front of his victim, firing two shots into his head. From a shooter’s crouch behind his first victim’s twitching body, Nick executed the next three. He wounded the fourth in both shoulders, while taking wild return fire. The would-be cop-killers had no idea what they were shooting at. Panic enveloped them as they died. Two shots they fired hit each other.

With the siren drawing ever closer, Nick switched the guns, his two rearmost victims carried. He searched with calm speed, finding a switchblade in the first victim’s pocket. Nick swiped the dead man’s neck once with it, finishing his ploy by placing it into the second victim’s free hand. Nick used the dead second victim’s hand to fire a killing round into the front man he had wounded in the shoulders. Chuckling, he ran to the front man, and boosted him into an upright position, Nick could fire on the second man, he had planted the killing weapon on. With the first man’s weapon aimed, Nick took aim.

“Not much time, scooter. Make these count.” Nick fired a couple into the dead man, and into a couple of his cohorts. He scanned the scene and area around him. Satisfied, he vaulted the wall across the street, and continued in a route taking him away from the scene. Unfortunately, because of the gunfire, two helicopters began a weaving pattern over the suspected area. They did not appear to be leaving until someone or something was found. Nick called Grace.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Grace answered, seeing the caller ID.

“I need an official extraction. Sending the coordinates to your phone. You and Timmy are still around, aren’t you?”

“Yes, thanks to bad karma, I guess. We’ll be over in ten minutes. Our hotel’s not far from that spot. Do we get to know what we’re extracting you from?”

“Not if you want our slightly seedy partnership to continue. Drive to me, stop, and I’ll load into the backseat. From there, you can stop by the scene of the crime like two helpful US Marshals. Flash your badges, and ask if the locals could use your help. When they say no thanks, take me to my hotel.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to play the innocent victim of circumstance here? We’re on our way. US Marshals’ service to the rescue. Hang tight, you little desperado.”

“One of these days, Alice… right to the moon,” Nick hissed, mimicking the Jackie Gleason line from the old TV show ‘The Honeymooners’.

Grace disconnected with a laugh. Nick stayed in the shadows, avoiding flyovers by police helicopter spotlights. A burgundy SUV stopped near his position. Nick ran over, and entered the rear passenger compartment.

“Timmy. Look who dropped in. It’s that famous novelist, Nick McCarty,” Grace needled him while driving toward the nearby commotion, complete with flashing lights, and arriving ambulance sirens. “I’ll bet those ambulances are a waste of time.”

“Don’t be impolite, Grace,” Tim urged. “Do you want us to introduce you, Nick, or just refer to you if they ask?”

“Only if they ask, Tim. Very funny, Grace. I’m trying to provide my new partners with plausible deniability. Turn on your interior light for a moment.” Nick checked himself for excess blood, but except for a few spots on the sleeves of his jacket, his clothing appeared clean of any other evidence. He had turned the Nitrile gloves inside out, stuffing them inside his jacket. His Muerto mask was also inside his jacket again.

“Do you have your US Marshal’s credentials,” Grace asked.

“Of course.”

“Okay, here we are.” Grace parked outside the cordoned off area. “Let’s go see what Marshal McCarty got into tonight.”

* * *

Grace and Tim flashed their badges and ID’s at the police taped off line. The officer checked them over carefully before grinning at the two Marshals. “What the heck do two US Marshals want in a Charleston crime scene?”

“We’re in Charleston on business,” Grace explained. “We were driving to our hotel when we saw the lights and helicopters. My partner thought it would be a good idea to offer our help if you wanted it. If not, we’ll leave you guys to do your jobs. What happened here anyway?”

“Six bad guys had a wild shootout. They’re all dead,” the officer explained. “I doubt we’ll need the US Marshal’s service in on this, but you can offer your help to the Lieutenant next to the building there. Her name’s Moragado.”

Lieutenant Moragado glanced at Grace and Tim with a confused expression. “Can I help you?”

The US Marshals went through the ID and introduction with the Lieutenant, again offering their help.

The Lieutenant thought about it for a few moments. She looked to be in her mid-forties: short dark hair, no makeup, and a cynical wry expression which appeared to be her normal feature. “I don’t see how you could help, but thanks for stopping by. What business in Charleston were you here on?”