The Reluctant Warrior (Warriors Series Book 2) (14 page)

‘What I thought,’ Broker said and handed slim dossiers to all of them. ‘Those have more details on the gang. Go through them, memorize them, and get a feel for the top dogs. How are you guys for kit?’

‘We have a cache, but we’re open to topping up. There’s no such thing as too much kit,’ Bwana replied as he skimmed through the file.

‘Right, we’ll go to Bunk’s for kit. You all know him, right?’

‘Heard of him, but never had the pleasure of meeting.’

Broker noticed Roger frowning heavily. ‘Something on your mind?’

‘Yeah. How is this going to work? Which chapter are we going to go after? We going to stay together or split up?’

‘We’ll try the Manhattan bastards first. As for splitting up, nope. You both should be known to them by now, so safety in numbers and all that shit. Also, I don’t want to pass up on any opportunity to keep your sorry ass from being shot.’

Roger smiled sardonically. ‘Okay. Now what?’

‘Now you finish that bottle and tell us some dirty stories. Tomorrow we’ll head to Bunk’s and indulge in some gun porn. The day after, we start a war.’

Chapter 18

‘Where’s this Bunk fella?’ Bwana asked as he shoveled boiled eggs in his mouth for breakfast the next day.

‘A town called Newburgh, an hour and half, two hours north of here, in Orange County. Badass country. The city was called Murder Capital of New York State, and remains one of the most crime- ridden cities in our beloved country.’

‘Why?’ Bear paused his chewing.

Broker set a plate of freshly boiled eggs on the table and sat down. ‘The usual reasons – high unemployment, illegal immigrants, poor density of law enforcement, and lack of growth, investment, and development.’

He reached out for the eggs, but Bear’s massive paw got there a shade earlier. He looked heavenward. ‘It’s breakfast, Bear, not a fricking competition.’

‘I know, but my frame needs more nourishment than yours does,’ said Bear witheringly.

Roger burped politely. ‘So why’s our guy there?’

‘It’s ideally suited for what he does. He’s an arms supplier to gangs on the East Coast and some on the West Coast too. He also supplies to mercs, private contractors such as us.’

‘And the law hasn’t bagged him?’ asked Bwana skeptically.

‘That’s a very good question. Your proximity to my brains is showing.’ Broker grinned.

‘Boys, calm down,’ Chloe warned as Bwana gave Broker the finger.

‘The law is fighting a losing battle in Newburgh. Its small alleys and narrow streets make it easy for gangbangers to get away fast, stage sieges, and all that shit. Now, the reason the law and the Feds have let Bunk operate is simple. He’s a carefully cultivated snitch for them.’

Roger, who had been silently attacking his eggs and bacon, looked up at this. ‘Say what?’

‘He passes gang information to the Feds and the NYPD, has been doing so for a long time. Makes sense if you think of it. Given where he’s based and what he does, he’s ideally placed to provide juice. In return they let him deal with the gangs. Of course, they do keep tabs on what he sells, just in case he slips a nuclear warhead across the counter.’

He munched for a while. ‘But he’s really one of the good guys. Zeb was the one who found him. He was digging for possible associates of Holt and came across Bunk. Ex-Seal that he was, he’d trained with Holt and been on a few missions with him. I met him during Zeb’s funeral service, and we’ve kept in touch since.’

He pushed back from the dining table. ‘Right. Let’s get your lazy asses rolling and spend some of my hard-earned dinero.’

Chloe went to one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and looked down at Columbus Avenue in the distance. ‘Gee, Broker, you do like to live the high life, don’t you?’

‘It’s part of the façade, Chloe. The people I sell to want to see a successful businessman, not some seedy-looking guy who operates out of his briefcase.

‘Not that I’m complaining about all this.’ He waved his hands to indicate his apartment, and his laugh bounced off all the glass as he led the way to the basement.

Broker’s drive for the day was a heavily-customized Range Rover, extended at the back to make more storage, panels at the back of the seats for guns, a wireless network, armor plating and bulletproof glass, run-flat tires, radar, ejection seats. ‘All the gizmos money can buy and some that it can’t,’ was how he put it.

Bwana leaned back into the plush leather seats with a contented sigh. ‘Can you leave this to me in your will, Broker?’

Broker grinned. ‘You’d just trash it when you went camping. And use it to store your fish.’

Roger chuckled. ‘You got that right. Which is why we never take his car when we’re travelling. A few moments in it and fish would wrinkle their noses up.’

‘Should we swing by the Manhattan chapter’s digs before we go to Newburgh?’ Bear asked as he watched New York flow past the window in a heavily muted stream of color and motion.

Broker shook his head. ‘Not now, not before we’re fully kitted out. There’s stuff in the Rover, but I’d prefer us to have our kit of choice before making any move. Maybe on the way back.’

They fell silent as Broker navigated them through the force of energy that was the city. Chloe looked up at the towers that pierced the skyline, Chrysler Tower peeking out in the distance, and murmured, ‘This is why we do what we do.’

Bwana, draped over the last row, lifted his hand in a silent salute, stretched his legs, and prepared to snooze. ‘Wake me up when we get there, Rog. Never been to Newburgh and want to see these guys that have Broker scared.’

Roger shook his head mournfully. ‘See what I have to put up with? No wonder I end up doing all the work.’ He pulled out a pencil stub and rummaged in the glove compartment for a notepad.

‘Right, who wants what?’

Broker slowed down as he entered Newburgh an hour and a half later and nosed his way through the town. He deliberately took a circuitous route to show them around. Glancing briefly through his rearview mirror, he smiled when he saw all of them glued to their windows.

Chloe broke the silence finally as they passed yet another run-down street and homes hollowed out of hope. ‘Bear, we are not coming
here
for our holidays.’

Bear shook his head. ‘This is a town where hope has no hope.’

‘That’s right,’ Broker commented. ‘Now, I can go right to Bunk’s parking lot, and we can hop to his store from there, or if you guys are hankering for some more atmosphere, I can park a little way out and we can hoof it.’

‘Hoof it,’ came the unanimous reply.

Broker grinned. ‘You don’t need to be macho all the time, you know? The wise man knows his own strength and doesn’t need to flaunt it.’

Bwana looked balefully at Roger at that. ‘Do me a favor, Rog. Shoot me the day I start uttering such horseshit.’

Broker found a parking space on Broadway a few hundred yards from Bunk’s storefront, and they walked to the store from there.

Hoods lounging against walls and fences – attired in mandatory hood gear: sleeveless T-shirts, hoodies, hipsters hanging so low Newton would have rewritten the laws of gravity, and smokes dangling from stained teeth – straightened and gave them hard stares with eyes that had seen it all. Some of the hoods crowded around them wordlessly and fell back slowly as they advanced without breaking stride.

The hoods sported intricate ink, and many of them had teardrops with numbers beside them – the kills they had made.

Roger’s lips barely moved. ‘Punks. Half of them won’t see the year end.’

‘The other half, the next year,’ muttered Bwana.

A distant bell rang from inside the store as Broker pushed the door open and led them inside. They spread out and stood stock-still, their looks making Broker laugh.

‘Wow. Is this dude a gun dealer or a museum caretaker?’ Chloe exclaimed.

The store had immaculately polished, gleaming wooden and glass cabinets everywhere. A horizontal running cabinet ran the length and breadth of the room, containing antique arms ranging from Roman knives to flintlock pistols, all neatly laid out and labeled. Hugging the walls were tall vertical cabinets featuring muskets, Civil War rifles, British shotguns, firearms of all makes and kinds dating far back into history.

Roger and Bwana crowded around a beautifully maintained muzzle-loading Baker rifle that had its ancestry chronicled on a handwritten note.

‘Rog, I would like to marry that rifle,’ Bwana said in a hushed tone.

Chloe snorted on hearing him. ‘Any offspring aren’t going to be better looking than you, Bwana. Let’s not inflict such a crime on the world.’

Bear looked up from the second-generation 45 Colt single-action revolver in the cabinet in front of him. ‘Broker, surely we aren’t taking on 5Clubs with these?’

‘Those aren’t for sale,’ came a voice from a door at the far end of the room. Bunk Talbot – as tall as Broker, slim, wiry, with close-cropped brown hair, dressed in a brown T-shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans – strode into the room and bumped fists with all of them and then hugged Broker.

He grinned at Broker. ‘Been a long time, bro. Good to see you’re still kicking.’ He cast an appraising eye on the rest of them and turned back to Broker.

‘These them? The black ops legends?’ The black ops world was a rarefied world, and there were rumors about ghosts – Clare’s team – who trod where other special ops agencies feared to go.

Bwana lifted his hands heavenward. ‘Hallelujah. Fame! Can the riches be far behind?’ He turned to Roger. ‘We need a money manager. And an agent.’

Roger studiously turned his back on him as Broker chuckled. ‘Dunno about famous, Bunk, but crazy as loons for sure.’ He introduced all of them to Bunk and then handed over the shopping list Roger had written.

Bunk studied the list and lifted an eyebrow. ‘Starting a war, Broker? Aren’t there enough already?’

‘Insurance, my friend, just insurance.’ Broker’s baritone rumbled through the glass.

‘What’s the story with these?’ Chloe asked Talbot, indicating the vintage and antique weapons.

‘I’ve always been interested in old weapons and had started collecting stuff from when I was in the Seals, from all over the world. The collection just built up, and then when I got into selling arms, it became a very neat cover for my business. I sell vintage weapons also – though these are my private collection – and that’s a perfect reason for all kinds of folks to meet me.’

He laughed sardonically. ‘Hell, even the Latin Kings buy vintage weapons from me. They see those as instruments for investment. Of course that’s not the only arms they buy from me.’

He waved the list and disappeared back into the depths he had come from. He returned an hour later wheeling two large duffel bags, placed them in the center of the room, went to the entrance and shut it, and then opened the bags.

Roger and Bwana crouched over the bags and pulled the weapons out and started ticking them off the list. They had ordered several M41As carbines, MP5A3 submachine guns, Glock 19s, Beretta M9s and the ammunition to go along with them… these now lay silently gleaming, filling the room with the smell of new weapons and gun oil.

Bwana dived into one of the bags and whistled softly as he lifted his favorite weapon, the Barrett M107A1 .50 caliber sniper rifle. ‘Saved my ass many a time,’ he murmured and sighted the Leupold Mark 4 scopes. Roger laid out stun grenades, body armor, combat knives, medical kits, and encrypted wireless comms equipment along with the base receivers.

‘Used by the Secret Service,’ commented Talbot as he watched the two work swiftly and surely. Bear and Chloe joined the two crouching and began putting the equipment back into the bags.

Talbot looked at them for a few more moments and then nodded at Broker. ‘Privileged.’

Broker nodded back. He knew what Talbot meant. His guys were not
just another
elite force. They commanded the respect of even battle-hardened Special Forces operatives.

‘What do you know of 5Clubs?’ he asked Talbot as the others zipped the bags up and stood up.

‘Nasty, ruthless, professional, and my biggest customers,’ came the prompt reply.

‘Are they active here? In Newburgh?’

‘Nah. This town is for lesser gangs. 5Clubs runs New York City, large parts of New Jersey, and I heard they were looking to control the Mexican border.’

Something in Broker’s posture made him narrow his eyes. He remembered fragments of conversation between some of the 5Clubs gangbangers, and the tumblers in his mind clicked. He looked at Broker with a question in his eyes and got a smile in return.

‘You aim to wipe them out?’

‘Nope. We want a piece of information from them. A name.’ Broker grinned. ‘All this is in case they refuse to play ball.’

‘Do they know you guys yet? Have you commenced the game?’

Broker grinned wider. ‘They don’t know of us as this black ops team or such shit, but these guys have upset them a bit.’ He nodded in Roger and Bwana’s direction. ‘You caught the news about girls, women, rescued in Arizona?’

Talbot looked in their direction in silence and then snapped his fingers. ‘Fucking hell. You wiped out how many? Six? Seven?’

‘Eight,’ Chloe replied when Roger and Bwana remained silent.

Talbot shook his head in reluctant admiration and then sobered swiftly. ‘This name you want – it’s that important?’

‘Yup.’

‘Then get some more guys. I know enough operatives, good guys, who’d love to join you. The five of you ain’t nowhere near enough for a gang of that size and that kind.’

‘Nah, we’ll manage.’

Talbot fell silent, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Then he blurted, ‘Broker, I hope that’s not ego speaking. This is not a run-of-the-mill gang of nasties. These guys are as professional as they come, with combat experience. Five of you against three hundred? Not enough.’

Chloe wiped her hands on a piece of linen she had in her rear pocket. ‘We’ve enough ego to know our strength, but you’re looking at this problem the same way everyone else will, and hopefully even the gang.’

She leaned against the long running counter. ‘We’re going to engage in guerrilla warfare, and our size is our strength. Secondly, just because they’ve seen action doesn’t mean jack. They have been out of combat for a long while, and you should know what the lack of training does to an elite soldier’s skills. Why, Bunk, you’ve seen combat. Do you think your skills today are still as good as they were back then? We train with the Seals, Delta, the Marines, Rangers, the Special Ops guys, all manners of black ops folks, and the Mossad’s baddest guys when we’re in between assignments. We know exactly how good we are and how bad they are.’