Allegiance (Joe Logan Book 4) (4 page)

It was late when he finished up going through hard copy files and then the flash drives.  A lot of the information was out of date and of no real significance.  Arnie had details of a few unresolved cold cases that he had worked.  He was like a pit-bull; never let go of a case.  Homicides never got taken off the books, and Arnie was always digging, looking for new evidence and hoping that he could find something to bring perps to book.

It was on the third stick he opened that Logan found a file of something current that could feasibly be connected to recent events.  There was a name underlined in bold print:
Patrick Fallon
, and the names of three other people underneath it; Max Dalton, Jack Trask and Milo Searle.  There was also circumstantial supposition that Fallon was responsible for the murders of at least three city officials, but no details that could be considered as proof.  Another name listed was Benny.  There was no surname, but there was a Brooklyn address next to it, and CI in brackets.  So Arnie had a confidential informant.  That was as good a place to start as any, after he had paid Margie a visit.  All cases were the same, in that you had to find a lead, and then follow it back to whatever it led.

Max
Dalton contacted Dustin (Dusty) Quaid by way of a burner cell phone.  He needed two people whacked and one taken for interrogation, and considered Quaid to be the man for the job.  As Max, Dusty had been a Navy SEAL and still lived by the mottos; ‘Ready to Lead, Ready to Follow, Never Quit’, ‘The only easy day was yesterday’, and ‘Don’t bother running, you will only die tired’.

“I’ve got some urgent business that needs taken care of,” Max said.  “Are you in a position to take the job?”

“Affirmative,” Dusty said.  Neither man used their names.

“Meet me at the usual place and I’ll give you the details.”

“I’m on my way,” Dusty said and ended the call.  He enjoyed working for Dalton.  The guy had been there, done it, and so had his respect.  There was a bond of brotherhood between men like them, borne of knowing that in life or death situations they could count on each other implicitly.

Dusty smiled as he slipped on his old soft leather Jackass shoulder rig that held his nine millimeter pistol, and then donned his almost matching leather blouson.  He left his apartment in mid Manhattan, took the elevator down to the basement parking garage and climbed into his second car, a Bronze Nissan Sport Sedan, and hit the street, heading for the Bakehouse Bistro & Bar on Horatio Street in Greenwich Village, tucked away near the river; a perfect place to meet and eat and talk the talk.

Max arrived a few minutes after Dusty, took a seat opposite him at a corner table and reached across to shake his hand.  They ordered drinks, and the noise of other customers and background music was perfect for them to talk quietly, to plan abduction and death.

Max handed Dusty an envelope with names and addresses, and told him what he wanted doing.

“I’ll start by having the cop’s wife lifted,” Dusty said.  “As for this Benny Cole, if he didn’t drown in the river we’ll find him. The awkward one is Newman.  If he’s in a coma he’ll be in intensive care with round-the-clock protection.”

“Do what you can,” Max said.  “There’s no immediate threat to my employer, so we’re not on a countdown.  These are just loose ends that need tying up.  Newman may have some information that could prove embarrassing if it got out.  I need to plug the dam before it breaks.”

After leaving the bistro, Dusty made a couple of calls, then drove back to his apartment.  He used ex-forces men that were known to him.  They were pros that treated every job as a mission.

Logan parked the Taurus in a space between two other vehicles on the street in Melrose where Margie was staying with her brother Tony and his wife Ellen.  He sat in the darkness and watched and waited.  Didn’t suppose that Margie was in any real danger, but always looked at the worst case scenario and prepared for it.  If there was a contract on Arnie, then it could only be related to an investigation, official or otherwise, that he had been probably close to resolving.

Walking leisurely up the sidewalk with his hands in his fleece’s pockets and holding the Glock with a round in the chamber ready to go, Logan did not see anything untoward; no figures sat in a darkened vehicle watching the house.  He reached the corner and turned back to do another check before entering the front yard and knocking at the door.

Two pixilated figures appeared behind the frosted, double glazed window set into the upper half of the door, and a female voice asked, “Who’s there?”

“Logan,” he said.  “Margie’s expecting me.”

The door was opened by a thin, almost anorexic-looking woman with short, straight gray hair. At her shoulder was a fat, balding guy with a suspicious expression on his face.  They both stepped back to make way for him to enter.

Margie appeared behind them in the hallway.  “Hi, Logan,” she said, rushing toward him.  “It’s been a while.  This is Tony and Ellen”

Logan said nothing, as on tiptoe Margie stretched up, put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a peck on the cheek as he simultaneously ducked his head to make it possible.  He was six-four and Margie was five-one.  Do the math.

“Arnie?” Logan said.

Margie shook her head.  “No change. I just got off the phone.  I need to be with him.”

Logan gave her a hard look.  “Bad idea. I want you to come with me.”

“But I―”

“No buts, Margie.  Arnie is well protected, you aren’t.  I found some stuff at your house that could be the reason he was targeted.  Whoever wants him dead will come for you,” Logan said, not sure that he was right, but with a gut feeling that he was.

“What did you find?”

“Some paperwork and flash drives.  Have you ever heard Arnie mention someone by the name of Patrick Fallon?”

Margie shook her head.

“How about Jack Trask, Max Dalton, Milo Searle, or someone called Benny?”

“No, those names don’t ring any bells.  Arnie left the job at the front door when he came home.  He didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Logan said as she paused and her forehead creased in a frown.

“The first name you mentioned,” Margie said.  “A couple of weeks ago I remember that Arnie was watching Fox News, and when a guy was being interviewed, he said, ‘that piece of shit is heading for a fall’.  I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn’t go into it.  I’m sure the guy’s name was Fallon.”

That was enough for Logan.  He was on the right track.  As a rule of thumb he discounted coincidence.  He accepted that twists of fate were part of the big picture, but did not allow them to interfere with facts and his gut feeling.  Instinct.  You needed to take heed of it; it could save your life.

“Get what you need and let’s go,” Logan said.

“Where do you plan on taking her?” Tony said.  “I need to know how to get in touch.”

“No, you don’t,” Logan said.  “What you need to do is take a short vacation, starting now.  Someone will be trying to trace Margie.  They’ll turn up here, and you wouldn’t want to be here when they do.”

“I can look after myself,” Tony said.

Logan wanted to smile, but didn’t.  Just said, “Margie, remind your brother that Arnie is fighting for his life in Bellevue, and that he was an armed, experienced cop.”

“He’s right,” Margie said, looking from Tony to Ellen and back again.  “I shouldn’t have come here.  You need to go away until Logan says it’s safe to come home.”

“Okay, Sis,” Tony said.  “I’ll make arrangements and be out of here in the morning.  Call me when whatever is happening is dealt with.”

It was less than ten minutes later when Logan and Margie left by the rear door and cautiously made their way back to the Taurus.

“What’s the plan?” Margie said as Logan headed towards Port Morris to pick up the 278, cross the East River and drive through Queens to Brooklyn.

“Arnie had a CI ‒ a confidential informant ‒ by the name of Benny.  I have an address.  He may be able to tell me what Arnie was working on.”

“Why not just go to the police?” Margie said.  “And give them whatever you found at the house.”

“I’ll call in with it tomorrow, when I know a lot more than I do now.  They’re restricted by procedure and due process, I’m not.”

Frankie Baker and Lennox Washington climbed out of the stolen Chevy panel truck and walked up the path to the front door of the house without hesitation.  This was a private home on a street in a residential area of mainly blue collar workers.  Their job was simple; they had been told that the brother of a woman they had been sent to abduct lived here.  If the woman was here, fine.  If not, her brother would most likely know where she was.

Frankie was a lot more than just a little uptight.  He’d quit smoking two weeks ago and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.  He was eating more junk food, and when he wasn’t he was chewing gum until his jaws ached.  His temper was short, and he needed to unload it.

Lennox was as cool as Eddie Murphy used to be.  He’d taken a snort or two of nose candy before leaving his converted loft on 163
rd
Street, and he was mellow.  Being amped-up on snow was out of this world.  He was full of confidence and knew that he was invincible.  Everything seemed clearer and better when he was high.  He was Yang to Frankie’s Yin.  They worked well together, but he was the more positive of the team; as bright as the sun, whereas Frankie was more like the dark side of the moon, negative and always imagining pitfalls that did not exist.

Lennox rapped the glass with his knuckles.  Watched as the shape of a guy moved down the lit hallway, and smiled as the door was opened.

“Yes, who are you?” Tony said to the black man, whom he thought looked vaguely like Mike Tyson, and had the same build as the ex-boxer.

“Friends of Margie,” Lennox said.  “Is she here?”

Tony attempted to close the door, but the muscle power behind the hand that pushed it back was overwhelming.  And the heel of the same hand struck him in the chest with what he imagined to be the force of a mule’s kick, knocking him over like a ninepin.  He struggled to breathe as he lay on his back and the two strangers entered the house.

Frankie closed the door.  Chewed furiously on the now tasteless wad of gum, and then kicked the fallen man in the side with enough force to crack two ribs and probably rupture his spleen.  The loud groan of pain from the man instantly brightened his outlook and was almost as rewarding as a deep drag off a cigarette.

“Stop it!” Ellen shouted from the door to the living room.  “Leave him alone, you bastards.”

Lennox chuckled; a rumbling hu-hu-hu.  The scrawny bitch was staring at him as if he was a fuckin’ Martian.  Funny how intimidation and violence got peoples’ attention far quicker than talking ever did.

Frankie got hold of Tony’s shirt collar and dragged him into the living room, and Ellen actually stepped aside to let him pass.

“Sit down on the floor, woman,” Lennox said to her.  “And don’t move or speak unless I tell you to.”

Ellen wanted to ignore him and just lash out with her hands and feet, but could see the menace in his dark unblinking eyes, so did as she was told.

“I asked you a question,” Lennox said to Tony, who was lying on his back and trying to take shallow breaths to ease the pain in his side.  “I’ll ask you once more, and if I don’t believe what you tell me, your wife will be the one that gets hurt.  Where is Margie Newman?”

“The hospital…Bellevue,” Tony lied.  “She left here a few minutes before you arrived.”

“Is that your car in the driveway?” Frankie said, drawing his gun and screwing a silencer onto the end of the barrel as he spoke.

“Yeah,” Tony said, swallowing hard at the sight of the pistol.

“So being as how Arnie Newman’s car was shot up, and that Margie doesn’t have a vehicle, how come you didn’t drive her there?”

“A friend took her.”

“And the friend is…?”

Tony was not going to lie anymore and risk Ellen being assaulted.  “An ex-cop,” he said.  “He used to work with Arnie.  His name is Joe Logan.”

“Describe him and the car he’s drivin’,” Lennox said.

“He’s a big guy, six-four or five.  Built like a linebacker.  We didn’t see the car.  He parked along the street.  Told us that Margie was at risk.”

“Why should she be at risk?”

“He thinks that whoever shot Arnie will come after her.  That’s all we know.”

Lennox and Frankie looked at each other.  They believed the man; he was too scared for both his wife and himself to lie to them.

They got a full description of Logan, and the number of Margie’s cell phone.  Perhaps they would’ve tied the couple up, gagged them and stashed them in a closet, but Ellen annoyed Frankie by telling him that if he laid a finger on her sister-in-law he would be one sorry sonofabitch.  Idle threats and insults made by nonentities were like a red rag to him.  He punched her in the face, left-handed and very hard, and her head whip lashed as she screamed and rebounded, to end up leaning forward on her hands with blood gushing from her nostrils and cascading down onto the carpet.  He hadn’t just broken her nose, he’d pulverized it.

Ellen was not as meek as she looked.  And her temper, when triggered, was legendary.  She darted forward quick as a fox and bit Frankie’s ankle through the material of his pants. Just locked her jaws in the flesh and sawed her mouth back and forth until she felt bone grate against her teeth.

Frankie howled and tried to pull away from her, but it was like trying to detach his leg from a rabid dog.  He hit her with a sweeping blow to the side of the head with his pistol, but she seemed to be past feeling pain.  Anger and hate had amalgamated to boil up and elevate Ellen into a frenzied state.  At that moment she was basically out of her mind.

Frankie needed her off him.  He twisted the gun sideways, pressed it up tight to her temple, pulled the trigger, and Ellen was blown to the side; her body following the blood and brains that were driven out of her skull.

There was a few seconds of absolute silence.  Frankie, Lennox and Tony stared with disparate sentiments at Ellen’s corpse.  Her left leg came up off the floor three or four times, kicking at thin air, but it was just muscle contraction.

“You murdering fucking animal,” Tony shouted as tears ran down his cheeks.