Sympathy For the Devil (15 page)

Hicks did his best to dodge the herd of staggering junkies as he tried to locate the two other men he’d seen on the thermal OMNI feed. They may have been guards. They may have already run away when they heard the gunfire. Either way, they were unaccounted for and most likely armed. Hicks kept an eye out for them as he made his way to where he thought Junior was passed out.

Hicks found the young man lying in the same position where he’d been for the past few hours, still unconscious; a backpack as a pillow and a river of drool running from the corner of his mouth. His arm was draped over a woman next to him, but there was nothing romantic about the gesture. The woman’s eyes were open and vacant. Hicks figured she was either dead from opiate shock or was well on her way. Too far along for Hicks to try saving.

He saw Junior’s chest rise and fall in ragged, shallow breaths and knew the little bastard was still alive. And Hicks was that much closer to a hundred grand.

He was about to pull Junior up off the floor when he caught movement near an old piece of machinery to his right. It wasn’t the panicked movement of fleeing junkies, but the deliberate movement of someone moving into position.

Hicks managed to hit the deck just as the man opened fire from behind an old turbine. The rounds sailed high above his head, striking the brickwork of the wall behind him. He rolled clear and came up ready to fire just as the gunman’s weapon clicked dry.

Hicks had a clear shot on the gunman and was about to fire when Tali’s bullet punched a hole through the center of the gunman’s chest; spinning him away from the machinery. Hicks held fire. No sense in wasting a bullet on a dead man.

In his ear, Tali said, “Get the boy and move. I’ll cover you from here.”

Hicks scrambled to his feet and went back to Junior. The young man was still too out of it to move on his own, so Hicks snatched him by the collar, jerked him to his feet, and threw him onto his left shoulder. The effort was easier than it should’ve been for a kid his size. Junior was only about a hundred pounds; heroin scrawny.

Anyone aware enough to get out of the building had already taken off by then. There were still a fair amount of people still on the substation floor; completely oblivious to what was going on around them.

Just as Hicks carried Junior back to the entrance; a shot rang out before he reached the door. Hicks doubled back and laid Junior down behind an old turbine. He crouched low while he talked to Tali.

“You got an angle on this asshole?”

“Negative,” she said. “He ducked for cover just as you fell back. I don’t have a shot. Your best bet is to leave the kid where he is and search for the gunman on your own. I’ll take him if I get the shot.”

Hicks knew he could wait out the gunman, but that would take time and time wasn’t on his side. Despite the early hour, someone had either heard the shots or seen the horde of crackheads that had just hit the street and called the cops. He wanted to put as much space as possible between him and that substation as soon as possible, but turning his back on a man with a gun would be suicide, especially with Junior weighing him down.

To Tali, he said, “I need you to fire a round at his last position. See if that makes him jump.”

Tali began firing into the old machinery at the far end of the building, Hicks broke cover and ran at a crouch toward the row where he’d last seen the gunman. He found the man lying flat on the ground, hands covering his head. As soon as Tali stopped firing, the man began to get to his feet, but turned when he saw Hicks walking toward him.

The man slowly raised his hands, but didn’t make an effort to drop the gun. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He wasn’t one of the strung out junkies. He’d gotten a good look at Hicks’ face. Hicks put him down with a single headshot.

“All clear,” he said to Tali as he tucked away the Ruger and went back to grab Junior, “Just keep an eye out. There may be one or two more hiding in here someplace.”

He threw Junior over his shoulder again and humped it outside; dumping him in the back seat of the Buick before climbing in behind the wheel. He was glad he’d kept the motor running. He did a tight U-turn and headed back down the street toward Manhattan.

As he sped off down the street, he asked Tali: “We are clear. Any sign of survivors?”

“OMNI shows no active threats,” Talia reported. “Just sleeping junkies and dead bad guys. You didn’t need me at all.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Ace.” Hicks saw the street ahead of him was clear, so he floored it. “That was some real Oswald shit you pulled back there, young lady. I owe you one.”

“Oswald was a pussy,” she said, “and you don’t owe me anything. Colin was a friend. So are you. Stay safe.”

Hicks didn’t bother asking if she needed a ride. She’d probably just give him another smartass response and that would kill his growing good mood. Tali had gotten out of much worse places than an industrial site in Queens. He knew she’d be long gone before the cops even got there.

Hicks already had a good idea of how the cops would play it, too. They’d roll up on the scene and work it like the place had been hit by a rival drug gang. The ballistics from Tali’s rifle would probably throw them off a bit, but the ordinance was the same that American and European forces were using in Iraq and Afghanistan. The cops would figure a vet must be working with one of the gangs. They’d waste time running down all snipers with priors who’d just rotated back into the world. The cops would be extra cautious for a while until they began to forget all about the substation and think the sniper thing was just a fluke.

He doubted the NYPD would look too hard for whoever shot up the shooting gallery anyway. No citizens had been killed and no one would be calling out a manhunt to find the guys who’d killed half a dozen drug dealers. The event itself might make the eleven o’clock news, but it would be forgotten by the weekend. The cops might even forget it before then.

Hicks turned off the main avenue and hit the highway to take Junior back home. He stole a glance back at Junior and saw he was still passed out cold; coasting from the shit he’d pumped into his veins.

Now that he could see Junior in the growing daylight, he noticed all the junkie signs clearly: the sunken eyes and pockmarked yellowed skin and thinning hair that came from years of dedicated abuse. Junior was only twenty years old but looked like a hard fifty. His demons had him by the throat and whatever treatment his father had gotten for him hadn’t done him much good so far.

All of that was going to change. Hicks was going to see to that. For Junior’s sake. But more importantly, for the University’s sake, as well.

A
FTER TELLING
Russo he’d rescued Junior, Hicks drove around killing time until the money man texted him he’d gathered the hundred grand.

It was just before ten in the morning by the time Hicks rolled into Russo’s street. The cul-de-sac was buzzing with people going about their post rush hour routine. People getting a late start into work and parents coming back from morning errands. Just a regular day in suburbia; a humdrum morning gradually blending into a humdrum lunchtime. Ham and Swiss on white, no crust, and a glass of soy milk. Carrot sticks for desert. Gotta stay healthy. Life is so boring. Nothing ever happens in the suburbs. Woe is fucking me.

It was all part of a sleepy, privileged existence they took for granted because they didn’t understand what true lawlessness was like. They didn’t know how easily their comfortable lives could be thrown into turmoil by just a few people with bad intentions at the right place and time.

The people on Russo’s street complained about boredom, but didn’t have the slightest idea of how much work went into keeping life that way. But Hicks knew because he’d made a career of doling out controlled doses of order and anarchy in order to keep everything in balance.

Hicks pulled up in front of Russo’s house and got the money man on the phone. He wasn’t surprised that he answered on the first ring. “Is that your car out front just now? Do you have him? Is he okay?”

“First things first, Vinny,” Hicks said. “Do you have the hundred grand?”

“Yes, I gathered it quickly. I lied about having it in several banks. I only had it in one box. I went and got it as soon as they opened this morning. You can check if you want to. How is my boy?”

Hicks only cared about his own questions, not Russo’s. “And you have all one hundred grand?”

“Yes, goddamn you. All of it in cash just like we agreed. Now tell me how he is and you tell me now!”

“You’ll see for yourself in about thirty seconds,” Hicks said. “You’re going to bring the money out to the car, nice and slow, open the passenger’s side door and get inside. You fuck around or waste my time, I drive away, and you don’t see your son again.”

Hicks killed the connection before Russo could argue or waste more time asking a lot of damned fool questions.

Russo was out on his walkway less than ten seconds later. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before and hadn’t shaved, either. Hicks unlocked the doors and let Russo inside.

Russo dropped the bag on the seat and forgot to close the passenger door as he kneeled on the passenger seat and reached for his son. “Junior,” he wept as tears ran from his eyes. “Junior, it’s daddy. It’s me. I’m here.”

Hicks grabbed Russo by the collar and pulled him down into the seat. “Close the door and keep your mouth shut.”

Tears streaked down Russo’s face as he did as he was told. He pulled the door closed and craned his neck to look back at his son. “I’m grateful to you for this. So grateful. You’ll see. I’ll…”

“Open the bag and let me see the money.”

Russo’s hands trembled as he got hold of the bag—a regular laundry bag—and opened it. He pawed through it and, via a quick count; it looked like all hundred thousand was there.

“You see? It’s all right there, just like I told you it would be. Every penny. A hundred grand just like you wanted. And I promise, now that I have him back, I’ll never let him do anything like this again. You’ve brought him back to me, and I’m so grateful that...”

Hicks scanned the street for anyone who was looking at the car. But as busy as the street was with mommies and daddies and nannies, no one was at this end of the cul-du-sac. That was good. “Put the bag in the back seat and take a good look at your boy.”

Russo did as he was told. He reached back and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Wake up, son. Wake up and let’s get well. Let’s get you inside where you belong.”

“The only one who’s going home is you,” Hicks said. “Because he’s coming with me.”

This time, Hicks didn’t have to push Russo into the seat. He fell back on his own. “What… what are you talking about? You said… you promised that…”

Hicks drew the Ruger and jammed it into the side of Russo’s neck; pushing him against the passenger side window at an awkward angle. “I told you I’d get your boy back and that’s exactly what I did. But I’m not going to let you have him because you don’t know how to handle him. You don’t have the balls to make sure he gets clean and I mean all the way clean. So I’m putting him in a facility where he won’t have any choice but to straighten out. After ninety days, your boy will come back clean, sober, and refocused.”

“But you can’t do this to me,” Russo wept. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because this isn’t some after school special, asshole. I need you focused on the shit I need done and I can’t have you worrying about this spoiled little bastard falling off the wagon in another three weeks.” He pressed the barrel a little harder against Russo’s neck. “So if you have any objection, tell me now, and I’ll kill you both right here because you’re no good to me if you’re worrying about him. Understand?”

Russo nodded slowly that he did, just as the tears began to fall again. “I do. I guess it’s the right…”

Then, Hicks jammed the barrel of the Ruger against Russo’s neck until the money man gagged. “And if you ever try to strong-arm me or hold out on me again, I’m going to be really disappointed. So disappointed, in fact, I’m going to take it out on him. I’ll even make you watch before I hurt you even worse. Do you understand me?”

Russo nodded as best he could before Hicks pushed him out of the car. He almost tumbled out into his driveway, but he somehow managed to keep his footing.

Hicks pulled the door shut and pulled away from the curb. As he drove away, he saw Russo in his rearview mirror; looking lost in front of his own house while he watched a total stranger drive away with his son.

The same stranger he’d asked to rescue his son only a few hours before.

The same stranger who’d barged into his life and taken it over only a day before that.

The same stranger he’d allowed into his life by playing games with other people’s money.

Hicks adjusted his mirror so he wouldn’t have to see Russo standing there like a lost kid at a carnival. Fuck him anyway.

He knew there was a chance Russo might be so distraught that he might go into his den and blow his brains out. The gun was empty and Hicks had already taken all the ammo from the house, but he could’ve bought more. Or he could OD on his wife’s sleeping pills. Hicks didn’t care if he did. He had the money and that’s what counted. If he got the kid straightened out, then it was a bonus.

He was halfway back to Manhattan when the dashboard screen showed an incoming call from Jason. He would’ve loved to ignore the call, but knew Jason was already tracking him on GPS. Ignoring him would only make a bad situation worse. He pushed the button on the steering wheel that allowed the call come through.

“This is Wallace,” he said, using was the standard code that he was safe, but not alone.

“You’ve been very busy,” Jason said. “Using our assets for your own vendetta.”

“No vendetta, Ace.” Out of habit, he checked to see if he was being followed. He wasn’t. “Just doing what I’ve got to do to get shit done.”

“Admirable,” Jason said. “Who’s that in the back seat anyway? OMNI can barely read his vitals.”

Hicks didn’t see the point in getting into the details. “He’s nothing for you to worry about. I had to get Junior here out of some trouble in order to get his old man to help me finance your undercover operation against Omar. It turned out okay.”