The Ambitious City (43 page)

Beyond where the farmhouse had stood, several small fires were burning, lit by debris that had ignited before it blew apart. Two of these fires were very close to the cornfield. Keeler yelled to his men, “Keep your masks on! Get those fires out!”

MacNeice turned to check on his team. Aziz, Swetsky, the young cop from the forest—all stood up tentatively, wide-eyed. He looked quickly over at Vertesi’s car. They weren’t up yet but he saw a hand waving and heard Vertesi yell, “We’re okay.”

“Everyone, put something over your nose and mouth! Do not breathe this air!” MacNeice said. Aziz and Swetsky came out from behind the car, their jackets covering their mouths and noses; their wide eyes told the story.

“Miller. Miller! Get these people some face masks. On the run, now!” Keeler yelled.

“How’s your man?” MacNeice asked.

“The round tore through the side of his hip. He’ll have physio ahead of him, but he’ll survive; they’ve got a field pack on him. He was almost taken out by the refrigerator. It landed behind the Jeep, a foot from his head.”

With their masks on, the detectives stepped over the scattered debris to see what was left of the house. One porch column remained, still anchored to its base—the only vertical remaining. The concrete foundation was intact but the furnace block had gone up and come down again several yards from its original position. The water heater had landed on the motorcycle trailer, breaking its spine. There was no fire, no smoke in the hole that
had been the basement; it was as if it had all been sucked into the sky. While the tank was nowhere to be seen, heating oil covered the basement floor, swirling about with the water gushing from the severed main.

Three members of the SWAT team were using extinguishers to kill the small fires. They could hear the cruisers, EMS vehicles and firefighters beating their way along the road towards them. Amid the debris around them were several shreds of viscera—ugly, but none of it recognizably human.

To the young spotter, MacNeice said, “Go and get Melanie and the kids, but keep them away from the house.”

“No problem, sir. Man, I never—”

“Me neither, son, me neither. Go on now, make sure your partner and Melanie and the kids are all okay.”

The young officer took off at a jog, jumping over the wreckage like a cross-country runner over hedges.

“I’ll go with him, Mac. She’ll be pretty shaken up,” Aziz said, walking around the shattered remains of life on a country road.

A firefighter ran up to MacNeice and Swetsky, looked at the hole in the ground and said, “What the fuck did you guys use on this place?”

“It was self-inflicted,” Keeler said, coming towards them.

“Fuckin’ effective, whatever it was.”

“You can take over killing those small fires. I’ve got a man down over in the driveway—is there an ambulance on the way?”

“Is he it?”

“Some cuts. Otherwise, everyone else is fine.” The firefighter went down to the driveway, still shaking his head. He hollered to several others to follow him.

Keeler stepped closer and said in low voice, “There are large pieces of those bikers in the driveway and behind the house—the force of the blast went backwards and took them with it. Mac,
we’ve gotta shut this site down or people are going to be trampling on some pretty grisly stuff.”

“Good call, Sergeant. Pull your people out and tape it. We’ll let the firefighters mark the remains. And get a retrieval team in here.”

“I’ll call it in,” Swetsky said, “before the coyotes get here for easy pickin’s.” He took the cellphone out of his hip pocket and headed off towards the road.

The Lincoln, Mustang, pickup truck and Jeep had taken the brunt of the gunfire and the explosion; each sagged on its house-side rims, leaning submissively towards the hole in the ground. The glass in the vehicles was shattered and most of the metal on the house side was torn up. Pieces of plumbing, steel framing and even wood trim stuck out of some of the vehicles—they looked like animals speared to death in some bizarre nighttime hunt. By contrast, anything that hit the SWAT vans had basically bounced off, leaving the heavy metal surfaces looking ball-peened. Mac’s Chevy hadn’t been spared. Dozens of rounds had hit the front and the driver’s side, pocked the steel, torn through the upholstery, taken out all of the glass and shredded the house-side tires. A sizable chunk of chimney had folded the hood. MacNeice wondered whether his CD collection had survived, and how long it would take to get the car roadworthy again. He patted the damaged hood the way a cowboy would a horse before putting it down—except MacNeice wasn’t willing to say goodbye to the Chevy.

His cellphone rang. He checked the number, then answered.

“What in God’s name happened?” Wallace asked. “I’ve got people telling me you could see that explosion from the mountain!”

“The bikers triggered explosives in the basement. I don’t know how, sir. We were taking fire. Non-lethal M84 stun grenades were thrown or fired in. There was a pause, and then suddenly the whole place went up.”

He told Wallace how he’d tried to talk the men out and about
his doubts that everyone inside was as committed to a gun battle as the two who had killed Pat Mancini. He also told him about the mother and her kids.

“Fuck it, MacNeice!” Wallace said. “So ten bad men got blown up. I get it—you didn’t want that to happen. Still, I’m not crying. I’ll deal with the press. Keep that goddamned road closed. No photos till it’s cleaned up!” Wallace hung up.

MacNeice put the phone back in his pocket and looked up to see Aziz coming up the road with her arm around Melanie Butter, the boys trailing behind. He walked towards them.

“Melanie, I’m DS MacNeice. I deeply regret the way this ended.”

She had her hands in front of her lower face and was looking beyond him to the devastation. “I … Randy wasn’t … Why’d you have to do this? Why?”

“We didn’t. There were explosives in the basement and something happened. We didn’t use explosives.”

“Oh my God, where are all those men who were in there?” She tried to push past Aziz but the detective held her back.

“They’re gone, Melanie. Gone …”

The two kids were looking around for something familiar. One of them picked up a chair that had been blown onto the road and sat down on it. The other went over to him and pushed his butt onto the chair next to his brother.

“But … all of them? Gone?” She was holding on to her head as two EMS teams approached from behind.

“Can we help?” the first paramedic to reach them asked.

“Yes,” Aziz said. “This is Melanie Butter. She lived here with her two sons. Can you take care of them?”

“Definitely, Detective, that’s what we’re here for. But what about you, sir?”

“Me?” MacNeice asked.

“Yes, sir, you’re losing a lot of blood.” She pointed to the back of his right leg.

“God, Mac, you’ve been hit!” Aziz said.

“I forgot. Yeah, I felt it—like a hornet sting, when I was running.”

“These guys will take care of you.” The paramedic had an arm around Melanie, ready to lead her away. “Come with me, dear. You’re going to be fine.”

Her partner turned to the kids. “Wanna see inside our ambulance? There’s some really neat stuff in there. Come on, we’ll take a look.” He took each boy by the hand. “Watch out for broken glass and stuff.”

A young man from the second team said, “Sit down on that chair, sir. We’ll take a look at that leg.”

MacNeice sat down obediently and the first attendant pulled up his pant leg. The second opened a case. “You’re lucky, sir, it only grazed the muscle. You need stitches to avoid scarring, but the muscle will heal. It’ll be fine.”

“Good to hear, good to hear.” But MacNeice wasn’t really listening; he was staring at the devastation. The firefighters had placed several portable lights around the site. Everywhere they found human remains they were placing yellow flag markers. There were a lot of markers.

“We’ll clean and patch it up for you, but you should really come to Emerg now or check in at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Okay, I will …”

“I know the sound of that
okay
. I’ll make sure he does,” Aziz said, smiling at MacNeice.

MacNeice was still trying to figure it out. “I think Randall was down there rigging something. I think the stun grenade disoriented him and made him drop it.”

“Mac, the stuff in the basement was inert. It took Ross being down there to bring it to life.”

“I know, but all those men …” Firefighters were placing markers as far away as the barn.

“Yes, ten Damned Two Deuces thugs with assault rifles and explosives. They weren’t the local cricket team.”

“Cricket team—” He winced at whatever they were now putting on the wound. “Isn’t that eleven men?”

“Details, details,” Aziz said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

MacNeice looked up to see several bats doing crazy aerobatics above the wreckage, their radar probably confused by the specks of debris floating in the air. Far out beyond the cornfield he saw the beginnings of an electrical storm—flashes of lightning testing the ground for weakness. He said, “Retrieval better get here soon.”

“They will. Swets used the threat of coyotes. Let me make sure Melanie and her kids are taken care of, then I’ll see how we can get back to Dundurn. Is there anything you want out of your car?”

“My keys, the CDs from the glove compartment, and my briefcase from the trunk.”

“Okay, don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

The young paramedic stood up and his partner repacked the bag. “Okay, sir, that should do it. You’ve lost a fair amount of blood, so no heavy drinking or jogging tonight.” MacNeice rolled down his pant leg and thanked them. Standing up, he noticed that his shoe was soggy with blood. Realizing there was nothing more that he wanted to see, he sat down again. Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but he felt lightheaded.

Aziz had disappeared among the people and vehicles. There were firetrucks, ambulances, police cars and now department tow trucks parked everywhere. A frenzy of stuttering emergency lights shone up and down the road, illuminating the forest canopy in red and blue. MacNeice tried to imagine what the farm had been like
when it was built—full of fresh hope and rugged enthusiasm for growing and nurturing a life on the land—but he couldn’t keep the image in focus. He gave up when he saw a firefighter squat nearby to put down another yellow marker.

S
WETSKY DROVE THEM
back in one of the cruisers that had been blocking the intersection. MacNeice sat up front; Vertesi, Aziz and Williams were in the back. As the devastation and flashing lights disappeared from view, MacNeice turned off the matter-of-fact dispatcher and looked out at the dark landscape. An awkward silence filled the car.

After a few miles, Williams asked, “Butter and her kids going to be okay?”

“I think so,” Aziz said. “The paramedic gave her something to calm her down and they’re going to her mother’s place in Oakville. I told her we would need her to come in for an interview, but not for a day or two. I called her mom for her, and she was very concerned. So Melanie will be fine, I think … I hope.”

“I’m glad,” Williams said. “You know, as long as I live, I’ll never forget that house going up …”

“What do you think happened, boss?” Vertesi asked.

“Initially I thought there must have been natural gas in the
basement and the stun grenade caused it to explode. But now I think Ross must have made a mistake when the stun grenade hit. Other than that, I just don’t know.”

“Musta been a shitload of explosives down there.”

“Indeed …”

The car fell silent again until Swetsky said, “You gotta be relieved it’s over, Mac.”

“Yes—if it is—I am.”

As the car rolled on, MacNeice tried to catalogue what remained to be done on the case. There were the Vanucci papers to examine; charges to be laid against the Old Soldiers by the New York authorities; Wenzel Hausman’s safe return to West Virginia before he bankrupted the city with charges for room service, the minibar and rented movies. Payback for Roberto Mancini had already begun and would likely be harsher than any sentence a judge might bring down. Swetsky would pursue any stragglers from D2D and the Jokers, but those members who’d escaped were probably already wearing the colours of rival gangs. And there was the return of Gary Hughes’s wedding ring.

And William Dance. He couldn’t forget Dance.

As the car climbed the Sky-High he looked out over the sleeping city, resisting the urge, as they reached the top, to look towards the eastbound lane—though he sensed that all three in the back seat were looking. The big man was about to pull off onto Lakeshore when MacNeice said, “Swets, do me a favour. Keep going to the Mountain Road exit and drive me home.”

“Are you okay, Mac? The EMS guy said you should go to Emerg.” Aziz said, leaning forward, close to the separating Plexiglas.

“I’m fine … just tired.” The cruiser fell silent again.

It was 11:43 when Swetsky pulled up outside the stone cottage. MacNeice opened the door and got out. The back door opened and
Williams, then Aziz, got out; she handed him the leather CD case, the briefcase and keys.

“See you in the morning?” Aziz said, climbing into the front seat.

“Yes, bright and early. Thank you, Fiza, John, Michael, Montile. Get some rest.” Looking over to Swetsky, he said, “When you drop her off, make sure you walk her to the door and then go through the room. Make sure the officer is posted there.” Swetsky nodded. MacNeice tapped the roof of the cruiser and waved, but didn’t look back.

In the bathroom he undressed, washed the blood off his foot and leg and put on a T-shirt. He retrieved his cellphone, emptied the pockets and threw the torn and bloodied pants into the garbage pail under the sink. With the lights turned down, MacNeice poured a double grappa and sat at the window looking into the night. His thoughts went back to the farmhouse, to the bikers inside and the question of whether the new men had been as eager to fight it out as the rest. The trailer hadn’t taken any fire, he realized, because the bikes inside would be their escape after Ross blew up everyone outside. He wondered if the new men had known anything about the basement crawl space. Did Melanie Butter know? He couldn’t believe she did, not with her sons living there.