Chapter Eleven
Thursday afternoon, Dom waited on the roof of the ten-story building overlooking the bodega Jimmy Gonzalez frequented every afternoon to support his habit.
Strong winds buffeted the roof’s vent pipes that Dom stood between to conceal his location. He stepped over the sniper rifle resting in the open tuba case he’d purchased from a music store in Queens. He turned his face into the wind to gauge its speed and direction. Twenty miles an hour oblique with a right quartering crosswind.
Next he scanned the streets on either side of the bodega, noting how an American flag hanging in front of a nearby shop fluttered in the opposite direction, indicating a left quartering crosswind. Typical for a big city, with tall buildings creating a wind tunnel along the streets traveling in a completely different direction from the wind aloft.
Flexing his fingers, he looked over the edge of the concrete wall down to the storefront across the street. A green canopy hung over a glass door flanked on either side by large plate-glass windows. A few hundred yards was an easy shot. For him, anyway, but he’d taken extra care sighting in his scope just the same.
He glanced at the video camera on a nearby telephone pole. The city had hundreds of traffic cams and HD-streaming cameras, footage from which could be viewed from anyone’s personal computer. The one covering the intersection near the bodega was brand-new, having been placed there only recently at the discrete direction of the NYPD. The official excuse was an increase in speeders through that intersection. The real reason was to immortalize what was about to go down.
When a gust of wind blew in his face, he tugged off his New York Yankees ball cap and placed it backward on his head. A glance at his watch told him ten minutes to go before showtime. He let out a cynical laugh. Smith was a no-show. Seemed like the plan was working.
Thank you, Gray.
As if on cue, Dom’s cell phone vibrated. It was Smith. He grinned and took the call. Before he got in a single word, the other man’s voice bellowed in his ear.
“I can’t get there. Abort!” Smith was pissed. “Your fucking buddies pulled me over and made up some bullshit story about parking tickets and a bench warrant. I don’t have any parking tickets. Motherfuckers. It’s mistaken identity or some other shit. You’ll have to reschedule.”
Since getting Smith pulled over by the uniforms on the way to witness Dom’s hit was all part of Gray’s plan, he’d fully anticipated the last-minute call.
“No way. I’m doing the job. It’s not my fault you’re late. And they’re not my buddies. They fired my ass.” He held the phone from his ear as Smith let loose with a string of obscenities. He had to give the guy credit. Some of the shit coming from his mouth was truly poetic. “I’ve invested too much time in this already. You can verify through other channels.”
“Dammit, Carew. You are not doing this job. That’s an order!”
“I don’t take orders from you, asshole.” As he ended the call he could still hear Smith foaming at the mouth.
There was still a chance this plan would go south hard and fast. Smith was supposed to be loitering in the vicinity of the bodega, close enough to check Jimmy Gonzalez’s pulse after the hit. Instead, Gray had planted UCs in and around the shop to keep passersby from doing the same.
He glanced at his watch. Three minutes to go.
During the surveillance he’d done, he knew Gonzalez would be at the bodega every day at precisely four o’clock. He picked up the rifle, rested it on the concrete ledge, and aimed at the storefront.
Even though everything was going like clockwork, he felt his heart rate kick up a notch. In less than two hours, Jimmy Gonzalez would be escorted onto a plane destined for an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas, courtesy of the NYPD. But if he fucked this up, someone could still get hurt.
To make this look good he had to use real ammunition so witnesses would hear the shot. The undercovers were there not only to keep civilians from touching the body but to make sure no one else got in the way. And to plant a spent shot covered in blood somewhere in the vicinity of the body.
Centering the crosshairs of the rifle’s scope on the front door, Dom slowly blew out a breath and flicked off the safety. He moved his finger to the trigger.
The door opened. Jimmy Gonzalez stepped outside and, as choreographed, turned right and paused in front of the store window to light a cigarette. Dom squeezed the trigger.
The shot reverberated within the confines of the surrounding vent pipes. Gonzalez fell backward, slamming against the plate-glass window. A bright red splotch grew steadily on his chest, courtesy of a blood bag obtained from a nearby hospital.
Dom let out another breath, thankful no one had gotten hurt. He remained sighted in, watching the ensuing chaos for a minute to verify the scene developed as it should.
At first, people ran from the sidewalk. Some took cover behind nearby parked cars on the street. Others took off and kept going. The two men who’d been lingering nearby—the undercovers—approached the body and dragged it behind a blue mini-van parked at the curb.
Slowly, Dom eased the rifle from the ledge. He repacked the gun carefully in the tuba case, snapped the case shut, then went to the rooftop door he’d propped open with a two-by-four. He yanked open the door, kicked the piece of wood out of the way, and calmly took the stairs down to the main floor.
Minutes later, he was casually strolling—albeit with his telltale limp—back to the car he’d parked five blocks away. He’d already turned his ball cap around on his head and donned dark sunglasses. As he crossed the streets, sirens blared. Three police cars and an ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the bodega. Uniforms cordoned off the area, and medics jumped out of the bus carrying kits they deposited on the sidewalk next to Gonzalez’s still form.
Dom didn’t wait for them to drape a sheet over the body. He didn’t need to. He already knew the TOD—time of death. It would be somewhere around five o’clock. Time enough for the medics to load the body, transport it to the hospital, and have a doctor officially declare Gonzalez as dead.
For a junkie without a pot to piss in, Gonzalez was about to be put up in a nice little place near the beach on the island of Nassau in the Bahamas. Pretty soon, he’d be basking in the sunshine with a pina colada in his grimy little hand. Dom had heard the guy jumped at the chance for a free trip to the Caribbean, one that included nice digs and a little spending cash on the side.
After reaching his car, Dom stowed the tuba case in the trunk and got behind the wheel, shutting the door. He dragged a hand down his face and breathed a sigh of relief.
Step two complete.
He cued up Jack’s cell phone number. The phone rang four times, and when Schneider answered he could swear he heard Daisy’s laughter in the background. He knew they spent time together at Highland Floral, but hearing her voice over Jack’s phone bugged the shit out of him.
Jack didn’t waste time getting to the point. “Get to the safe house in an hour. You violated protocol. The boss wants to talk to you.”
Dom took the elevator to the same office he’d previously met Jack and Smith in. When the elevator lurched to a stop, he opened the door and pulled aside the security gate. He took two steps inside the room, taking in Jack sitting on the edge of a desk. Jack’s eyes darted to the right just as Dom caught movement to his left. He jerked his head around in time to see a fist about to plow into his face.
He ducked and came in low with a fist to Smith’s gut. Smith grunted and spun to face him, fists raised. He ducked, but Smith’s knuckles grazed his chin.
Pivoting, he landed a cross jab, nailing Smith full in the face. The sonofabitch went down hard, then struggled to get to his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose.
Dom breathed heavily, his pulse racing as much from exertion as from the prospect of mashing this asshole’s face into the floor. Permanently. But that wouldn’t make him any brownie points with the boss.
“You’re a cocksucker, Carew.” Smith swiped at his bloody nose. “The next time you disobey my order I’ll shoot you myself.”
Dom snorted. “Like I said, I don’t work for you.”
Smith’s nostrils flared, and his eyes burned with hatred.
“You done, Smith?” Jack flipped open a laptop perched on the desk. “We’ve got work to do.”
Keeping Smith in his sights, Dom watched him disappear into a bathroom and slam the door. He joined Jack at the desk and saw he’d already cued up video from the city camera nearest the bodega—the NYPD feed. Footage showed Gonzalez taking a rifle round center of mass and getting thrown backward against the window. He watched as people scrambled to get out of the way, and a few minutes later patrol cars arrived on scene, followed closely by the ambulance.
Jack paused the video. “You should have stood down, but I get why you didn’t. Luckily this camera was active and we were able to grab the footage in real time.”
“And?” He held his breath. Until someone inside the Pyramid verified the hit, he wouldn’t be vetted and time was running out. He still didn’t know who the Pyramid’s next target was, and until he did, he couldn’t figure out a way to stop it.
From the other side of the bathroom door, he heard water running and the toilet flush.
“Now we wait for the boss to call.” Jack closed the lid of the laptop.
At the sound of the bathroom door opening, Dom turned to see Smith stalk to the desk, holding a wadded, bloody paper towel to his nose and carrying a handheld magnetometer. A backup, no doubt, since the ceiling device hadn’t detected a weapon.
He wanted to hurl the magnetometer and Smith out the window, but thought better of it. He’d already made an enemy of the man, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Arms out, Carew.” Smith’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. “Until you’re vetted—and I’m guessing you won’t be after the stunt you pulled today—you’re not one of us.”
Obediently, he held his arms from his sides and allowed Smith to run the device over his body, checking for weapons. Since he’d turned in his service weapon, this time he was unarmed.
Jack’s cell phone rang, and he put the call on speaker. “We’re all here, boss.”
“Excellent,” came the raspy voice Dom still couldn’t identify. “Detective, I’ve reviewed the video of today’s incident. While I don’t approve of you not waiting for Mr. Smith to arrive, I do appreciate your eagerness in completing the assignment on time. If you’d waited another day, you would have failed the test. The question is whether or not the evidence we’ve collected is sufficient to verify the hit. Mr. Schneider, Mr. Smith, at least one of you has to vet Detective Carew. If not…”
The boss’s words hung in the air, and Dom swallowed. Smith had already made it plain as day he wasn’t about to vet him, so it was up to Jack. If Jack didn’t vet him, there was no way they would allow him to leave this room alive.
“Boss,” Jack said. “I’ve reviewed the video and it appears legitimate. But to back it up, I used my sources and verified that Dom was fired from the department.”
“And the basis for his termination?” the boss asked.
“Several. But the official reason was theft of evidence—Oxycontin—from the evidence locker.”
“I see.” The boss paused. “Did you steal the Oxy for your own personal use, or to sell?”
“Both.” Dom had foreseen this question and was prepared for it. He tapped the side of his knee. “I got hurt and didn’t want to report it. I needed something for the pain and couldn’t go to a doctor without it winding up on my official medical record. I’m weaning myself off it and decided to sell whatever I don’t use. Now that my city pension is down the toilet I need the extra cash.”
“You move pretty good for a guy with a bum knee.” Smith stared at Dom from behind narrowed lids.
Good enough to shove my boot up your ass.
“Mr. Smith,” the boss said. “What is your opinion of Lieutenant Carew?”
Dom’s gut churned at the boss’s reference to him as lieutenant—the last rank he’d achieved before retiring from Delta. Not only was it a cutting reminder that he was no longer Detective Carew but not everyone knew his last military rank. Colonel Marsden, however, would know.
“I don’t trust him, and I won’t vet him. He did the job against the rules. I couldn’t verify the hit in person.”
“Mr. Schneider, do we have anything else besides the video?”
“Yes, sir. I confirmed with the local precinct and hospital staff that the target was pronounced dead at five o’clock this evening. His body was taken to the morgue pending cremation by the city.”
“And are you willing to vet Lieutenant Carew?”
Jack met Dom’s hard stare with one of his own. “I am, sir.”
“Fuck,” Smith muttered, then stormed across the room to the elevator, yanked the security grating closed behind him, and took the elevator down.
“Lieutenant,” the boss continued, “Mr. Schneider has thoroughly briefed me on your record with the police department, and I am personally familiar with your military history with Delta Force. I believe you would be a welcome asset to the team.”
He did his best to remain cool and not give any outward appearance of excitement. But inside he was on fire. Nearly twelve months of preparatory work was about to pay off. If things went well, in less than another month, the Pyramid would no longer exist. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that the boss had said he was personally familiar with Dom’s military record. It still didn’t prove his suspicions about the boss’s identity were on point. What it did mean was that somewhere in the past, the two of them had run in the same military circles.
“Joining our elite ranks,” the boss continued, “is not something to be taken lightly. Strict allegiance is required. And if you betray us—any of us—there is a price to be paid.”
The boss didn’t say it, but his meaning was clear. If Dom crossed any member of the Pyramid, including that scumbag Smith, the price was death.
“Before making my offer complete,” the boss added, “I need to know why you want to work for me. You’ve been a model military man and a highly decorated police officer. Getting fired is one thing. Joining the Pyramid is a big leap from your law-abiding life.”
He tensed, knowing how he answered this one question would spell success or failure. “That’s just it. I’ve spent my entire life playing by the rules and following orders. I go through one rough patch and they fire my ass. No mitigating factors and no second chances. Getting tossed aside like that tends to leave a bitter taste in a guy’s throat. I don’t owe the NYPD a fucking thing.”
Dead silence met his response. Then the boss laughed, a hoarse, raspy sound, like someone rubbing sandpaper against a wall. “Your enthusiasm is duly noted. Mr. Schneider will fill you in. Welcome to the Pyramid.”
Jack’s phone beeped as the call ended. Dom sent out a silent prayer. He’d passed.
“Congratulations.” Jack shoved the phone into his pants pocket and clapped Dom on the shoulder. “The next job is unusual. Although the last job was atypical enough, and that was a total fuck-up.”
“How so?” He assumed Jack was referring to Fatima and Abdullah.
“Don’t play dumb, Carew.” Jack’s eyes sharpened. “When your partner’s new wife was grabbed for information, two of our associates were killed, one of them by your own partner.”
“What did you expect? When a guy’s got it bad, he’ll do anything to protect his woman.” Which was exactly how he was beginning to feel about Daisy. Only she wasn’t his woman and he had no business feeling that way.
“It’s no secret within the department that you and your partner were tight,” Jack said. “I need to know where your loyalties lie.”
His and Gray’s friendship was well known. Still, it left him with the uneasy feeling there was another mole inside the department. “Gray was the only one willing to stand by me. But I don’t owe shit to the department. My only loyalty is to myself.”
Again Jack watched him closely, as if gauging his response. “Good,” he said after another long moment. “Because there’s another reason the boss wanted to shortcut the vetting process. I’m retiring right after this next job.”
“Well shit, buddy.” He thought he’d done a thorough job on Schneider’s background, but he hadn’t seen that coming. “What brought this on?”
“Like the boss said. This is a lucrative business. If you can stay alive long enough to enjoy your money.” He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms. “I’ve squirreled away more than enough to live on for the rest of my life, and I’ve met someone. I’m planning on settling down by the end of the year.”
Dom’s gut churned with unease. “Met someone?” Settling down? Fuck. He already knew who he was talking about.
Daisy.
“Yeah, she was totally unexpected.”
As Jack’s smile broadened, the worry in his gut fired up to the boiling point. Jack couldn’t have been working for Daisy for that long, but the guy seemed halfway to the altar already. What the fuck was that about?
“It’s my boss. Her name’s Daisy. You might even know her, considering she and your ex-partner’s wife are friends.”
“We’ve met.” And then some. There was no way Jack and Daisy could possibly have anything serious going. Not after the way she’d kissed him the other night and nearly let him make love to her again. “You and Daisy been seeing each other a lot?”
“First date’s tomorrow night, but I can tell she’s hot for me. We’re already in serious love and lust. Know what I mean?” He winked while making a clicking sound with his tongue.
Dom could only stare. What the fucking hell? Again, his gut roiled. They hadn’t even had a first date and Jack was in love and planning on settling down with Daisy?
“Knock yourself out, buddy,” Dom said. But the entire time he was thinking: touch her and I’ll kill you.
The hell of it was, his reaction wasn’t totally because Jack was a professional hit man. It was because the idea of Schneider touching Daisy was making him bat-shit crazy. And Jack’s certainty that he and Daisy would be shacking up by the end of the year was totally fucking weird.
“I fully intend to,” Jack said. “Which brings me to something else. You may also know Daisy runs a floral business. She’s swamped and needs another driver. You got a CDL?”
“Yes.” No. But he could easily bogey one up that looked like the real thing, and he could handle anything on the road up to eighteen wheels.
“Outstanding,” Jack said. “That way I don’t have to worry about an unknown poking into our business.”
“You gonna get me an interview?” The plan he’d had in mind all along involved some kind of employment with Daisy’s shop, but given her inclination to slice off his nuts with a set of garden shears, he hadn’t quite worked out the particulars yet. With Jack to smooth out the intro, this was an unexpected opportunity that played right into his plans.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at Highland Floral. Eight a.m.”
“Will do.” Now to find out more about the next job without seeming too eager. “Who’s the next target?”
Jack laughed and shook his head. “Fuck, I have no idea.”
“You’re kidding.”
Again Jack shook his head. “The boss won’t say. Whoever the target is, it’s the same as before. Different venue, though.”
“I assume,” Dom said, “One PP was the previous venue, so what’s the new one?”
“The Piazza’s grand reopening.”
Not a shock, but at least the venue was now confirmed. Just not the target. He had to exercise caution not to push too hard.
“Check it out.” Jack flipped open the laptop again and pulled up a website for the hotel. “The place just underwent a major renovation, and there’s a huge event planned for this Sunday. Daisy has a big-time contract for all the flowers, so I got a job as her delivery driver.”
“There just happened to be an opening for a driver?” Dom already knew there hadn’t been.
“Not exactly.” Jack chuckled. “Daisy’s driver had an unfortunate accident. Coincidentally, of course.”
“Of course.” Sonofabitch. Jack really had run the poor guy down. No matter that Jack was vouching for him, he was still a cold-blooded killer. And he had a date with Daisy tomorrow night.
Again, he found the thought disturbing as shit…on so many levels.
Jack continued scrolling through the hotel web pages. “The guest list includes top city officials and politicians. Smith and I figure the target is either a high-ranking official or some senator or congressman.”
“Makes sense.” He nodded, wondering why the boss would keep his own people in the dark about the target. “Any chance this is a multi-hit operation? That would explain why more than one operative is needed.”
“Don’t know. The boss is keeping this one tight to his chest.” He closed the laptop and slid it into a leather briefcase. “Once Daisy hires you, you can get inside the Piazza with me and do recon.”
“Sounds good,” Dom said, and let it go at that. As much as he was itching to probe Jack about the logistics of getting weapons inside the hotel, he didn’t want to push too hard too soon. He’d seen more than one op spiral down the crapper due to overeagerness.
Together, they took the elevator to the main floor. There they parted company, and Dom headed down the street to his Explorer. He drove back to Manhattan and pulled over to call Gray with an update.
He hadn’t been surprised that Jack had dug up the details concerning his friendship with Gray, but it also meant he’d have to exercise caution and no longer go to Gray’s apartment in person. The last thing he wanted was to put Alex and Nicky in danger.
The call went right to voicemail. When he heard the beep, Dom said four words. “We’re still a go.”
Those words were code meant to inform Gray that his first hit was a success, and that they’d actually managed to trick the Pyramid into believing that Jimmy Gonzalez was dead. Un-fucking believable.
He maneuvered the Explorer back onto the street and headed for his apartment. Working for Daisy would be yet another complication. One he didn’t need but couldn’t avoid. Not only was it essential to the success of this operation, but no way in hell was he about to leave her unprotected with Jack in the picture.
Jack had made it clear he wanted Daisy in his future, which was a good thing, as it meant he wouldn’t hurt her. But Dom couldn’t, in good conscience, allow her to shack up with a homicidal killer. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Jack’s interest in Daisy. Despite the bogus termination, he was still a New York City detective, and as such had a professional obligation to protect her from the Pyramid. And Daisy wasn’t just anyone. She was more than an obligation to him. How much more, he didn’t want to admit.
This part of the plan had worked out perfectly. He could further his UC role by working with Jack every day, with the added benefit of keeping an eye on Daisy.
It was a win-win. Although he seriously doubted she’d see it that way.