Part 34 (1/2)

”Aw...does it hurt? Bad news-it's not the first hit that hurts the most. It's every breath you take from now on. The good news is you don't have that many breaths left.” Salvi waved a hand at Tommy Boy. ”Pick this piece of s.h.i.+t up.”

The big man grabbed Gideon's collar and yanked him to his knees.

Dave looked away, and then he saw it-a shadowy figure popped up and peered through the grimy window.

It was Kylie MacDonald.

Chapter 80.

Three mornings a week, I try to work out at the precinct gym-weights, treadmill, elliptical. Once a week, I see a yoga instructor. So I'm in good shape-not as good as the SWAT team, but they were weighed down with so much tactical gear that I was able to catch up with the pack.

”We're not going to make it,” Kylie said as I fell in place alongside her. ”Our five minutes are up, and we've still got three-quarters of a mile to-”

My radio interrupted. ”Monitor to Red Leader.”

I answered it on the run. ”Go ahead, Monitor.”

”I've got you on traffic cam. There's transport on Twenty-First Street a block ahead of you. It's all yours.”

Sure enough, there it was-a big, beautiful blue-and-white NYPD bus.

”Thank you, Monitor,” I said as the team piled in. ”What's the twenty on our target?”

”Our eye in the sky saw them pull into a garage at Eighty-Eight Crane six minutes ago.”

”We're rolling,” I said as the bus moved out.

Twenty-First, which runs under the el, is a narrow two-way street, but the driver managed to maneuver his way through morning traffic quickly. I just wasn't sure it was quick enough. If Gideon kept to his five-minute deadline, Rachael would be dead before we got there.

I briefed Alan Rowe, the SWAT leader, on the latest. We Google-mapped 88 Crane, and by the time the bus stopped at the top of the dead-end street, Sergeant Rowe had a plan.

He split the team into three-one to breach the garage door, a second to come through the rear, and two men to cover the side of the building next to the railroad yard.

Every building on Crane Street was covered with graffiti, and all of them looked to be abandoned, including the four-story warehouse in the middle of the block.

We ran almost noiselessly to the end of the street and took our positions. Kylie and I followed Rowe to the front of the garage.

The garage door was about eight by ten feet and made of corrugated steel. ”No problem,” Rowe said. ”I just heard from the team in the rear and there's a small door in the back that's much easier than this one. The breacher is running detcord around each door. On my command, he'll blow the back one as a diversion. A second later, he'll take down the garage door.”

”Jordan and I will go in first,” Kylie said.

”Not a chance,” Rowe said. ”You know the drill. Entry team secures the room. It's what they do.”

”Fine, you go first,” she said. ”Do you know what you're walking in on?”

”No idea.”

”You should.” With that she plastered herself against the side of the building, got down on the ground, and crawled to one of the two almost blackened windows.

”What the h.e.l.l is she doing?” Rowe said.

”My best guess would be intel,” I said. ”Whatever it is, there's no stopping her.”

Kylie raised her head high enough to look through the grimy window. Five seconds later, she dropped down and made her way back to us.

”It's a whole new ball game,” she said, taking out a pad and pen. She drew a box. ”Here's the room.”

She put an X in the middle of the box. ”Here's Rachael. She's chained up, but she's standing, so it looks like she's still alive.

”And here,” she said, adding two more X's, ”are Casey and Bell. They're on the floor on their knees, and there are three men pointing guns at them.” She added three more X's.

The curveb.a.l.l.s just kept coming. ”Three men,” I repeated.

”Yeah,” Kylie said. ”And one of them is Papa Joe Salvi.”

Chapter 81.

”Let me repeat the question,” Joe Salvi said. ”Who came home from high school one afternoon and told the other that you both had to murder Enzo? There's always a leader. There's always a follower.”

Salvi's words reminded Dave of his father. ”There are chiefs,” his dad would say, ”and there are Indians. The problem with NYPD is that there are too many d.a.m.n chiefs and not enough good Indians. I'm an Indian, Dave. I get an order, and I get the job done.”

And that's what Dave had tried to do. Sure, it was all Gideon's idea, but once Dave signed on, he gave it all he had. Enzo, Kang, Catt, Tinsdale, Parker-Steele-every one of them got what they deserved. He only wished he'd had the time to take down more.

But all he had left was twenty seconds. Kylie MacDonald wasn't out there alone. She and Jordan would be backed up by a SWAT team h.e.l.l-bent on saving Rachael. They'd blow the garage door, and an army of cops with ballistic s.h.i.+elds and a.s.sault rifles would storm in.

Twenty seconds. Just enough time to take down one last sc.u.mbag.

”I did it!” Dave screamed at Salvi. ”Gideon is all mouth and no b.a.l.l.s. Enzo raped my sister, and I vowed to kill him. I'm the one who cracked his greasy Guinea head with a bottle of cheap s.h.i.+t vodka. Then I dragged him down to the water, and the whole time he was squealing like the little p.u.s.s.y that he was.”

Dave could see Salvi tighten his grip on the gun. He willed him to squeeze the trigger.

But Salvi held back. He still needed one more push.

”All you Salvis are such hot s.h.i.+t when you have the upper hand,” Dave taunted, ”but when the tables are turned, you're all like Enzo-calling out for his fat wh.o.r.e of a mother-”

Salvi's gun exploded.

Blood, bone, and gray matter from Gideon's skull sprayed across Dave's face.