Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
TRICK
By two weeks later, the Sosa gang has gone underground after the Sullivans killed four of them. Two members are on the run. Three are in a safe house that C Crue’s managed to locate because one of them broke down and called his girlfriend.
Miller and I are in an unmarked van about ten miles outside of Boston. Anvil’s in one of the Rovers at another location. The three of us have been over the plan and back-up plans enough times that I can see it unfold in my mind like it’s already happened.
“Take this exit,” I say.
“Sure,” Miller replies, his gaze never leaving the road.
Miller’s still more guarded in crue meetings than I’d like, but I’m convinced he’s ready for this or he wouldn’t be here.
He’s dressed in head-to-toe black, exactly like me.
The rest of our gear’s in a steamer trunk in the back, out of sight.
Wouldn’t want a traffic stop to give the police probable cause to search the van.
Guiding Miller through a series of turns, we end up on a deserted road where there’s a guy waiting who’s also dressed in head-to-toe black, but who doesn’t look like me or Miller because of his sheer size.
Aiden Callahan’s six-and-a-half-feet tall and bulked up with muscle like he’s got a powerlifting competition coming up.
For a second I think he’s cut his hair, which he should, then his head turns and I spot the stubby ponytail at the base of his neck.
The second I open the door, I give him shit. “Nice hair. What’s next? Man bun?”
Callahan laughs as he climbs in back and takes a seat. “Am I getting too pretty? You worried I’ll become competition for the pair of ya?”
“Yeah, that’s what’s sweating Miller and me. Especially me. I just got a wife. How would it look if I lost her straight away?”
“Wouldn’t be pretty.” There’s more than a hint of an Irish accent in his words. Though he’s from here, the Callahans have spent their fair share of time in Ireland. “Would you even know what to do with yourself if you did? I bet you’ve never lost a thing in your life.”
“My baby teeth, a couple decades ago. Everything else that I don’t have anymore is because I got rid of it voluntarily.”
When Aiden’s settled in with the door closed, he glances around and turns serious. “There’s been a development. All right to talk in here?”
I nod.
“Word is they’ve got a hostage.” His face is grim. “If that matters?”
I don’t react outwardly, but my muscles tighten. “Male or female? And how old?”
“Seventeen. Female. The younger sister of the leader of the Rio Lobos. José Sosa’s trying to get his younger brother back to Colombia.
The Rio Lobos are smuggling him out through Texas and Mexico, but only because they’re being forced to.
An escort and safe passage for the Sosa brother is the ransom for the Lobos girl.
” Callahan shrugs. “She might not be where we’re going. They could be keeping her elsewhere.”
“Assume she’s there, because she is,” I say. “There are only three of them left, and they’re locked down. They’re not going to drive back and forth to another location and risk getting seen and intercepted. She’s their insurance; they’ll keep her close.”
“So how do you want to play it?” he asks.
“Same plan, except we’ll pull her from the house.”
“She might make noise we can’t afford,” Callahan says.
“We’ll convince her to stay quiet.” After a beat, I add, “After it’s over, you’re going to be the one to drop her off at the edge of her neighborhood, so plan your strategy. Close enough to her people so she makes it home safe on foot, but not so close that they spot you and give chase.”
“No problem,” Callahan says.
I’m not worried about him. It’s his first rodeo with me, but not his first rodeo altogether.
“Good. Drive on, Mill.”
Miller puts the van back in gear and pulls out.
As we drive, Callahan talks casually. Miller does not.
When Miller parks the van at the designated spot, I glance over at him.
He and I are the ones going in. For the first time in C Crue history, on a two-man job that requires exceptional finesse and stealth, it isn’t me and Anvil going in.
Anvil was not in favor of the plan for Miller to join me instead of him, but I convinced him to let it play out this way.
There’s no way to know how Miller will perform on this kind of operation unless we test him.
‘Vil’s close enough to roll in if things go seriously sideways.
But I’m hoping things go to plan, and all he’ll need to be is the driver who picks us up.
Miller understands that coming in with me is life-and-death business, and the gravity of his expression says so.
“You good?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Ready.”
All three of us put on our black ski masks before we get out of the van. When I unlock the armored trunk full of gear and lift the lid, Callahan looks over my shoulder into it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who are we? The goddamned army?”
Flashing a smile he probably can’t see through the mask, I say, “The best money can buy. Where do you get your gear? Walmart?” I hand Miller his night vision goggles and an ear piece.
“What is that?” Callahan asks, nodding at a night scope.
“Something I shouldn’t need if you do your job.”
Callahan sobers. “No one will get by me.”
I nod. “Just be as quiet as possible.”
Callahan touches the sheath of the large knife that’s strapped to his thigh.
When I’ve got what I need on me, I whisper into the mic. “We’re going to work.”
‘Vil’s voice is low through my earpiece. “Go.”
Those are the last words anyone speaks before Miller and I enter the house, and Callahan stations himself at the back. I’ve already cut the phone line and security feed. It’s dark inside, which is good. We move room-to-room, our silencers muffling the sound of the shots we fire.
The three inside are accounted for and dispatched, and we don’t find anyone unexpected. I light a small fire several feet from where I pour an accelerant. I want the house to burn, but not too fast.
The girl is a different story. When I open the bathroom door, she curses at us in Spanish.
“Cálmate,” Miller murmurs.
Seeing we’re not her captors, she falls silent. Good girl.
He uses a bolt cutter on the chain that hooks the girl’s leg shackle to the sink. Her ankle shackle is tight, and the skin peeking out from under it looks swollen.
“?Quién es usted?” she whispers.
“Un amigo.”
Miller helps her up, but she can’t walk. He looks at me and taps his holster. I nod. He holsters his gun and then scoops her up.
She grabs the chain attached to her shackle to keep it from rattling, which is smart. But there’s no one to hear it anymore.
We move down the hall quickly and quietly. Leaving through the back door, I step out first. When Callahan sees it’s us, he emerges from behind a tree. Miller hands the girl over to him wordlessly.
“Gracias,” she whispers to us.
“De nada,” Miller says.
“Can you walk?” Callahan asks, starting to set her down.
“Yes, but not well,” the girl says, her English perfect. She’s very petite, like a Latina version of Rachel. She glances nervously at the house. Good. That means she doesn’t realize everyone inside is dead.
Callahan watches her try to take a limping step, then shakes his head and picks her back up.
I signal to Callahan that we’re going, and Miller and I move to the side of the house. We hop the fence and cut through the nearest yard. We’re headed east to where Anvil’s waiting.
“We’re a minute from the corner,” I say.
“I’m here,” ‘Vil responds.
When we reach the Rover, I open the back, and Miller and I roll in, staying low. When the back’s closed, Anvil drives away. In the distance, I hear the explosion of the windows blowing out from the heat of the house fire that must be raging by now.
Miller lies still, not touching his mask or gear until I pull mine off.
We’re lying on a piece of painter’s tarp.
I doubt it’s necessary. The most blood we probably caught was microscopic high velocity spatter.
The clothes need to be burned as a precaution, but the tarp’s more than enough protection for the Rover’s carpet.
We stay out of sight until we’re in the woods on C Crue property. Then I sit up, and Miller follows suit. It’s like he’s my shadow, which is weird, but it’s appropriate given the circumstances.
When the truck stops, we climb carefully from the back, sliding the tarp onto the ground before rolling it up.
Anvil pours some lighter fluid into a metal barrel.
I strip, and again Miller mimics what I do.
All our clothes go into the barrel to burn.
The tarp is next. Anvil adds more lighter fluid and the flames crackle and rise.
We dress in clothes that are waiting for us in a duffle bag.
It’s time to test Miller’s recall. I say, “The cops pull you in and ask, ‘Have you ever been in the house at 1611 Mulberry?’”
“Probably,” Miller says. “I go to parties all over Boston.”
Good. He remembers what I told him. The police or the feds will try to get us to say we’ve never been in a place.
Then if DNA’s found at the scene of a crime, they can say we must have been there on the night it happened.
That’s why my standard answer now is to say I might have been in a place, but can’t remember for sure.
Anvil feeds the fire.
I drop the interrogation voice. “How do you feel, Mill?”
“Fine.”
“Not even a little pissed?”
“Pissed?” Miller asks, sounding confused.
“Well, Callahan basically stood around and did nothing, and still got custody of the pretty girl you rescued.”
Miller smirks. “Yeah, that part wasn’t great.” He shrugs. “She’s too young anyway. Not eighteen yet. Few months to go.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“I recognized her.”
“From?”
A beat passes, and then he admits, “I made a chart of the Lobos de Rio and Sosa gangs.”
“Lobos de rio, not Rio Lobos?”
“It’s Rio Lobos now. The name got switched in the late eighties.”