It took me three hours to distribute them and place them in places where I was satisfied they could not harm civilians, but would cause maximum damage to the Albanian gang’s infrastructure and personnel. After that I allowed myself four hours’ sleep and rose at nine thirty AM. I had a pot of strong, black coffee but passed on breakfast, and made my way to Commerce Avenue. I spent the morning reconning the area, including the used car mart which was just a mile away, on the other side of the river.
By ten minutes to noon I was in my old Golf at the corner of Waterbury and Commerce, wrapping Scotch tape around my fingertips and watching the entrance to the large parking lot. I knew Fjodor was parked just outside the gate in his Audi, ready to block the exit, and Dima was inside, in his all too predictable black BMW, prepared to move in close when the RV arrived. That was what they thought the plan was.
As things turned out luck was on my side, and at twelve thirty a black Mercedes SL 550 sped past and pulled into the lot, ahead of the arrival of the RV. I had planned on the RV arriving first, but adjusted my plans fast and followed the Mercedes in. It had parked, with its trunk backed up to the wall, on the far left of the lot, where there was plenty of space on either side for the camper to move in next to it. They had the tinted windows raised and they hadn’t emerged from the car. I pulled up a few spaces away from them and climbed out, then walked over to the Merc and rapped on the glass.
After a second it slid down and an ugly face looked out at me the way Cain might have looked at Abel when he suggested they could resolve things with a meaningful dialogue. I smiled sweetly and said:
“I have a message for Mr. Marku.”
His expression didn’t change. “Go fuck.”
“No, I am serious. You came for the RV, right?”
I saw his hand reach inside his jacket and had the confirmation I needed that these were the guys. I didn’t want to go killing a guy just because he parked his Mercedes in the wrong place.
It’s hard to pull a gun fast from a shoulder holster in the confines of a car. So I gave him a moment, and when he had it out from under his arm I seized the barrel with my left hand and levered down. Simultaneously I rammed my Swiss Army knife through his carotid artery and his jugular vein, in the side of his neck. I left the blade in so most of the bleeding was internal. His pal on the far side of the car was still goggling when I levered the gun back and pulled the trigger. I hit him square in the head. He must have had a thick skull, because there was no exit wound.
I took a moment to pull the weapon from the driver’s dead hand and examined it. It was a Walther PPK, .38. I never did believe that Bond would use a girl’s gun like that. I shrugged and slipped it into my waistband behind my back, under my jacket. Then I signaled Dima to come over. He pulled up beside me and stared through his open window like I was out of my mind.
“Back her up and pop the trunk,” I said, indicating the maneuver with my finger.
He did as I said and brought his trunk up to the driver’s door of the Merc.
“Get out, give me a hand with this guy.”
He climbed out and came and stood by me, staring with narrowed eyes at the dead driver with my Swiss Army knife still protruding from his neck. “You crazy fuck,” he said.
“Yeah, save your opinion for when you write your essay at school tomorrow. Now grab his legs and help me dump him in the trunk before anyone sees us.”
The Albanian was big and heavy, and we struggled to fold him into the confined space. When we were done I recovered my knife and had Dima back in on the other side. We dragged the other guy out too, and crammed him in beside the driver while Dima muttered about the blood and the mess.
“All over my fuckin’ trunk, man.”
I had a quick look around. There was no sign of the RV yet so I pointed to the far side of the lot and snapped, “Go park over there. Stay put unless I call you. Just stay in the car. Don’t get out!”
He shook his head. “I cannot see Fjodor from there.”
“Just do as you’re told, Dima. Do it now. The RV must not see you here.”
He sighed, “You crazy, Special Ops. I hope you know what you’re doing. My car a fuckin’ mess.”
“I know what I’m doing. Quit griping. Now get the hell out of here.”
He drove away and parked at the far end. I called Fjodor on his cell.
“Yuh.”
“Fjodor, get your ass over here to the Mercedes. Leave your car there. Fast!”
I saw him climb out of the Audi and come over at a trundling run. As he approached I jerked my head at the Merc and said, “Get in.”
He climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door. I got in the driver side and beckoned him close, like I was going to whisper in his ear. I said, “Listen, this is what we’re going to do...”
And I did to him what I’d done to the driver of the Mercedes SL 550. I severed his carotid and his jugular with my Swiss Army knife, through the side of his neck. He looked astonished, but only for a couple of seconds. He soon bled out internally and I eased him back into a normal sitting position in his seat. Then, with that taken care of, I settled down to wait for the RV.
Chapter Five
The RV rolled in half an hour later. It paused a moment at the gate. The glare of the sun on the windows made it impossible to see the driver, but after a moment it turned toward where I was sitting in the Merc, executed a slow and cumbersome maneuver, and reversed in beside me. I popped the trunk, climbed out and walked around the hood. Through the windshield of the camper I could now get the measure of the guys inside. I knew I was going to have to kill them, and I wanted some idea of how hard that was going to be.
They were rednecks. Big, tough and amiable. They smiled easy and swung down from the cab, a six-two blond who looked like he’d been raised on mom’s apple pie while riding rodeos, and a smaller guy who looked half Mexican. I returned the easy smile and held out my hand.
“No names,” I said. “You had a good drive?”
The blond answered. “Easy as pie. All in the back. You wanna have a look?”
“Yeah. Let’s get out of sight. Any police attention?”
He pulled open the side door and I followed him and the Mexican inside. The Mexican was shaking his head.
“No, we was invisible, man. People see an RV and they see an all-American family on vacation.”
The blond got on his knees and started easing out the panels on the side of the couch.
“We kept our eyes peeled. Don’t do to be overconfident. But we wasn’t followed. There it is.”
He stood and revealed a wall of black plastic bags bound up in duct tape. “Fifty K of premium quality coke and fifty of H. You wanna test it?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Then I pulled the PPK and plugged each one of them in the chest. When they were down I confirmed the kills with a shot to the head. Because it don’t do to be overconfident.
I swung down from the side door of the van, slammed it shut and went to lean on the near window of the Merc, like I was talking to dead Fjodor. After that I walked at a calm, steady pace over to where Dima was waiting in his black BMW. I stepped up to the passenger side and knocked on the window. The door latch clunked and I opened the door to get in. He looked at me with ill-concealed contempt.