Chicago Vendetta. Don Pendleton
“My reference to your sister is not intended as a threat. Rather a reminder that I’m the provider of your rather lavish lifestyle. It would take only a single phone call to certain persons within your department for all your perks to come crashing down around your ears.”
He took a seat in front of Esparza, and this second smile bore more cruelty than the first. “Now that was a fucking threat, Mr. Esparza. You see, if you’re not for me any longer, then you are against me. And I’m not a person you’d want for an enemy, believe me.”
“I don’t even know your name, friend. How could I be any threat to you?”
“Fair enough. My name is Shalib Grec and I can be, to coin an old Americanism, either your best friend or your worst nightmare.”
“What do you want?” Esparza asked after a beat.
“Much better. I want you to find Hillman and Rusch and kill them. Simple. Just kill them. You’ve killed people before.”
“I’ve killed scum.” Esparza let his eyes flick toward Madera ever so imperceptibly. Or so he thought.
“Careful, Mr. Esparza.” Grec waved casually at the drug dealer. “Mr. Madera is a valued associate, and I would not take kindly to anyone who had an issue with him. It’s probably no secret that I hate your kind.”
“You mean cops.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. But you’ve proven a useful ally in my war on the police in this city. When I’ve achieved my final objectives, I will leave here and you will neither hear from nor see me again. And the bonus is I’ll let you live to a ripe old age.”
“What guarantee do I have of that?”
“Have I given you any reason to doubt my word so far?” Grec asked, arching an eyebrow and wrinkling the scar. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Esparza, plain and simply. I’m not interested in killing you, because you are insignificant. And because Mr. Madera has told me you may be of additional use to him. So you see, we have a deal. You do as you are told, and when our mutual business is concluded, I let you live.”
Esparza downed the remainder of his drink and looked at Madera, who nodded.
“It’s true,” the drug dealer said.
Esparza looked at the video still paused on the faces of two cops he’d known for years and had, until just that moment, considered friends. “Hillman will be easy. I can find out what hospital he’s in. Rusch may be more difficult as I need to get her alone. Isolated.”
Grec stood as he replied, “I will leave the details to you. I don’t care how you do it, or where. Just that it’s done.”
“It’ll be done by tomorrow night,” Esparza replied.
Mack Bolan sat behind the wheel of Johnny’s sedan and watched the front entrance of the Stratus Club. A half-dozen security types, most likely thugs employed by Axel Madera, were overseeing a line of hopeful entrants cordoned against the side of the club by a scarlet rope running through chrome uprights. Through a bit of creative hacking by Kurtzman at Stony Man Farm and based on the intel Johnny had gleaned in talking with Rusch, they’d managed to work out that this was one of Esparza’s key hangouts. After his frank conversation with Rusch, Bolan had concluded Esparza was the number one candidate for being Shalib Grec’s mole inside CPD’s ranks.
The Executioner kept his attention on the club entrance, waiting for any sign of Esparza. He’d also kept one eye on the vehicle that tailed him from the condo. He couldn’t make out the occupant, but he had a pretty good idea who it was. If Lakea Rusch was anything, it was tenacious. He admired her guts and her loyalty, but she wasn’t much for being low-key in situations like this. Then again, who could blame her? She’d been forced into her situation by events outside her control, and all she really wanted was justice for her friends.
Bolan didn’t know anything about her partner, Hillman, but he didn’t have any reason to think the guy was part of Grec’s cadre. All fingers pointed in Esparza’s direction, so that’s the play the Executioner decided to back. Not to mention Johnny and his new allies had nearly gotten their heads blown off tailing the narcotics detective. That meant something, and Bolan planned to find out what.
Just as soon as he dealt with his tail. Bolan looked toward the entrance again and checked his rearview one more time before exiting the car. He walked around front, stepped onto the sidewalk and made his way to the nearest alley. He found a position in a darkened alcove, pressed his back to the wall and produced a Benchmade 810BK Osborne Contego combat knife. At 3.98 inches, the reverse Tanto-style blade was a perfect companion for urban close quarters combat.
It spoke tales of instant death in the hands of Mack Bolan.
A shadowy figure moved past Bolan a minute later. The soldier stepped from his spot and encircled the follower with a muscular forearm while his other hand jabbed the knife tip hard against the area around the right kidney. His quarry reacted with admirable speed by driving an elbow into where his ribs would’ve been, but Bolan knew the play and had already turned his body so the blow caught the fleshy part of his lower abdomen. He executed a flexing motion that completely cut off air in the woman’s windpipe.
“This is a small sample of what could happen to those who don’t play by the rules because they don’t know the game they’re playing.”
Bolan released Lakea Rusch and pushed her away just far enough that her back kick aimed at his shin or kneecap missed. He shook his head as he folded and sheathed his knife.
“You’re an ass,” she said, her voice a bit raspy as she rubbed at her throat.
“And you seem to have a hearing problem,” Bolan replied.
“Look—”
“No, you look,” Bolan said. “I told you in no uncertain terms how this was going to play out. You should’ve trusted me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I saved your life. You know enough.”
“Yeah, but you’re not police. Even Johnny admits that much.”
“And because of that you don’t trust me,” Bolan finished.
“Right.”
“You won’t live long with that attitude.”
She cocked her head and smiled. “You talk like you know something about it.”
“I do. Look, we should be working on the same side. I’ve never considered the police my enemy, even though my methods admittedly skirt law and order.”
“Obviously,” she interjected, as she continued to rub her sore throat.
“But I also know what you’re up against, and you won’t win this fight on your own. These people are playing for keeps.”
“And who are these people?”
“Esparza for one.”
That caused Rusch to give pause. “So, you think he’s dirty?”
“After what happened in that alley, don’t you?” Bolan countered.
“I guess,” Rusch said with a sigh. “But I sure didn’t want him to be.”
“You can’t wish this away no matter how hard you try.” Bolan grimaced, hesitant to say more, but he felt it was the only way he could get Rusch to come around to thinking clearly about the situation. “And I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but what I’ve learned about Shalib Grec leads me to believe half the Chicago Police Department has a target painted on its back. The only way we can stop him from killing any more of this city’s finest is by going through Esparza to find him.”
“And