In Your Name, page 23
She arrived back at her new apartment as the early morning sun scattered low shadows across the building. Mechanic slammed the front door and rushed to the bedroom, tearing at the slit cut into the mattress. She felt around and retrieved two guns, ramming them into the rucksack along with a box of shells. Those fuckers are gonna pay.
Swinging the bag across her shoulder she opened the front door and stopped.
Mechanic rested her head against the doorframe and began to sob. Her legs crumpled and she slowly slid down to the floor, crying uncontrollably. She kicked the door closed. Tears streaked down her face and onto the laminate floor. Jo was gone, she felt hollow and cold inside.
Mechanic wiped her eyes on her sleeve and tried to catch her breath. The thought of killing Lucas, Harper and Bassano was all consuming. Blowing their faces apart one by one was what they deserved. But that was not the plan.
‘Those bastards,’ Mechanic said out loud. ‘They took her and now she’s dead.’ She slammed her fist into the floor. They would die for what they did, but now was not the time. Mechanic had to focus on staying clear of Bonelli’s men and delivering the penance.
She got to her feet, went to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
Focus on the penance. Jo’s gone, I can’t change that.
Mechanic had to maintain control, however painful that might be.
The phone rang.
She picked it up but said nothing. After several minutes she replaced the receiver and allowed herself half a smile. It was her colleague who worked in military intelligence, the one with a liking for being beaten up during sex. Mechanic had contacted him as soon as she’d placed the penance ad in the paper. She needed a favour in return for the usual brutal service and it looked like he had delivered.
The call was the news she’d been waiting for. The preparations for the penance were complete. Mechanic blocked out her grief and feelings of revenge, she needed to focus. She needed to get out of there.
An hour later she shuffled out of her apartment and along the sidewalk. The hijab helped to mask her face and the long robes covered her feet. The bracelets on her wrists jangled when she walked. Mechanic kept herself hunched over with an uneven gait. Small, round reflective sunglasses and deep brown skin completed the disguise. She was confident in her altered appearance and made her way to the shops nearby – sometimes the best place to hide was out in the open.
As she walked she noticed more than the usual number of cars cruising around with heavy-set men looking out of the windows. They were scanning the sidewalks but didn’t seem to be looking for any action. A blue Ford with dropped suspension turned the corner and Mechanic recognised it as a car she had seen earlier – these guys weren’t looking for hookers, they were looking for her.
Ten minutes later the same car passed again with a big guy in a yellow baseball cap hanging out of the window. They pulled over to the side of the road ten yards ahead. Mechanic immediately stopped and sat on a nearby bench. From her position she could observe what was going on. She sat back and hunched her shoulders, feeling the 9mm press into her spine.
The front doors swung open and two men jumped out. Mechanic moved her hand and gripped the gun. They shouted something to each other over the roof of the car and walked off. Mechanic relaxed as the men disappeared into a Walgreens. This was not about her, it was about buying breakfast and a bathroom stop.
She was about to continue walking when the back window buzzed down and an elbow rested on the ledge. A man’s face poked out scanning up and down the sidewalk. Mechanic saw the bruised features and the molten scar running down his neck and his arm. It was Ramirez.
Mechanic watched over the top of her sunglasses. It was definitely him.
It made sense – if Bonelli’s guys were out looking for her, who better to know what she looked like. Besides, Ramirez was probably still trying to keep his family alive.
Mechanic felt a pit of rage building inside her. She pictured Ramirez grinning as he crushed her finger with the pliers. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to kill him there and then. She dug her fingernails into the back of her hand trying to distract herself with pain. The urge grew and she gritted her teeth as the skin broke.
This is not in the plan, the thoughts bounced around in her head. Get what you need and head back to the apartment. Focus on the penance.
Ramirez stuck his head out of the window again and looked directly at Mechanic. Not a flicker of recognition.
Don’t be stupid, this is not part of the plan.
Mechanic gathered up a pleat in her robe and emptied a handful of change into it. She stood up and walked slowly towards the car muttering in English and Arabic. The coins clinked as she held the material out in front of her. People avoided her and looked away not wanting to make eye contact with a beggar. Mechanic reached the car and peered through the open window, Ramirez was sat in the back, his black-and-blue face still a mess. She jangled the coins, mumbling something incoherent. He leaned forward to wave her away.
The driver and the man in the yellow hat came out of Walgreens with several bags full of goodies. Mechanic ambled past them as she continued towards the parade of shops. They jumped in and she heard the roar of the engine. The car pulled away, then screeched to a halt. The yellow hat bolted from the car and flung open the back door. Ramirez tumbled onto the sidewalk, his throat sliced open.
Onlookers screamed as they saw the almost beheaded man crash to the ground, spilling blood across the paving slabs. The man in the yellow hat flapped around trying to pick Ramirez up and bundle him into the back seat, but he was too heavy, so instead he slammed the door shut and flung himself through the passenger door as the car skidded away.
Mechanic hobbled off leaving a crowd of screaming people clustered around the dead man on the floor. She needed to hurry if she was also going to make one final check on her prey.
57
Harper was woken by the sound of a gearbox cranking up as the roller-shutter door slowly lifted. He had no concept of time but figured it was morning. Shafts of sunlight burst from under the metal door as it opened to reveal three people. One of them was Bonelli.
Harper scrambled to his feet feeling much more stable than the day before. Bonelli stepped inside and immediately wrinkled up his nose. The stench of stale vomit hung in the air.
‘You and I are going to try again,’ he said.
‘You didn’t like my answers yesterday,’ Harper replied rubbing the purple raised bruise on the side of his head. ‘Not sure they’re gonna be any different today.’
‘You’ve had time to think. Let’s hope that has made you more reasonable.’
Bonelli was flanked by two men in signature white shirts.
‘Get him up.’
They stepped forward and grasped Harper under his arms, frog marching him into the open space of the warehouse floor. The bigger man cuffed Harper’s hands behind his back and drove him to his knees. Bonelli produced the three photographs and spread them on the floor.
‘You lied to me yesterday, Harper, and I want to know why.’
‘I didn’t. I don’t know Silverton.’
‘Not that part. You lied about not knowing the people in the other two pictures.’
‘I don’t—’
Bonelli interrupted. ‘It would have been far easier to kill you, but frustratingly that would have left me none the wiser. You are only alive so I can ask you the question again. Who are the men in the photographs?’
Harper looked into Bonelli’s eyes and realised lying was useless.
‘Go to hell,’ he said through clenched teeth.
Bonelli waved his arm and from the other side of the building Harper heard the grunt of a big diesel engine starting up. A massive forklift trundled its way along the floor belching black smoke from a stack above the driver’s cab. The men in white shirts yanked Harper to his feet. He could hear the roar of the truck behind him as it got closer and the feel of cold steel against his wrists. The sound of whirring filled his ears as his arms were lifted up behind his back. Harper stood on tiptoes straining to keep his weight off his shoulders. His wrists were hooked over one of the forks.
‘Are you sure you want to play the hero?’
‘Fuck you!’ Harper shouted.
Bonelli pointed to the sky and the engine roared as the forks raised lifting Harper off his feet. His shoulder joints cracked as they took his full weight. He screamed as pain tore through his body.
Harper swung back and forth as he was lifted into the air.
‘You need to reconsider quickly before this does permanent damage.’ Bonelli shouted.
‘Fu … ck you.’ Harper croaked the words and spat on the floor.
The forklift started to move. The big wheels bounced on the uneven floor causing Harper to dance around high in the air. He kicked his legs and screamed as his shoulder joints cracked again.
‘Who are they?’ Bonelli shouted over the thunder of the diesel engine. ‘We can do this all day.’ The truck trundled around the warehouse with Harper swinging helplessly from the forks.
Harper’s screams echoed off the walls of the building.
‘Who are they?’ Bonelli shouted again.
Harper couldn’t hear him, he was fighting to stop his arms being ripped from their sockets. Pain consumed every inch of his body as bones and tendons grated together.
‘You will tell me eventually. Who are they?’
The truck swung in a tight turn and Harper jerked around like a maniac puppet.
Suddenly his screams stopped.
Bonelli motioned to the driver who lowered him to the floor in a heap. He was unconscious.
Moran hated the morning briefings. Under normal circumstances she relished them as an opportunity to flaunt the headway she had made since the previous session, but now she reported on nothing and hoped it sounded like progress. This morning was no exception.
‘And what about Silverton?’ asked Mills dressed in another blue shirt with a button-down collar and cufflinks.
‘I followed two leads.’ Moran cleared her throat. ‘Silverton stayed at the Hacienda while in Vegas. The hotel suite had been ransacked by the time we got there. We dusted for prints but nothing as yet. Silverton has disappeared without trace and no one has seen or heard from him. The hotel is none too happy about the unpaid bills. His bodyguard has recently had some previous with us, which came to nothing. Her apartment hasn’t been occupied for the past few days, so we are assuming she has done a runner as well. I’m waiting on a warrant to enter her apartment.’ She leafed through a wad of notes in a vague attempt to make herself look thorough.
Mills tapped his pen on the desk in impatient thought.
‘Not much to go on.’
Moran nodded her agreement.
‘Okay who’s got the Turks?’
Each officer gave an account of their investigations and talked through any new lines of enquiry. Moran couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was racing with what needed to be done to trap Mechanic. Lucas had placed the advert for today’s Bulletin, a copy of which sat unread in her briefcase. These damn briefings were getting in the way.
Officers droned on about the people they had interviewed and Mills asked inane questions. Moran was more bothered about Mills and his sudden change in fashion sense. Then an awful thought barged its way into her head – had he smartened himself up to impress her? The prospect of Mills wanting to make himself more appealing in order to catch her eye turned her stomach. What the hell is he playing at? Moran preferred it when his clothes matched his work – a colourful shambles. She was suddenly jolted out of her daydream.
‘Moran, isn’t that Silverton’s bodyguard?’ Mills asked.
‘Er sorry, sir, I missed that.’
‘Say it again, Mick, and pay attention this time, Moran.’
‘Yes okay,’ said Mick, a forty-year-old guy wearing a suit which was probably new when he joined the force twenty years ago. ‘The word on the street is that the downtown crew who operate out of Fremont street were hit a couple of days ago. Their head honcho Enzo Bonelli was killed along with one of his men. The jungle drums say they were both murdered by Jessica Hudson.’
Moran processed the information as fast as she could. ‘Yes that’s her. That’s Silverton’s bodyguard.’
‘We need to find her and fast. If she was responsible for killing Bonelli, she’s a dead woman unless we get to her first. Put out an all-points bulletin, I want her found and I want her here.’ Mills emphasised his words by banging his hand on the table.
‘Shit,’ Moran said under her breath. Not only was Mechanic on a drug baron’s walking-dead list, now she’d have the whole of the Vegas Police Department out looking for her. And it was Moran’s job to keep her at large, at least for the next three days.
What a screw up.
58
Moran inhaled deeply as she walked through the door of the ice-cream parlour. The sickly sweet aroma gave her a slight buzz of euphoria and given her current predicament she needed all her lungs could hold.
Lucas sat in their usual seat. He clutched the Bulletin and had the look of a worried man.
‘Don’t tell me it hasn’t printed?’ Moran asked.
‘It’s printed alright.’ Lucas opened to the personals and showed her the column.
MECHANIC
OLD MAN SELECTED
‘Phew,’ Moran said. ‘I thought that had gone tits up as well. Everything else has.’
‘We got a bigger problem,’ Lucas said.
‘I know, you don’t have to tell me—’
‘Harper has gone AWOL,’ Lucas cut in.
‘What?’
‘He went missing last night and his bed’s not been slept in. We don’t know where he is.’
‘Shit, that’s all we need, where could he be?’
‘Don’t know. Me and Bassano checked the bars close to the hotel and no one has seen him.’
‘Do you think he’s got cold feet and done a runner?’
‘No, that’s not his style. He put himself forward for this, remember. No, something has happened.’
‘He’s an ex-alcoholic who is slipping back into old habits, do you think he’s gone on a bender?’
‘He could have but, again, he wants this. He wants to take Mechanic down as much as anyone. I’m not sure he would jeopardise that.’
‘Do you think Mechanic has jumped the gun and killed him?’
‘That’s not how she works, she would have waited for confirmation that I’d made my choice.’
‘What do we do if he doesn’t turn up? That fucks everything up.’
‘He’ll show, I’m sure of it. We have two days until the deadline and Mechanic needs to get in touch somehow.’
‘Or not. She might choose to kill Harper with a bullet to the head while he’s walking down the street. No fuss, no drama, bang!’
‘I keep telling you, Mechanic loves the drama, she lives for the game. To her this is a piece of theatre to be played out in all its glory. No, she’ll be in touch and then we can take her out.’
Lucas and Moran sat in silence as two coffees arrived.
‘Harper has to turn up or we’re not going to have a game at all.’ Moran felt it was slipping away. Her dreams of stardom and ramming her success up Mills’ ass were evaporating before her eyes.
Moran continued with the bad news.
‘A few days ago Mechanic killed the head of the drug gang who run downtown Vegas.’
Lucas nearly spat his drink on the table.
‘What!’ He managed to swallow it down.
‘So now we have the situation where Bonelli’s crew will be scouring Vegas looking for her while LVPD have her on their most-wanted list. They are desperate to get to her before she gets fed to the fish.’
‘I’d worry more about Harper if I were you. They won’t find her,’ said Lucas.
‘Did you not listen to me? She’s being hunted by drug-fuelled hoods on the street and cops in cars. That’s serious shit. She might be lifted before we get our chance.’
‘They won’t find her, trust me. She could be in here right now and we wouldn’t know it.’
Mechanic eyed Lucas from across the restaurant in the reflection of the tall glass display cabinet. She wanted one last look before he paid his penance. This was a blissful moment, one she would savour for a long time. One last look before his world came crashing down around him in two days’ time.
Who’s the woman sitting with him?
Harper regained consciousness sprawled on the floor. His arms were stretched above his head and he could see his blood-engorged hands cuffed to a metal ring set in the wall. He was about to move but thought better of it as footsteps approached. He slumped his head forward and closed his eyes.
He could hear voices and strained to make out what they were saying.
‘What do you mean he’s fucking dead?’ Bonelli shouted in the face of the man trembling in front of him.
‘That’s what I’m saying, Mr Bonelli, Ramirez is dead.’
‘Who did it? How did it happen?’
‘Don’t know yet. The two guys who were with him took a leak and when they came back his throat was torn out.’
‘And no one saw a damn thing?’
‘No sir.’
‘People don’t get their throats slit in broad daylight and no one sees anything. I want those two in here now. I’m working with fucking amateurs!’ Bonelli was tramping around waving his arms in the air. ‘And get this sack of shit out of here too. I’m sick to death of nothing but problems.’
‘Sure thing, boss.’
‘He’s too much like hard work. Take him back to the desert and finish it. We’ll find the other two without him.’
Footsteps came closer. Harper felt the cuffs click open and his arms flopped to his side. He was lifted bodily off the ground and thrown into the trunk of a car. The pain in his shoulders was excruciating but he had to remain silent. The lid slammed shut. Harper heard the doors closing and the engine revved hard.
