Contract to Kill

  The plastic bag fell to the ground.

  Mason forced his immobilized prey into the alcove and shoved him against the open gate. Dressed in a dark Padres jacket and new jeans, the guy almost looked respectable. His skin matched the color of the sky.

  “Listen up,” said Mason. “If you cooperate, I won’t hurt you. Conversely, if you try anything, you’ll be in a sling for three months. Give me a nod of understanding.”

  When the guy didn’t respond, Mason drove his wrist higher and heard a grunt.

  “Give me a nod of understanding.”

  The guy complied.

  Darla’s voice came through his speaker. “You’re good; all quiet.”

  He turned slightly and offered Darla a wink, knowing she had binoculars. After kicking the bag inside the gate, he used his foot to close it. Keeping his face out of head-butting range, he marched the guy down the alley about halfway to the freight door leading into the nightclub. Based on the scrawny build of this clown, he didn’t expect a lot of resistance.

  “You can relax. I don’t want your drugs, or whatever you’re peddling.” Mason felt the guy loosen up a little. “If you do exactly as I say, you won’t be harmed.”

  When they reached the trash cans, Chip stood up and shoved his pistol under the man’s chin. Together, they pinned him against the brick.

  “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. Screaming or yelling will result in pain. Yours.”

  The dealer nodded. “Shit, man, do you know who you’re jacking?”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  The guy looked back and forth between Hahn and Mason. “This here’s Snowman’s territory.”

  “Well, consider us a heat wave. Now shut the fuck up, act like you always do, and press the button. If you so much as twitch, we’ll pop you twice in the skull.” Mason looked at Chip. “A demonstration, please.”

  Chip moved the suppressed pistol in front of the dealer’s face, pointed it toward the wall, and pulled the trigger. A small chip flew from the bricks across the alley.

  The man flinched, anticipating the report, but no such sound occurred. The spent .22 casing bounced off the man’s forehead and clinked on the ground. Chip picked it up.

  “Whoa . . . that’s some trick.”

  “That’s right: no one will hear you die and the rats will’ve eaten your lips by the time five-oh finds you.”

  “Okay, man. Okay.”

  “We don’t want you or your drugs. We want in there.” Mason nodded to the metal delivery door down the alley.

  “Aw, man,” the guy said with resignation. “This is one of my best customers.”

  “That should be the least of your worries. Now, listen carefully. You will act like you always do. If we suspect you’re pulling anything cute, like giving Fergie a secret warning signal, it will be the last thing you ever do. We know everything, even your special fist pump.”

  “All right, man; I’m just glad you ain’t five-oh.”

  Mason ignored the idiotic comment. “If Fergie doesn’t open up, we’ll assume you warned him and pain will happen. Are we clear on everything?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “We’ll be on either side of you out of camera shot. You’ve got no place to run.” Mason pulled a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills from his coat pocket. “Two grand. It’s yours if you play along. If not . . . we keep the money and you get dead.”

  “You serious about the money?”

  “It’s yours.”

  “Shit, man. I ain’t gonna make trouble. But you gonna have to knock me around a little before you leave.”

  Mason exchanged a look with Chip.

  “Snowman’s gonna think I jacked him otherwise.”

  “All right, you play along and we’ll cover for you.”

  “Nothin’ in the teeth, okay? I just bought this smile.”

  “Depends on how well you do.”

  Mason keyed his radio. “Status?”

  “No change.”

  “Come on over.”

  The muted thump of music they’d heard through the front door was barely audible back here.

  Darla arrived a few seconds later. Keeping her face away from the camera, she walked through its cone of vision. If anyone watched the feed, they might come out to investigate who just walked past the door. That would be fine with Mason; they’d make their move then.

  “We’re going to sit tight for a minute or two,” Mason said. “Remain quiet.” He removed clear goggles from his waist pack and put them on. Next, he secured a black bandanna over his nose and mouth. Hahn and Darla followed suit. If they were somehow caught on camera, they couldn’t be identified. Mason’s ponytail was tucked under his ball cap.

  Mason listened to the music emanating from inside and didn’t hear any change in volume. Ninety seconds later, he let go of the dealer and shoved him toward the door. “Press the button.”

  Mason and Hahn assumed a back-to-back position with Hahn facing the alley’s entrance and Mason facing the dealer. Mason studied the man closely while he pushed the button. Fifteen seconds later, they heard the music grow in volume, then go quiet again. Mason believed someone had just opened and closed the stockroom door to the nightclub beyond.

  Time seemed to stretch as the dealer stood there, looking back and forth in a paranoid manner. It looked believable, exactly how a drug dealer might act.

  A metallic clank echoed.

  Stale cigarette smoke wafted through the door when it opened a few inches.

  Mason listened for a chain or hotel-type security latch but heard nothing.

  He sprang forward and shouldered the door inward. It smacked the guy’s forehead and knocked him off his feet.

  Half a second later Mason was inside, pointing his suppressed weapon at the downed man’s face. The guy reached out in a futile effort to block the bullets. Mason fired through the man’s spread fingers.

  The dealer bolted.

  Chip kicked his ankle, sending him sprawling.

  The man crabbed backward, desperation in his voice. “We had a deal! What the fuck!”

  Chip’s gun jumped several times, and Mason watched the dealer’s legs shudder in a classic death dance, something he’d seen many times. Chip dragged the mortally wounded dealer inside and laid him next to the other man, presumably Fergie, given the giant gold F hanging at his chest.

  Staying low, Mason pivoted and painted his laser onto the interior camera above the door, dispatching it with a single round. If someone were watching a bank of monitors, they couldn’t have missed what had happened. Mason gave Darla a hand signal, so she rushed through the delivery door and flattened herself against the opposite wall of the stockroom.

  Within five seconds of breaching the door, they were all inside the building and the exterior camera watching the alley now showed what it always showed.

  Mason issued another hand signal. Chip advanced to several columns of stacked chairs and pointed his pistol at the door leading deeper into the nightclub.

  He took a few seconds to orient himself. The room was rectangular, maybe twenty feet long and ten feet wide. The only source of light was a single bare bulb on the opposite wall. On the concrete floor, a stained path led to the door where Darla waited.

  From their interrogation of Alisio’s man earlier, they knew the basic layout of the club, including the location of the three cameras in the main room.

  They formed a huddle. “We take out anyone we find in there. I doubt we’ll find any children, but they’re off-limits. No stun grenades unless absolutely necessary. Pick up spent brass.”

  Staying off to the side, Mason turned the knob and cracked the door leading into the main room.

  The thumping increased by a factor of five, but he wasn’t concerned. The techno jam actually helped them. He scanned the pool tables and sa
w no one. Although it looked like no one was around, he couldn’t be sure until he opened the door wider.

  On first glance, it seemed Alisio spared no expense. The place had a high-class look. Leather furniture surrounded blue-granite tables. The light fixtures above the pool tables were dimmed, but they still created pyramids of light in the suspended smoke.

  Moving ultra slowly, he eased the door open. The other end of the room held an elevated stage. The entire west wall had been converted into a bar with every imaginable brand of liquor on glass shelves. Situated between the stage and pool tables, an empty dance floor waited, complete with chrome poles for exotic dancers. He felt Chip tuck in tight behind him. Since no one sprinted across the room with machine guns, Mason believed their entry had gone undetected. Using fingers, he counted down from three.

  When his fist closed, he rushed into the main room and pivoted to the right. Chip was right behind him, protecting his left. Darla took the middle. For several seconds they held that position.

  Nothing moved.

  The entire ground floor looked deserted.

  “Everyone take a camera,” he whispered.

  They activated their lasers and had no trouble acquiring and destroying them. With the cameras out of commission, they rushed across the dance floor to the hall leading to the restrooms. Off to their right, the main entrance foyer was dark except for the bleed light coming through large transom windows above the carved-wood doors. This place is incredible.

  He signaled for Chip and Darla to clear the restrooms.

  They returned a few seconds later.

  The door leading to the stairs was locked. Shit! He’d hoped it wouldn’t be. This complicated things.

  Playing a hunch, he sent Chip back to the man who’d opened the door to look for a set of keys.

  Darla remained quiet and focused. With her back to him, she guarded the other end of the hall and the main entrance beyond.

  Before reappearing in the hall, Chip issued a soft whistle to Darla, who returned it. With a little luck, one of these keys would unlock the door. Mason pointed to a key that showed the most wear. It didn’t work. Chip tried several more with the same result.

  Chip was about to try another when they all heard it: the unmistakable thuds of someone descending the stairs.

  CHAPTER 21

  The expensively dressed man felt restless. They’d had a night of near-record attendance and liquor sales, and he planned to celebrate with several fat lines of the best coke money could buy. “Call Fergie and ask what’s going on. He should have our blow by now unless that Padre-loving dipshit is late again.”

  “He’s been on time ever since you slapped him around.”

  “I feel the need . . . the need for speed!” The well-dressed man high-fived the club’s manager and winked at the hookers on the couch. They’d trade off later, but he wanted first dibs on the swanky blonde. Her legs could wrap around the building. At a grand each, they’d do it all. Everything.

  The club manager dictated a text: “Where are you?”

  “Forget texting: just call him.”

  The manager complied. “He’s not answering.”

  “Check the cameras. He’d better not be shortstopping down there.”

  From his office, the manager called out, “They aren’t working again.”

  “All of ’em?”

  “The back door’s working. I’ll call the security company in the morning and get this fixed.”

  “Go find Fergie and tell him to get his dumb ass up here.”

  The descending thuds got louder.

  Mason quickly changed weapons, pointed to himself, then to the door.

  Darla and Chip nodded and backed up a few steps.

  Standing off to the side, Mason waited like a predatory eel.

  The door swung outward, in Chip’s direction.

  When the man stepped into the hall, Mason used the same technique as he had on the delivery boy. He clamped his left hand over the man’s mouth, only this time he didn’t pin an arm. He drove his knife into the man’s torso just under the rib cage and perforated the guy’s lung.

  Keeping his hand in place, Mason lowered his victim to the floor. He reached out with a foot, nudged Darla, and mouthed: Three in the head.

  Without hesitating, Darla took careful aim to avoid hitting his hand. Mason turned away as Darla’s suppressed pistol flashed. The sound was so faint no one upstairs could have heard it over the music.

  Without being prompted, Chip positioned himself just inside the door, where he could watch the staircase leading up to the office.

  “I’ll take point,” he whispered. “Darla, you’re down here watching our six.”

  “You got it.”

  He liked that about her—she didn’t question orders. “Chip, when we make our move up there, I’ll take left side of the room, you take the right.” Mason wiped the wet knife on the dying man’s shirt and sheathed it. With his .22 in hand again, he started up the stairs and sensed Hahn’s presence two steps behind. The same music emanated from the office, but not as loud.

  Halfway up, he stopped and put Hahn on hold. He looked behind to see what his backdrop was. Good, a dark wall and ceiling.

  Moving slowly, he came out of his crouch and looked over the top of the last step.

  Flanked by two beautiful young women, a black man in a dark lavender suit, white tie, and some kind of fancy top hat sat on a couch. The guy’s hands were occupied between the women’s nylon-clad legs. In the mirrored wall behind the couch, Mason saw two doors; both closed. Two other well-dressed men were sitting on a sofa that was positioned at a right angle to Top Hat’s couch. In front of them, a glass table awaited their drugs. Complacent, one of the men flanking Top Hat looked bored and the other had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. Bodyguards, and poor excuses at that.

  He turned to Chip, made a two-finger gesture, and pointed in the direction he’d seen the two men on the couch. He then pointed to his eyes and made an opening-door movement, followed by two fingers. When Mason issued a sweeping motion to the right, Chip offered a nod of understanding.

  Mason felt a hand on his back, the signal Chip was ready to go. He reached into his waist pack and grabbed a second gun with his left hand.

  With Chip right behind him, Mason bounded up the stairs and sprinted straight toward Top Hat.

  The man’s shocked expression told all.

  Before Top Hat could do more than yank his hands free, Mason fired the Taser and kept his finger on the trigger, giving the guy the full duration of fifty thousand volts.

  In the mirror, he saw Chip dispatch the bodyguards with precise forehead shots. The expended .22 casings flipped over the couch and clinked off the wall. In less than three seconds Chip had neutralized both of them.

  The women froze but, surprisingly, didn’t scream. Perhaps the Taser and Hahn’s near-silent pistol reports temporarily confused them.

  Their puzzlement ended when Top Hat flopped into the brunette’s lap. She flinched as some of the electricity flowed into her body. Top Hat’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.

  With blank expressions, the bodyguards slumped toward each other, their heads colliding.

  Mason pointed the .22 at the blonde’s head, made eye contact, and then saw his reflection in the mirror. It made him feel heartless and cruel, and he didn’t pull the trigger. These women weren’t rabid dogs, and they didn’t deserve that kind of end.

  He tracked Chip’s movements in the mirror as his second-in-command cleared the office and bathroom. Disguising his voice by making it raspy, he told Chip to drag Top Hat away from the couch and secure his hands, feet, and mouth.

  The women cringed and covered their chests as Chip stepped forward and yanked Top Hat to the floor.

  Mason activated his radio. “We’re secure up here, fall back to the gate at the str
eet. Verbal copies from here on.” He wasn’t sure he’d hear Darla’s acknowledgment clicks over the music.

  “Copy, on my way out.”

  He looked at Hahn. “Kill the music.”

  Hahn walked over to a cabinet behind Top Hat’s desk and cranked the receiver’s volume down to zero.

  Mason locked eyes with the blonde and asked, “What did you just see?”

  Despite staring death in the face, her blue eyes radiated intelligence and resolve. “Nothing,” she said with a soft voice. “We were in the bathroom.”

  “Cameras?”

  She shook her head. “He hates them.”

  Mason took a look around, confirming her answer. It made sense; why record illegal activity? Mason didn’t discount the possibility of hidden surveillance, but nothing obvious was visible.

  He nodded to the dead bodyguards and said, “Mark them.”

  The women remained motionless as Chip tacked 10,000-peso bills to each of their foreheads.

  Mason made eye contact with both women. “I’ll be very unhappy if you take those. They’ve been demonetized since 1996, so they’re practically worthless. You can buy them for ten bucks.”

  The blonde squinted in thought.

  Mason reached down and grabbed the blonde’s purse. He removed her wallet, pulled her driver’s license, and took a picture with his cell phone. He also photographed the brunette’s ID.

  “Here’s the deal: I’m offering a onetime, take-it-or-leave-it proposal. If you two keep what you saw to yourselves and never tell anyone, you’ll never see me again and you won’t have to worry about looking over your shoulders for the rest of your lives. Trust me: you’ll never see me coming anyway. Do we have a deal?”

  They both nodded.

  “Verbally, please, like this.” Mason put his hand up, imitating an oath-of-office pose. “I give you my word I’ll never tell anyone about this.”

  After they repeated what he said, word for word, he pulled the wad of hundreds from his pocket. “A grand each, as a show of sincerity on my part.” He tossed the money onto the couch. “The downstairs cameras recorded you earlier, and they’re likely time-stamped, so make sure you get your stories straight in the event the police question you. Don’t make your stories exactly the same. If you cave under police questioning and tell them you saw us, bad things will happen.” Mason paused to let that sink in. “Use the rear door to leave, the gate at the street will be unlocked. Stay right here until we’re gone. Give us five minutes before you leave, not a second sooner.”