Chicago Vendetta

The only thing that bothered Esparza was Madera’s connections to the mysterious muntaqim. The drug lord’s associate was obviously some sort of very high roller, maybe even a terrorist, and he had a hard-on for cops. He enjoyed killing them. When Esparza discovered that and saw the kind of resources at the man’s disposal, he’d opted to come over to the other side in order to keep breathing. Esparza hadn’t been involved in whatever had forced muntaqim’s hand, but he thought he knew the particular incident in question. Esparza figured the identity of a principal character killed in that incident would probably give him firsthand knowledge about the identity of muntaqim, but so far Intelligence had been keeping that information tightly under wraps.

“Since you don’t know the other two, we’ll deal with them,” Madera said. “But we’re going to rely on you to take out Hillman and Rusch.”

Esparza took a long pull of his drink before lighting a cigarette. “Not going to happen. I told you going into this that I won’t kill any cops. We had a deal.”

“My associate is altering the deal,” Madera said dangerously.

“Over my dead body.”

“That’s always an option,” another voice said, the cultured tone echoing through the high ceilings of Madera’s vast office.

From the shadows emerged a tall, thin man with dark hair flecked by white at the temples. Impeccably attired, he moved confidently. Authoritatively. Some of that was probably due to the four men who surrounded him with the practiced ease of high-priced security. The newcomer’s dark eyes bore a wicked glint, and the sunken flesh around his cheeks and chin made his cheekbones seem prominent. As the man drew closer, Esparza noticed a long, thin scar that arched over his left eyebrow and traced an irregular pattern until it dipped out of sight beneath the very angular left jaw.

The net result left Esparza with the sense he’d looked into the partially decomposed skull of a mummy.

“Mr. Esparza,” the man continued. “In addition to the considerable sum of money I’ve paid you, and the extra tangible benefits you’ve enjoyed at my sole expense, there is your family to consider. For example, your lovely sister remains under my full protection, but that can change.”

Esparza stood defiantly. “It would be unwise to threaten my family.”

“Sit down!” Madera commanded.

Esparza looked at the drug kingpin a long time before taking his seat.

The gaunt man presented a withering smile. “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.

Chapter Four (#u67dd5a6f-ff2b-5882-8ec8-6a7fe38ab8cc)

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.”