Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (6 page)

“So you’re going to set me up as the go-to guy for fake IDs and to get contraband through the airport.” Ash tried to appear merely interested and not high-five Pete right smack on his forehead.

“Exactly. Once word gets around you’re the guy who can get drugs in and out of the airport and Port of Toronto—all under the close scrutiny of the RCMP, of course, but no one else will know that—you’ll be set. A great plan and placement, if I do say so myself. You’re a good fit.”

“I’ve run into Salvatore’s people a few times. It’d help if he needed a fake ID and had to contact me. If he were the one to initiate, that would help my credibility. I can take things from there.”

“Think I can arrange that,” Pete said. “Get one of the UCs from the Russo cover to go to him, looking for a favor. He’ll like that. Get him to come to you.
I
like that.”

“So, I’ll be back in Toronto for a while?” He’d go wherever they wanted for a chance to work UC with Pete, but an op in Toronto, one like Pete described, would be huge.

Pete nodded. “Let’s extract you from the ops you’ve been working. Edwards can take over—you’ve already brought him with you on a couple of transfers, right? They’ve seen him, so he’s established. A shipment is supposed to come through the airport in a couple of weeks, which should work out nicely if we can get you in place and let word spread you were the one to get the packages through Customs. No way Salvatore isn’t involved in that shipment at some level. It’s too big. We’ll get a cover team in place for you in the meantime. You’re going to need some serious backup for this.”

“See if Daniel’s available.” His friend had made a name for himself as one of the best young surveillance and electronics officers in the Force. “And any way to get Andy as my contact? We’re friends and comfortable with each other, so he’d be good in that role and liaison with the QPP.
We’ve been seen together when we’ve done joint undercover ops at the airport, so that should fit right in with my cover.”

“For something this big, shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk to their commanding officers and assemble the team while you tie up loose ends at your current post. We’ll get you ready for the airport shipment and set you up with a couple of other jobs here and there to get you noticed.”

“Sounds good, Commander.” Ash stood and shook Pete’s hand.

“This could be big, Ash. Huge.” Pete held his gaze. “International, working with the FBI, DEA, Homeland Security in the US, drugs, false IDs. This is a career-maker. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you this Salvatore op could change the course of your career. Could also change the course of your life, and I’m hoping you’re ready for everything that entails. Understand?”

“I understand. I’m ready.”

“I know you are, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought you in. I’ll see you next week. We should be ready to start background and have the cover team in place.”

“Next week, Commander. Looking forward to it.” With a jaunty salute, Ash sauntered out of the office.

“What the hell is all this?” Andy’s toe poked at the motorcycle parts spread over the sidewalk.

“Carburetor,” Ash muttered, crouched at the curb next to the bike.

He gestured with his wrench at a small cooler sitting amid the chaos. Andy ambled over to pluck out a beer and then grumbled about the heat as he leaned against the brick wall to seek a minuscule slice of shade. Ash’s own drink sat next to the scattered ratchets and wrenches, but he ignored the sweating can and wiped his face on the ragged hem of his shirt. The few people walking by the old building ignored them
as he got back to cleaning the carburetor parts with a filthy rag. Folks minded their own business in that particular neighborhood.

He’d been living in the run-down apartment for the past couple months, establishing his cover for the Salvatore operation as Ash McBay, procurer of fake travel documents and expediter of illegal goods. The cloak of his UC identity had settled comfortably on his shoulders as he became known as the man to see in order to get shipments of dubious nature through Pearson International Airport and the Port of Toronto without attracting attention of the authorities.

Ash cursed when he pinched his finger, and Andy chuckled behind him. “You could help.”

“Don’t know a thing about motorcycles,” Andy returned good-naturedly. A beat passed, and Ash sensed the change in his demeanor without having to look. “There’s a mark coming this way. About half a block down.”

Ash bobbed his head in response and tinkered with the bike. The boy was still a few yards away when he glanced up, his eyes flicking over the rail-thin figure before dismissing him. The kid stopped on the other side of the motorcycle and waited for Ash to acknowledge his presence. When Ash didn’t, he started to move around the bike.

“You need to stay where you’re at, my friend, unless you want a wrench upside your head,” Ash said, low and even, his fingers tapping on the exhaust pipe.

The kid froze but tried to cover by slouching and shrugging.

“Need some help with paperwork my boss gots,” he said with manufactured bravado. “Hear you handle that kind of stuff.”

“Heard wrong.” Ash bent over the bike. The kid blinked and stared at him before casting a quick glance at Andy slouched against the brick.

“But my boss said—”

“Don’t care. Your boss heard wrong. Beat it.”

“Rico ain’t never wrong,” the kid insisted, and Ash slowly straightened, pointing his wrench at the skinny boy.

“You telling me your boss is Rico Salvatore?”

“Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.” The kid settled back on his heels, hands in pockets and chin coming up with a sneer. Ash stifled the urge to wipe the expression off his face with the back of his hand. “But he gots some paperwork he needs help with.”

Ash snorted and went back to his bike. “His tough luck.”

“You want me tell him you’re refusing to help? When he’s asking?”

Ash straightened again with a dangerous grunt. “Look, I’m no schoolteacher. If he needs help with what I think he needs help with, I’m sure as hell not going to discuss my business with some punk-ass kid who comes strolling up on the street. If he wants to talk, he can do it himself. Like adults. Like fucking professionals. Got it?”

The kid’s eyes went wide and then narrowed. “I got it. I think you’re gonna get it, that’s what I think.”

Ash snorted. “Fuck off. I’m busy here.”

The boy turned and ran down the street, and Ash straightened only after he’d disappeared from sight. Dropping the wrench and wiping his hands on the rag, his mind ran through possibilities and next steps.

Rico Salvatore had reached out to him.

“Kid couldn’t have been more than what? Fifteen? Sixteen?” Andy murmured.

“Maybe.” Ash wouldn’t dwell on things beyond his control. He’d learned and been trained not to let that sort of thing distract him, but some were harder to ignore than others. Track marks had run up and down the kid’s arm.

“So, now what?” Andy shifted more comfortably and brought a knee up to place the flat of his foot against the building while Ash put the cleaned carburetor back in place.

“Now we wait.”

He didn’t have to wait long. An ancient but well-kept sedan eased up to the curb thirty minutes later. A muscled thug got out and opened the rear door, not bothering to hide the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. Ash just raised an eyebrow until the passenger side window rolled down to reveal Rico Salvatore sitting in the front seat.

“I’d like a moment of your time,” he said pleasantly. “Lose your friend.”

Ash nodded at Andy, who scowled for effect and tossed the empty beer can at him before he uncoiled from the wall and strolled down the street. The man held the door for Ash and gestured for him to sit inside, so he slid across the rear seat and found himself neatly trapped between Door-Holder and his twin. The car pulled away from the curb, and Ash settled his shoulders between the two hulks to show he wouldn’t be intimidated by their size or proximity.

“I hear you told my boy I should go fuck myself,” Rico began with deceptive mildness.

“No,” Ash corrected. “I told your boy to go fuck himself.”

“Ah.” Rico nodded but kept his gaze focused through the front windshield. “I hoped something got lost in the translation. Anyway, seems we have a mutual friend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Slick”—he nodded at the driver—“says you know Peter Russo. Done some work for him.”

Ash grunted.

“The delivery last month,” Rico pressed. “The airport.”

Ash said nothing, neither confirming nor denying.

“I hear you can get shipments through without having to pay the extra fare, so to speak. People, too. You’re good with documents.”

Ash remained silent. Salvatore turned in the front seat to face him. “Mr. McBay, I need some papers to get a friend of mine across the border with no questions asked. Slick here says you’re the man to make that happen. Are you?”

Ash held his gaze for a few long seconds. “The US border?”

“Yes, if he needs that.” Salvatore’s half smile turned smug at Ash’s capitulation.

“The US will cost you. Not so easy anymore, with all the new rules and them cracking down so hard.”

“But you can do it?”

“Yeah, I can do it. Might take some time. You got that and the money?”

“I’ve got the money, Mr. McBay. No worries there. Time, I’m short on.”

“I’ll want to meet the guy. Non-negotiable,” Ash added when Salvatore started to protest. “I don’t do paperwork for anyone I haven’t checked out personally. You’ll need to get me his information as soon as possible so I can start, and we’ll schedule to meet in person. All three of us.”

“Not sure I can get him to agree to that.”

“Then I’m sure I can’t help you.”

Salvatore considered the situation. “You don’t need me there, do you?”

“I like people with a vested interest.” Ash relaxed into the seat and smiled, showing teeth, at the hulk sitting on his left. “Makes me more comfortable.”

Salvatore gave it some thought before nodding. “Okay. The airport shipment last month was a thing of beauty. Seems like you’re an interesting person to know, Mr. McBay.”

“Some people think so.”

Salvatore chuckled and swiveled to face forward as the car turned back toward Ash’s apartment building. “Tell me, do you really ride that thing you were working on?”

“My bike? Hell yes.”

“Motorcycles scare the fuck outta me. My little brother was killed on one a few years ago.”

“I’ll be sure not to take you for a ride.” Ash met Salvatore’s gaze in the rearview mirror and held for a few meaningful seconds. Salvatore’s mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile, and he nodded with grudging respect.

“I’ve got details on the meet,” Ash reported a few days later at one of the cover team’s regular meetings. “Salvatore brought the details himself this time. No lackey.”

“Lackey’s name is Jem McCrimmon.” Matt Weiss, one of the cover team members, consulted the screen in front of him and referred to the young kid that had first approached Ash. “He’s a cousin or some relation. Does odd jobs, runs errands, that sort of thing.”