Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) (5 page)

Sprawled prone on the floor, wrists secured with NYPD-issued hand-cuffs, was Carmine Russo. A tourniquet was fastened around his left bicep, his sleeve soaked with blood.

He lifted his head, disappointment registering on his face. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing here?”

Good to see you too. Sir.

“Get in,” the man said, giving her a shove.

Vail winced and did as she was told.

Where the hell’s our backup? Will they even find us? What would they do with handguns against machine guns?

Still, right now she would welcome some armed assistance, even if they were overmatched.

Vail cleared her thoughts, turned on her cop brain, and did as she was taught: assess the situation, take in as much information as possible about the layout and the perpetrators.

There were two of them, so no surprises there. They were dressed in camo pants, the brown-toned kind the military used in desert-based maneuvers.
These guys might be Gulf War vets.
One of them had an elaborate tattoo winding around his right forearm and bicep while the one who had manhandled her sported dreadlocks.

Vail eyed the phone on the wall.
I don’t suppose they’d give me a chance to make a mercy call. Or would they?

The door slammed behind her. The image of Shaunessy and Costello haunted her thoughts.
These guys were not into taking hostages. What’s more, they have no hesitation about killing cops. There are two of them and two of us. What’s the right play here?
Wait for a window of opportunity? Or engage them now, try to overpower one of them and get his weapon? Or start talking, try to reason with them? Negotiate.

Not one of those options sounded like a winning strategy.

“What do you want?” Vail asked.
Get ’em talking. See if there’s some common ground I can establish. Start there.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the guy with dreadlocks said.

So much for common ground.

“Is there something I can help you get?”

“We killed two cops, ain’t nothing you can help us with.”

Actually, they’re not dead yet. But maybe it’s better they think they are.
“So you need a way out of here. Out of the country.”

“And you gonna help us get that.”

“You guys are running the show. I’m trying to negotiate. I help you, you help us. Let us go.”

“Vail,” Russo said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You,” the tattooed man said, “a goddamn cop. You gonna get us a way out of the country?” He laughed, then waved the tip of his machine gun. “Get down on your knees.”

That’s a killing position. Never a good thing for a hostage.

“I’m a cop, yeah. Second day on the job, actually. But that’s not how I’m gonna help you. It’s my sister.”

The man walked in front of her, dreadlocks bouncing, a deep frown twisting the left side of his mouth. He tilted his head back and examined her face. “Yo sistah.”

“She works for INS.”

He apparently knew INS stood for Immigration and Naturalization Service because his eyes widened slightly.

“They control border crossings,” Vail said, in case her negotiating partner did not know that crucial fact.

“I’m listening.”

“Cops are on the way,” Vail said, letting some urgency permeate her voice. Truth was, it was adrenaline. And fear. But it would pass as urgency if she quickened her speech. “We don’t have long. You want me to call her, see if I can work this out? She owes me. And she’s my sister.”

The two men shared a look. The one with the tattoos reached over to the phone. As he handed Vail the receiver, his partner lifted the machine gun and again shoved it into her back.

“That doesn’t feel very good.”

“Not s’posed to. Make the call. Be quick.”

Vail tried to steady her hand as she dialed. A few seconds later, the phone started ringing—and was almost immediately answered.

“This is Karen Vail for Maggie.”

The officer at the other end hesitated, then said, “Maggie? Lieutenant Beltran?”

“That’s right. Quickly, please.”

The perp pushed the barrel deeper into her spine. “Yo, be fast. Cops comin’, remember? You get us shit, you ain’t got shit.” He laughed, feeling clever.

“I remember,” Vail said. Seconds later, the line was answered.

“Beltran.”

“Yeah, Maggie, this is Karen. Listen, I don’t want you to trace this call, because I’m calling from a place you can’t know about. But I need a favor.”
Translation: trace this call. I need help!

“Vail. What the hell? Are you with Sergeant Russo?”

“I am.”

A pause. “Is everything okay?”

“No, Maggie, no. And don’t interrupt me with stupid questions.”
I sure hope she doesn’t kick me off the force for insubordination. Assuming we get out of this alive.
“I just need a favor from my little sister, okay? I need to get a couple friends across the border but it can’t be reported. Totally off-book. Can you do it? For me?”

“You and Russo are in trouble.”

Don’t be so dense. Yes, we’re in trouble!
“You know I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.”

“Listen, Officer Vail. We know where you were when the sergeant called in. Are you still there?”

“No. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Which way did you go from there?”

“North, get them something on the northern border.” She looked over at the tattooed man, who nodded.

“Canada’s cool,” he said.

“Yeah, Maggie. North, into Canada.”

“We’re tracing this call, so don’t hang up. It’s gonna take some time. We’ve got a map here, and I’m trying to figure out where you are. You close to your original location?”

“Yeah, exactly. I need this done fast.”

Beltran mumbled something to another person in the background. “We see a cluster of potential buildings. Can you give me some kind of description?”

“Hurry the fuck up!” the gunman said, emphasizing his words with jabs of the barrel.

Vail swung her eyes over to Russo, whose gaze was riveted to hers. “Look, Maggie, I don’t have a lot of time. Dad’s not in a position to help, so that’s why I called you. Well—that and you’ve got the connections that can make all this right. I need you to do this. And I need you to get it sorted out now. Can you do that for me? You owe me.”

“I understand,” Beltran said. “ESU’s been deployed. But it’s gonna take time. And they’ll have had no time to prepare, they’ve got no idea of what the interior of that building’s like, where you are, or even the location of the tangos. They need all that to make a successful hostage extraction. You follow what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I got all that, Maggie. But I don’t want to feel like I have to
teach
you everything. I have to give my friend a decision. All I wanna hear is yes, you’re gonna be able to help us out.”

“How many tangos are there?”

“I’ve been on the phone with you for two minutes. I need an answer.”

“Okay, two men. Armed?”

“Big-time. I’d owe you big-time.”

“Goddamnit,” Beltran said under her breath. No matter—Vail heard it. And it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Can they be reasoned with? Will negotiation work?”

“No, that’s never gonna happen.”

“Gather as much information on your perps as possible.”

Vail shifted the phone away from her mouth and looked at the man with dreadlocks. “She needs your names. For the passports.”

They both shifted position, looked at each other, then the one behind her said, “Teabag Jackson. Sawbones McGrady.”

Vail turned slightly and eyed the man. “You’re shitting me, right? Teabag and Sawbones? We can’t put that on a passport. The INS would never take it seriously.”

“We might be able to get something,” Maggie said in her ear. “We’re gonna run those names. Good thinking, Vail.”

McGrady pursed his thick lips, then said, “Garfield Jackson. Stacey McGrady.”

Vail scrunched her face. “Garfield and Stacey? Now I know why you go by Teabag and Sawbones.”

“Hey, fuck you, bitch.”

“Got ’em,” Beltran said. “Running their sheets. Don’t piss them off, you hear me?”

Yeah, they may shove a loaded machine gun in my back. Don’t want that.

“How big’s the room you’re in?”

“Narrow and long,” Vail said. “But listen, we’ve got a small window of opportunity. Jackson and McGrady are ready to go.”

“The trace hasn’t gone through yet. Keep talking. I don’t have a twenty on you.”

“They want to go north, like I said. Don’t make me school you on what you should already know.”
Will she get what I’m saying?

“That’s it,” Jackson said. “Time’s up. Gimme that phone.” He yanked it from her hand as McGrady pulled Vail’s hair, arching her back again.

“Yo,” Jackson said into the receiver. “Listen up, Maggie. Yo sis here is in some trouble. Yo need to do what she say, or yo may not see her again.” He shook his head. “Just gotta get us into Canada. Can you do that? Yes or no, I’m not playin’ games wich you.” Jackson nodded. “Good. We gonna be on the move. I’ll call you back in two hours. When I do, I want the address where we can pick up those passports. And some money, we want some money.” A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Yeah, that be good. Now don’t fuck with me. Remember yo sis is here with me. I know how to kill real good, you hear me? Won’t be pretty.”

Vail closed her eyes.
How the hell are they gonna get us out of here?

“Yo gots thirty seconds,” Jackson said to Beltran, then handed the phone to Vail.

“Maggie?”

“We’ve got it narrowed down to three buildings. We see a school, is that what you were trying to tell me?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Just heard from ESU. SWAT team’s eight minutes out, maybe less. Two patrol sectors were at the other building, they’ll be there in seconds. They won’t engage unless necessary. Be sharp. Put as much distance between you and Russo and the tangos as possible. If Jackson and McGrady are near you when SWAT arr—”

Jackson grabbed the phone back.

“Maggie,” Vail yelled. “Stop. No!”

But apparently Jackson heard enough, because he brought the phone handset back and slammed it against Vail’s temple, twice, dropping her to the cold, gritty cement floor.

5

>ASTORIA, QUEENS

Tuesday, JANUARY 23, 1973

During a three-day period, police questioned those who had been at the bowling alley when the altercation occurred. Basil remained in custody but refused to talk to the detective assigned to the case.

After meeting with a public defender and getting arraigned on charges of assault with a deadly weapon, he was released on his own recognizance because he had no record and had been a model citizen since coming over from Greece.

ON THE WALK HOME from the courthouse, Basil and Livana passed a candy store with stacks of the
New York Times
out front, weighted down by large rocks. The newspaper headline announced the death of Lyndon Johnson. But it was a subhead that caught Livana’s eye: the Supreme Court declared abortion legal in a case called
Roe v. Wade
. Being Greek Orthodox, she found that development troubling and feared it would start a tidal wave of people killing their babies. But at the moment, she did not allow such concerns to poison the relief she was feeling following her husband’s release.

Two blocks from their apartment, one of Basil’s colleagues at the fur processing factory where he worked passed them on the sidewalk.

“Michael,” Basil said. “Good news—”

But before he could complete his sentence, Michael spat at Basil, the thick goop landing below his right eye. Basil turned and stared at Michael’s back as the man kept walking. “What the hell was that for?” He swung back toward Livana as he wiped away the muck. “Son of a—”

“What happened?” Dmitri asked.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Livana said, placing a hand on his shoulder and redirecting him down the sidewalk, toward their house.

“That man spit on Daddy,” Cassandra said, struggling to turn around to get a better look. But Basil gathered her up in his arms and held her tight.

“Some people aren’t very nice,” he whispered in her ear.

THAT EVENING, FEDOR and Niklaus joined them for dinner. Basil related what had happened in court, explaining that since he was not considered a danger to others, the judge released him to go home until the trial.

“I’ve got a good feeling,” Fedor said. “This madness is all going away, very soon.” He hesitated. “But there may be another problem.”

“Like what?” Livana asked.

“People are very upset. Gregor grew up here. We’ve only been in the US five years, so they’ve taken sides. Against you, Basil. I told them you’re my best friend, that you’d never do something like this, that you didn’t start the fight, that you were just defending yourself. But they don’t want to hear it. They believe what they want to. And Gregor’s saying you made a pass at his wife and when he confronted you about it, you punched him.”

“Not true,” Basil said.

“True or not, doesn’t matter.”

They were interrupted by the phone ringing. Livana walked over to the pink wall-mounted handset and answered it. “We’re almost done with dinner, can he— Yes, okay, all right. Hang on.” Livana held out the receiver and Basil took it. “It’s Gus. He needs to talk to you.”

Livana knew what was coming. Gregor was the owner’s son. Basil put his son in the hospital.

“What do you mean?” Basil’s shoulders sagged. “No, wait. Gus, that’s not what—” Basil held the receiver away from his face and looked at it, then hung it up slowly. He stood quietly a moment, then turned to Livana and Fedor, who were staring at him.

“He fired me.” Basil sat down heavily at the dinner table.

Cassandra squeezed past Livana and climbed into his lap and gave him a hug.

Basil took a drink of water, his hand shaking as he brought the glass to his lips. He finished and then wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “He said Gregor’s blind, that he can’t see no more. Is that true?”

Fedor swallowed deeply. “That’s what I heard last night when I was at the beer garden. But you were just defending yourself. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Blind?” Basil bit his lip. “I should’ve walked away. If I didn’t fight with him, none of this would’ve happened.”

“No.” Fedor threw his napkin down. “He started the fight. It was his fault. His!”

“Fedor,” Livana said calmly, “please sit.”

“Doesn’t really matter, I guess,” Basil said. “I can’t take it back. What is the saying here? I can’t unring the bell.”

Livana removed her apron and handed it to Cassandra. “Put this in the laundry. And take your brother to his room and help him get ready for bed.”

“You too, Nik,” Fedor said. “Go help. We’re going to leave soon.”

As Cassandra shuffled Dmitri out of the kitchen, Niklaus bringing up the rear, Basil covered his face with both hands and rubbed his eyes. “I have to find a job.”

“I’ll ask at the alarm company,” Fedor said. “Maybe they need someone. You’re good with your hands.”

“All my life, I’ve tried to do the right thing. It was my idea to go bowling, to have fun as a family. And then this …”

Fedor picked up his plate and rose from the table. “Sometimes bad things happen even when you do the right thing.”

Basil looked at his friend. “That makes no sense.”

Livana, standing behind Basil, draped her arms over his shoulders. “No it doesn’t,” she said as she planted a kiss on his balding head. “But it’s often true.”