Don Pendleton - Chicago Vendetta

And he did.

Chapter Two

Johnny saw the radical maneuver Esparza pulled and instantly realized Sergeant Rusch would be unable to compensate and continue the tail. However, he had ample opportunity to get over and he did—not all the drivers in Chicago were rude, and they let him ease over when he put on his signal and wave for permission to cross in front of them. As soon as Johnny got onto Morgan, his mobile phone rang and Hillman’s name came up.

Johnny couldn’t repress a smile as he answered. “I thought I might hear from you.”

“Very funny. Do you have eyes on our guy?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“I think he made us. There wasn’t any other reason for him to do that.”

“Unless he was just playing it careful,” Johnny suggested.

A long pause followed that, and then Hillman said, “Okay, you may have a point. Just keep an eye on him and stay on the phone with us. We’ll get back to you. We’re two blocks down and now turning north.”

Johnny kept one eye on the signs while trying to make sure he didn’t let their quarry out of sight. He reported, “Okay, we’re continuing north and going under some tracks. He’s signaling to make a right-hand turn.”

“All right, good,” Hillman replied. “That would be Hubbard Street he’s turning onto. So he’s now going east on Hubbard.”

“Right. He’s picking up speed now and...wait a minute.” Johnny confirmed Esparza had applied the brakes and suddenly did another right-hand turn into what looked like a broad private drive more than a street.

“I’m not sure where he’s going. He’s turning right again, and he’s now going back under the tracks. It looks like some kind of business or factory.”

“I know where you’re talking about,” Hillman said. “Stay with him. We’ll be there in a few minutes. And Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“Watch your ass. Esparza is an experienced cop, and he might be savvy to someone following him. Don’t take any chances.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Johnny said before he disconnected and shut off his lights as he turned right to pull in behind Esparza’s car.

Buildings towered on either side of Johnny’s car. Such a place would’ve provided an opportune location for an ambush, but he had some sense that Esparza figured his little maneuver back at the intersection would’ve shaken any pursuers. Still, he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that Esparza didn’t have street smarts. Underestimating an opponent got people killed. It was a concept that had been driven into Johnny time and again by his big brother. Mack was a consummate professional and soldier who looked at the world with an icy stare, constantly wary and calculating every advantage. He lived life on the edge, every move tactical , and he’d paid for it dearly by sacrificing any sort of personal life or truly intimate relationships.

Johnny stopped his car and killed the engine, operating on pure instinct at this point. The private drive had continued on between a series buildings, like an alleyway, and with dusk nearly gone, it was getting difficult to clearly see what was beyond the nearest building. He peered through the windshield, and sudden movement directly ahead caused his breath to catch in his throat. It looked like Esparza in silhouette, and Johnny was betting the guy had gone inside whatever business occupied the warehouse-size building situated at the end of the alley-like drive.

The California PI reached beneath his jacket and rested his hand on the cold, reassuring butt of a SIG Sauer P320.

Johnny started at the sudden rap on the passenger window. He looked to see Hillman leaned over, his face fully staring back at him expectantly. He stabbed the power lock switch, and the detective immediately climbed inside, barely giving Johnny the chance to get his laptop off the seat.

“So what’s going on?” he asked.

“I think Esparza went inside there.”

“Did he have the satchel?”

“Couldn’t tell for sure. He was heading inside by the time I got here,” Johnny replied. “But probably.”

Hillman squinted through the windshield. “Not sure if I’m remembering correctly, but I think the building is actually an old brewery.”

“Maybe Esparza is just stopping off for a beer.”

“Doubtful.” Hillman sucked air through his teeth. “Lakea and I were talking about this some. I think Esparza is working as a bagman. But for who ? That’s the question.”

“If you’re right, the ‘who’ might give you some idea how to connect the recent deaths in your department.”

Hillman nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It may even—”

“Look out!”

* * *

The shadowy forms that suddenly appeared were trouble. Lakea Rusch noted the shapes of the weapons in their hands, and she watched as the gunners rushed toward her position with obvious purpose. Esparza had led them here, and none of them had the faintest idea what the narcotics cop had become involved in. Still, it wasn’t as if she or Hillman had actually believed Esparza had been up to no good. He could’ve been doing something as simple as a favor for a friend or attending night classes. Hell, there could have been textbooks or a laptop in that satchel.

But the half-dozen approaching gunmen pretty much cinched it. Gray had been right about Esparza, and now she, her partner and the PI were up to their necks in trouble.

Rusch had kept the engine running. She put the gearshift in Reverse and stomped the accelerator, thinking she’d need to make room for Hillman and Gray to back up, as well. Instead, she watched those two idiots climb out of Gray’s sedan and rush to the rear of the vehicle to take cover. By this time, the hardmen had opened up with a full-auto burn. Their weapons produced a furious chatter as they sprayed the alley. Bullets smacked into Gray’s car or whined off the building walls and pavement of the narrow drive.

Rusch slammed on the brakes and went EVA, too, clearing her pistol from leather and drawing a bead on the closest gunman. Gray and Hillman were waving at her to get clear, both men shouting at her to leave them. Or at least that’s what she was assuming by their expressions and gestures of panic mixed with obvious frustration. Rusch then saw what appeared to be a dark stain over Hillman’s left shoulder. He’d been hit—he’d let them get the drop on him and wound up shot!

It wasn’t looking good. The fire zone seemed so heavy that neither Gray nor Hillman would’ve been able to get a clear shot, and now the gunmen seemed to realize, even as Rusch shot the first guy dead with a double-tap to the chest, that they held a clear advantage. The enemy had them outgunned, outnumbered and outflanked.

As muzzle-flashes became visible from where she stood, Rusch suddenly felt a strong hand grab her shoulder and shove her into the car.

She lost her balance, and the pistol got knocked from her wrist when it struck the center console. She turned her eyes toward the source of the shove, a curse on her lips, and found herself staring back at features that looked as if they’d been chiseled from granite. The body, all muscle and sinew, was dressed in a blacksuit, complete with a harness from which dangled a half dozen or so deadly implements of war.

“Pull up!” the stranger commanded.

Rusch chose not to argue with those ice-blue eyes that bore more authority and deadly intent than she’d ever seen in another human being.

She put the car in Drive and smoothly accelerated toward Gray and Hillman’s position. The plan seemed so obvious now that she kicked herself. They couldn’t have hoped to escape in Gray’s car, and she’d backed up like an idiot and given them no place to run.