Chapter 3

It was at two in the morning.

He drove Diego to an office block, killed the engine, and nervously waited for instructions.

Diego was silent and motionless, his dark eyes seeing nothing and seeing everything. His phone beeped after half an hour, and after a murmured conversation, Diego straightened. In another fifteen minutes, they saw a car make its way from the opposite end of the street, stop about a hundred feet away, and kill its lights.

Two people stepped out of the car and approached theirs, and Diego met them halfway. He bumped fists with them, took wads of cash from them, gave them baggies in return, turned his back on them, and returned to Shattner.

Ten feet away from them, he turned smoothly and drew.

So smooth and balletic was his movement that it took Shattner a couple of seconds to make the gun in his hand. The two reports were muted, hitting the other two in the back of their heads. Shattner didn’t hear the bodies falling; he saw Diego step up to the bodies and fire into their heads again for good measure. He grabbed the baggies and walked back to Shattner leisurely, a thin breeze ruffling his hair slightly.

Shattner felt the cold touch of the barrel to his neck when they reached the first set of lights on their way back.

‘You are too calm, chollo. Maybe you’re a cop?’

Shattner broke. He swerved into the darkness between streetlights and turned back to Diego.

‘A cop? Wouldn’t I have brought the whole force on you guys by now? Remember I’ve seen a lot of shit you guys do and know a lot.’

Diego didn’t say a word but continued pointing the gun at Shattner.

Shattner leaned forward and pulled the gun to his forehead. ‘If in doubt, pull. That’s your motto, isn’t it? Go on, then. Pull.’

Black pools of nothing stared back at him, and then slowly the barrel moved.

‘You have got balls, chollo. Si, I grant you that. Now drive.’

Shattner drove back in silence, gripping the wheel hard to hide the trembling in his hands. Diego sat motionless behind him, expressionless, bars of light and dark moving across his face as the car made its way to Blake Avenue. Probably thinking when he can kill me, Shattner thought savagely.

The next week, two gang members were busted by the police as they were selling drugs to street vendors near a school. The same school Shattner had driven Diego to. The week after that, a gang member was arrested as he was carrying out a hit on an MS-13 gang member.

The first arrest was shrugged off by the chapter as the price to be paid for being in business; the members were soon bailed. Just like most businesses of this size, Jose had lawyers and PR agents on retainers. The second incident caused uneasiness given its proximity to the first.

The third arrest happened in the subsequent week.

Ten gangbangers were flushed out after the police ran an elaborate sting operation on a prostitution racket owned by Jose. The uneasiness exploded into suspicion.

There was a snitch in the gang.

And Shattner was its newest quasi member.

Diego was with Shattner on every gang business errand now, watching him from behind his lizard-like eyelids. He didn’t care if Shattner knew he was under suspicion.

The gang still used him, and he wondered about that. Maybe all the members are known to the cops and they’re using me as a foil, he reasoned.

 

His phone vibrated on the table, bringing him out from the past. The text message stared back at him.

‘Tomorrow.’

He went to the bedroom window and stared into the dark street below him, wondering if he would return home the next day.

He had heard rumors of a large deal, and it was likely Diego wanted him as the getaway driver.

That, or the summons was for his execution.

He washed his face in the bathroom and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was even thinner now, his cheeks hollowed out, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hands trembled constantly, and he had to jam them in his pockets whenever his kids were around.

He took a deep breath, pushing away his constant fear, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom.

 

Diego was awaiting him at the garage entrance the next day, sitting inconspicuously in an anonymous Toyota Corolla. Passersby did not give him a second glance, unaware that they were a few feet from the most ruthless killer in Brooklyn.

He jerked his head at Shattner, indicating for him to get in and drive, and Shattner obliged, taking them down Rockaway Avenue, onto Linden Boulevard and into a deserted industrial area on Wortman Avenue.

He parked beside a Ford Transit, and as soon as he had turned off the ignition, the rear doors of the Transit opened.

Rajek jumped out, followed by another heavily tattooed and armed man. Diego stepped out and opened the trunk of Shattner’s car, and Rajek and the other man started loading burlap sacks in the boot from the Transit. Shattner stood for a moment watching the activity and then helped the transfer. He reckoned there were two hundred kilos that got loaded in the car, and from the smell, he suspected the sacks contained crack.

Rajek and his companion drove off without a word, but not without Rajek grinning at Shattner. Maybe he was wondering how long Shattner had to live.

‘You think this is a picnic?’ Diego growled when Shattner stood staring at the back of the Ford Transit.

Shattner got behind the wheel and followed Diego’s directions, taking the Belt Parkway, moving out of the city and southwards. His suspicions were confirmed when they took the I-95 and merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

‘New Jersey, huh?’ He turned to Diego and received a stony look in return.

He shrugged and continued driving without stopping at any of the services. Conversation wasn’t Diego’s strongest point.

Southport in Gloucester City, New Jersey, on the Delaware River was once the site of a nineteenth- century shipyard and later was an industrial site. Now it was abandoned and fenced off, industry and shipping deserting the city, and this was where Shattner guessed the crack was heading to.

A brilliant choice for a deal to go down since law enforcement never ventured there, and the only people that visited were the odd fisherman or jogger.

They drove through the city, driving normally so as not to attract any attention, and Diego relaxed beside him. Relaxed like a snake. Down they went on Klemm Avenue and through to Market Street, the town, a very small place that industry forgot and where everyone knew the other.

On Water Street, Diego made him drive all the way from the waterfront to an abandoned industrial site where power stations, chimneys, and buildings defined desolation.

Shattner parked in front of an enormous opening to a long, dilapidated structure that ran for a mile on either side of the entrance, its roof partially blown away, exposing an intestine of girders and frames. From the inside of the structure came the sound of an engine revving, and another drab Ford Transit emerged from the maw of the building and rattled across towards them. The Transit reversed so that it was back to back with Shattner’s car.

Four heavily armed men emerged from the rear of the Transit and headed towards Diego.

Through the rearview mirror Shattner could see the men sported assault rifles and handguns; one had an M203 grenade launcher hanging from his shoulder. All four of them sported the tattoos of 5Clubs; Shattner suspected this was a trade between Cruz’s chapter and whichever other chapter these four belonged to.

Diego opened the trunk, and the four men swiftly began transferring the crack to the van. He stood at one side, talking into his mobile, his gun hand casually resting inside his jacket.

Shattner, taking his cue from Diego, felt around his back, pulled out his Glock and placed it in his lap. He angled the mirrors so that he could see everyone behind him.

And then everyone heard it. Their arrival could be heard a long way away, the throbbing of powerful engines approaching fast.