Chapter 18

The arrival of the unmarked police cruiser on the dimly lit street would normally send the homeless, drug dealers, hookers and other ne’er-do-wells melting away into the darkness. But there were no furtive scurries; the scene as they stopped in front of the dilapidated warehouse was already starkly still and silent.

Bobby groaned softly, his body fighting to recover from the Pete’s taser. Barbara and Sandy were barely breathing as they clung to each other behind the security screen, fearfully watching Pete turn to look at them with a superior smirk.

“How’re you feeling now, sluts?”

“Pete, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but...” Barbara began tentatively.

“Shut up!” he barked. “You’d both stab me in the back the first chance you got, so don’t bother trying to fool me again. You’ll spread for that fucking school teacher when I’ve risked everything for you? Now you’ll see what it’s like to be treated like the trash you are.”

“Bobby hasn’t done anything to you, Pete, and neither has Barb.” Sandy protested. ‘I’ll go out with you again if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve had your house and phone bugged for months, so you can save your lies.”

“You what?” Sandy shrieked. “You...”

She froze as Pete pointed his pistol at her face. After several seconds of silence his other hand rose to dangle two ball gags for them to look at fearfully.

“Both of you slide over to one side of the car,” he ordered. When they had complied he got out and opened the door opposite where they huddled, tossing in the gags and two sets of handcuffs. “Put the gags on each other, then cuff your hands behind your backs.”

“Pete, please don’t do this. We’re sorry...” Barb implored him.

Pete simply pointed his gun at her son and raised an eyebrow at her. The two women reluctantly followed his orders, despite their hands shaking in fear.

Pete grinned evilly in satisfaction. “We’re going inside to meet a friend of mine. And we’re not going to waste any time listening to a couple of cheating cunts. Besides, you better be nice since you’re going to be his crack whores pretty soon. After you’ve spent a few weeks high on heroin and crank, you’ll find yourself enjoying standing on a street corner and fucking whoever comes by with twenty bucks.”

“Pete, what’s going on?” Bobby said groggily, trying to sit up and finding he couldn’t.

Pete shrugged. “Sorry, kid. The boss wants the guy responsible for killing his man that night at the garage. And since your dad was turning over stolen cars for the Mexican gang he’s at war with, I don’t think he’ll waste too much time listening to anything you have to say about why you did it.”

Bobby handcuffs rattled as he turned to face him. “He wasn’t ... he was just helping the cops! He was helping you!”

“Sure he was,” Pete replied sardonically. “Why don’t you tell him that? I’ll back you up,” he said, his laugh shaded by more than a touch of hysteria.

Pete chained his three captives together in a line, spaced a couple paces apart, before herding them into the building. As they entered the cavernous space, they could see it was being used as a ‘chop-shop’ where stolen cars were dismembered for parts to be sold on the black market.

They wended their way through car bodies and removed parts to the rear of the building where brighter lights were illuminating a few tables and other office furniture. Two men and a woman rose from battered chairs at their approach.

Jack Polanski stood with arms folded, flanked by Al and Kitty. He eyed Pete skeptically.

“What the fuck is this?” he sneered, spittle coming from his lips, his eyes red and hugely dilated. “I want the heads of the assholes that killed my boys at the garage, not some god damned civilians.”

“Sir, I don’t know what Pete’s told you, but ... uhggg!” Bobby staggered from the butt of Pete’s pistol slamming into his kidneys.

“This kid is the son of the spic that ran the garage for the Mexicans, and these sluts were his bitches – they helped run the operation. Don’t get too close to his feet, he knows martial arts shit. He’s the one that snapped your guy’s neck that night before I could stop him.”

Polanski’s eyes narrowed with mad rage. “That right, kid? You killed him?”

Bobby just stared back, unsure of what answer would get them all killed or left alive.

“What do you expect him to say?” Pete sneered. “I brought what you asked for. What you do with them is up to you, but I’m not staying around to watch. Just make sure none of them can tell anyone how you got them – ever.” He flipped the handcuff keys at Jack and turned to leave.

“Hey, Pete?” Al called in a surprisingly gentle voice.

“What?” Pete snapped, turning back in annoyance. His eye widened as he looked down the nine millimeter barrel of the Glock in Al’s steady hand.

“Just this,” Al murmured as he calmly squeezed the trigger.

While the sound of the shot shattered the stillness in the building, the shot itself shattered Pete’s skull. The metal jacketed projectile punched through his forehead between his disbelieving eyes, an instant before blowing out the back of his head. His lifeless body fell like a puppet with its strings cut, flopping gracelessly to the concrete floor.

As Pete’s former captives stared at his body in silent horror, Jack turned on Al. “What the fuck?” he screamed.

Al shrugged. “It was part of the deal. The Mexicans didn’t want to be the ones to kill a cop, even if Pete was the one trying to set them up.”

“What fucking deal?” Jack raged.

“The deal to end the war with them,” Al replied. “But there’s more to it.”

“You made a deal with the spics without telling me? I’ll have your fucking head for that! You god damned better...”

Those were the last words Jack Polanski ever spoke, for at that moment four inches of razor sharp steel was jammed into the right side of his neck. It burned like focused fire as the tip passed through his throat before the hilt slapped against the flesh over his jugular vein, halting its journey as blood spurted around it.