Chapter 7
Several days later Rizzi sat down opposite Edmondo in a booth inside Bianco. The restaurant was mostly empty at this hour, but they sat apart from the customers regardless. A glass of wine stood on the table before Edmondo. He adjusted his glasses and held his tablet out towards her. "Does this man look familiar to you?"
"Can't say he does," Rizzi admitted after a moment. The man on the screen was what they called "very dead:" splayed out on a morgue table and staring lifelessly upwards. Then she frowned at the partially visible skull tattooed on his upper arm. "Is that-"
"A Vargas marking, yes." Edmondo switched the image to another corpse. "What about him?"
She had a harder time making out what remained of this one's face. Most of the right side was a mangled mess from a pistol round; she'd seen and inflicted enough gunshot wounds to recognize the work of a nine-millimeter hollow point. Susan supposed that ought to have set off some alarm bells about her life, but…
Well, c'est la vie.
"Never seen him, but let me guess. Another Vargas man?"
"Yes."
"Why are you showing me these?" she asked. "What's this about?"
"A verification," said Edmondo. "These men were killed in the last few days. Mister Fabbro did not explicitly order their deaths, and while he does not mourn their passing, the affairs of the Vargas cartel are currently of interest. Did you commit these acts?"
Susan shook her head. "Wasn't my job. I haven't been taking contracts on the side, if that's what you're getting at."
"That isn't our concern here." Edmondo took a sip from his wineglass. "Have you any inkling of who might have done this?"
She thought back to the evening with Wu. "Believe it or not, I think Silver Mountain might be involved."
Edmondo sighed. "Mister Fabbro isn't going to like that."
"Why not? 'Enemy of my enemy' and all that, right?"
"I'm afraid Mister Fabbro holds a more confrontational stance towards the Silver Mountain."
"Oh god," said Susan. "Don't tell me it's personal."
Edmondo nodded.
"Because that always ends well."
"Silver Mountain's involvement – how do you know this?"
"It-" Susan paused. "An overheard conversation."
"Where? The Continental?"
She nodded – and wondered why she was keeping quiet about Wu to her employers. He was competition, working for her employers' enemy. And yet…
"You know how the Continental is," she said. "No business on their grounds."
"We are aware," Edmondo said. "And while Mister Fabbro is not overly enamored of certain traditions among our compatriots, he does respect them."
"You don't sound so sure of that."
Edmondo sighed, adjusted his glasses, and took another sip of his wine – a sizable one. "Let's just say that I've had to convince Mister Fabbro of the… value of maintaining certain relationships more than once."
His admission sent a jolt of shock and fear through her. Had Fabbro really intended to violate the Continental's rules at some point? "It would be unwise to cross the-"
"Yes, it would." Edmondo shook his head. "And I won't ask you to do so. You overheard something; good enough. Let's leave it at that for now."
"Sounds good to me."
"I don't suppose you also happened to overhear why the Silver Mountain is in conflict with Vargas?"
Rizzi snorted softly. "Because it's Vargas?"
"That's… actually a good point. At least the Silver Mountain tends towards rationality in most of their decisions. Sometimes I think Vargas enjoys recruiting utter maniacs."
"Yeah. Susan leaned back in her seat. "It's almost like we live in a world of criminal organizations and contract killers."
"There's no need to be snide," said Edmondo, though a ghost of a smile passed across his face. "Such is the reality of our life, no? My point is the Vargas cartel is dangerous in a way beyond the other groups. A serpent or a tiger is a predator, one that lives according to certain needs. Vargas is more akin to a rabid dog."
"I think they might actually take that as a compliment."
"And that should be cause for alarm. Vargas making moves within Manhattan sets a dangerous precedent. It's time for a certain amount of triage."
"A shift of priorities?" Rizzi said. "You plan to focus more on Vargas instead of the Silver Mountain."
"A temporary measure. We ought to strike them hard, before they grow further entrenched in the city. If Silver Mountain possesses any measure of solid sense, they'll certainly be doing the same."
"Right. So, who do you want me to kill?"
"Their distribution network." Eighth Tiger Shun sipped from the porcelain teacup and peered over the steam wafting from it at Elijah. "You understand the task before you?"
"It won't be easy," said Wu. "The feds have been trying for what, decades?"
"Feds?" Shun frowned for a moment. "Ah, you mean the American government." He waved a dismissive hand. "We do not mean to eradicate the scourge entirely. It is the nature of man that vices endure. Nor are we bound by their laws and approach. This is not about eliminating the distributors; this is about opening the eyes of Vargas to the reality of encroaching upon this city, upon our territory."
"Do you understand what you're demanding?" Elijah asked. A part of him wondered at the wisdom of doing so as Shun's face darkened, his temper rising to the fore. "This is going to unleash chaos on the streets."
Another dismissive wave. "Acceptable. It may actually be beneficial to us."
Xiao Ma spoke up for the first time since he'd sat down at the round table, sliding a flash drive across towards Wu. "We have been tracking the pattern of drug trafficking in the city for some time now. The sources and supply are the most problematic, but the petty dealers and peddlers on the street are significantly more transparent. There's been a sharp increase of product in Hell's Kitchen."
"They're not wasting time," said Elijah.
"And neither should you," Shun said. "They are not yet rooted deeply. Distribution is still a weakness. Strike at it and they will have no choice but to respond – and expose themselves."
"So I'm bait."
"Is that a problem, Wu-cike?"
Elijah grinned. "It comes with the job."
"There's no specific target at this moment," Edmondo said. "This is… call it preparation. Information gathering."
"Alright," Susan said. "And what do you want me to do?"
"There have been indications that Vargas has managed to move a sizable shipment into the city. We must locate it."
"And you want me to do that?" she asked. "I'm more of a blunt instrument, Edmondo."
"You give yourself too little credit," he replied. "Besides, we're not asking you to singlehandedly destroy their stockpiles."
"They do know who I am," Rizzi said. "If you're looking for discrete subterfuge you-" She paused. "You're not looking for discrete subterfuge, are you? You want me to kick the damn hornet's nest."
"Close," said Edmondo. "As I said, we aren't expecting you to dismantle the cartel's New York operations. But obfuscation and misdirection are powerful tools."
"Not really Fabbro's styles though, are they?"
He shrugged.
"So, you use me to draw their attention while your informants work behind the scenes."
"You understand, we wouldn't be able to directly support you. That would defeat the purpose, after all."
Not having to deal with Fabbro's bozos? Susan grinned. "It comes with the job."
By the time he killed the fourth drug dealer group of the day Wu thought he was starting to see some kind of pattern in what Vargas was doing. The intel and observations that the Silver Mountain had collected sent him ranging throughout the western half of Manhattan. The Vargas cartel was trying to spread its tendrils as far and wide as they could, getting its product out as fast as possible. They didn't seem picky about their distributors either; Wu had already killed in locations ranging from a leaking, rotting dump of an apartment to here, an upscale place in one of the nicer parts of Clinton.
He finished arranging the bodies: four of them with the stash of garish weapons they'd been keeping. Wu staged the scene to look like a quarrel among the group had escalated disastrously. It wouldn't hold up to any serious investigation, but it would do for the time being as the Silver Mountain pulled strings with the authorities. A pile of wrapped drugs sat on a table in the middle of the living room, ready to be separated into smaller packets for individual sale. He swept them into disarray. If it looked like they'd been fighting over their own product so much the better.
He thought of the shipment at the docks they'd destroyed. That obviously wasn't the only one if Vargas had moved this much in. So where else were they bringing shipments in? They could have been smuggling small batches in a bit at a time, but to flood the streets like they were doing… that implied a stockpile of some kind.
Wu flipped through the apartment quickly before reminding himself that he was overthinking his job again. And yet… he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something here, some clue. Like the pack of matches sitting by the cigarettes on one table. The tobacco didn't stand out. The matches, on the other hand… He picked the little fold-over packet up. Worn, tattered, and water-logged. The cover had a logo from some shipping company; not something somebody who could afford an upscale apartment was likely to have anything to do with. The sheer incongruity of the little packet struck him enough that Wu tucked the matches into a pocket before heading to the door. He slipped a loop of nylon string around the thumbturn of the deadbolt.
Holding the other end carefully at the right height, Wu exited the apartment and shut the door. A swift tug flipped the thumbturn and locked the door from within, the loop sliding off and through the crack in the doorframe as he pulled. Down the hallway outside to the elevator, Wu moved purposefully but not too quickly. No reason to raise suspicions if he could help it. He waited for it to run up, then climbed in, hit the button, and rode it down to the ground floor. The doors slid open and-
Susan Rizzi waited on the other side. Her eyes widened in recognition. Then her arm lashed up, elbow leading the way in a strike towards his temple. Wu parried with an open palm, feeling the sting as her arm smacked into his hand. He rolled his fingers over to seek a control grip and seized her wrist with his other hand – only to let go in a hurry as her other arm came up over their locked ones, fist driving for his face. He ducked that blow, parried the second when she withdrew and launched an uppercut, then released her arm and shoved out, pushing her away.
Rizzi clasped her hands together behind his neck as she staggered backwards, dragging him out of the elevator. She drew herself close, the lock of her wrists pinching at his neck, and thrust her knee up. Wu turned a thigh, taking the impact on the meat of his leg. He let out a grunt; she kept hauling him back with her, not letting him get his footing. He reached up with both hands and hooked her elbows, plucking them out to the side to relieve the pressure at his neck. Two more knee strikes went into his leg with bruising impact – and then they both paused as footsteps came from the lobby. Somebody coming to investigate, or just somebody heading home.
Rizzi turned her head fractionally towards the sound, then swung him towards the corner besides the elevator, pushing him against the wall quickly but without slamming force. She pressed herself up against him – and kissed him hard.
The temptation to lose himself in that warmth surged up. The footsteps drew closer and he heard an amused grunt before they receded. Rizzi pulled back a moment later. Too bad the other person hadn't stuck around a little longer.
"Nice to see you," Wu said quietly.
Rizzi gave him a look of equal parts suspicion, exasperation, and… was that affection? "I'm not here for you."
"Really? Odd way to show that."
"You surprised me."
He realized they both had their pistols jammed into each other's ribs, up against mutual ballistic vests.
"Let me guess," she murmured. "I won't be questioning the dealers here anymore."
"Afraid not."
She blew out a quick exhalation of annoyance, still close enough that he felt the puff against his throat. "So much for that lead."
"What are you here for?" he asked.
Rizzi stared at him for a moment before answering. "One of my contacts pointed me this way. Couple of guys who hadn't really moved anything beyond party drugs before, suddenly offering hard stuff? Bit of a coincidence."
"You said question them."
"I don't care how Vargas distributes their product, I want-" She broke off, scowled at him. "You're the guy offing the dealers? I've been running around all day with nothing but bodies to show for it." She prodded him with the muzzle of her pistol. "It's getting annoying."
"Nothing personal," Wu said. "Just-"
"Business. I can imagine." Rizzi backed her pistol away, lowering it slightly. "Truce?"
"I'm not here for you either." He flipped his pistol on safe. "So what did you want to ask our dearly departed about?"
He saw the internal debate in her eyes, and then she tilted her head fractionally to the side. "The Vargas stockpile."
"Well, that's ambitious."
"Business," she said again. "Not my idea." Rizzi tucked her pistol away and stepped back from him. "And I'm wasting my time here."
As she turned to leave a sudden idea struck him. "Wait." He drew the packet of matches out, held it out to her.
"And this is?"
"Maybe a lead. It came from our friends upstairs."
Rizzi looked at him suspiciously for another moment, then reached out and took the pack, her fingertips brushing against his in the briefest contact. She glanced down at it. "A shipping company?"
"Not something you'd typically find in a yuppie apartment."
"Why give this to me?"
Good question, Wu thought. He rolled responses around his mind before answering. "It's not my job," he said. "But maybe it's yours."
"Professional courtesy again?" She smirked and took another step backwards. "That's going to get you killed one day, you know."
"Maybe."
Susan kept heading for the corner to the lobby, never turning her back to him. "See you around." She ducked around the wall with a swish of her coat.
Wu stared after her for a moment. He wasn't betraying the Silver Mountain; nobody wanted Vargas to get any more entrenched in the city. Let Rizzi do her own thing in this regard. All the same, he probably shouldn't tell Eighth Tiger about cooperating with the assassin on Fabbro's payroll. He shrugged and started moving.
"I just want to talk!" Rizzi sprinted down the street outside the office building. This branch of the Neptune Nautical Transport Corporation was a boring but functional cube of gray stone and red brick. The interior had shared that same drab mentality; dark beige carpeting, corporate posters and standard cubicles partitioning the inside space. She'd come looking for answers from the trail the matchbook had sent her on. This wasn't the first stop. She'd already learned that the matchbooks were standard fare on cargo ships, part of the array of entertainments afforded to those sailors who helped haul goods and products as part of international trade.
And the more illicit trades as well.
She'd come looking for Nathan Trenton; the man currently running away from her. Rizzi growled in irritation as she chased after him; just her luck that Trenton seemed to run marathons for fun or something. But then, she doubted his profession called for quite as much cardio as hers. She redoubled her efforts and caught up, weaving in between other people on the street. Grabbing his arm she redirected him into a nearby alley underneath one of the ubiquitous construction scaffolds that littered the city.
"I just want to talk." She shoved Trenton up against the wall once they got far enough in away from passing eyes and ears. "We could have avoided all this."
"Please," said Trenton, panting for breath. He had a slender build that the cut of his business suit emphasized and an angular face. "I don't know anything."
What the hell was this: amateur hour? Rizzi shook her head. "Okay, Trenton. Let me say this up front. You are in way over your head here."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Now he had that wide-eyed, desperate look of a man caught in a lie.
Rizzi kept herself from rolling her eyes. This really was amateur hour. "Your first mistake," she said, "was altering shipment manifests under your own login. Your second mistake was rabbiting as soon as I started asking about container transfers. Word of advice, running doesn't make you look innocent."
"No, no. I thought you-"
"You thought you got caught and tried to run. Actually, I take it back. Your first mistake was getting mixed up with the Vargas cartel."
Trenton turned pale at that. "You have to believe me. I didn't know it was them at first. It was just a side thing! A little extra cash, and my girlfriend thought it was so edgy and-"
"The containers," Rizzi broke in. "I know you divert shipping containers from Port Newark. At least some of them make their way up the Hudson into Manhattan. I want to know where."
"You- What?" Trenton stammered a moment. "I don't know anything about that!"
"Try again. You need to clear destination statements for the Port Authority."
Trenton winced at that. "But I don't know where they go after that."
"You know the initial destination. That's all I need from you."
"Please, they'll kill me if I-"
Rizzi drew her pistol and held it down by her side.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod." Trenton held his hands up and whimpered. "Please, please. I don't know anything, I swear!"
"Upriver," Rizzi said. "Where do you send the containers? I'm not going to ask you again." She raised the pistol up to chest height.
"West Fifty-Ninth Street! The Department of Sanitation! There's a private dock there. That's where they send the shipments. That's all I know, I swear!"
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Rizzi sighed. "You really shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this."
"I told you everything I know! Please! Please don't!"
She raised the pistol. "Face the wall. It'll be easier this way."
Trenton groaned and for a moment she thought he'd refuse. Then he spun and practically flung himself against the wall, muttering platitudes and apologies to the world. She held the gun on him for a moment longer; drawing it out would be unnecessarily cruel.
Rizzi lowered the gun and stepped back silently, then left the alley swiftly and quietly before Trenton was any the wiser. She had a place to start. Fabbro may have sent her after the Vargas cartel as a distraction, but after Brazil she owed them a measure of bloodshed and death.
And she would pay it in full.
