Part Twenty-Four

Jim raised the cuff of his coat sleeve and glanced at the luminescent numbers on the face of his watch; 12:42 a.m. Cocking his head methodically from side to side, he worked to loosen the small knot forming at the base of his neck. His back and shoulders were just beginning to pronounce their displeasure at remaining inert for so long.

Four hours had passed without a solitary sign of activity in the vicinity of the building. Maybe Danny had been right after all; the impending threat of the season's first real accumulation of snow and the thermostat dipping well below the freezing mark meant the rats wouldn't be leaving the comforts of home on this night.

Intricate frost etchings splintered web-like across the windshield and glistened in fractured patterns, silvery white against the dark hood of the car. With the air inside nearing what Jim likened to that of a meat locker, his own immunity to the cold was waning; his feet were numb in his boots, his nose and ears frozen, the chill finally penetrating through the protective layers of his clothing. He flexed his gloved hands to encourage circulation back to his numbing fingertips.

Danny had drifted off to sleep shortly before midnight, the occasional snore a most welcome substitute to his persistent commentary about the falling temperatures. Still, Jim thought, it was good of him to come; he could just as easily have told Jim to screw it. Their day had ended hours ago, the next one now only a few short hours away. But, Jim had no doubt when he indicated what it was he wanted to do that he wouldn't be doing it alone, that Danny would be here with him. In the eighteen months since they'd partnered up, he had never given Jim cause to question his level of commitment to the job or his sense of loyalty to his partner.

He wasn't sure exactly where or when the turning point in Danny's confidence had occurred, only that it had, until Jim recognized that he could count on him without question; Danny would have his back no matter what. And that was such a good feeling. If that anticipated application to transfer did come through, Jim knew full well that finding a replacement for him wouldn't be an easy task.

He reached over and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. "Hey, Bellamy, wake up."

"What? What is it?" he stammered to the unexpected intrusion.

"Let's get out of here," Jim said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Looks like the playground's going to be quiet tonight."

"I tried to tell you, Dunbar, it's too freaking cold." Danny said, yawning widely and stretching his cramped limbs. "Hey, what time is it anyway?"

"Going on one o'clock," Jim responded with a yawn of his own. "We get out of here now we can still catch a couple of hours before that alarm goes off."

He slipped the key in the ignition and would have turned it, but Danny's arm slammed against his chest, stopping him short and knocking him back against the seat.

"Get down, Jimmy," he hissed, throwing himself sideways. "Looks like we might have some company after all."

Slumping behind the wheel, as low as his bulky frame would allow, Jim peered over the dash as a small box truck rumbled past and pulled over to the curb, maneuvering up and back until the rear of the cargo compartment was situated conveniently close to the front entrance of the old warehouse, blocking it entirely from their view.

"Stay down, Danny. Looks like we've got one more," Jim whispered, the approaching headlights of a second vehicle illuminating the car's interior. A sedan, dark and nondescript, the type driven by old men in Florida and task force officers, pulled in directly behind the truck. "Shit," he said acridly, "that's unmarked NYPD. Alex was absolutely right."

Exiting both vehicles, the occupants congregated in a circle, their seemingly intense discussion accentuated by vaporous clouds against the night's blackness. He wondered silently if Alex's demise was occupying any portion of that conversation.

"How many are there?" Danny asked from his prone position.

"Three; two from the truck, one from the car."

"Can you make anyone out, Dunbar?"

"Not from this distance. There isn't enough light to say for sure," he answered, craning forward as far as he dared, "but I'd say the build on our driver is just about right for Vince Basillio" "Then he is more than just a name to you?"

"I guess," he said, with a shrug of his chin. "I'd see him around every once in a while, talk to him, you know. We didn't have many occasions to cross paths outside of the job that often back then. And it's been a while since I've seen him."

"But you knew him?"

"Knew of him would be more like it….even so, Danny, I don't remember anything to suggest he was dirty or hearing anything to indicate he'd go that way either."

"Funny what greed does to a person, huh? And, you know what they say, Jimmy, it's always the least expected ones."

Anger bit at his words. "That son of a bitch! I can't believe how many man hours we put in clearing guns off the streets in my day with the three-four and now he's running them? He shook his head, "I'll tell you what, Danny, this is one case I shouldn't be working from so many angles. My old squad, Alex's murder….Jesus, the world just got a whole lot smaller."

"Yeah, and if they succeed in moving that stash out of there, it's going to get a whole lot bigger, Dunbar, and a lot more violent," Danny answered. "And since they've got the truck, it looks like that's exactly what they're here to do."

"No doubt," Jim said, watching as the small circle dispersed and disappeared from his line of sight. "We can try to get them on the guns first and then we'll see if we can make one of them sing. Are you with me?"

"Let's do it," Danny responded without hesitation.

Moving swiftly across the barren street, Jim kept a light step against the frozen pavement. He ducked into the sanctuary of the recessed entrance to the adjacent building and peered cautiously around the corner. Sure that his arrival had gone undetected, he advanced to the cover of the truck cab, crouching, gun drawn, beside its wide-toothed grill. With a quick wave of his hand, he motioned Danny over.

"Stay behind me," he whispered, inching forward to take stock of their situation. The side door of the box was wide open, secured in place with a heavy latch, a wooden ramp linking the elevated cargo hold with the sidewalk below. From his angle it was apparent that the box was vacant and unguarded. "All clear."

Danny crept forward, positioning himself within ear shot of his partner. "Now what?" he whispered.

"If they intend to empty that place out tonight, they're going to have to move fast," Jim responded, keeping his voice hushed. "We wait."

"What about back-up?"

"Once we know for sure what it is we're up against. Alex has been right about everything so far but I want to make damn sure we have what we need to nail these guys before we make that call." Crawling forward, he peered around the swell of the wheel well and pulled back immediately. "We've got some movement, Danny."

The thud of wheels, bumping over the rough wooden ramp, catching against the uneven joints, signaled the transfer of the first load of merchandise to the truck. Jim listened intently to the sound of footsteps, determining exactly how many had accompanied that load. He raised two fingers in confirmation.

They crouched in that position, silence holding between them, through three loads, until they were absolutely certain that only one person was in the truck at any given time, the other returning with the empty cart for the next haul.

As the cart bumped down the ramp for a third time, Jim turned to Danny. "We need to take them down systematically, one at a time, agreed? As soon as we know our guy in the truck is alone again, I'm going in."

"Where do you want me?"

"Right here. Just stay down" he said handing him the phone. "Wait for my signal, then you call for back-up. We'll take the second one together and grab the inside guy last."

"I don't know, Jimmy… I think that's taking a mighty big risk."

"Look, Danny, it's just one guy. I can handle it, okay?"

"Okay," he said hesitantly, "you're the boss."

Jim motioned to Danny with a forward wave of his hand and moved to the side of the truck, pinning himself as tight as possible to the vehicle. Reaching the bottom of the ramp, he glanced upward at the box, noting that the occupant had his back to the door and was engaged with the cargo, sliding it across the floor and stacking it, one carton on top of the other, in rows against the far wall. Jim stayed back, until his perp had his hands full with the next carton, then gun drawn, he advanced, keeping his eyes locked on the target inside.

He progressed up the ramp with calm, deliberate steps, confident as he moved closer to the target, that this was going to go down exactly as planned, an easy pin. He never saw what hit him; it caught him from behind, landing a heavy blow to the side of his head that sent him spiraling into the blackness and tumbling from the ramp to the hard concrete below.

Coming to, he found himself flat on his back, a small pool of congealed blood coloring the concrete floor beside him. A dull beam of light from a distant bulb sliced through the haze in his head. He struggled to roll over and with considerable effort, managed to get himself up on all fours. Bringing a hand to his head, he gingerly searched for and found a sizeable lump just above his left temple. There was a noticeable ringing in his ears, a symptom he was sure, of whatever it was that had sent him tumbling into the darkness in the first place. He shook his head and sat upright on his knees, closing his eyes against the whirling room.

"Well, well, well, Jimmy Dunbar." A strong foot connected with his torso, sending him sprawling to the floor again. Balling his body into a fetal position, he pressed his hands to his bruised ribs and fought to reclaim his breath.

"Basillio, you don't want to do this," he managed.

"Get up," he snarled, lunging for Jim. Grabbing hold of his coat collar, he forced him to his feet. "You haven't left me with a choice, Dunbar."

Jim steadied himself on weak legs and sized up his situation. From what he could make out through a left eye that was already swelling shut and a right eye not quite in focus, they were alone in the warehouse, the remainder of the booty stacked up around them, waiting to be lifted and loaded.

At any other time he would have fought back, but the man standing in front of him now had him at an obvious disadvantage.

"Why, Vince?"

"Why what? Why am I going to kill you?" he said, aiming the barrel of the gun at Jim's chest. "Why couldn't you just keep your nose out of it? Huh? You're not even in jurisdiction for Christ's sake."

"I'm a cop," he said matter of factly. "It's what I do."

"You always were too damn smart for your own good, Dunbar. But you can't tell me that given the right price, you wouldn't turn."

Jim shook his head. "No way, you're wrong." He struggled to stay upright, the pain in his head equaled only by the sharp ache in his side. Glancing up at Vincent Basillio, he smiled wryly. "Is that what happened to Alex D'Ambrosia? Huh? Was she too smart for you, Vince?"

"Alex?" He glared at Jim, his mouth drawn into a hardened line. "What does she have to do with this?"

"How the hell do you think I found you? I know names, I know dates, I know it all, Vince." Jim wasn't sure what he saw cross that face, panic or contempt.

He drew an anxious sleeve across his brow. "Well, that's what's going to cost you, Dunbar. Once we get this warehouse cleaned out, you and me are going to go take a nice ride. And then you're going to go for a little swim. You do swim, don't you, Jim?"

"We won't be going anywhere," Jim responded, smartly. "You, on the other hand..." The gun handle met squarely with his jaw, dropping him to his knees again.

"I guess you're not as smart as you used to be, Dunbar," he sneered. "What made you think you could do this alone, huh?" He buried his hand in Jim's hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look squarely into his eyes. "You don't have a hope in hell of stopping us now."

"We'll see about that," he spit through clenched teeth. Jesus, he thought, if he thinks I'm alone, Danny has to be alright. He closed his one good eye. "We'll see."

"Basillio!" A voice boomed through the warehouse and echoed in Jim's aching head. "I don't see no one. Come on, man, we got to move."

Yanking Jim's arms violently behind his back, enough to glaze his eyes with tears, he secured them there with multiple wraps of duct tape. Planting a foot squarely into Jim's chest, he shoved him against the wall. "You be good, Dunbar and stay put. We'll finish this later."

He wasn't exactly sure how long he remained there; time enough for two additional trips to and from the truck and another meeting with the barrel of the gun. Beaten and bloody, his left eye now completely swollen shut, he leaned back against the wall and allowed himself to drift into that state between awareness and sleep, too tired and bruised to fight the urge any longer.

More awake than not, he heard it; a wail somewhere in the distance, pulling him back to full consciousness. It took a minute or two for him to realize that the sound was real, growing stronger, louder, until it was right there, just beyond the brick wall, the red and blue flash of lights strobing across the dusty window panes. Multiple gun shots ripped through the night before the silence settled again. He waited with bated breath.

"Dunbar !"

Bellamy. He leaned his head back against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. "Over here."

"Jesus Christ, Jimmy, you look like hell," Bellamy said, crouching in front of his partner. "Are you hurt?" He reached behind Jim's back and sliced through the duct tape, freeing his hands.

"I'm fine." Jim managed a weak smile and winced, pain shooting through his jaw. "Did you get them?"

"Yeah. We got them, Jimmy. One dead. Basillio's in custody."

"Good... that's good." He held out a hand. "Hey, help me up."

Bellamy grasped his hand and gently pulled his partner upright. "You're going to look great on your wedding day, Jimmy," he said with a light-hearted slap on the back. "I think Christie's going to kill you."

"Better her than Basillio," he said quietly, acutely aware of what might have happened. "Hey, Danny..."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He slid into the warmth of his bed and carefully squirmed his way over to where she lay sleeping. Burying his nose against the softness of her hair, he breathed deep.

She stirred lightly beside him. "Jimmy?"
"Shhhhhhhhhh. I'm home."

"Everything okay?" she asked sleepily.

"It is now," he answered quietly, drawing her closer to him and draping an arm around her waist. "I'll tell you about it in the morning."