Beck’s phone started signaling another call coming through.
“Shit.” Beck had never figured out how to keep one call on hold and take the incoming call, so he just pressed talk on his cell phone.
“Yeah.”
“Interesting news, James.”
“Jeezus, now what Ricky?”
“We tracked that big dude from Lexington and Fifty-seventh. Guess where he went?”
“I’m not in the mood for guesses. We got armed visitors in front of the bar.”
“Fuuuuuck. Sorry. Okay, big boy went to One Police Plaza. Was inside about an hour. Came out. Now he’s walking downtown. Jonas is trailing him on foot.”
“Shit, fuck.”
“Yeah, shit fuck.”
“Okay, I’ll call you back. Stay on him.”
Christ, thought Beck, that’s all I need: the fucking NYPD joining forces with everybody else. Had to be that asshole Milstein. He couldn’t worry about it now.
Beck tried to see if Ciro was still on the line, but the phone was dead. He shoved it into his pocket.
“What’s up?” said Manny.
“More fucking trouble. I’ll tell you later.”
Beck watched as the bearded leader checked out the industrial buildings on either side of his building. Then the empty lot across the street. He peered out into the harbor. Clearly getting the lay of the land.
*
Anastasia motioned for his men to follow across the street into an empty lot. The three disappeared off Conover Street and hunkered down behind a pile of derelict shipping skids.
Anastasia pulled out a small but powerful set of binoculars and focused on Beck’s building. It seemed to be locked up tight and empty. He peered at each window, looking for any movement at all, and then just as he was about to look away, he saw a curtain move on the second floor. Somebody was checking him out.
From his seated position behind the skids, Harris asked, “What do you think?”
“There’s no number on the door. None on the buildings on either side, but GPS says this is the place and the building outlines match the 3-D map. It looks empty, but it’s not. There are people in there. They don’t want anybody to think there is, but they’re watching the street.”
Harris said, “Yeah, I saw those drapes move up on the second floor. At least I think I did.”
“You did. Notice anything else?”
Williams answered in his clipped South African accent. “There was a black man behind us for a block or two as we walked over here, but he turned into a pharmacy before we came this way. I doubt if he was trailing us. Don’t think he took any notice.”
Anastasia looked around one more time. “Well, I got that eyes-on-us feeling. My money says they’re in there, which is most of what we need to know. Let’s hang out here for a bit and see what happens.”
*
Beck stayed on the west side of Conover behind a panel truck, down on his knees, the cold and wet penetrating though his jeans, watching the three mercenaries disappear into the lot across from his building.
Beck pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Demarco.
“Where are you, D?”
‘I’m sittin’ in the Merc. In the garage. Got a feeling you might need the car. At least more’n you need me walking all the way around and letting those fellows see me again so they know they’ve been made.”
Beck smiled at Demarco’s smarts.
“You think they spotted you?”
“Of course. They haven’t seen someone as good-looking as me maybe ever.”
He told Demarco, “Okay, D, I want to keep track of these fuckers. If you try to follow them they might spot you. Certainly if you try to trail them back to their car. Willie said they parked over by the ballfield just past the projects. Those three have to be connected to Markov. Markov is connected to Kolenka. So roll out ahead of them. Drive back to the area around that building on Coney Island Avenue where we met Kolenka. Just park around there and see if they show up in the neighborhood and follow them to wherever they land.”
“Will do. Even if they don’t show up, I’ll see what’s doing around there.”
“Good.”
“Can you get a description of their car?”
“I’ll call Willie now. Head out whenever you want. I’ll have it for you before you reach the area.”
Beck cut off the call and thought through the situation. Clearly Markov and Kolenka were getting ready to attack. Beck decided to make sure they did.
He called Ciro.
“You see where those guys ended up?”
“Across the street behind some skids.”
“Okay. I’m coming in. If it looks like they might take a shot at me, try to shoot ’em first.”
Beck got up off his knee.
Manny reached for his arm.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
56
Detective First Grade Jeffrey Esposito had planned on using the last part of his shift to catch up on his paperwork. He’d set up at his desk in the Brooklyn South 76th Precinct with all his case files, assorted memos, and papers piled on the left side of his desk, and various reporting forms, logbooks, and notebooks on the right side.
He figured he would put in two or three solid hours and get it all done. Until one of the civilian clerks came up to his desk and said the precinct captain wanted to see him in his office.
Not good, thought Esposito. He checked his watch. Nearly four o’clock. He asked the clerk, “He’s still here? He’s doing seven-to-three shifts these days, isn’t he?”
“He came back.”
Uh-oh. Definitely not good. What the hell was going on?
As the head investigator for the precinct, Esposito ran a detective squad of six men. The Seven-Six offered a good mix of crimes and very few homicides. Esposito liked the precinct. He didn’t like surprises. Whatever this was about, it had already been kicked all the way up to the top guy, and Esposito knew from experience that rarely meant anything good.