Kill for It by Marc Olden

Author:Marc Olden [Olden, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784087548
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd
Published: 2012-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

JOHN BOLT LEANED BACK in the taxi, the newspaper held high in front of his face. He wasn’t reading it.

From the corner of his left eye he watched the ugly apartment buildings come up to him, then go past

“We get one shot, that’s it. Kraft?”

“Yeah,” said the big cop. He sat on Bolt’s right in the back seat, alert.

Masetta was driving, hating every second of it. The snow-covered streets were hiding treacherous patches of ice, and once or twice when Masetta braked, the cab would slide a few extra feet. Whenever that happened, the stocky agent—nervous and angry—felt like getting out and kicking the shit out of the cab.

Bolt and Masetta were checking out the left side of West 110th Street, the side on which Alma Peón lived, according to Jo-Jo. Ira Kraft was looking at the right side. All three men would be checking for lookouts, anything to indicate an early-warning system.

That kind of alarm meant people.

One shot, Bolt had said. The cab, driven by Masetta, could make one pass in front of Alma Peón’s apartment house without arousing suspicion on the part of a lookout. A second and third look would be noticed.

Once was enough for Masetta. Brakes that didn’t hold were bad enough. But a spring coming up through the front seat had been jabbing him in the ass until he’d stopped, bought a newspaper, and slipped that between his buns and the sharp metal.

Too bad he couldn’t wear his overcoat. But he had to look the part of a cab driver, which meant wearing old, crappy-looking pants and a brown-leather windbreaker. Why did cab drivers have to look like winos?

Ira Kraft took a deep breath, a gesture of supreme satisfaction. Bolt had changed his mind about working on the property-clerk theft, though he had been forced into doing it. No matter. Bolt was the kind of hard-case you needed on a deal like the theft, and at least you could turn your back on him.

Let’s face it—the police department wasn’t too keen on having this shit in the papers or even under investigation. Gives the department a black eye.

Well, too bad, thought Kraft. Can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs, and I can’t get my promotion without somebody getting hurt. Que será será, folks. What will be will be.

Bolt wants his partner back. Nice if it happens, John, but I got my own fish to fry. Still, you wash my back, I wash yours. Maybe we’ll both come out of this smelling like a rose.

“One thing, Kraft,” said Bolt, still holding the newspaper up to his face. “I know you want to move up in the world. But remember: this operation right now we’re on is federal, strictly federal. An agent’s life depends on it, and if anything stupid happens … well, let’s just say I ain’t gonna like it.”

He never looked at the big man while talking to him.

Kraft grinned, making his small nose look even more ridiculous on his large square face. O.K., big John, he thought, I’ve been warned about shooting up civilians.

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