Vendetta of Shadows: The Legionnaire, #3

The Legionnaire: Vendetta of Shadows

SJ Parkinson

Edited by Misti Wolanski (Red Adept Publishing)

Front Cover art by Christine DeMaio-Rice (Flip City Author Services)

Paperback spine and back cover art by Stephan Johnstone (SJD World)

Formatted by Polgarus Studio

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance or similarity to any existing person, business, organization, or place is coincidental and unintended.

All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner or format whatsoever without the prior written consent of the author.

Copyright © 2013 SJ Parkinson. All rights reserved.

Dedication

For Mourad and Nahed.

Chapter 1 – A Rough Start

Emerging from a deep slumber, Victoria shifted position. The sensation of unfamiliar sheets moving across her skin jolted her awake. Finding herself naked in a strange bed, she instinctively clutched the sheets to her chest, sat up, and scanned the room.

The glass block windows near the ceiling caught her attention first. The first rays of the morning sun were entering the room, giving it a warm feel. She noticed red cedar furniture and Spartan décor. The radio alarm clock on the nightstand told her the time was 07:21.

Victoria’s gaze fell on the man lying beside her on his back, his breathing shallow but steady. Stephen had carried her up the stairs in his strong arms the previous evening. They were in his bedroom, and last night was their first together.

Even in realizing that, she still felt anxious. She lay back, her head on her pillow, and tried to determine why she felt that way.

Victoria had only known him for three days. She had met him, an investigator for Worthor Insurance, when the golden mask of King Tutankhamun was stolen. Victoria was responsible for getting the exhibit to the museum. Stephen had recovered the mask, identified the thieves, and saved her career from ruin as a result.

Stephen’s eyes were closed, and he looked to be sleeping soundly. Victoria rolled onto her side, still clutching the sheets to her chest, and considered his face. She thought him handsome, but in an understated way. His face was neutral as he slept. Victoria recalled his eyes and warm smile, which dramatically amplified his appeal. The only flaw she could discern at the moment was his jaw, covered in emerging stubble.

Stephen turned over onto his left side, revealing heavy scarring on the back of his right shoulder. Her hand had discovered that area the night before. The large rough patch of skin ran from his shoulder across his scapula, almost to his spine. The cicatrices were well healed. Victoria decided it must have happened several years ago and been a painful injury.

The previous evening’s dinner at the Worthors’ home had been wonderfully relaxing. Stephen looked attractive in his suit, and the meal was delicious. Janet and Warren Worthor were welcoming hosts in their grand home. After they’d been driven back to Stephen’s residence in the Worthors’ limousine, he had swept her up in his arms and brought her to his bed. The sex had been, well… okay.

She lay back and thought that over. He had done nothing wrong. Gentle and caring, he had undressed her slowly, kissing her with his soft, warm lips. That had felt wonderful, but she had been distracted from their lovemaking by the previous days’ events. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had seen a man be shot and killed only a dozen feet away from her. While Stephen’s touch had felt marvelous, the memory of watching a man die haunted her.

The turmoil of almost losing her prestigious job due to the mask theft added to her worries, as did a very bad experience moving through a dense mob. Indeed, since meeting Stephen, she had experienced a rollercoaster of emotion, from despair to exhilaration. As an Egyptologist who spent most of her time in quiet archives and libraries doing research, the stimuli drove her nerves to the edge of what she could handle.

Victoria closed her eyes and calmed herself, taking deep breaths. When she felt better, she looked at his back once more. Stephen was a good man and had unselfishly supported her through the trouble.

It occurred to her that Katherine, her best friend, would approve of him. I have to call her today. With the theft and investigation, we’ve not spoken since I arrived in town.

* * *

Philip Lenney liked working the streets of New York in the early mornings, especially on the weekends. As an independent truck owner and operator, he made no money when stuck in rush-hour traffic. Competition from larger freight shipping companies cut into his income already, so Philip had to be twice as agile as they were, just to stay in the running.

His wife would have chortled heartily at the thought of his stocky body being agile. At two hundred and thirty-five pounds, he was built like a fire hydrant. The multiple layers of clothing he wore added to his girth. The cab of his plain white sixteen-box Isuzu diesel truck still smelled new. Small, but with lots of room for cargo, it allowed him to navigate the sometimes narrow streets of the five New York boroughs with ease. The newer vehicle drove more smoothly and used less diesel than the older Ford Transit he had traded in.

Lenney followed the scribbled directions his wife had given him on a torn piece of notepaper. She managed his routes out of their small home in Yonkers. Queens was not unfamiliar territory, but he had never been to this particular warehouse before.

Just before LaGuardia airport, he turned off 82nd Street then switched onto Bowey Bay Boulevard. His destination was a small transit warehouse near the airport jet fuel storage tanks. The single-story structure with rusting sheet metal roof stood out from the rest of the modern buildings around it. Lenney double-checked the address before placing the paper on the seat beside him. He backed the truck up to the first loading bay, parked, and alit. Lenney noticed a metal access door beside the loading bay doors with cement steps beneath, but a small sign at the end of the building stating Office, caught his attention. He grabbed his clipboard from the door storage compartment, locked the truck door, and walked the short distance to the office. There were no other vehicles visible on the lot.

On entering the office, Lenney found three men, other than the secretary. Two were sitting reading magazines. The seated pair glanced up with blank expressions at his entry, but they quickly returned to their glossy magazines. They looked related and could have been brothers. Both were heavyset and wore dark tracksuits—one blue, the other black—and several gold chains. A third man stood in front of the secretary’s desk, chatting her up with a smile and constantly moving his hands. The chatty man at the desk was rail thin and wore a white open-necked shirt over beige suit trousers with black shoes. He had much more flashy gold showing around his neck. His hair was greased back with copious amounts of oil.

Wise guys, Lenney thought immediately. His ancestors had come to the U.S. from Dunoon, Scotland in the eighteen hundreds, but all truckers could spot an Italian mobster. Leave them alone, and they should leave me alone. Lenney approached the desk.

The secretary’s expression of uninterest never varied. She was chomping gum with lips parted and didn’t stop while talking. Yeah, whatcha need?

I’m here for a pickup going to East 77th—

The thin man to his right sidled closer to him. Hey, hey. You’re the driver? You’re early, but that’s all right. I like that. He turned to one of the sitting men. Mikey, get the door open. Big Earl, you help load up the truck.

Mikey spread his hands wide, palm up. Aww c’mon, Tuddy. Let the driver do it. I’ve been up all night with the kid.

Tuddy turned and pointed to the open door leading to the loading bays. His voice rose an octave as he said, We gonna have a problem, Mikey? Get your lazy ass into the loading bay. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you get home. Right? Move, and quit flapping your gums.

Lenney watched Mikey and Big Earl head off. As Mikey went through the door, Big Earl punched him in the shoulder, pointed back with his thumb, and said something Lenney couldn’t hear. Mikey backhanded Big Earl’s upper arm in response, and they moved out of sight.

Tuddy turned back to Lenney. So listen up. You got a single crate going to Palmer, Patterson & Whitney, right? You know who they are?

No. Lenney kept his responses as short, respectful, and neutral as possible. He heard the rattle of motorized roller doors opening in the loading bay.

They restore art. We need that box to reach there intact, so you be real careful on the way. It’s worth a good chunk of change, and you’ll pay for any damages, see?

Lenney recognized the underlying threat. He would normally have walked away at that point, but his new truck had stiff monthly payments, and he needed all the work he could get. No problem. I’ll treat it with care.

Hey, hey, I knew you were a bright boy. C’mon. Let’s go load you up.

Tuddy placed his arm around Lenney’s shoulder and turned him toward the loading bay door.

Behind them, the secretary called, Hey! Don’t forget the paperwork.

Lenney twisted away from Tuddy, glad the man was no longer touching him. Lenney claimed the sheaf of papers from the secretary and added them to his clipboard. The two men then made their way to the loading dock. As he passed over the threshold, Lenney saw Big Earl and Mikey slowly pushing a long plywood box into the rear of the open truck bed. The box rested on a common pallet, and they used a pallet jack to maneuver it. The box was large enough to hold a body, and if his destination hadn’t been a respectable address in Manhattan, he would be having serious reservations at that point.

He took the opportunity to study the box’s paperwork. The crate had originated in Genoa. The official U.S. Customs import paperwork declared it to be:

Item 9703.00.00 - Original sculpture, marble. Value $10,000.00

That reassured him. The value, while high, fell well within his insurance limit. He had handled cargoes worth much more. One crate made his job easier as well.

After the two men were done loading the box, Lenney entered the cargo area of the truck and secured the wooden crate with some of the cargo straps he kept in a storage box near the back, so it wouldn’t slide about. Lenney double-checked each strap and, once satisfied, closed and padlocked the rear door.

The entire time, Lenney had been conscious of Tuddy watching him intently from the dock. Once the rear door closed, Tuddy turned toward the other two. You two take the Lincoln and get over to Eddy’s. I’m going with the package. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Lenney’s truck.

Lenney turned to Tuddy and said without thinking, I’m not allowed to take passengers. It’s an insurance thing.

Tuddy snorted. Hey, hey. The boss told me to stick with the package until delivery, and trust me, if I don’t go with you, you’ll be needing that insurance to pay for some new frickin’ teeth.

The two larger men paused and smirked at Lenney.

He had no choice and caved immediately. Okay.

Mikey and Big Earl disappeared back through the office door. Lenney used the access door beside the larger loading bay door and went directly outside, emerging beside his Isuzu. He heard Tuddy following close behind.

Lenney went down the short flight of cement stairs, intending to get into the driver’s compartment. He spotted a bearded street bum sitting against the front tire of his truck. The bum looked filthy, wearing soiled jeans, torn sneakers, and an askew baseball hat with a severely worn bill. He was taking a long swig from a bottle hidden by a paper bag; Lenney assumed it was liquor. He approached him, saying, Get off my truck.

The bum lowered the bottle and swiped the arm of his jacket across his bearded chin to catch what had dribbled. Leave me alone, man. I’m just having a quiet cocktail. His slurred voice sounded whiny. The bum gave a raspy laugh, burped into his sleeve, and looked around the area, rapidly blinking his half-open eyes.

Lenney grabbed the bum by his coat lapels. As he pulled him up, the faint smell of cheap liquor came to his nose. The bum squirmed, and Lenney shoved him away from the truck.

The bum staggered away, screaming, I don’t like you, man! You need to learn manners if you want my business. Stupid doormen, always pushing me off. Yer a prick, and I’m not coming back here!

Looks like you made a new friend, Tuddy commented from behind Lenney. We’re late. Let’s go.

Lenney unlocked the driver’s door, placed his clipboard into the door compartment, and climbed in. He unlocked the passenger door, and Tuddy slid into the cab, slamming the door behind him. Tuddy failed to use the passenger side seatbelt, and Lenney said nothing about it. Tuddy would do what he damned well pleased, so Lenney didn’t waste his breath.

Hey, hey, which way you going? Tuddy asked, leaning to look out the windows.

Why is he so damned nervous? Lenney put the truck in gear. Queensboro Bridge to the FDR.

That’s good. I don’t want to go through Harlem.

Lenney turned onto the lightly travelled road. There were few other vehicles, but being an airport access road, most were large and slow. He had cargo aboard now, so he kept his speed down and a good eye on other traffic. Lenney focused on the road while Tuddy kept nervously checking out the windows.

They had to stop at the end of Marine Terminal Road for a red light. As Lenney waited for the light to change, he realized the bum he’d pushed away had smelled only of liquor. He should have smelled much worse.

The light turned green. He hit the gas and decided not to say anything. Tuddy looks anxious enough. Let’s just get this delivery over with.

* * *

Victoria slid out of bed and went quietly to the bathroom. She closed the bathroom door behind her and saw Stephen’s bathrobe hanging on the back. After using the toilet, she slipped into the shower and turned it up as hot as she could stand. She helped herself to his shampoo and thoroughly washed her hair. Having used a lot of styling gel the night before, it took several minutes to make sure she got it all out.

When done, she stood under the flowing water, letting the heat sink into her. It helped her mood some, but negativity still lingered. She placed her hands on the wall under the showerhead, letting the water stream hit the top of her head, and closed her eyes. Victoria stood there for several minutes, trying to let the water wash away her anxieties.

Unable to take the heat of the water any longer, she turned off the tap.

Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off, then put on his robe. It felt very large on her, and Victoria had to wrap it tightly around her for a snug fit. She located a hair dryer and brush in a side drawer of the vanity and used them to get her hair into reasonable shape.

Once satisfied with her appearance, Victoria opened the door to find Stephen sitting in the half lotus position on a large meditation cushion in the corner of the bedroom. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs and looked relaxed.

Not wanting to disturb him, she went to the bed and began scooping up her scattered underwear and dress from the night before.

Do you have to leave?

She turned. He was still in the same position, his eyes closed.

I didn’t want to interrupt you, Stephen. I need to go get dressed. All my clothes are still in the guest room.

Of course. I will see you downstairs in fifteen minutes for breakfast.

She smiled, walked over to him, and kissed his forehead. Thank you, Stephen. That’ll be very nice.

She left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. The upper level of Stephen’s home, surrounding the great room below, was brightly illuminated by the shallow rays of the rising sun through the long row of glass blocks above the bookshelves on the front wall. The large mobile of crystal birds slowly rotated in the center of the room, giving off odd, random flashes of rainbow colors in a prismatic effect.

The door to the residence slammed closed below her, and Victoria spotted Masumi below, entering the room from the entry hall. Dressed in jogging clothes, Masumi wore a pair of earbuds, and her head bobbed along with whatever she was listening to. She had taken no more than three steps when she spotted Victoria and stopped in place, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Masumi placed her hands on top of her hips, cocked her hips, and called up from the lower floor, "Victoria…? Girl, we sooooo need to talk."

* * *

Lenney drove south on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. He stuck to the slow lane and drove carefully. Beside him, Tuddy had relaxed somewhat, but then, looking in the passenger side mirror, he suddenly bolted upright. Hey, hey. Turn off here.

Where? Lenney asked, surprised. The 69th Street exit?

"Yeah, get off. Now!"

The turn was tight, given the late notice, but being in the slow lane let Lenney get off the highway and onto the exit ramp.

Tuddy focused on the side mirror before looking back over at the expressway. He exhaled audibly as a black van passed them, continuing on the main route. Turn right onto Broadway. Take Northern Boulevard to Queens Plaza. Let’s stay off the main roads for a while.

The paranoid S.O.B. thinks we’re being followed? Lenney shook his head but said nothing. He flipped on his right turn signal and moved over to turn onto Broadway.

Tuddy’s head kept darting around, and his constant nervousness was annoying Lenney. The cargo was just a statue, and imported legally, from the customs paperwork he had seen. If they were taking it to an art restorer, it couldn’t be in that great of a shape, so why the paranoia about being followed? Who would want to steal a beat-up piece of marble from a wise guy? It’s only worth ten grand, so who’d care? And if someone did care, then why hire me and not an armored car with armed guards?

Lenney easily made the gentle turn onto Northern Boulevard.

Without warning, Tuddy pointed over to the left lane. Get over—over! Turn left onto 56th. He looked back to the passenger mirror.

Shaking his head once again, Lenney indicated and moved to turn left. He had to pause for oncoming traffic.

Tuddy pointed down 56th Street. Make the turn. Move it.

Anyone else, Lenney would have kicked them out of the cab at that point, but the fear of violent reprisal kept his tongue still. He took advantage of a break in the traffic and made the turn onto 56th. The street had a series of light industrial buildings on either side. He saw a tall, muscular black flag man wearing a high-visibility jacket and yellow hard hat. The man energetically waved a large hand-held STOP sign. Behind the sign-wielding man was an AT&T van surrounded by a series of orange traffic cones that blocked his lane of traffic. A manhole cover was open in the street. He assumed any other workers had to be down the hole. There was no opposing traffic, and lots of room to drive around, so Lenney wondered why he was being stopped.

Lenney put the truck in neutral and braked to a halt. The flag man came up to the driver’s door.

Lenney rolled the window down. What’s up?

We got a gas leak. I need to keep everyone clear.

Why’s the phone company dealing with a gas leak?

The passenger door opened, and a hand yanked Tuddy out of the cab, who cried out in surprise. Lenney reached out to grab Tuddy, but he was already in the street.

Lenney turned back to the flag man and found himself looking down the largest gun barrel he had ever seen. Shock rippled through him.

The gun was held so close that Lenney could see individual rifled grooves inside the end of the barrel.

Out of the truck, the flag man said confidently. Slowly, and keep your eyes down, man.

Lenney wanted to see his wife again. He kept his eyes pointing down as he undid his seatbelt with a shaking hand and slowly stepped out into the street. The black man took Lenney roughly by the scruff of the neck and led him to the manhole.

Lenney glanced over his shoulder to see a white man wearing normal street clothes leading Tuddy over to join them. The white man jammed a pistol into Tuddy’s lower back. Get into the hole.

Tuddy stood still. Do you punks know who you are screwing with?

The white man raised the pistol and hit Tuddy sharply on the back of the head with the butt end of the weapon. Feet first and alive, or head first and dead. Choose how you’re getting in there.

Tuddy swore, holding the rear of his head while giving both armed men vicious looks, but he complied and climbed down.

When Tuddy’s head was below ground, the white man said to his compatriot, I’ll get the tracker.

The white man headed for the truck. The slightest of breezes brought a familiar smell of cheap liquor from him. That’s the bum who was leaning against the truck. Different clothes, no beard, and he’s wearing sunglasses now, but that’s him.

The black man poked Lenney with his pistol. Your turn, man. Down the hole.

Lenney used the metal rungs built into the red brick shaft walls and entered the hole feet first. Before he went all the way down, he spotted the white man tugging a small, shiny metal box from under the front fender of the Isuzu, with what he assumed was a large magnet attached to the side. The device disappeared into the white man’s pocket.

That was all he observed before his head descended below ground level.

When he was in the manhole completely, the black man said, Count to five hundred. You poke your head up before then, and I put holes in it.

He disappeared for a moment, and Lenney heard the grating sound of metal being dragged across asphalt. A manhole cover appeared above them, hauled by a metal rod. Daylight disappeared slowly until the cover was in place. It fell onto its support rim with a clang that was greatly amplified by the red brick walls around him. He winced at the sound.

Lenney was left holding the metal rungs a foot or so under the cast iron. The only light from above came from two one-inch square holes in the cover itself.

Moments later, Lenney heard an engine start; he assumed it was the phone van. Then the distinctive sound of the Isuzu diesel engine reached him as it revved up. Daylight disappeared as the truck drove over the manhole, and returned with its passing.

The heat of anger bloomed on his face and forehead. Lenney was not overly concerned about his truck. He’d been robbed before and carried lots of insurance to cover any loss or damages. He was getting mad because the man below him, Tuddy, was complicit in the theft, and the morning had been one big sham. Lenney couldn’t prove that, and Tuddy was not the type of man who would ever admit it, but Lenney gripped the metal rung tightly with both hands. Bastard.

* * *

Masumi and Victoria sat down on the closest of the three couches arranged in a C pattern around the television in the great room, Victoria setting her pile of clothes beside her.

This is huge! You have to tell me everything! Masumi said gleefully, pulling the earbud clip off her sleeveless Nine Inch Nails T-shirt.

There really isn’t anything to tell. We went out to dinner at the Worthors’, and when we came home— Victoria stopped to look down at her clenched hands and began choking up with tears. All her earlier concerns engulfed her at once.

What’s wrong? Whatever’s bothering you, we can talk it over. Masumi reached out to touch her wrist.

Victoria looked up immediately, taking Masumi’s hand between hers. "It’s me. I was fine last night, but since we got back from the Worthors’, I keep thinking about the man getting shot yesterday. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. It distracted me all night, and I just couldn’t relax. I’ve never been exposed to that level of violence, and it’s affected me more deeply than I can say… I don’t know why I’m like this. He is a wonderful man and everything I am looking for, but…

I’ve only known him three days. His life is so exciting. He takes it all in stride, but I’m not sure I can handle this pace. If I can’t, then… Will he still find me interesting? Does that make sense?

Of course it does, girl. Everyone has doubts in a new relationship. I can’t imagine the things you’ve gone through. Masumi gently squeezed Victoria’s hand.

I wish I could go straight to Bali.

What are you taking about?

I read an article on Bali, and Stephen said we would go after the exhibit. The pictures of transparent water, sugar sand beaches, and stilt houses really appealed to me. I would love to go. Victoria reached over Masumi to reach the box of tissues on the side table. She took one, quickly dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose. I’m a mess, sorry.

You’ve been through a lot, so it’s only natural to be wound up. Just spend some time with him, and I think you’ll find he’s a regular guy. It’s usually quiet in the house. That’s why I like studying here. You can’t judge someone after only three days.

Victoria sniffed once and wiped the end of her nose. She tried to force a smile but failed. She lowered her face for a moment, to regain her composure. Yes, that sounds like good advice. Maybe I’m overreacting and just need to give it some time. Thanks for listening.

Any time! Masumi smiled broadly.

Victoria reached for the pile of clothes beside her. I need to get dressed. Stephen’s coming down to make me some breakfast in a few minutes.

Then I’m going for a quick shower. I’m not above mooching a meal.

* * *

Richard Franks drove the Isuzu truck down 56th Street, while his partner Gil Morrow followed close behind in the phone van. The hijacking had gone off exactly as planned, and although Franks felt pleased, he didn’t relax completely; he was in a stolen truck, with a handgun, and guilty of a half dozen serious crimes to that point. Franks became aware he was gripping the steering wheel tightly from the tension of the moment and tried to relax his hands. The latex surgical gloves he wore caused his hands to sweat.

After turning right off 56th Street onto 37th Avenue, Franks turned on his right indicator at the next intersection. Moving north up 55th Street, he was now driving one block over from the scene of the hijacking. Approaching a light industrial building, he indicated a right-hand turn and tooted his horn twice. The large roller door immediately began to rise up.

Franks entered the garage slowly, making sure the top of the unfamiliar truck did not hit the doors. He nodded to Jakub Boroski, the last member of his crew, who was pulling the doors up with a continuous length of chain leading to pulleys above. Once clear of the doors, he drove into the back of the small industrial building and parked, killing the engine.

Franks jumped out of the cab and watched Gil back the phone van in, as he had been instructed to do. Jakub, taking advantage of the van’s lower height, was already bringing the roller door down. The doors fully closed mere seconds after the van cleared them.

Franks met Gil as he emerged from the phone van, still wearing his vest and hard hat. Gil smiled broadly, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. They shook hands and embraced with their left arms, slapping each other’s backs.

Jakub came up to Franks with his usual stoic face. All is good? he asked in his heavy Polish accent.

All is good, Jakub. You get the van ready, and we’ll transfer the crate.

Jakub simply nodded and, without saying anything more, began to slowly and steadily peel the blue vinyl phone company markings off the vehicle, with little difficulty.

Gil cut the padlock off the rear truck door with heavy bolt cutters. Transferring the box from the truck to the back of the van took a few minutes. The wood crate was heavy but not beyond the capabilities of the two muscular men. Franks reused the cargo straps from the back of the truck and used them to secure the crate to the side of the van.

By the time Franks emerged from the back of the van, the other two men were applying large magnetic signs onto the doors of the van. The truck was now just a plain white van, decked out with plumbing company logos on the doors. Franks reached up and tugged the truck door closed. He heard Gil come up from behind him, turned, and saw Gil stripping off the flag man’s vest and hard hat.

Franks helped him, putting the items into a duffel bag in the back of the van. Franks placed the bolt cutters on top of the vest. Gil peeled off his leather work gloves and dropped those into the bag as well. Gil retrieved a Yankees baseball hat from the bag and zipped it closed. After tugging on the hat, Gil looked like an average New York City blue-collar worker, with his street clothes.

After Gil had the hat on, Franks asked, All set?

Yeah. Let’s go. Gil moved to the driver’s door of the van.

Franks raised his voice. Jakub, we’re all set! He went to the truck cab and heard Jakub pulling open the doors. He began to enter the cab when a sharp pain stabbed into his hip. He realized the metal box had shifted in his pocket.

He slid the tracker out and tried a free throw–style toss into a nearby trash barrel. He missed, and the powerful magnet clung to the exterior of the fifty-five gallon drum near the rim. Franks left it there, entered the driver’s seat of the truck, and started the engine. In the driver’s side mirror, he watched Gil drive the van out the door and pull off to one side to clear the way for him.

Franks put the Isuzu truck in