Page 42 of Disavowed

For a junkie without a pot to piss in, Gonzalez was about to be put up in a nice little place near the beach on the island of Nassau in the Bahamas. Pretty soon, he’d be basking in the sunshine with a pina colada in his grimy little hand. Dom had heard the guy jumped at the chance for a free trip to the Caribbean, one that included nice digs and a little spending cash on the side.

After reaching his car, Dom stowed the tuba case in the trunk and got behind the wheel, shutting the door. He dragged a hand down his face and breathed a sigh of relief.

Step two complete.

He cued up Jack’s cell phone number. The phone rang four times, and when Schneider answered he could swear he heard Daisy’s laughter in the background. He knew they spent time together at Highland Floral, but hearing her voice over Jack’s phone bugged the shit out of him.

Jack didn’t waste time getting to the point. “Get to the safe house in an hour. You violated protocol. The boss wants to talk to you.”

Dom took the elevator to the same office he’d previously met Jack and Smith in. When the elevator lurched to a stop, he opened the door and pulled aside the security gate. He took two steps inside the room, taking in Jack sitting on the edge of a desk. Jack’s eyes darted to the right just as Dom caught movement to his left. He jerked his head around in time to see a fist about to plow into his face.

He ducked and came in low with a fist to Smith’s gut. Smith grunted and spun to face him, fists raised. He ducked, but Smith’s knuckles grazed his chin.

Pivoting, he landed a cross jab, nailing Smith full in the face. The sonofabitch went down hard, then struggled to get to his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose.

Dom breathed heavily, his pulse racing as much from exertion as from the prospect of mashing this asshole’s face into the floor. Permanently. But that wouldn’t make him any brownie points with the boss.

“You’re a cocksucker, Carew.” Smith swiped at his bloody nose. “The next time you disobey my order I’ll shoot you myself.”

Dom snorted. “Like I said, I don’t work for you.”

Smith’s nostrils flared, and his eyes burned with hatred.

“You done, Smith?” Jack flipped open a laptop perched on the desk. “We’ve got work to do.”

Keeping Smith in his sights, Dom watched him disappear into a bathroom and slam the door. He joined Jack at the desk and saw he’d already cued up video from the city camera nearest the bodega—the NYPD feed. Footage showed Gonzalez taking a rifle round center of mass and getting thrown backward against the window. He watched as people scrambled to get out of the way, and a few minutes later patrol cars arrived on scene, followed closely by the ambulance.

Jack paused the video. “You should have stood down, but I get why you didn’t. Luckily this camera was active and we were able to grab the footage in real time.”

“And?” He held his breath. Until someone inside the Pyramid verified the hit, he wouldn’t be vetted and time was running out. He still didn’t know who the Pyramid’s next target was, and until he did, he couldn’t figure out a way to stop it.

From the other side of the bathroom door, he heard water running and the toilet flush.

“Now we wait for the boss to call.” Jack closed the lid of the laptop.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, Dom turned to see Smith stalk to the desk, holding a wadded, bloody paper towel to his nose and carrying a handheld magnetometer. A backup, no doubt, since the ceiling device hadn’t detected a weapon.

He wanted to hurl the magnetometer and Smith out the window, but thought better of it. He’d already made an enemy of the man, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Arms out, Carew.” Smith’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. “Until you’re vetted—and I’m guessing you won’t be after the stunt you pulled today—you’re not one of us.”

Obediently, he held his arms from his sides and allowed Smith to run the device over his body, checking for weapons. Since he’d turned in his service weapon, this time he was unarmed.

Jack’s cell phone rang, and he put the call on speaker. “We’re all here, boss.”

“Excellent,” came the raspy voice Dom still couldn’t identify. “Detective, I’ve reviewed the video of today’s incident. While I don’t approve of you not waiting for Mr. Smith to arrive, I do appreciate your eagerness in completing the assignment on time. If you’d waited another day, you would have failed the test. The question is whether or not the evidence we’ve collected is sufficient to verify the hit. Mr. Schneider, Mr. Smith, at least one of you has to vet Detective Carew. If not…”

The boss’s words hung in the air, and Dom swallowed. Smith had already made it plain as day he wasn’t about to vet him, so it was up to Jack. If Jack didn’t vet him, there was no way they would allow him to leave this room alive.

“Boss,” Jack said. “I’ve reviewed the video and it appears legitimate. But to back it up, I used my sources and verified that Dom was fired from the department.”

“And the basis for his termination?” the boss asked.

“Several. But the official reason was theft of evidence—Oxycontin—from the evidence locker.”

“I see.” The boss paused. “Did you steal the Oxy for your own personal use, or to sell?”

“Both.” Dom had foreseen this question and was prepared for it. He tapped the side of his knee. “I got hurt and didn’t want to report it. I needed something for the pain and couldn’t go to a doctor without it winding up on my official medical record. I’m weaning myself off it and decided to sell whatever I don’t use. Now that my city pension is down the toilet I need the extra cash.”