The Reluctant Warrior: Warriors Series, #2

By Ty Patterson

RUSSIAN MAFIA OWN NEW YORK

The Warriors, recovered from their previous mission, battle Russian gangs and other criminal entities in New York as they uncover how the underworld has gotten so powerful.

 

Fans of Jack Reacher, Mitch Rapp and Scot Harvath will love this roller-coaster of action, conspiracy and suspense.

'Non-stop action isn't a tired old cliche in this book's case. The Reluctant Warrior delivers NON-STOP ACTION!' 

'Pedal-to-metal, needle-in-the-red thrills!'

'You won't like Zeb Carter and his Warriors. You'll LOVE them!'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Patterson
• Release date: Jul 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781513072197

Book preview

Part I

Chapter One

The boy woke up as soon as he heard his father stirring, and peered out from under the edge of his blanket.

He saw his dad do his usual routine of looking across the small bedroom, from his bed to the children’s beds to see if they were awake, and then step cautiously to the window overlooking the street and scan it.

His father had been doing this for the last few months. One day he had asked his father what he was looking for. He had been brushed off.

They had moved to Brownsville not long ago, just over a year back. For him life had been long periods of moving about followed by short periods of stay and calm, and so far Brownsville had been one of those short periods of calm. He looked across at his sister sprawled across the edge of her tiny bed, legs twitching spasmodically in response to some dream in her eight-year-old mind. He wondered if she enjoyed moving so much; maybe for her it was normal, since she hadn’t experienced anything else. His eyes went back to his father, still standing at the window, and wondered what he was thinking about. The boy gave up wondering after some time as sleep dragged him into oblivion.

Shattner knew his son had been awake and watching, from the changed timbre of his breathing. The apartment was just a single-bedroom apartment in Brownsville, a New York neighborhood well-known for its crime.

---

William Shattner was a loser and looked like one. His thin brown hair, narrow face, angular body, shifty eyes and hesitant manner didn’t inspire any confidence.

His father ran the only grocery store in a small town in Ohio, and by the time young William turned fifteen, Shattner Senior had realized the family’s livelihood couldn’t be entrusted to his son.

William didn’t want to run a grocery store. He didn’t know what he wanted to do in life. He had a vague idea about seeing places and doing the kind of exciting stuff girls fell for, but those were hazy ideas in his mind that never got translated into ambition. He had his eureka moment when he saw an army recruitment advertisement on TV and enlisted on his eighteenth birthday. His parents, both in poor health by then, wished him well and were secretly glad that they were no longer responsible for him.

The army shaped Shattner to some extent, but it too realized the extent of his capabilities. He had an ability to repair broken equipment and also had a liking for record keeping, and this got him a career in the Ordnance Corps. His vague dreams of seeing places materialized when the corps deployed him to various hot spots of the world.

A slightly more mature Shattner married his high school sweetheart, Coralyn, when he came home on leave. Marriage didn’t turn out the way it was promoted. Coralyn had more aspirations than Shattner and demanded a lifestyle that Shattner couldn’t afford. Not on a sergeant’s income.

His two kids, Lisa and Shawn, were the best things to have happened to him, and in order to give them a comfortable life, Shattner found the means to support Coralyn’s demands.

He started selling military weapons in the black market.

He didn’t know how and when he crossed that moral divide; Shattner wasn’t given to introspection, but he found that the illegal activity came easy to him, and for a while his life was back to as normal as it ever was.

Till the time he was found, court-martialed and discharged from the army.

His marriage had ended by then, and Shattner, using all his meager savings, fought for and got custody of his children. Then followed years of drifting from job to job, living out of run-down apartments, and trying to earn enough to raise his children. Those jobs often involved selling small firearms on the black market – a life on the dark side, the only open door for Shattner.

When the faint possibility of redemption arrived, Shattner grabbed it.

---

Shattner stood in the shadows and watched life pass in the street. It had become second nature for him for as long as he could remember, to look out for anything out of the ordinary on the street before he stepped out. Nothing struck him, and he headed towards the door of the apartment.

His son would wake up, make breakfast for his sister and himself, get both of them ready for school, and then the two of them would walk a couple of blocks to school. After school, his son would collect his sister and do the routine in reverse. By the time Shattner returned from work, his son and daughter would have finished their dinner and be ready for bed.

His son, a mature adult in an eleven-year-old body, had never experienced boyhood and had never enjoyed all the small things that childhood was about. For the briefest moment, the darkness of despair flooded his mind before he ruthlessly shunted it aside.

Shattner walked several blocks to the car repair shop where he worked. He could have taken a bus to the garage, but he preferred the walk, even if it was a long one, since it gave him the freedom to breathe.

On returning home he picked up a tail.

A short stocky man was trailing him from a distance. He was good, but Shattner’s life in the army had left him with vital survival skills, and he picked up the tail immediately. He sat down on a bench, bought some nuts and ate them leisurely, taking the time to subtly observe the reaction of the tail and also to think the situation through.

The tail hung well back, and finishing his nuts, Shattner decided to do nothing about him. Those who employed the tail already knew where he was living and everything else about him. If he took on the tail, it would only tip them off that he knew. His apartment was on the third floor on Blake Avenue in an apartment complex that housed many like him for whom hope and a future were alien. He could hear the excitement in Lisa’s voice as she talked with her brother, the voices audible through the thin door of the apartment. He stepped in silently, and the rest of his world fell away.

‘Daddy,’ Lisa squealed as she rushed across the room and jumped into his arms. ‘Shawn helped me with schoolwork.’ Her voice came out muffled as she buried her face in his shoulders.

‘Had dinner, princess?’ He looked over at Shawn questioningly.

Both nodded.

‘How was school, princess?’ he asked her as he went to their small bathroom to shower and change, listening to her momentous day. For an eight-year-old, every day was noteworthy. Shattner allowed her voice to wash over him, leaving him refreshed.

He spent an hour with her, telling stories, and as her breathing deepened into sleep, he sat there for a long while, his mind empty, as empty as the future he saw for himself. They will have a better future, he promised himself.

‘Dad?’

Shattner turned from the refrigerator to see Shawn tousled with sleep.

‘Dad, will we ever have a normal life?’

Shattner heard the refrigerator door shut behind him, the soft thud drowned by the beating of his heart as he felt his son’s eyes on him. He took a couple of long strides and crouched down in front of his son.

‘Two to three months at the most, Shawn. And then we’ll live like any other normal family. We’ll celebrate birthdays, go on holidays, and have loads of friends… trust me, buddy. Okay?’

Shawn nodded, his eyes dark, the faintest sheen of tears in them.

Shattner pulled him close, crushed him in a hug, and walked him to bed and sat beside him till sleep claimed him.

---

He checked his phone after dinner and saw the text message silently winking at him.

It was the one he was dreading.

‘Tomorrow.’

Short, terse, like the sender.

He went to his gun cabinet, a grand description for a wooden drawer high up in the closet in the bedroom, and removed his Glock 30 and cleaning materials, and carried them to the drawing room.

He stripped the gun, wiped the parts clean, and then started a more thorough job of lubricating them. The smell of gun oil filled the room, a comforting smell, bringing back good memories. He assembled the gun, loaded its magazine, and chambered a round. He didn’t think he would need the gun the next day, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Chapter Two

Jose Cruz owned Brownsville Autos, the used car dealership and garage where Shattner worked. The garage had a staff of six, a diverse mix of East Europeans, Hispanics and… William Shattner.

Jose Cruz was also regional kingpin of 5Clubs, the fastest-growing gang in New York City that had outmuscled all other gangs and ran its criminal empire like a business.

Cruz, the head of the Brooklyn chapter, was ruthless, ambitious, and rising fast in the gang.

Cruz owned Brownsville; not a single deal went down in Brownsville without his knowledge and involvement, or permission. Brownsville Autos was a legitimate business and gave him the façade to operate from.

It had been surprisingly easy for Shattner to join the gang. Later, he realized, that was one of their strengths. Making it easy to join, and making sure no one ever left.

---

He had been walking along Tapscott Street late one night soon after moving to Brownsville, real late at night, drifting in and out of the dark shadows, when he saw the holdup. A dark sedan had been parked on the other end of the street with five men leaning against it.

They were not leaning.

Two of them were being held at gunpoint by three others; one of the three was waving a gun and gesticulating, the other two slapping and kicking the one against the car. Shattner didn’t stop to think. He wore rubber-soled shoes, dressed in dark clothes, and wasn’t spotted by the group till he was a few feet away. By then it was too late.

Before the gunman could turn and train his gun on Shattner, he had gone down with a kick to his kidneys, followed by a blow to his throat. As he fell down choking, the two held up against the car turned on their attackers and felled them brutally.

A couple of minutes, that’s all it had taken. Once Shattner’s breathing slowed and the adrenaline subsided, he took stock of the two he had rushed to help. Hispanic was his first thought. Short, swarthy, one of them bent to retrieve a bag from an attacker and kicked him in the head for good measure.

‘You guys okay? Shouldn’t we call the police,’ Shattner addressed them.

‘No. No police,’ the guy bending down replied as the other walked around the car, searching for something.

‘Are you sure? These guys might file a report, and it’s better if we get ours in first,’ Shattner persisted.

The bent guy straightened up, holding a brown paper bag, which was half open and filled with small baggies. He glared at Shattner. ‘You dumb or something? We said no police.’

The other man came around the car, tucking a pistol in his waistband, and looked appraisingly at Shattner. Perhaps he’s wondering if he should shoot me, Shattner thought.

‘Gracias,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, come here.’ He handed a card to Shattner, and they left without another word or a backward glance. The next day he hoofed it to the garage and handed the card to a teenager in the reception.

‘Two men gave this to me last night. They asked me to come here if I needed help. I need a job. I’m a good mechanic.’

The teenager stared at him disbelievingly for a long time – the garage wasn’t exactly a career magnet – and then placed the card on the counter. ‘Dude, there are thousands of these cards in the city. We don’t offer a job to anyone who just walks in, hands over one of them, and tells a fantastic story. In any case, we’re not hiring.’

Shattner stared back at him. ‘Son, don’t you think this is way above your pay grade? Why don’t you get the manager and let me speak to him?’

Back and forth they went till a side door opened and one of the two men came in, the one who had spoken to him last.

‘You? What’re you doing here?’

‘Looking for a job.’

‘Why here?’

‘Why not? You did ask me to come here if I needed help. I need a job. I am a good mechanic. Mechanics work in garages.’

The man looked at Shattner for some time and then jerked his head.

‘Come.’

Shattner followed him, and the man introduced him to Jose Cruz.

Cruz was as tall as Shattner, an inch over six feet, lean and sinewy, a hatchet face with eyes that were probing all the time. He looked Shattner over as Diego, the other gang member, fired off a fusillade in Spanish at him.

Jose barked at Diego and turned away without acknowledging Shattner. Being the boss had privileges.

Diego grabbed Shattner by his elbow and took him to a windowless room, and Shattner’s interrogation commenced.

The night before, Shattner had worked out that he’d crashed into a gang takedown and had thought long and hard about approaching the garage for a job. Two things had finally persuaded him – he needed a job and his savings had nearly run out, and jobs weren’t easy to find for one with a criminal record.

He had also matured and believed that being a loser wasn’t a lifetime sentence.

What he had not expected was meeting Cruz so easily. He had thought gang bosses were harder to meet, but he later came to know that Cruz oversaw every aspect of his business with manic attention, personally recruited every gang member, and enforced discipline ferociously.

There was a gang member who’d had ambitions of his own and started dealing on the side. One afternoon Cruz had him brought to his office, where the gang member was rewarded by the sight of Cruz raping his wife and seven-year-old daughter. When he had finished, he shot them and then sat down to have his supper. He hadn’t uttered a single word to the gang member, who by then was in a state of catatonic shock. The gangster was never seen again. There were many such stories surrounding Cruz.

Cruz’s gang was large, more than fifty members; the six in the garage were kept separate from the gang. The gang members seldom came to the garage, and if they did, it was after the garage had closed for the day and the mechanics had gone home. Shattner was by far the best mechanic they had; he often stayed late working on the cars, and over the months he could identify the gang members and had developed a conversational relationship with many of them – if greetings and grunted acknowledgements could be called a conversation.

The first time Shattner got involved with the gang was four months after he joined the garage. One evening he could hear loud voices from Cruz’s office, Diego and Jose going at it vowel and syllable. He heard a door slamming, another opening, and Diego stood before him, scowling.

‘You? Can you drive?’

When Shattner looked at him stupidly, he made a steering motion with his hands and asked again, ‘Drive?’

‘Come here at eleven. Night, not day,’ Diego told him when Shattner nodded.

The garage was dead when Shattner returned that night, all the lights off. When he stepped inside the parking lot, Diego stepped out, followed by another, a tall, swarthy man with a teardrop tat under his left eye, carrying a brown paper sack. Diego tossed car keys to Shattner without saying a word.

It was the same dark sedan as the night of the holdup. Diego and the other man got in the back, carrying the paper sack, and Shattner drove them down Lott Avenue and parked behind a school. Diego and the other guy, Rajek, spoke occasionally but ignored Shattner.

They were gone nearly an hour, supplying street dealers Shattner surmised, and when they returned, Shattner powered the car up and waited for them to seat themselves. Diego touched his shoulder just as he was pulling away.

He stopped the sedan and turned back to see the barrel of a gun pointing at him, a couple of inches away from his face.

Diego looked back at him impassively, his finger on the trigger, and beside him Rajek grinned silently, exposing teeth that were strangers to a dentist.

‘You know who we are and what we do?’ Diego asked him.

‘I’m not stupid,’ replied Shattner.

Diego swung the barrel against his head viciously, drawing a thin line of blood from his temple. When the ringing in his head had stopped, Shattner found the black bore of the barrel against his face, steady, Diego’s eyes black and empty looking back at him.

‘Young hoods are desperate to join us. Some rob, some sell drugs, many sell their sisters and mothers. And some kill. To prove themselves to us. You just walked in. Not logical. Jose does not like things that are not logical.’

He paused, his eyes black holes in his face.

‘I’m an enforcer. You know what that means?’

‘People shit in their pants when they see you?’

Diego hit him again on the other temple. A thicker stream of blood started running down Shattner’s head.

‘You think you’re smart. How come I’m holding this gun and you’re at the other end?’

Diego extended his forefinger and touched the blood streaming down Shattner’s face. He inspected it for a while and flicked it away.

‘That’s my business,’ he said, nodding at the copper droplets flying away.

‘I am number two. I am also the enforcer of our chapter.’

He paused, enjoying the fear in Shattner’s eyes.

‘I looked into your past, your history, and your time in the army. I spoke to your previous garage in New Jersey, your landlord… everyone who knew you. You are a criminal, just like us. But I told Jose, better to kill you. Your joining us did not feel right,’ Diego continued without any inflection. He could be reading the weather.

‘But Jose is smart. Smarter than me… is why he is boss. He said we need Anglos. Less suspicious.’

‘He said we didn’t need to worry about you. You got kids. Lisa very pretty, no?’ Diego smiled a feral smile.

Shattner went cold.

Diego smiled thinly. ‘Relax, Anglo. You are alive; your kids are safe… for now.’ He leant back in his seat and gestured at Shattner to drive.

Rajek clicked his tongue and looked disappointed. Maybe happiness for him was Shattner’s brains splattered over the windshield.

His involvement in the gang increased. He was used the most as a driver, but soon started distributing baggies to the street vendors and making collections for the gang.

The garage, while a front, was not very successful. The people who brought their cars in were known to the gang even if they weren’t gang members themselves. Shattner figured out the hierarchy of the gang over time. Cruz ruled it at the top, with Diego as his second in command as well as its chief hit man. Then came a handful of Rajeks – the senior members of the gang, and then there were the doers… those who ran the drugs, the rackets, the women.

In his arms trading, Shattner had dealt with many gangs, but this one was different. This one ran like a smoothly oiled machine, a strong chain of command linking the hierarchies and utter ruthlessness shown to those who disobeyed or challenged the gang. Like a military machine. Shattner learnt over a period of time that most of the gang members, including Jose, Diego and Rajek had military experience, some in European armed forces, some in South America or Africa.

Most of those armed forces must have been happy to see the backs of these guys, he thought.

A month after his close-up with Diego’s gun, he drove Diego to a hit.

Chapter Three

It was at two in the morning.

He drove Diego to an office block, killed the engine, and nervously waited for instructions.

Diego was silent and motionless, his dark eyes seeing nothing and seeing everything. His phone beeped after half an hour, and after a murmured conversation, Diego straightened. In another fifteen minutes, they saw a car make its way from the opposite end of the street, stop about a hundred feet away, and kill its lights.

Two people stepped out of the car and approached theirs, and Diego met them halfway. He bumped fists with them, took wads of cash from them, gave them baggies in return, turned his back on them, and returned to Shattner.

Ten feet away from them, he turned smoothly and drew.

So smooth and balletic was his movement that it took Shattner a couple of seconds to make the gun in his hand. The two reports were muted, hitting the other two in the back of their heads. Shattner didn’t hear the bodies falling; he saw Diego step up to the bodies and fire into their heads again for good measure. He grabbed the baggies and walked back to Shattner leisurely, a thin breeze ruffling his hair slightly.

Shattner felt the cold touch of the barrel to his neck when they reached the first set of lights on their way back.

‘You are too calm, chollo. Maybe you’re a cop?’

Shattner broke. He swerved into the darkness between streetlights and turned back to Diego.

‘A cop? Wouldn’t I have brought the whole force on you guys by now? Remember I’ve seen a lot of shit you guys do and know a lot.’

Diego didn’t say a word but continued pointing the gun at Shattner.

Shattner leaned forward and pulled the gun to his forehead. ‘If in doubt, pull. That’s your motto, isn’t it? Go on, then. Pull.’

Black pools of nothing stared back at him, and then slowly the barrel moved.

‘You have got balls, chollo. Si, I grant you that. Now drive.’

Shattner drove back in silence, gripping the wheel hard to hide the trembling in his hands. Diego sat motionless behind him, expressionless, bars of light and dark moving across his face as the car made its way to Blake Avenue. Probably thinking when he can kill me, Shattner thought savagely.

The next week, two gang members were busted by the police as they were selling drugs to street vendors near a school. The same school Shattner had driven Diego to. The week after that, a gang member was arrested as he was carrying out a hit on an MS-13 gang member.

The first arrest was shrugged off by the chapter as the price to be paid for being in business; the members were soon bailed. Just like most businesses of this size, Jose had lawyers and PR agents on retainers. The second incident caused uneasiness given its proximity to the first.

The third arrest happened in the subsequent week.

Ten gangbangers were flushed out after the police ran an elaborate sting operation on a prostitution racket owned by Jose. The uneasiness exploded into suspicion.

There was a snitch in the gang.

And Shattner was its newest quasi member.

Diego was with Shattner on every gang business errand now, watching him from behind his lizard-like eyelids. He didn’t care if Shattner knew he was under suspicion.

The gang still used him, and he wondered about that. Maybe all the members are known to the cops and they’re using me as a foil, he reasoned.

---

His phone vibrated on the table, bringing him out from the past. The text message stared back at him.

‘Tomorrow.’

He went to the bedroom window and stared into the dark street below him, wondering if he would return home the next day.

He had heard rumors of a large deal, and it was likely Diego wanted him as the getaway driver.

That, or the summons was for his execution.

He washed his face in the bathroom and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was even thinner now, his cheeks hollowed out, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hands trembled constantly, and he had to jam them in his pockets whenever his kids were around.

He took a deep breath, pushing away his constant fear, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom.

---

Diego was awaiting him at the garage entrance the next day, sitting inconspicuously in an anonymous Toyota Corolla. Passersby did not give him a second glance, unaware that they were a few feet from the most ruthless killer in Brooklyn.

He jerked his head at Shattner, indicating for him to get in and drive, and Shattner obliged, taking them down Rockaway Avenue, onto Linden Boulevard and into a deserted industrial area on Wortman Avenue.

He parked beside a Ford Transit, and as soon as he had turned off the ignition, the rear doors of the Transit opened.

Rajek jumped out, followed by another heavily tattooed and armed man. Diego stepped out and opened the trunk of Shattner’s car, and Rajek and the other man started loading burlap sacks in the boot from the Transit. Shattner stood for a moment watching the activity and then helped the transfer. He reckoned there were two hundred kilos that got loaded in the car, and from the smell, he suspected the sacks contained crack.

Rajek and his companion drove off without a word, but not without Rajek grinning at Shattner. Maybe he was wondering how long Shattner had to live.

‘You think this is a picnic?’ Diego growled when Shattner stood staring at the back of the Ford Transit.

Shattner got behind the wheel and followed Diego’s directions, taking the Belt Parkway, moving out of the city and southwards. His suspicions were confirmed when they took the I-95 and merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

‘New Jersey, huh?’ He turned to Diego and received a stony look in return.

He shrugged and continued driving without stopping at any of the services. Conversation wasn’t Diego’s strongest point.

Southport in Gloucester City, New Jersey, on the Delaware River was once the site of a nineteenth- century shipyard and later was an industrial site. Now it was abandoned and fenced off, industry and shipping deserting the city, and this was where Shattner guessed the crack was heading to.

A brilliant choice for a deal to go down since law enforcement never ventured there, and the only people that visited were the odd fisherman or jogger.

They drove through the city, driving normally so as not to attract any attention, and Diego relaxed beside him. Relaxed like a snake. Down they went on Klemm Avenue and through to Market Street, the town, a very small place that industry forgot and where everyone knew the other.

On Water Street, Diego made him drive all the way from the waterfront to an abandoned industrial site where power stations, chimneys, and buildings defined desolation.

Shattner parked in front of an enormous opening to a long, dilapidated structure that ran for a mile on either side of the entrance, its roof partially blown away, exposing an intestine of girders and frames. From the inside of the structure came the sound of an engine revving, and another drab Ford Transit emerged from the maw of the building and rattled across towards them. The Transit reversed so that it was back to back with Shattner’s car.

Four heavily armed men emerged from the rear of the Transit and headed towards Diego.

Through the rearview mirror Shattner could see the men sported assault rifles and handguns; one had an M203 grenade launcher hanging from his shoulder. All four of them sported the tattoos of 5Clubs; Shattner suspected this was a trade between Cruz’s chapter and whichever other chapter these four belonged to.

Diego opened the trunk, and the four men swiftly began transferring the crack to the van. He stood at one side, talking into his mobile, his gun hand casually resting inside his jacket.

Shattner, taking his cue from Diego, felt around his back, pulled out his Glock and placed it in his lap. He angled the mirrors so that he could see everyone behind him.

And then everyone heard it. Their arrival could be heard a long way away, the throbbing of powerful engines approaching fast.

Chapter Four

One of the armed men ran out to the road leading to Water Street, jerked his head both ways, and came back shouting urgently. Diego started yelling back, and the tension ratcheted up.

Shattner couldn’t make out the shouting from inside the car, but the men speeded up the transfer. He stepped out of the Toyota as, at a sharp command from Diego, the four abandoned the transfer and ran towards the Transit.

‘Cops,’ shouted Diego to Shattner, and that was enough for him to follow Diego into the back of the van.

The van was already moving when they reached it, and rough hands drew them in the back. As soon as they were inside the van, it took off, its tires squealing in the dirt. The van careened on the road and then righted after a tight right took it onto Water Street, away from the industrial site.

Through the half-open door, Shattner could now see the reason for the escape; three New Jersey State cruisers were about half a mile away, their bars flashing, followed by a Police Command Vehicle, the roar of their engines growing louder by the second.

The air in the van felt thin to Shattner, everything jacked up and tight, and sound came to him at a distance, adrenaline drowning out normalcy. The cruisers turned on their sirens when they spotted the Transit making a getaway, and a loudspeaker called out, but the commotion in the van drowned out the words.

Shattner held onto the side of the van desperately as it rocketed down the street, its souped-up engine releasing all its horses. He glanced nervously at Diego, who was directing the men to fire at the cops.

Shattner shouted above the racket, ‘You’re not going to fire at them, are you? That will make this worse.’

Diego looked at him contemptuously, and before he could answer, the gangbangers opened fire. They didn’t see if their shots had any effect as the van turned a corner and then immediately slipped into another street and took yet another turn, where it slid into an open slot. The four men jumped out, took the remaining stash, and ran away, disappearing in the traffic.

Diego pushed Shattner ahead of him, the two walking briskly but not noticeably hurrying, blending in the ebb and flow of the street. He nudged Shattner into a park, where they sat, outwardly relaxed, till it grew dark.

Smart move, thought Shattner. Parks won’t be the first place the cops look at.

They broke into a run-down Honda Civic when night set in,