Hardin heard Lafitpour sigh. “Excitement is rare at my age. I suppose I shall just have to treat this as an opportunity. We will do this your way.”
“OK, and don’t bother making a call and trying to scramble some assets. You don’t have time. I’d see them coming. If I see them coming and I have a clear shot at you, I take it. And then I hit the send button on my phone and reporters from the New York Times to Der Spiegel get some real interesting e-mail.”
“Some days I do despise technology,” Lafitpour said.
Tommy Porcini’s ass was getting numb, over an hour in this fucking traffic, but it made tailing the Honda pretty damn easy. He was still three cars back, but he could have sat right on their ass ever since O’Hare and they wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. Not like anybody could go anywhere.
Corsco’d called back. He was handing Hardin over to Hernandez, given Porcini’s number to Hernandez’s people. They’d been in touch. Looked like Hernandez had been over on the west side hanging in his crew’s territory. Word was he’d loaded up a couple of SUVs, was en route. Porcini was supposed to stay on Hardin’s ass until Hernandez got there.
“Al Din is on the move.” The surveillance guy talking to Lynch. They’d had eyes on al Din’s car full-time since they tracked it down.
“What’s he doing?” Lynch asked.
“Just sort of circling around the River North neighborhood right now, like he’s waiting for something.”
“OK.” Lynch waved Bernstein over. “We’re rolling.”
CHAPTER 84
Hernandez sat in the backseat of a Ford Explorer, one of his best Skull shooters next to him. One of the blacks from the West Side gang driving, a man who knew the streets, another Skull up front. Hernandez had three more shooters in a Lexus that another gangbanger was driving a couple cars ahead in the left lane. They’d cut north up some surface streets, got on the Kennedy at Fullerton headed back south. Hernandez was on the phone with Corsco’s man. He should be close – a red Cadillac CTS behind a black Honda in the right lane.
Corsco saw a red Caddy five cars up.
“Tap your brakes twice,” Hernandez said into the phone.
The brake lights on the Caddy winked.
“Hardin still in front of you?” Hernandez asked.
“One car up,” said Porcini.
“OK, we got him.” Hernandez hung up the phone.
Hernandez tapped his driver. “Get in the right lane. Call the other driver; tell him to get over, too.”
A few cars ahead, the Lexus cut into the right lane. The red Caddy pulled over into a middle lane. Hernandez’s driver cut into the vacated spot. Hernandez could see the Honda now. The Lexus was immediately in front of it. The Honda signaled a turn, getting ready to take the Randolph Street exit. The other driver was paying attention – he led the Honda up the ramp.
Hardin picked up his phone and dialed. He and Wilson were coming up on their exit. Time to get Lafitpour and Hickman moving.
“You two ready?” Hardin asked.
“Yes,” said Lafitpour.
“OK. Both of you take off your jackets. Either of you has a gun, put it on your desk and leave it there. Hickman got his phone with him?”
“Yes,” said Lafitpour.
“Have him call this number. That will be Wilson. He stays on the phone with her until we meet. You stay on with me. Don’t want you calling any friends, trying to arrange any surprises.”
Wilson’s phone rang, she answered.
“Just keep talking,” she said. A pause. “I don’t care about what asshole. Recite the fucking alphabet if you have to. Just make sure I keep hearing an open line.”
“OK,” said Hardin. “The two of you get outside – you’re taking a little walk.”
“We will lose our cell signals in the elevator,” said Lafitpour.
“Then take the stairs. There’s a parking garage at Franklin and Washington. Walk there now. Right now. Should take you ten minutes. Take the elevator to the sixth floor. Walk to the east end of the floor and stand by the wall, right in the middle. You aren’t there when I pull up, we’re done. And keep the phone by your mouth. You aren’t that interesting so you don’t need to keep talking, but I better hear you breathing.”
Hardin could hear street noises through the phone, could hear Lafitpour’s breathing picking up a little. Ten minutes meant he and Hickman had to hoof it, but Hardin didn’t want them relaxing, didn’t want them thinking. He just wanted them moving. Hardin hit the mute button on his phone. Wilson did the same.
“Hickman still there?” Hardin asked.
“Yeah,” said Wilson. “He’s saying some uncharitable things about you.”
“Looks like we might be alive for lunch,” Hardin said.
“Be able to afford a nice one if we are,” said Wilson.
Wilson cut up the Randolph exit, took Clinton south to Washington, and then turned east.
Hernandez sat at the left turn lane at the light at Wacker and Washington, the Honda in front of him, the Lexus in front of the Honda. The light changed and all three cars headed east down Washington. Just before the end of the block, the Honda turned into a parking garage. The Lexus couldn’t make the turn.
“Lost the other car,” the driver said to Hernandez as they turned into the garage, the Honda halfway up the ramp ahead of them.
“Tell them to circle the block,” Hernandez said. “Have them pull in, block the exit.”
The driver made the call.
The shooter next to Hernandez looked over; saw the boss stroking the barrel of the MP5 like he was trying to make it cum. The shooter smiled. He knew exactly how the boss felt.
CHAPTER 85
Al Din was near the Merchandise Mart when the Honda exited the Kennedy, Tokyo on his phone now, on speaker, guiding him in.
“Take a right, cross over the river on Wells. The target is eastbound on Washington. You’ll intercept in a couple of blocks.”
Al Din caught the light at Wacker, caught the next one at Lake, too. Almost enough to make him wish he believed in Allah so that he could also believe that Allah was smiling on his efforts.
Al Din stopped for a red light at Washington.
“Should have caught them on the traffic cam right at your intersection,” Tokyo said. “They turned in somewhere. Hold on.” A very long couple of seconds. “OK, I’ve got them on a security cam. Parking garage directly across from you on the right. Do you see it?”
“Yes,” al Din said.
“There’s an exit off of Wells. Turn in there.”
The light changed. Al Din accelerated through the intersection and signaled his turn into the garage.
Four cars back, Lynch cussed the jackass who double-parked, blocking traffic.
“We’re going to miss the light,” Bernstein said.
Lynch muscled the Crown Vic left, cutting off a taxi, getting a blast on the horn for that, shot ahead, cutting back to the right lane and into the intersection just as the light turned yellow and al Din’s car disappeared into the garage.
Bernstein got on the radio and called for backup.
CHAPTER 86
Wilson looped around the third floor of the garage, still full, caught the ramp up to the next level. On the fourth level, she started to see some open spots. The SUV behind them wasn’t pulling in to any of them. Shit. She had really hoped they were just looking to park.
“Got a black Explorer on our six,” she said. “Picked it up just before the exit. Still behind us.”
“Yeah,” Hardin said. “Saw that.”
“Looks like four guys in it.”
“Yeah, saw that too.”
“So I guess we shouldn’t make those lunch reservations yet.”