of a violin case, he carried his over-under 12-gauge in a large carry-on bag. To further disguise the gun, he raided a nearby Dumpster and pushed in a few old tin cans and a bundle of newspapers and magazines. On cursory inspection, his carry-on would pass for the sum of a bum's possessions.
The walk in took about ten minutes, but it was just what we needed to shake off the cobwebs of inactivity. Feeling keyed up, we took a position opposite Petoskey's building. Behind a chain-link fence was another small building. It had also suffered over the years. The roof was gone, no windows remained, and the interior was the domain of rats. Even the graffiti were faded. No discerning street person would take up residence there.
We entered through a hole in the fence, negotiated a weed-choked courtyard, and entered the building through a doorless void. We had to then push our way through heaped rubbish to one of the abandoned offices from which we could watch and wait. The sunset was a raw wound on the horizon.
Without spoiling the decor, Rink emptied the junk from his bag. He checked the shotgun and seemed satisfied. He fed shells into it while peering out the window. Following his gaze, I saw that lights had come on behind the plastic sheeting on the upper floor. Though muted, shadows wove sinuous patterns on the sheeting as people moved through the rooms.
'I'd like to know what the hell's going on up there,' I said.
'Don't hear nothing,' Rink replied. 'My guess is he's got a cook shop going.'
It was a likelihood that Petoskey had some kind of lab going up there, producing crack cocaine or methamphetamine. On two counts, we were going to have to take care going in. If indeed it was a crack lab, inside there could be innocents who had been forced into this unwholesome line of work. Plus, the scum guarding the production line would be packing weapons. Scum with weapons plus innocent bystanders were never good mathematics.
'I don't know, Rink. Could be something else.'
The location wasn't sitting right with me. Okay, we were in a run-down area of town, but normally crack labs weren't as public as this. People didn't turn up in limousines to conduct a quality control inspection, even if a few of the local cops had been paid to turn a blind eye.
Something I didn't doubt: whatever was going on, it was something illegal. We'd be in dangerous territory. 'Looks like your standard one-two assault,' I said to Rink.
He nodded slowly.
Where only two soldiers are involved in infiltrating an enemy stronghold, we always used a strategy termed a one-two maneuver. Like the name, there's nothing fancy about it. Advancing single file, the first—or point—man would engage and take out the enemy while the second would move on to the next position. Roles would then reverse, and so on, until the high ground was gained and no enemy was left behind to cause further trouble.
Of course, there are inherent problems with such tactics. It leaves way too much to chance and the ability of the individual soldier to neutralize the opposition. If things go wrong, the mission has to be aborted in rapid fashion. In the past, I've had worse experiences gaining exit than I have in the initial assault. Because of this, I prefer the less formal sobriquet of 'smash and dash.'
It remained our choice of approach on this occasion simply because it was all we had the numbers for. Maybe I should've allowed Harvey Lucas to join us. With three men, it lessens the chance that the enemy can outflank you. But not by much.
'Where do you suggest we start?' Rink asked. His expression was flat, but this was a front. Lights burned behind his eyes, and I knew that he was anxious.
I pointed out the opposite end of the building from where the guards patrolled. 'See the fire escape? I'm guessing that there are doors at each floor. We'll go in through one of them, huh?'
Rink inclined his chin in agreement.
On its lowest floor the doors were most likely locked as tight as a
miser's billfold. But the myriad broken windows would give us easy access.
It was a waiting game. The sun went down, and shadows moved in like furtive burglars in the night. The lights behind the plastic grew brighter. Like zombies from some B movie, the street people drifted from their daytime hideaways, moving off in search of what they needed to feed their vices. More vehicles arrived. From our position, we couldn't make out how many people arrived, but from the excited yapping, someone had brought a couple of dogs with them.
'You hear what I'm hearing?' Rink asked.
'Yup. But you didn't expect this to be easy, did you?'
'
Maybe the dogs were extra security Siggy employed after dark. I severely doubted that he was conducting doggy obedience classes. Rink and I shared a glance. Dogs, large or small, always made extreme stealth an issue.
We waited another half hour before leaving. Rink went first, shambling out through the gap in the fence. His pace was that of a man addled with drink and with no firm destination in mind. When he was out of sight around the side of the building, it was my turn to follow.
I followed the same route, joining Rink in the deep well of murk at the side of the building. There was an overpowering stench of vomit and urine. Welcome home, Hunter. It doesn't matter where my work takes me, it's always the same. I was only pleased that I couldn't see what I was standing in.
'Ready?' Rink whispered. He had the shotgun out of its bag, ready for action. I pulled out my SIG, held it at my side.
'Ready,' I said.
Mounting the first set of stairs on a rusted fire escape, my mission to discover the whereabouts of my brother was finally under way. Whether or not John was inside the building, I wasn't sure. Petoskey was, and he knew something about John's disappearance. Taking Petoskey was the order of the day.
