Read Online Deadly in New York by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online

Bring you cookies I make. So nice to talk with my lieber Freunden . But I must leave soon. The men with guns say, and I do not argue with the men!”
    â€œCome back anytime,” Hawker said, lifting one of the crates. “I’ll watch for you. And, if things work out, maybe you won’t have to leave your home after all.”
    The woman beamed at him through her dark glasses, then tottered away down the sidewalk.
    Hawker watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then carried his load inside.
    There was something strange about the woman. Something strange and lonely and pathetic.
    New York City, Hawker decided, was the perfect place for her.
    At first dusk, Hawker began to ready himself for the fight.
    He ate a light supper of fruit and iced tea.
    He steamed himself clean in the shower, then forced himself not to flinch as he turned the cold water on full.
    He urinated and defecated—two things he didn’t want to have to think about in the middle of a firefight.
    It was the same well-loved routine he had observed before a baseball game when he played for the Detroit organization, or before a boxing match, back when he was still a teenager, fighting Golden Gloves.
    The only difference was, now the stakes were higher.
    One hell of a lot higher.
    He could feel the butterflies of tension building in his stomach: a good feeling.
    Hawker pulled on a black T-shirt and dark jeans. To his ankle, beneath the jeans, he strapped a Randall Attack-Survival combat knife. His best holster—the Jensen Quick-Draw—had been built especially for the customized Colt Commander.
    But he no longer owned the Colt.
    Lieutenant Callis had insisted that Hawker could not claim the weapon, explaining, “If you say it’s yours, I’ll have to arrest you all over again. This state’s got tough gun laws, and your permit is only good for Illinois.”
    It was true, so Hawker had not argued.
    So, in place of the Colt, Hawker selected the Browning HP 35 pistol. Along with a pretty fair range of effectiveness—seventy meters—the Browning’s most attractive feature was its thirteen-round detachable clip. Carefully Hawker filled two clips full of 9mm cartridges and slid a third into the parabellum before housing the pistol in the shoulder holster he had strapped on.
    The Browning was dependable, but Hawker had a more effective weapon in mind for the main assault.
    From the crate he lifted one of three Ingram MAC10 submachine guns. It was only about twice as long as the Browning and weighed only two kilograms more.
    But the Ingram offered one hell of a lot more fire power. The box clip held thirty-two 9mm rounds—and all could be fired, if need be, in just a deadly few seconds.
    Hawker loaded five full clips and put them with the Ingram—along with the Ingram’s threaded silencer and a silencer for the Browning—in a canvas knapsack.
    Finally Hawker chose the weapon he would use for the initial assault. He had used it before—in L.A.—and he had come to respect it for its silence and its killing power.
    It was a Cobra military crossbow. It was small and light, built of aluminum and fiberglass. By breaking it down like a pellet rifle, the weapon cocked itself automatically. It had an effective killing range of more than three-hundred yards, and the deadly, three-edged arrows traveled a hundred meters in less than a second.
    Hawker packed a dozen of the small killing bolts, then, using the same professional care, he deposited a few more surprises for the Mafioso goons in the knapsack before locking the rest of his gear away.
    That done, he pulled a jacket on over the shoulder holster and tugged a black British watch cap over his red-brown hair. After making sure the cheap lock had sealed the door as best it could, Hawker drew out a six-foot length of piano wire. He would have liked to put it at neck level, but that was impossible because the stair railing was too low.