End Game (Jack Noble #12) Read online

  End Game

  Jack Noble Book 12

  L.T. Ryan

  Liquid Mind Media, LLC

  Contents

  The Jack Noble Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Also by L.T. Ryan

  Copyright © 2017 by L.T. Ryan. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. For information contact:

  [email protected]

  http://LTRyan.com

  https://www.facebook.com/JackNobleBooks

  Special thanks to Amy, Barbara, Don, George, Melissa, Nikki, and Pati.

  The Jack Noble Series

  The Recruit (free)

  Noble Beginnings

  A Deadly Distance

  Thin Line

  Noble Intentions

  When Dead in Greece

  Noble Retribution

  Noble Betrayal

  Never Go Home

  Beyond Betrayal (Clarissa Abbot)

  Noble Judgment

  Never Cry Mercy

  Deadline

  End Game

  Receive a free copy of The Recruit by visiting http://ltryan.com/newsletter.

  1

  January 17th, 2010

  The following takes place between Thin Line and Noble Intentions, books 3 and 4 of the series.

  I stood at the corner of East 72nd and Third Ave. A frigid wind whipped from the direction of the Park. The cold rendered my nose useless in picking up the smells from the bakery behind me. Even the exhaust from the line of cabs didn’t register.

  The message had come in late last night from a random 212 number to meet Charles at this location. The big oaf acted as a buffer between me and the Old Man whenever he needed me for a job. I figured by now trust would’ve been earned. For the past couple of years I’d taken every job thrown my way. It didn’t matter the target or the scope of work. Whether information or extermination, I completed each without a single thought otherwise. No hesitation.

  The moral compass that once guided me had faded into the nether. Not much of a conscience ever existed, but at least there was some semblance of right and wrong guiding my actions. As long as I could justify taking a life, I did it. After being set up one too many times by those I trusted most, I’d had enough and decided that no one else mattered. The size of the paycheck was often the driving factor now.

  The white Mercedes screeched to a stop in between two yellow cabs. A woman driving a blue minivan laid on her horn as she swerved to miss the back end of the luxury sedan. A cigarette butt flew out of the cracked window, soaring end over end toward me. The wind intervened and sent it fluttering to the ground.

  “Getting in?” Charles said from behind the glass over the high-pitched wailing of an opera singer and a heavy club beat. “Or do I gotta open the door for you like I do the Old Man?”

  I stepped off the curb, crushing the lit cigarette in the process.

  Charles hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “In the back, asshole.”

  I peeked through the window and saw one of Charles’s new goons occupying the passenger seat. The rear seat was empty, and so far neither man made any move to disarm me. So I opened the door and slid to the middle. Charles looked up at the rearview and made eye contact for a moment. His gaze shifted and the Mercedes jolted forward to a chorus of horns. I glanced over my shoulder and saw two cars behind us stopped at an angle, inches from one another.

  “Jack,” Charles said. “This is Matt, he’s new to the inner—”

  “Yeah, I really don’t give a shit.” I stared out the window at a woman jogging in shorts and a vest, her cadence almost in perfect time with whatever weird techno music Charles was blasting. “The hell are you listening to?”

  Charles swatted his goon on the shoulder. “You believe this guy? I swear, what the Old Man sees in him, I don’t get it. You could do the work he does, and do it better.”

  “Then why am I here?” I said. “You wanna replace me with this chump, then let me out now. I got plenty of other people I can get work from.”

  “Chill your damn goats, Noble. I’m just bustin’ your balls, man.”

  Twenty minutes later we pulled to the curb in front of a renovated brownstone on Hicks Street. A stack of bricks piled as tall as a man stood to the left of the sweeping steps leading to the entrance. The salvaged windows wavily reflected the bleak day.

  Charles led me inside the building while Matt remained with the car. He’d been given instructions to cooperate should a cop poke his nose into their business. Usually they’d do so looking for a handout. Even the ones on the Old Man’s payroll were always on the lookout for a few bucks more. The old guy didn’t mind. He used it as a qualifier to know who he could trust, and who he could consider killing.

  We huffed it up three flights of stairs and stopped in front of an unassuming apartment. Charles placed one large hand on his belly, the other on the doorframe, sucking in deep breaths of air. I knew of at least five properties owned by the Old Man, and was sure he had several others. Some for meetings. Others for out of town associates to stay when they visited. And at least a few used as safe houses for his guys, and himself, when necessary. While I had no desire to run a business on the scale of the Old Man’s, I adopted his practice of buying real estate. Together with my old partner Bear, we owned seven residences spread throughout the city, and a few houses in northern New York.

  “You know the drill.” Charles had one hand on the knob, the other extended toward me. Collecting my pistol was a formality. We both knew that once inside, I’d be out-manned and outgunned. No chance I’d reach for my backup piece.

  He cracked the door, put his big hand on my back and pushed me inside. Two bodyguards dressed in black and wearing black gloves with cutout fingers turned their att
ention to me. The third remained perched at his lookout spot, watching the road below. The Old Man spun a quarter-turn in his office chair. A lit cigarette dangled from his fingers. Smoke slipped from his parted lips, catching the sunlight and creating a haze between us. As the smoky veil lifted, his yellow teeth shone through his crooked smile.

  “Mr. Jack,” he said, tipping his ash into a ceramic tray. “So good to see you. Feels like it’s been forever since we last met.”

  “A month,” I said. “Last time we saw each other was a month ago. Remember, you needed help making that woman disappear. Something about a paternity suit, if I remember correctly.”

  “So recently?” Smiling, he shook his head and gestured for me to take a seat opposite him. “Perhaps I am slipping in my old age.”

  “Perhaps.” I stood firm, waited to see if he’d get to the point of the meeting.

  The Old Man waved at his bodyguards and they dispersed, leaving him, Charles and me as the sole occupants of the room. The door slammed shut, and we waited amid the thundering silence.

  I broke the first rule of negotiations. “What’s this all about?”

  The Old Man took a final drag off his cigarette, then extinguished it in the tray. Exhaling, he said, “An associate of mine, a businessman, made a rather large and costly mistake, putting himself at risk in the process. Which puts me at risk. And when I’m at risk, my entire organization, including my contractors, is at risk.”

  “What kind of dealings do you typically have with this associate?”

  Charles leaned forward. “That’s not for you to worry—”

  The Old Man sliced his hand through the air between us. “Please, Mr. Charles, allow Mr. Jack to ask whatever questions he wants. After all, he is the one who is going to help us solve this problem.”

  “Yeah, Chuck,” I said. “So back to my question.”

  “He’s a businessman, so business dealings. As you know, a good portion of what I do is on the right side of the law. I have many associates who do not delve into or share our view of the world.”

  “And this guy?” I said. “What’s his worldview?”

  The Old Man smiled, answering the question in the process.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Find him. Find out what he knows, what he’s said, and what he’s planning to do.” The Old Man reached into his breast pocket, producing a bullet. He placed it flat on the table, spun it with a flick of his finger. “And once you’ve got every last bit of information out of him, kill him.”

  I nodded, said nothing.

  “One more thing.” The Old Man lifted his eyebrows. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Before killing him, Mr. Jack, make him hurt.”

  2

  The rest of the meeting was more of a formality than anything else. Matt showed up around this time. The guy stood in the corner and kept his mouth shut while Charles, the Old Man and I continued on with the kind of mindless banter that occurs in boardrooms across the country. Throughout our bullshit conversation, the missing details of the job nagged at me. What had this man done that left the Old Man wanting him not only dead, but also tortured? I preferred hitting hard and fast and getting the job done. Torture wasn’t my thing, but for the payday the Old Man was offering, I couldn’t refuse the job or his requests.

  After we wrapped up, Charles led me out of the building. His new associate Matt stayed behind. Perhaps he had his own private meeting upstairs. What was his role within the organization? Had it been coincidence that we were in the same car together that morning? Or did they want him in there with me for a reason?

  “Everything you need’s in here.” A worn leather messenger bag dangled from Charles’s fingertips.

  I slung the lightweight bag over my shoulder and protected the zippered opening with my left arm. I felt a pistol inside the bag.

  “What do you know about this guy?” I shot him a sideways glance to judge his reaction as we stepped out into the cold.

  Charles’s expression revealed nothing. It rarely did. His face was made of stone. “Just some guy who got on the Old Man’s bad side.”

  “You never met him?”

  Charles shrugged, his bottom lip poked out, pushing his upper lip into his nose. Was he telling me something, or was it a reaction to the frigid air freezing his nose hairs together? “What’s it matter? Guy could be my best friend’s cousin’s lover and he’d still be gettin’ whacked. Know what I mean?”

  Once the wheels were in motion, there was no stopping the hit from taking place. It was only a matter of deciding on the trigger man. For some jobs it could be anybody. Others required a specific assassin. I’d take just about any job these days. That hadn’t always been the case, though. Morals and ethics, as shifty as they could be, played a part at one time. Too much had happened to me over the years to care anymore. But I still had two no-gos. Kids and dogs. Not a chance I’d harm either. Everyone else? Better not do something that gets me sent to your front door.

  “True enough,” I said. “Anything I should be aware of with him? Military background? Security?”

  He pointed at the bag. “It’s all in there.”

  We slipped into the idling Mercedes. The heated cabin was a relief from the arctic assault happening outside.

  “You believe this flippin’ weather?” He blew a puff of hot air into his clasped hands then rubbed them together before slipping on a pair of black leather gloves. “Where’s this crap come from?”

  “Canada, I guess. Maybe Alaska.”

  “Weatherman Noble.” He looked at me. “You’d be real cute on television. You know that? Maybe get you one of those skirts to put on, maybe a wig to help cover up that ugly mug of yours.”

  “I don’t think I could sleep at night if I knew you were jerking off to me on the eleven o’clock news.”

  Charles chuckled. “You wish, Noble.”

  We headed back to Manhattan, the Upper West Side this time. As we approached the drop-off point, I scanned the street for threats and flagged anyone who looked out of place. On this morning where temperatures had only just reached zero, that was pretty much everyone. In the end, though, no one stood out enough to warrant concern.

  “This job could go a long way for you in our organization,” Charles said as he pulled to the curb, rubbing the tires against the concrete. “Maybe get you a full-time gig.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  I acted as though I mulled it over for a couple of seconds. “For starters, I don’t like following the orders of underlings. I can handle a boss, some of the time, as long as he leaves me the hell alone. So really, the only job worth having would be yours. My first act would be to take you down so I could slide into your position. From there, I’d work on taking over the whole organization.”

  Charles laughed. “You? Right. A guy who likes to live in the breeze and pick up work when it suits you. You wouldn’t want to take on the Old Man’s responsibilities.” He paused a beat. “Mine either.”

  “Like you do anything important on a daily basis.”

  “You got no idea, Noble.” He shook his head. “You really don’t.”

  “Just busting your balls, man. I don’t want your job. I certainly don’t want to run an enterprise like the Old Man’s.” I cracked the door open, inviting a steady gust of wind inside. “And I have no desire to be a part of your organization.”

  “Solid pay for a guy like you. No more drifting. And you’d have the full protection of the Old Man. Right now you’re pretty much in danger every second of every day. With his backing, you’d be almost untouchable.”

  “Untouchable…right. Except to the same people I already have to watch out for. Like you said, every second of every day, I’m watching my back for the criminals I put away, and the agency I put them away for. Let’s not get into other organizations and the Old Man’s rivals I’ve weakened in the past.”

  “But if you’re with us, you’ll be avenged. If someone got you r
ight now, you’d be a dead asshole with no one mourning you.”

  I sat there for a moment, my grip loose on the door handle. He was right. If someone took me out right then and there, no one would mourn my passing.

  And I was happy with that.

  3

  I turned a six-block walk into a half hour ordeal full of wrong turns and narrow alleyways. The route was designed to make a tail easier to spot. The Old Man knew plenty about me, including the locations of some of my real estate, which was fine. But I couldn’t compromise the one I was headed to now.

  I first caught sight of the guy on the corner of 96th and Amsterdam. He wore a brown bomber and black scarf wrapped to his chin. Dark glasses shielded his eyes from view, and were unnecessary on the overcast morning. He followed me on two successive turns, maintaining a fifty-foot gap between us. He was sloppy, though, and failed to use the sparse crowd as cover.

  The next alley was littered with dumpsters and grease traps. The foul stench was the first odor able to pervade my senses outside that day. How the bums drinking and napping in the narrow corridor managed to remain there I had no idea. I figured that maybe the only thing that smelled worse than them was that stretch of cracked asphalt.

  The short road tee’d at the end. I turned right, casting a quick glance back toward the street. The guy stood in the open, cell phone in his hand, looking up at the brick facade of the building.

  Who had he called? Backup? Charles or the Old Man? Maybe my new friend Matt?

  I scanned the lane behind the buildings and realized I’d made a mistake. The map in my head told me this path would intersect with a narrow walkway between two apartment buildings, dumping out on W 98th Street. It didn’t, though.

  Dead end.

  I swung my head around and saw that the other direction offered no outlet either. I tried three nearby doors in an attempt to find another way out. All were locked. It was time to get a little creative. Across the main alley was a fire escape that ran to the top of the building. The access was low enough to reach with a running start and a hop up the wall.