The Watcher
1953 Words
The Black Anchor sat on Wharf Street like a toothache—ugly, throbbing, impossible to ignore.
Adam had been watching it for three hours from a parked delivery van across the street. The van belonged to a bakery that closed at 6 PM. Adam had picked the lock at 9 PM, slid into the back, and cut two small holes in the rusted side panel. Now he had a clear view of the bar's entrance and the alley beside it.
Micheal was two blocks away, positioned on the roof of a parking garage with a pair of binoculars. They communicated through cheap two-way radios Danny had stashed in the safehouse.
"Anything?" Micheal's voice crackled.
"Nothing yet. Bar's busy. Lots of dock workers."
"Cross usually shows up around 11. Be patient."
Adam shifted his weight. His legs were cramping. The van smelled like stale bread and his own sweat. He'd been living in his clothes for two days now. No shower. No sleep longer than two hours. His body was running on adrenaline and rage.
"I see him," Micheal said. "Coming up Wharf Street. Black SUV. He's early."
Adam pressed his eye to the hole.
The SUV pulled to the curb. Leo Cross got out first—big, bald, neck tattoos disappearing into his collar. He wore a black leather jacket and jeans. His hands were bare. No gloves. No weapons visible.
Two other men got out behind him. Cole and Vance. Cole was lean, military haircut, scanning the street like a bodyguard. Vance was younger, nervous, his hand resting on something under his jacket.
Cross said something. Cole laughed. Vance didn't.
They walked into the Black Anchor.
"He's inside," Adam said. "Three of them."
"See anyone else? Cindy's people?"
"Just the three. But there could be more inside."
"You want to go in?" Micheal asked.
"No. Tonight we watch. Tomorrow we plan."
"Your call."
Adam settled in for the wait.
---
The Black Anchor was a cop bar. Not official, but everyone knew. Off-duty officers drank there. Detectives. Evidence techs. The kind of cops who looked the other way for the right price.
Cross owned them. Not all of them, but enough. The ones who mattered.
Adam watched the door. Every twenty minutes or so, someone came out to smoke. Dock workers. A woman in a leather skirt. A man with a badge on his belt.
At 11:45, Cross came out.
He was alone. He walked to the alley beside the bar, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The flame illuminated his face for a second. Dead eyes. Flat expression. The face of a man who had stopped feeling anything a long time ago.
Adam's hand went to the gun in his waistband. He didn't draw it. He just touched it. Reminded himself it was there.
Cross smoked for three minutes. Then he flicked the cigarette into the street and went back inside.
"He took a smoke break," Adam radioed.
"Did you see anything useful?"
"He's right-handed. Keeps his weight on his back foot. He's got a limp—left leg. Old injury."
"Good eye. Anything else?"
"He doesn't check his surroundings. Too comfortable. He's been doing this too long. He thinks he's untouchable."
"That's his weakness."
"That's his death warrant."
---
At 1:15 AM, Cross and his men came out.
Cole walked ahead, clearing the path. Vance stayed close to Cross, hand still under his jacket. Cross moved slowly, deliberately, like a man who had nowhere to be and no one to answer to.
They got into the SUV and drove toward the Spire.
Adam waited sixty seconds, then started the van. The engine coughed once, twice, then caught. He pulled out and followed at a distance.
"He's heading north," Adam said. "I'm following."
"Don't get too close. Cross is paranoid."
"Everyone's paranoid in Blackhaven. That doesn't mean they're smart."
The SUV led him through the Docks, past the warehouse district, up the hill toward the glass towers of the Spire. Cross's apartment building was new—chrome and glass, a doorman, a security camera on every corner.
The SUV pulled into the underground garage. Adam drove past, turned the corner, and parked.
"He's home. Building's got security. Can't follow him inside."
"That's fine. You got what you needed."
"His routine. His habits. His people." Adam killed the engine. "Tomorrow night, we make our move."
"What kind of move?"
"We take Cole first. Without his muscle, Cross is exposed."
"Cole is ex-military. He's not an easy target."
"Everyone's easy if you hit them when they're not looking."
---
The next morning, Adam slept for four hours.
When he woke up, Elena was in the safehouse.
She stood by the map on the floor, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Five men stood behind her—rough-looking, scarred, dressed in work clothes and leather jackets. Ex-Serpents. Danny's old crew.
"You said you needed soldiers," Elena said. "These are the ones who said yes."
Adam sat up on the cot, rubbed his eyes. "Names."
The first man stepped forward. He was tall, thin, with a snake tattoo coiled around his neck. "Vince. I ran logistics for Danny. I know every back road in Blackhaven."
The second was shorter, wider, with broken knuckles and a flat nose. "Dom. I was Danny's driver. I can handle a car better than anyone in this city."
The third was a woman—Adam hadn't expected that. She was young, maybe twenty-five, with close-cropped hair and cold eyes. "Rosa. I handled Danny's communications. I know who's talking to who."
The fourth was older, gray-haired, with a limp. "Frank. I was Danny's mentor. Taught him everything he knew about the streets."
The fifth was a kid, barely twenty, with nervous energy and shaky hands. "Leo. No relation to Cross. I ran numbers for Danny. I'm good with computers."
"Leo?" Adam raised an eyebrow.
"My mother liked the name. Don't hold it against me."
Adam stood up. He looked at each of them in turn. "You know what we're doing?"
"Taking down Cindy Vance," Vince said. "Elena told us."
"You know the risks?"
"We're dead anyway," Dom said. "Without Danny, we're nothing. Cindy's been picking us off one by one. This way, we go down fighting."
Adam nodded. "Then welcome to the team."
---
They spent the afternoon planning.
Elena knew Cross's routine better than anyone. "He leaves his apartment at 6 AM. Goes to the gym on Grand Avenue. Stays for an hour. Then breakfast at the Black Anchor. Then work."
"Where's work?" Adam asked.
"A warehouse on the south end of the Docks. He runs the trafficking operation out of there. Girls come in at night, get processed, then shipped out by morning."
"How many guards?"
"At the warehouse? At least a dozen. Armed. Trained."
"We're not hitting the warehouse. Not yet. We're hitting Cole."
Frank spoke up. "Cole lives in a townhouse on the edge of Iron District. Near the old rail yard. He's got a girlfriend. No kids."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been watching him for three months. Danny asked me to."
Adam filed that away. Danny had been preparing for war longer than anyone knew.
"Does Cole have a routine?"
"He leaves Cross at 2 AM. Drives home. Stays there until 10 AM. Then he goes to the gym, then to Cross."
"That's our window. 2 AM to 10 AM. We take him at his house."
"His girlfriend will be there," Rosa said.
"Then we make sure she doesn't get hurt. We're not animals."
Micheal, who had been silent in the corner, finally spoke. "You're making a mistake."
Everyone turned.
"What kind of mistake?" Adam asked.
"Taking Cole at his house. Too many variables. Neighbors. Cops. Security cameras. One scream and the whole plan falls apart."
"What do you suggest?"
"We take him on the road. Between Cross's apartment and his own. There's a stretch on Miller Street with no cameras. Abandoned warehouses on both sides. We box him in, grab him, and disappear before anyone sees."
Adam looked at the map. Miller Street. He knew it. Dark, narrow, perfect for an ambush.
"That could work."
"It will work," Micheal said. "I've done it before."
"When?"
"When I worked for Cindy. This is how we handled problems. Quiet. Fast. No witnesses."
Adam didn't ask for details. He didn't want to know.
---
They spent the rest of the day preparing.
Dom checked the cars—two sedans and a panel van, all stolen, all with clean plates. Vince mapped out escape routes. Rosa monitored police frequencies. Frank cleaned the guns. The kid, Leo, hacked into the city traffic camera network and disabled the feed on Miller Street for a six-block radius.
"You can do that?" Adam asked.
"Easy. The city's security is from 2005. I could turn off every camera in Blackhaven if I had enough time."
"We'll save that for later."
Elena pulled Adam aside. "You're doing the right thing."
"I know."
"But you're not ready."
"What do you mean?"
"You've never killed a man. Tonight, you might have to. Cole won't come quietly. He's trained. He's armed. He'll fight."
"Then I'll fight back."
"It's not the same. Fighting and killing are different. Fighting, you want to win. Killing, you want to end something. You have to be ready for that."
Adam looked at her. "Danny was all I had. Cindy took him. I'm ready to end whatever I have to."
Elena studied his face. Then she nodded. "Good. Because tonight, we cross a line. There's no coming back."
---
At 1:30 AM, they were in position.
Dom drove the panel van, parked on Miller Street between two abandoned warehouses. Vince waited in a sedan at the south end of the block. Frank waited in another sedan at the north end. Adam and Micheal sat in the back of the van, doors open, ready to move.
Rosa was in a parking lot two blocks away, monitoring the radio. The kid, Leo, was at the safehouse, watching traffic cameras and feeding information.
"He's leaving the Anchor now," Rosa said. "Cross is staying behind. Cole is alone. Vance is with him."
"Two targets," Adam said. "We take them both."
"That changes the plan," Micheal said.
"Then we adapt."
The SUV appeared at the end of Miller Street. Headlights cut through the dark. Dom killed the van's lights. The street went black.
The SUV drove slowly, tires crunching on broken asphalt. Cole was behind the wheel. Vance was in the passenger seat.
"Now," Adam said.
Dom hit the van's high beams.
The SUV swerved. Cole was blinded for a split second—that was all they needed.
Micheal stepped out of the van, gun raised. "Engine off. Hands on the wheel."
Cole didn't stop. He floored it.
The SUV lurched forward, but Vince's sedan was already blocking the road. Frank's sedan blocked the rear. The SUV slammed into Vince's bumper, airbags deploying, glass shattering.
Adam ran to the driver's side door, ripped it open. Cole was dazed, blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead. Adam grabbed his collar and dragged him out.
Vance was already on the ground, hands behind his head, Dom's gun pressed to his temple.
"Don't move," Dom said. "Don't even breathe."
Adam pushed Cole against the van. "You killed my brother."
Cole's eyes focused. He spat blood on the ground. "Danny? That was Cross. I just watched."
"You were there."
"So were a lot of people."
"You're going to tell me everything. Or I'm going to break every bone in your body."
Cole smiled. It was a bloody, broken smile. "You don't have the guts."
Adam punched him in the stomach. Cole doubled over, gasping.
"Try me."
- Writer
