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I took the long way back just in case their guards would recognize my very memorable car, and looped two streets behind where the high rises were and selected one that, experience told me, would be a good place to use as my base.
Having never appreciated Brighton Beach, I didn’t anticipate enjoying the next few hours as I grabbed my cello case, this time with a different gun in it, and hauled it over to the building’s gate.
Buzzing a random button, I waited for someone to answer. When no one did, I repeated it a few times until someone responded, “What?”
“Here for emergency plumbing,” I stated, my tone pure Staten Island.
“I didn’t call anyone.”
“Not you. Apartment below. Not answering the buzzer.”
A huff sounded, but the gate clicked, and I pushed in. I pressed the same apartment buzzer and they, very kindly, let me in too.
The building wasn’t poor, but neither was it affluent, even though I knew they’d have a small sliver of an ocean view.
The hallway was bare and basic, lined with posters advertising babysitting and dog walking services. There was no graffiti, which I took as a good sign.
If we’d secured the Russian compound, this building would be on our radar, and we’d own the top floors.
One of the reasons why we controlled the real estate around us was to ensure that snipers wouldn’t be able to get to my da while he was eating his eggs for breakfast.
Everything in the vicinity was low lying, and his fences were higher than Rikers’.
In case I was wrong and the Russians held the top floor, I made my way to the sixth floor, which was halfway up.
The elevator spat me out into a corridor lined with a puke green carpet, and it opened into the middle, so there were ten doors to my left and ten to my right.
I went right first, which was actually further away from the Russian compound.
Stepping down to the end, I noticed the last one had flowers and shit outside the door, so that was out, the next had a kind of shoe cleaner shaped like a hedgehog, and the third had scratch marks on the bottom of the doorjamb, which meant a dog lived in there.
Skipping the fourth because of the dog in the third, I knocked on the fifth door and came up with a bullseye.
No answer.
Taking a chance and settling my case against the wall, I pulled out my kit and worked on opening the door. Fifty seconds later, inside the apartment, I smiled to myself.
It was barren.
Whistling happily at the sight, and knowing I had time to plan because it was vacant, I set up my rifle.
It didn’t have the gloss or glamor of mine, but it was decent kit. I eyed the scope, adjusted it, set it up as well as I could for a tool I didn’t like, and then peered out of the window, seeing the Russian compound which was nearer to the ocean. I also saw that oceanside, there were lower walls.
Dumbfucks.
Didn’t they realize people had boats?
You couldn’t be in our line of work and appreciate a view—not when people would exploit the view to get to you.
Picking up my rifle, I eyed the houses once more, then turned back to the apartment.
The kitchen and lounge were one room, but the kitchen window was wide enough to encompass the U-shape of the counters, meaning I could set up on there with the window open and have a higher hunting ground.
It’d be uncomfortable, but I’d been in worse spots.
Arranging myself took another ten minutes, but when I was content, I peered through the scope once more, and waited.
That was all I could do for the moment.
