New York Minute

by Louis Scott

  Elbows pressed against the narrow ledge, Jim cocked his torso at an angle that gave him a supported line of sight. Justice heard the commotion and twisted his attention away from Jonas and his pledge.

  “Wait. What are you doing?” Justice barked.

  The rookie had jerked Jim back by the shoulder and reached for the rifle.

  “Back off biker,” Jim growled.

  “He needs to die, but I’ll be damned if a badge is gonna do it.”

  “Back off.” Jim yelled.

  Jim eased his eye to the scope and slipped his right index finger inside the trigger guard. Justice grabbed the barrel and jerked the rifle sideways.

  “Rookie’s right. I’ll take care of my own,” Justice growled.

  Jim pulled against him with all of his might. “My shot.”

  “Let him do it, Jim,” Pike yelled. “Or she’s going to die.”

  Justice saw the busted taillight on Rat’s bike dip as the engine roared to full power. Rat had dropped the machine into gear and was seconds from escaping.

  Justice dropped to one knee to clear the window frame. Everyone behind him froze. His eye settled behind the 4x32 scope and balanced the red dot with the reticle. He viewed Rat through the circle of death.

  Rat’s left foot was already off the street to activate the gear lever, his right foot still planted until he released the clutch. Justice sucked in hard to fill his lungs with air, then allowed the breath to fall from his body in a steady flow. Rat lifted his right foot onto the footboard. Rat’s right arm lifted up high, and through the scope, Justice saw him giving the middle finger as he escaped.

  The brake light vanished.

  Rat’s motorcycle travelled about ten feet before Justice emptied his lungs of air, and eased the trigger back. A single bullet ripped through the calm night. Rat’s skull exploded beneath his plastic helmet.

  No one flinched.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You sure it’s scrubbed?” Justice asked Alex.

  Both leaned against the far wall of the empty New Jersey warehouse. They always made sure to eliminate any trace of their presence. Of course it was easier when the CIA sent in cleaners to do the scrub, but neither of them had that luxury anymore.

  The unexpected evacuation of their safe house put a wrinkle in their strategy, but ironing out problems was her specialty. “Taken care of.”

  Both bosses watched over their crews as they crept into the darkened crevasses of a former Hudson River port terminal just across from New York City. Justice watched Jonas’s movements—he’d picked up on the vibe that Jonas suspected Justice and Alex had hit it off a little too friendly. Pike was faithfully loyal to Jonas, but the last thing he wanted was some jealous boyfriend hanging Justice out to dry in the heat of battle.

  “It won’t be long till the pigs figure out what happened. I had the pledge snatch Rat’s colors but the tattoos will identify him as one of mine,” Justice said.

  He squatted with his back pressed into the tin wall. He saw Alex studying his face, but knew the shadows concealed his concern.

  “Justice, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t get caught up in the aftermath.” Alex laid her hand over the chaos of colors that covered every inch of his inked bicep. Though the dimness prevented her from making out the images, bold lines and intimidating shapes were obvious.

  “It’s cool, babe. I can’t believe we never ran into each other on ops,” Justice swirled his finger through a rusty puddle of rainwater and oil. The dump of adrenaline that usually occurred through romance or rumbling would have to wait. Still, his emotions stirred having killed one of his brother bikers.

  “You know how the Agency is—always playing both ends against the middle,” Alex said. “No wonder no one trusts them anymore. Bunch of bureaucrats trying to play secret spy with our lives.”

  Her cell flashed with an incoming message.

  Justice surveyed the vacant cargo area while Alex texted a reply. He spotted Lawless in a deep corner—light from his cell phone showed his features. Justice snorted, expecting his brother to know better than to light himself up in the dark like that.

  A quiet tension filled the space where conversations usually meandered. Experienced operators shift into a zone of focus prior to each mission. The heightened sense of concentration limits their scope of interaction with other. Everyone in the warehouse had been through the fires of combat—they knew what was coming.

  “Lawless said they got a lead on a one-block radius,” Alex whispered.

  “Figured it was him messaging you. Coward, too afraid to come here in person.” He spit out a toothpick and groaned, putting a hand to his back as he slid up the wall.

  “Its odd, I feel as if I know you better, but he’s a lot like you.” Alex looked up at him.

  “It’s not your concern.” He stomped across the empty concrete floor and told his men to ramp up.

  Fourteen warriors crunched into a ring surrounding Alex. Wind howled through an open front awning blasting everyone’s nostrils with the stale odor of the muddy river. With no electricity, they broached the shadow's edge in an attempt to remain concealed. Approaching midnight, everyone carried the burden of exhaustion. Shoulders slumped. Forms leaned. Tough people felt the fatigue, they just didn’t acknowledge it, and went on with what they needed to do.

  Alex planted herself in the middle of the crew. Justice cocked his head to one side and nodded in agreement as she explained the mission. He admired her—one bad chick.

  After days on end and little time for hygiene, it’d become difficult to separate FORCE from Savage Souls. Except for Ellie and Alex, women were property in the outlaw world—never seen as equals, much less in a position to give orders.

  “Hell yeah, the Task Force nailed it,” Lawless cheered.

  The others gather in anticipation.

  Lawless continued, “ Her last message was sent from a barroom along Essex before Jersey Boulevard. Lets go kick the crap out of them.”

  Justice nodded stiffly, holding back from spewing an insult. His gaze flicked upward as if to balance his concentration on the mission versus decades of hard feelings toward his brother. He understood they held different worldviews, but it was the way those differences were carried out that unsettled him.

  “Okay, I need everyone’s attention,” Alex ordered. “Time’s getting tight and negotiations with Bonny has turned up empty. They’ve figured out we won’t swap the sniper rifles.” Alex’s voice was low but clearly discernable.

  “So they’re going to kill Voodoo?” Pike asked.

  “We need to move, now.” Justice demanded.

  Justice scuffed the worn boot soles through a puddle of stagnant rainwater. His fists opened and closed to release the flood of endorphins pumping through his veins. He had to release the adrenaline, otherwise it was like a drug with the potential for overdose.

  “Lets hold on. We can’t run in there like animals—we need a plan.” Jonas interjected.

  “Kill ‘em all, and let God sort ‘em out is my plan," Justice said. "Ain’t no time for surveillance and your federal waiting games. They’ve been torturing that baby since last night. Now that we know where they are, I’ll be damned if we’re sitting here any longer chewing the fat.” Justice showed visible tension.

  Veins corded through his neck as he pressed a ringed fist against his mouth.

  “Just hold on. We don’t even know where the building is. What, you gonna go knocking on doors until you find it?” Jonas’s impatience cracked his usually cool exterior.

  “Back off, Jonas West,” Justice barked.

  “You, back off, Justice,” Lawless growled.

  Everyone spun toward him. He’d barely spoken a word since they arrived. Legs apart, his fists were balled next to his sides—eyes narrowed and black.

  “Back the hell off,” Lawless repeated.

  “All right, lets just cool off and focus on rescuing our baby sister,” Alex said to gain calm.

 
“You’ve mouthed off before, and I let you walk. It won’t happen again, little brother.” Justice swayed atop the cement floor. The twin towers of brotherhood didn’t advance; it would’ve been a blood bath.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The windows were rolled down as Jim piloted the suburban across railroad tracks and around potholes. Lawless navigated their way to the former Snake Pit Saloon. Half past midnight, the waterfront air was thick with moisture. Pike’s hand rode the breeze as his glove collected drops of humidity.

  His mind relaxed amid the chaos of tactical chit chat between the team. Pike’s thoughts drifted to much simpler times. Sunny afternoons in an old pickup racing through the California valleys. His hand rode the wind back then, like now. Back then, he was only killing time.

  And just as quick, reality hit.

  Part of the reason why Pike was in this situation was because he’d been sent into hiding. Disgraced, and now former Navy SEAL, JW Colt’s tell-all movie about the hunt for Osama bin Laden had placed everyone on SEAL Team 6 in jeopardy. The families of Team 6 also had to fall off the radar as yet more collateral damage for Colt’s vanity.

  I hate that traitor.

  That would never change.

  Essex resembled any other crappy street in any other forgotten America city. They all looked the same and gave the same sketchy vibe, Pike thought. Except New Orleans. His mind drifted again to his night at the French Quarter’s Old Absinthe House. Aside from the mugging he had avoided with a hundred dollar bribe, it was where he had connected with Voodoo.

  His gut pinched beneath the bulletproof vest recounting their turbulent reunion. His fist tapped against his chin at the thought of her in the clutches of the merciless Devil’s Own outlaws. He tried to reassure himself if anyone had the skill to survive, it was her. A slight parting of his lips attempted a smile. Thinking of how tough she tried to be, gave him comfort. She was soft when she needed to be, but the lady carried a core of steel. Hang on, Voodoo. He sent a mental vibe. He knew what had to be done, and was most anxious to do it—they’d get bloody, but bloody would get it done.

  “Almost there,” Lawless announced.

  “Remember, it’s a two story non-descript hell hole. No idea where she is, but from the picture backgrounds, the basement is our best guess,” Alex said.

  “The building and permitting office’s database lists the property as a commercial and residential mix use—bar on bottom, with apartments on top. The top is probably where they ran prostitution. We stick together, no matter what.” Jonas emphasized the last point.

  Pike drug his hand back inside the SUV as Jim rolled the windows up to ensure they weren’t detected by counter-surveillance on the approach. His mind returned to a razor sharp focus as he snapped his helmet’s chinstrap, and keyed up his tactical radio’s microphone. It cracked to life.

  Pike’s pulse began to beat faster, until he noticed the change and became concerned enough to begin breathing exercises to settle his heart rate. Many considered his mission to capture bin Laden to be his most dangerous, but he disagreed.

  The world’s most tested and trusted combat technicians had drilled endlessly to execute that operation into Pakistan. Tonight, at almost one o’clock on Easter Sunday morning, he was riding into a place no one had ever seen, to fight no telling how many outlaws, to rescue a woman he loved. If she was still alive. And if that wasn’t harrowing enough, his team consisted of ten felon outlaw motorcycle gang members. His pulse was pounding for damn good reason.

  “One block out,” Alex alerted her team. “Again, the Savages will take the first and second floor. They can shoot or fight all night long if they want too. Our only mission is to get into the basement, rescue and extract. Understood?”

  Alex’s voice always raised an octave as an operation was about to unfold. Pike knew it meant she was focused on detail, not on delivery.

  “Jim, take us around back. I don’t want to get caught up in the slaughter,” Jonas said.

  Even through the thick Nomex hood, Jonas’s voice was clear and commanded respect. It’d be his attention to detail that would get FORCE through this fire storm.

  “Last turn, rear door half a block ahead. You know the drill—lock and load,” Jonas said.

  “Take no crap or prisoners.” Ellie muttered.

  Pike snugged the HK MP5 submachine gun close against his vest. His fingers darted across the nylon tactical belt and ballistic armament to make sure equipment and ammunition were in place. Multiple thirty-round metal magazines were jammed into pockets across his chest, and Def-Tec 25 flash bangs strapped and ready to deploy. It was an assortment of supplies he’d mechanically rehearsed millions of times until muscle memory made it involuntary.

  He began to gnaw on his bottom lip—a habit he’d managed to break once with the SEALs. Actually, it was the Navy who broke him of it. They said it showed his intentions—a trigger signaling an action. Now, the tell revealed his edge, but he was a much more experienced operative than when he first passed BUD/S training.

  Jim clipped a left turn as Pike’s peripheral vision caught the swarm of Harley Davidson motorcycles screeching to a halt. Big men in black leather moved like shadows, blasting grins that torched the darkness. The Savage Souls charged toward the front door. And just as quickly, he lost sight of them.

  I’m coming, Voodoo. Hang in there, baby.

  Clicks signaled doors were unlocked and opened. Ellie positioned herself against the passenger’s side front corner. The rest of FORCE lined up behind her. Pike was fourth in line behind Jim. He scanned the rear of the building, noting two windows upstairs, and only a metal door on the first floor. He gripped the steel battering ram as he felt the squeeze of Alex’s fingers against his left shoulder.

  His legs felt heavy. His feet drug across the small concrete courtyard. Murderous howls and gunshots from inside concealed their approach. Pike wished he’d been a part of that melee. Somewhere in there were the two outlaws with their pricks out in the picture. Their faces were burned in his mind for when the time came.

  Ellie stopped to the left of the entrance. Jonas, Jim, Lawless, then Pike and Alex angled their positions at a forty-five degree slant to allow for the fastest way through the door’s fatal funnel. Pike pressed his weapon to the left of his torso as he slid from between the stack. Muscles tensed because he knew how dangerous the door was. The first ones through made perfect shooting silhouettes as they crossed the threshold.

  Tunnel vision began to compress Pike’s focus—he scanned to break the visual cone. Inhaled deeply. The crowbar jammed between the gated door and frame. The others had him covered as he muscled open the first layer of defense. Quickly, he dropped the tool. Alex handed him the heavy battering ram.

  Eyes swept his team—everyone was ready. Heart pounded while shoulders and biceps strained at the weight of the solid steel tube that would knock the door from its hinges. He flinched at the tats of rapid gunfire on the other side of the door.

  “Ready.” Pike’s eyes were extra wide open as he stared into Alex’s.

  “Check the knob,” she reminded him.

  It was unlocked. That was curious. Pike hesitated.

  “Go,” Alex yelled.

  Here we come, Voodoo.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Inside the Snake Pit Saloon was chaos. Pike’s eardrums ached at the banging death metal music. Dark halls, like a cornfield maze, had been spray painted with satanic and white power symbols. Their banner was hoisted in the main area next to Hitler’s swastika flag. A chemical stench from methamphetamine cooking hung heavy in the air like dirty baby diapers or cat piss. Pike gagged.

  Ellie led FORCE through the first room, avoiding the battling bikers by clinging close to the walls. Jonas batted away a few attacks by the Devil’s Own, but the Savages were so motivated, the Devils didn’t know who to fight. Pike, at the tail end of the team, struggled to keep pace as they zipped through a pile of debris and stolen merchandise.

  He heard the panic in Ellie’
s voice over the tac-comm as she asked which direction to take. So far, no basement door. They’d cleared three large rooms so far, but nothing.

  “Find the bar,” Pike said.

  “No time for drinks,” Jim snapped.

  “Most cellars were built behind the bar in these old pubs. Bartender had quick access to restocking.”

  “Good call, Pike. I guess a playboy would know,” Ellie joked, and moved as fast as she could toward a large oak countertop.

  Wide-eyed, Pike peered through the dim space. It felt as if they were ghosts. So much violence going on, and the team meandering between flailing bodies, chains and baseball bats. Lawless moved in front of Ellie to pull a big body away from the solid core interior door. Ellie twisted the knob but it didn’t budge. Jim had taken Jonas’s place. He tried to shoulder it but the thick wood wouldn’t give.

  Pike became more anxious. He could sense Voodoo was behind that door. Maybe Bonny too. He’d plant a bullet in her though. He heard the strikes against the door, but kept his eyes on the rest of the room. His rear guard position was critical for protecting his team’s six from ambush.

  “Damn thing won’t give,” Jim said, winded.

  Screw this, Pike had enough.

  “Switch,” Pike told Alex.

  She rotated to rear guard.

  His furious kicks bounced off the door without success. He regretted leaving the breaching tools outside once the rear door was open. His heart roared at the thought of Voodoo hearing their efforts but not knowing if it were someone coming to rape her, or rescue her.

  “Everyone back,” he yelled.

  Pike swung to the same side of the door with his team, shielding them with his body. He hoped Voodoo was clear out of the way. He opened fire on the massive metal locking mechanism.

  Sparks flew. Shards of steel and wood zinged across his torso. He gritted his teeth as razor-hot fragments seared the soft skin on his face. Both hands steadying his MP5, the metal ember smoldered. The smell of burning flesh whiffed into his nostrils. He shook his head to snap the reek.