Right to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  At the next intersection, he turned south and resumed his trek toward I-10. He found an alley with parked cars and settled in for the wait.

  How many men had he killed tonight? He leaned his head against the wall and tried to block the thought pattern.

  It didn’t work.

  Nine. Nine men. It didn’t matter if they were “all bad.” The number was sobering and the day was just beginning. Them or him. As true as that was, it didn’t make it any easier. Although their operation had disrupted Cornejo’s empire, and possibly yielded a means of finding the twins, it had come at a high price. Making matters worse, the convergence of cops into the area meant Harv and LG had to abandon the dealership or risk being trapped inside. Despite what he’d told Cantrell, it was hard to think of their mission as a success.

  He checked his phone to make sure it was still set to vibrate. It was fairly dark in this alley, so he donned his NV visor but left it pivoted up.

  Nathan’s respite was short lived.

  Coming from his right, he heard running footsteps, at least three or four strong.

  Had Cornejo’s goons tracked him? No way. He’d made sure he wasn’t followed. He took a deep breath, reached into his waist pack, and grabbed the butt of his Sig. He now wished he’d chosen a tighter gap between the parked cars.

  It only took a few seconds to realize the footsteps were getting louder. Who in the hell was running around out here, especially now? They seemed to be running toward the action, not away from it. It had to be street punks. He’d seen some tagging in the area. With a little luck, they’d race past without seeing him.

  Willing himself to be invisible, he held perfectly still. Two young men ran past his position, followed by a third who—

  Turned his head.

  Crap. Nathan knew he’d been seen.

  The kids’ footsteps stopped.

  A head slowly appeared around the edge of a parked car to his left.

  “Hey, someone’s in the alley.”

  “Who is it?”

  “How’m I supposed to know? Just some dude sitting between the cars.”

  Nathan evaluated the kid who’d found him. African American. Athletic shoes. Pants halfway down his scrawny ass. Black tank top. Purple headband. Definitely the look of a gangbanger. Possibly even armed and dangerous.

  “Spooner, come check this clown out.”

  Nathan couldn’t believe his luck. What were the odds? Not that bad, given the automatic gunfire and police activity. Maybe these three were planning to check out the action. If they’d arrived at the intersection where he’d engaged the lowrider before the police, they would’ve scored some fully automatic Kalashnikovs. Not a bad night’s haul.

  The first two kids came back, both apparently Hispanic.

  “What the fuck you doing in our alley?” the biggest kid asked.

  “Just chilling for the night,” Nathan said.

  “Well, you picked the wrong place, old man.”

  Old man? He felt his blood pressure increase. Well, relatively speaking, he supposed. None of these kids could be more than eighteen years old.

  “That’s a nice night-vision rig. We’ll give you five bucks for it.”

  “Add three zeroes and it’s yours.”

  “It’s already ours. What else you got?”

  “Anger-management issues,” Nathan said.

  “Say what?”

  “I’ll speak slowly and use small words. I. Get. Mad.”

  The youngest kid said, “Come on, Spooner, let’s leave this guy alone. He ain’t hurting nothing.”

  “He’s in our alley and he ain’t paid the rent.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Nathan said. “I’m giving you five seconds to walk away. After that, I will hurt you. I’m in no mood to deal with a bunch of worthless street rats.”

  “Spooner, let’s go, man. This guy’s nuts.”

  “Fuck him. I’m going to teach his white ass a lesson.” Spooner pulled a compact semi-auto from his pocket.

  Before the kid could point it at him, Nathan had his pistol out of the waist pack.

  He fired a single round, driving a bullet through the kid’s bicep. The kid’s gun clacked on the asphalt.

  The kid on Nathan’s right reached into his sweatshirt pocket, presumably to pull a gun.

  Without taking his eyes from Spooner, Nathan shot the second kid in the shoulder, then sprang to his feet, dropped the first kid with an elbow to the jaw and swept his foot, toppling the second kid. He followed up with a blow to the side of the second kid’s head, driving his face into the asphalt. Dazed, the second kid didn’t resist as Nathan checked the pocket and removed the gun. He stashed the weapon alongside Ashton’s 1911.

  Everything had happened inside five seconds.

  The youngest kid backed away with his hands up.

  He waved his Sig. “Have a seat against the wall and put your hands on top of your head.”

  The kid obeyed. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Do I have a reason to kill you?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want this fight.”

  Nathan kept his Sig pointed at the trio and picked up the other handgun.

  He addressed the first kid he’d shot. “In a few more seconds, the adrenaline rush will wear off and you’ll experience an intense stinging ache. The stinging is from your torn flesh, the ache is from your shattered humerus bone. Don’t worry, I purposely missed the brachial artery.” He looked at the other kid. “You’ll be okay too. I avoided the clavicle and scapula.”

  The kid who’d drawn on him was holding his upper arm, trying to look tough. But the pain and fear in his eyes alleged otherwise.

  “Let me give you three a little advice. Never pick a fight with someone you aren’t 100 percent sure you can beat. You assumed I’d cave and not fight back. Bad assumption.”

  None of them said anything.

  “Your phones and wallets, hand them over. Slowly. Any quick movements will result in more flesh wounds.”

  The two kids with bullet wounds had some trouble, but they managed to comply.

  “Are they passcode-locked?”

  They looked at each other, then nodded.

  “Give me the codes.”

  They reluctantly did, and Nathan verified each code worked, then wrote their passcodes down in the notes section of his own phone.

  Although sirens still wailed in the distance, his suppressed shots hadn’t been loud. The police had no reason to converge on this location.

  “Now I know who you guys are and where you live. Here’s the deal; if you give me your word you’ll listen to what I have to say, I won’t kill you.” He didn’t intend to terminate them, but he wanted them to believe otherwise.

  Again, they looked at each other with confused expressions.

  “Do I have your word? I need to hear everyone say it. Raise a hand, and repeat after me: ‘I give you my word I’ll listen.’”

  When they didn’t say anything, Nathan skipped a bullet off the ground next to the biggest kid. Across the alley, the bullet plowed into the concrete block wall and zinged away.

  “Repeat after me: ‘I give you my word I’ll listen.’”

  They all said it.

  “Thank you. You’re getting a second chance tonight, something you may not have received from anyone else. It’s just you, me, and the alley. You understand I could kill you right now and get away with it?”

  They nodded tightly.

  “All the police activity you’re hearing? It’s because of me. If you know a crew that drives a white lowrider with blacked-out windows, you won’t be seeing them ever again.”

  “What happened to your face?” the youngest one asked.

  “I’ll leave that to your imagination. Now, listen up. This path you’re on has two outcomes. Your death or your imprisonment. Sooner or later, one of those two things is gonna happen. It doesn’t matter what led to your involvement with a gang in the first place. Maybe you’re bored or want easy money. Maybe
your parents are dirtbags or absent, or maybe you’re just pissed off at the world in general. All of that’s just an excuse for bad behavior. What matters are the choices you make. And you do have choices. Are you guys in high school?”

  “We don’t go.”

  “The way you save your lives is to go back to class and get part-time jobs after school. If you do that, the leaders of your gang will let you out. It’s not something they tell you, but I happen to know for a fact it’s true. They may try to convince you not to do it, but they won’t force you to stay in the gang. Especially at your age. You’ve taken bullets. They’re your badges of honor. Use them to turn your lives around.”

  “Like you care,” the youngest one said.

  “You’re alive, aren’t you? Now, as far as I’m concerned, our deal is confirmed. You listened. I didn’t kill you. One more thing. I want you to think about attending church this coming Sunday. Don’t worry: it doesn’t cost anything. Giving is optional. I’ll bet there’s one within easy walking distance. Think you can do that?”

  More tight nods, but he gave that suggestion low odds. He knew they wanted to bug out.

  “All gunshot wounds are reported to the police. What are you going to tell them?”

  “We got nailed in a drive-by. We didn’t see nothing.”

  “Don’t try to tough it out. Tiny pieces of clothing in your wounds can fester and cause life-threatening infections. Get patched up at a hospital and take the antibiotics the doctor prescribes for you.” He waved his pistol. “Now get out of my alley before I change my mind.”

  Looking like a band of refugees, they shuffled away.

  Nathan went the opposite direction and watched them from the shadow of a rusting van. The youngest one looked over his shoulder. If he were a betting man, he’d put money on that kid.

  CHAPTER 23

  Cantrell shook her head in amazement. Although Nathan’s radio couldn’t pick up Delta Lead’s transmissions, the reverse wasn’t true. Delta had a powerful receiving antenna that picked up every word he’d said. She’d listened to the exchange via an encrypted cell-phone link.

  She’d always believed McBride had a good heart, despite the living hell he’d gone through at the hands of a sadistic madman. How many people would have any shred of humanity left after that?

  Part of her wished he’d killed the young thugs. They had it coming and countless taxpayer dollars would’ve been saved. She didn’t think of herself as indifferent, but she hated gangbangers with a passion. She’d been fifteen or sixteen when she’d taken a beating from three girls who’d been associated with a street gang. Apparently, she’d looked at Vanessa’s “boyfriend” wrong so they’d ambushed her on her way home from school. The beating hadn’t been nearly as vicious as the obscene and hate-filled racial slurs they’d spewed. Something had snapped in her that day, and she’d known she would devote the rest of her life to fighting back against bullies and thugs.

  The story didn’t end there. A week later, she’d sneaked out of her bedroom window and ridden her bike over to Vanessa’s house. Staying in the shadows, she’d dragged a garden hose out to the curb and inserted the nozzle into Vanessa’s pimped-out Camry. It took a few attempts to get it positioned on top of the dashboard because the side window wasn’t cracked more than an inch.

  Satisfied with the location of the nozzle, she’d returned to the faucet and slowly cranked the valve about a quarter of the way so the nozzle wouldn’t jet off the dashboard. A return trip to the Camry confirmed everything was good. Riding home, she’d felt justice had been served. Witnessing the meltdown at school the following day had been nothing short of glorious.

  Now that she had a complete update from Delta, she called the encrypted phone.

  “Are LG and Harv okay?” he asked immediately.

  “They’re fine but the twins weren’t in the building.”

  “I thought I’d chased Tomas Bustamonte out of there, but he turned out to be—”

  “Tomas’s brother. I heard.”

  Nathan paused, and Cantrell knew he was absorbing the fact that she’d also listened in on his interchange with the gang kids.

  “Square one?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. We’re working the problem.”

  “What’s my best ETA on a pickup?”

  “Five minutes, give or take. Harvey and Genneken should be back at their vehicle inside two minutes. The FBI’s going to take the lead on the ensuing investigation at Santa Monica Exotics and DNI Benson will be personally involved. He’s already called Director Lansing.”

  “What about Ashton Bustamonte?”

  “I’m hoping Delta can recover the body before the police find it.”

  “I doubt anyone saw the action.” Nathan described the exact location of Ashton’s body. “I’m sending you the photo of him now.”

  “I’ll look for it,” she said. “Hang on, Nathan. I’ve got to take Delta’s call. I’ll be right back. Stay on the line.”

  Cantrell’s call went silent and Nathan found himself thinking about the street kids. He’d spared them a meaningless death. Perhaps it was his faith, or something else, but there’d been intelligence in the youngest kid’s eyes—a willingness to listen. Despite how society defined them—and how he’d initially seen them—they weren’t just stupid punks. Misguided, yes. But not stupid. Nathan never judged people by the color of their skin, only by their actions. Perhaps they’d be able to do the same thing.

  He found another place to hide in the loading dock of a medium-sized building and sat atop the stairs. Something LG had said kept floating around in his head. No, it was something her husband had said, about their German shepherds. He remembered now. Glen had been concerned about the dogs. He’d asked her to get them out of the house. Nathan hadn’t thought it all that unusual—many people thought of their pets as children. He would’ve had the same concern, given similar circumstances. Leaving Grant and Sherman at the mercy of armed intruders wouldn’t sit well with him. Although tactically trained, they’d have no chance against bullets.

  Cantrell came back on. “About that pickup: Work your way over to the Twentieth Street on-ramp to the westbound I-10. Find a place to hide and wait for Harvey and Genneken. I’m sending them to the same spot. If a helicopter shows up, use the overpass for cover. Where are the keys to your car?”

  “On top of the right front tire.”

  “A member of Delta will drive it to your location, followed by a second vehicle. He’ll flash the high beams three times, pull to the curb, and get out. Put everything you collected on the shoulder of the road. Do not approach your car until he’s collected everything and returned to the other vehicle. Once Delta leaves, get in your car and wait for Harvey and Genneken to arrive.”

  “What happened to surveillance only?” he asked.

  “It’s been temporarily suspended, unless you’d prefer to walk out of the area.”

  He smiled. “Negative on that. While I have you, I’m going to try Bustamonte’s phone.”

  “If it’s passcode-locked, don’t attempt to unlock it.”

  “I won’t . . . It’s not locked.”

  “Is it an iPhone?”

  “Six plus. Exactly like mine, but everything’s in Spanish.”

  “Good thing you’re fluent.”

  “Good thing.”

  “Check the passcode settings.”

  He was already doing it, knowing the iOS program could be set for a delayed lock. If it was, they’d be out of business if he didn’t keep the phone constantly active. He opened the settings and navigated to the screen.

  “It’s asking for a passcode to continue, which probably means it’s using a passcode.”

  “The iOS program has multiple delay options.”

  “Yeah, it does. Hang on, I’m checking mine . . . One minute, five minutes, fifteen minutes, one hour, and four hours.”

  “You’ll have to keep after it so it doesn’t lock. I think we can safely assume it’s not set for immediately or one
minute. It’s probably set for five or fifteen minutes.”

  Nathan realized there was another way, but it held some risk. “At a full sprint, I’m only about two minutes from Bustamonte’s body.”

  “His fingerprint,” she said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. Hang on, let me check something first.” On his own phone, he navigated to the Touch ID and Passcode screen. The phone asked for his six-digit passcode to continue. He tried using his fingerprint to get past this screen, but it didn’t work. The phone wouldn’t respond. “It won’t accept a fingerprint to get past the passcode screen. I just tried it on my own phone.”

  “Me too.”

  “We’ve got three attempts to unlock it. It wouldn’t hurt to try the code from the door at Santa Monica Exotics.”

  “Okay, give it a try,” she said.

  Nathan had a good memory when it came to numbers and sequences. He didn’t have a mathematical mind, but he remembered patterns. And the punch-key code they’d used to gain access into the showroom had a pattern. One-three-six-four-seven-nine. He tried it and the phone told him: 1 Failed Passcode Attempt.

  “It didn’t work. We’ve got one more free try. Any ideas?”

  “Not really. It could be anything.”

  “I’m going to try the numerical pattern in reverse.”

  “If that doesn’t work, don’t try a third time. Just keep the phone active so it doesn’t lock.”

  Nathan ran the pattern the other direction. Three-one-four-six-nine-seven. “We’re in! We didn’t need this break, but it sure makes our job easier.”

  “Good work. See if he’s been in touch with his siblings, and take a few minutes to review the way he texts. Punctuation, lack of caps, emojicons, favorite words, et cetera . . . If Tomas or Ursula send a text, we want the response to look as normal as possible.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Keep Bustamonte’s phone, but turn everything else over to Delta Lead. Call me right away if the phone receives a text. Obviously, you can’t answer any calls.”

  “No problem. Do you want the street kids’ phones as well?”

  “Yes. They might contain something we can use, especially if they’re connected to the gangbangers who attacked you.”