MOB RULES

by Richard Nesbitt

  “Gotta go, Mrs. District Attorney,” Rabi mocked. “It was nice talking with you, your excellence.” He laughed again.

  “Don’t you hang up!”

  “I’ll send you some nice before and after pictures. You can put them in an expensive sterling silver frame.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Sylvia screamed. She heard a click. The call ended.

  Wide eyed, she looked to both Emily and Christi as she struggled against panic. She went into her contacts and found the number she was looking for. After two rings, Shannon picked up.

  “Yes, ma’am,” He answered respectfully.

  “Jesus Christ, Blake! They’ve got him!”

  “Whoa, slow down, Mrs. Blumquist. Who has who?”

  “Jimmy! I just received a call from his cell phone!” Sylvia began to pace the room. “Somebody has him!”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t fucking know!” She screamed, frustration getting the better of her. “He sounded Hispanic! He said he had Jimmy and he was going to kill him!”

  Christi’s eyes widened in horror. Emily, walked towards her mother aghast.

  The woman who had served the coffee came to the entrance of the room, a look of concern and confusion on her face. Emily shook her head at the woman and she backed out.

  “Okay,” Shannon spoke calmly. “What else. What else did he say?”

  “He said that he was going to cut Jimmy into pieces and feed him to his dogs! He said he would send pictures!”

  “No!” Christi screamed.

  “Okay. Listen closely,” Blake Shannon remained calm. “Keep your phone on. They may call back. We will put an immediate trace on Jimmy’s phone and we will find him.”

  “Use whatever resources you need! Anything! For God’s sake don’t let them kill him, Blake!” Tears now streamed down Sylvia’s face. Both Emily and Christi went to her side and put their arms around her.

  “We will find him. I promise. Keep your phone on and charged.”

  “I will,” Sylvia sniffed. Her breathing was unsteady as she fought for control of her emotions.

  “Okay. I’m going to hang up now. I promise you we will do everything in our power.”

  “I want instant updates.”

  “Of course. Goodbye, ma’am.”

  The call ended.

  “Oh my God,” Sylvia said aloud. She looked at Christi whose face was wet with tears. The two simply stared at each other in horror and disbelief.

  “This can’t be happening. Not to Jimmy,” Christi wept.

  Sylvia’s phone chirped. She’d received a text. She looked slowly down to her phone and saw that it was an image. A picture sent from Jimmy’s phone. Her face dropped and went ashen. She felt the air rush out of her lungs as she looked to both women. She held the phone up for them to see.

  “Don’t!” Christi screamed. “Don’t open it! I can’t see this!” She turned and ran out of the room, unable to handle the situation.

  Sylvia looked to her daughter, eyes wide. With an imploring, desperate look, she asked the question without saying a word. Emily nodded slowly.

  Hitting a button on her phone, Sylvia braced herself. She looked down at the image and gasped.

  It was a close-up of Jimmy. He was sitting, tied to a chair, unconscious. His face was cut and swollen. There was a trickle of blood running from his hairline down the left side of his face. He had several ropes around his chest and his hands and arms were pulled back and secured behind him.

  Sylvia dropped the phone.

  Both she and Emily began to cry as they clutched each other.

  Mob Rules

  43

  Some dreams you wake from slowly, peacefully. A soft cloud that fades into mental obscurity as you rejoin the conscious world. Others end with a jolt. A jarring slap in the face courtesy of reality. James Harris was having one of those. Although this was not a figurative slap, it was very real. The sharp noise brought him around even more so than the sting.

  “Hey!” Rabi yelled into Harris’ face. “Dumb fuck! Wake your sorry ass up!”

  Another loud slap and Harris’ eyes blinked open. Through blurred vision, things came into focus with the subtlety of a dump truck being dropped off a tall building and the reality of his situation was upon him. Instinctively, Harris tried to stand up, to move, to fight. He soon realized that he was bound very tightly. He glared at Rabi with a barely controlled fury as he fought panic and tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered entering the building. There was nobody downstairs. His last memory was as he advanced to the stairs. Things were black after that.

  And now here he was.

  Rabi smiled down at him and began to laugh. The gang leader’s eyes sparkled as he relished the moment. Harris stared into those eyes and could see the intelligence. There was a spark, a light that seemed to blaze and jump out at you. Rabi, if nothing else, was dangerously smart. And psychotic. It was no mystery why he rose through the ranks to become the leader of this large street gang.

  Harris took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. He looked around. He was in what he guessed was a bedroom. There was no furniture, other than the chair in which he was secured. There was only one window but the shades were drawn. There was a closet with no door. He could hear a television from the other room but could not understand what was being said as it was tuned to a Spanish speaking program. There were three other Loco’s in the room but they stood against the far wall and watched silently.

  Harris looked into the eyes of each man as he scanned the room.

  Rabi smiled down at him.

  “Did you really think you were going to sneak up on us, homes?”

  The Loco’s leader began an exaggerated tip toe, lifting his legs high as he traversed the room. He had both arms lifted high as he crept slowly, mocking Harris. He put a finger to his lips and shushed his fellow gang members.

  “Be very, very quiet, I’m hunting Loco’s.”

  The men laughed, watching their leader having fun.

  “This is mi barrio, homes!” Rabi yelled, turning back to glare at Harris. “I got eyes everywhere!”

  Harris stayed quiet. He tried to keep his thoughts calm. Rabi watched him intently.

  “I knew you was coming, motherfucker!”

  The men laughed again.

  “You kill a cop and every one of you will burn,” Harris finally said in a low, fierce voice. “You’re signing your own death warrants.”

  Rabi shook his head and chuckled. He walked slowly around the chair. Harris would not follow his movement, but kept his head still and stared straight ahead.

  “I don’t think so,” Rabi spoke playfully. “Do you know how many murders go unsolved every year in New York?”

  He circled the chair and stopped in front of Harris. Placing his hands on his knees, the Loco’s leader bent over and closed the distance between them.

  “Yeah, man. You know how many.”

  “A lot of people know that I’m after you,” Harris said.

  “Yet you came alone,” Rabi said as he straightened and walked towards the lone window. He pulled the shades back an inch and peeked outside. “No, I know about you, Harris. You’re a lone wolf. You don’t work with no one.”

  “You don’t know shit about me, asshole.” Harris said flatly.

  “Yeah!” Rabi cheered loudly as he spun back around to face Harris. “That’s one of the things I like about you, homes. You got cajones. You got heart!”

  Rabi grabbed his groin with his right hand and gave it a shake to emphasize his words.

  Harris glared at him, eyes blazing.

  Rabi walked to face one of his subordinates. He extended his hand and snapped his fingers. The man reached behind him and came back with a large hunting knife. He handed it to his boss. Rabi turned and sauntered casually back towards Harris. He held up the blade for inspection.

  Harris felt his pulse quicken. He was met with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Real fear. Sucking in a slow
breath of air, he struggled not to panic.

  “I like these serrated ones, homey,” Rabi said with a wide smile. “The blade is plenty sharp, it will go through flesh pretty easy but it’s no good at getting through bone.”

  Harris breathed. In slow, out slow.

  “So,” the gang leader continued. “You just flip it over and use this serrated shit. Goes right through bone.”

  Against his will, Harris swallowed hard.

  Rabi laughed aloud as he noticed.

  “Yes, homes! There it is!”

  He turned to face his men. “You see that, muchachos? He ain’t Superman. He’s shitting his pants right now just like anybody.”

  “Fuck you,” Harris growled. He could feel each beat of his heart.

  “Yeah,” Rabi continued calmly as turned back around to smile at Harris. He held the knife high again. “This serrated shit goes through bone a lot easier.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” Harris spat. He felt sweat begin to trickle down his neck.

  “That would be a good trick, hombre,” Rabi chuckled. “But like I said, you got cajones. For another hour or so anyway.”

  The men behind him laughed.

  “Well get on with it, you gutless coward!” Harris yelled as anger overtook fear.

  Rabi turned and walked to the door. A Latin song came on the television in the other room.

  The Loco’s leader suddenly began to dance, using the knife as a baton, waving it up and down, side to side. Rabi moved his feet to the beat of the music as his men watched in amusement. He ended the impromptu dance by spinning around in a complete circle and plunging the blade into the drywall where it stuck fast.

  Rabi laughed as he let go of the knife. He opened the door and turned back to look at Harris.

  “Patience, honey. It’s coming.”

  “Motherfucker!” Harris screamed.

  “Watch him,” Rabi ordered his men. He gave Harris a final smirk and then left the room, closing the door behind him. The knife stayed in plain view, stuck fast in the wall.

  Mob Rules

  44

  “Baker team in position.”

  “Able team in position”

  “10-4,” the SWAT team captain spoke into his headset. “Hold pos, I repeat hold pos. Green on my signal. How copy?

  “Baker team copy.”

  “Able team copy.”

  Captain Jack Fanning was a 24 year veteran of the NYPD and had spent the last 16 years in the Special Weapons and Tactics, or SWAT, unit. He was also a close and personal friend of James Harris. He took every mission seriously but this one was different. Very different. He’d first met the man when Harris was fresh out of the academy. Both military veterans, Fanning had taken the fellow Irishman under his wing when Harris was just beginning his time on the streets as a green recruit. But he’d been anything but green. A war veteran, Harris had been exactly the type of cop Fanning wanted in the department, a no nonsense enforcer. In his opinion, there was no other way to properly police the biggest, and most violent, city in America. The fact that Harris had seen combat and been decorated had given him instant credibility with Fanning. Fanning had asked Blake Shannon if he could personally lead this rescue.

  The triangulation of Harris’ cell phone had led them to this address. It was a known hangout of a notorious Bronx gang known to engage in drug trafficking, prostitution, extortion and murder. There would be no announcing their presence. No, ‘we got the place surrounded, come out with your hands up’ scenario. This was a very hard core crew. If they indeed had a police captain hostage, the gang members would be looking at twenty years to life in prison. They would not surrender peacefully. Their entry had to be shock and awe. Fanning knew it. Every team member knew it. They were all prepared to give and to receive fire.

  “Pigeons report,” Fanning spoke calmly.

  “Pigeon one, in place.”

  “Pigeon two in place,” a second voice squawked.

  Pigeon was the unit’s code name for snipers, a nickname they earned as they spent a majority of their time on rooftops.

  “Sit rep?”

  “Pigeon two here. Movement on second floor, right side. Two possibles. No visual on first floor. One window dark. No trophy visible.”

  “Pigeon one. Three possibles. Second floor left, seated, watching television. Also no visual on first floor. No trophy in sight.”

  “Copy,” Fanning spoke. Shit, he thought to himself. No sign of Harris. If they had known his exact location it would be a lot cleaner. Mass entry on that point. Sniper support and they’d have a very good chance of getting him out in one piece.

  Baker team was responsible for the back entrance to the two story house. Able the front. Both teams were situated in plain, brown vans, one down the street and one in the back alley. Once the green light was given they would spring from the vehicles, hustle down to the target and entered immediately.

  There were also two medical units parked just around the block. After the breach, they would pull in front of the house and be ready for the worst.

  Fanning was positioned in a separate van, parked down the street just three doors from the address. Once the teams entered he would follow Able team in the front door of the dwelling and offer support and direction. Fanning pulled his 9mm from its holster. He tugged on his vest to double check that it was snug. He took a deep breath and prepared to move.

  “Final report,” he spoke.

  “Baker ready.”

  “Able ready.”

  “Go,” Fanning spoke. “We have green. I repeat, go.”

  Both teams sprang from the back of their respective vans and quickly sprinted towards the home in single file. They approached the doors and took their positions.

  “Baker in breach position.”

  “Able in breach position.”

  “On three,” Fanning spoke sharply. “One, two, three!”

  Each team had a man with an All Purpose Breaching Ram. The heavy, cylindrical tool was designed to use its own weight to shatter a door at the point where it latches into the frame. Usually one good swing was all it took. Unless of course, the occupants of the target were prepared for such a thing.

  On three the team members both swung their rams at the doors. The back door flew open with a loud crash. The front door however, did not. While the frame shattered by the doorknob, the door was bolted at both the top and bottom.

  As the man from Able swung again at the top of the door, one of his teammates threw a heavy foot into the bottom.

  While this was happening, a Baker team member tossed a flashbang grenade into the back of the house. They turned away as the explosive went off with a loud report and brilliant light. Piling into the house, they quickly stacked up. The man with the ram threw it to the side and grabbed his MP5 assault rifle which had been hanging from its sling.

  Baker quickly passed through an empty kitchen and turned right into a hallway. There were stairs at the end of the hall and suddenly two gang members came charging down the flight. Shock registering on their faces, they stopped short as they saw the SWAT team. One of the young men raised a pistol. He was immediately met with a hail of semi-automatic gunfire. The two Baker team members at the front of the stack had each fired a three round burst. The roar was deafening and five of the rounds found their mark. The thug dropped and crumpled, falling the rest of the way down the stairs. The young gang member who had been following him turned and sprinted back up the stairs.

  Able team had finally gained entrance and after a quick sweep of the front rooms they quickly filed in to join Baker. Both team leaders gave hand signals to show the floor was clear. Baker leader held up a single finger and then a quick thumb down to show that they had one suspect down.

  The Able leader nodded and they both made for the stairs.

  “Pigeon one reporting,” the squawk came over all their headsets. “Multiple targets approaching the rear of house.”

  Fanning was in the house now having followed Able team
through the front door.

  “Go!” He ordered with urgency.

  Both teams headed up the stairs rapidly. Gunshots rang out as well as the loud boom of a shotgun. A team member dropped to his knees and grabbed for his throat. He coughed with a loud gurgling as he fell backwards.

  “Man down!”

  More gunfire erupted as SWAT engaged the targets. Another gang member, this one with a sawed off shotgun, fell as a round took him below his left eye. The rest of the gang backpedaled and dove into a bedroom on the side of the house. The door closed with a slam.

  Both teams quickly made it up the stairs and stacked in the hallway. One of the officers dragged his fallen teammate quickly back down the stairs. The medics were fast on the scene.

  “Pigeons, do you have visual?” Fanning spoke into his headset.

  “Negative in rear.”

  “Negative in front.”

  “Yo man!? What the fuck!?” Came a loud cry from behind the closed door where the gang members had sought cover. “We ain’t do nothing!”

  “Throw down your weapons and get on your faces, arms stretched wide!” The Baker team leader screamed.

  “We ain’t do nothing!”

  “Get on the floor face down and spread your arms wide!” The team leader yelled again.

  Two men from each team went to the front and back rooms of the top floor and cautiously entered. Although both pigeons had cleared the rooms visually there was no way to be sure there wasn’t somebody hiding. They swept the rooms and reported.

  “Top rooms, clear. No sign of the trophy.”

  “Man we give up!” Came a cry from behind the closed door. “Stop shooting!”

  “Get on the floor!” The Baker team leader screamed loudly.

  “We is down!” Came the reply.

  “Breaching,” the Baker team leader spoke into his head set. His team positioned themselves to return fire as he gave the door a heavy kick. He then spun his body out of the line of fire.

  “Don’t move!” A team member ordered.

  “Don’t you fucking move!” Another shouted.