The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  The lines around his eyes became more pronounced. It was obvious he cared about Carly, was protective of her, which wasn’t a bad sign, as long as she was being honest with him. The interrogator in me still wanted to ping him with more questions, but I knew he needed a break. A hailstorm of bullets had just pummeled my little hometown. Everyone’s nerves would be frayed.

  “I’m happy for you, Dad. Just take care of yourself.”

  “I’m stronger than ever, Alex.” He flexed his biceps and tapped it with his hand. The medic pulled away and said, “I almost gouged your skull. You might want to be still, sir.”

  Dad ignored him.

  “I’m glad you feel good. It beats the alternative.”

  “I’ll stay healthy as long as our local law enforcement will actually do something about the neighborhood gangs.”

  I didn’t want to debate theories with Dad. When sober and lucid, his opinions were…strong and unfiltered.

  “I didn’t know gangs had been much of an issue, at least not here. Maybe in Brownsville or up north in Houston,” I said.

  “Random gang drive-by shooting is how it will be played to the media.” The comment came from Archie, who had just sauntered up.

  “Son, I suppose I owe you a huge ‘thank you’ for saving our lives.” Dad reached out and shook Archie’s hand.

  Archie turned to me and quietly said, “Son.” Then he winked and turned back to Dad.

  “I guess Alex here has told you all about our exploits,” Archie said.

  “Actually, no, she hasn’t. Alex, anything to share?”

  “Later, Dad.”

  Erin and Luke jogged up to the ambulance, and I asked them to keep Grampy company while I took Archie to the side.

  “You said they’re going to play this off to the media like it’s a random drive-by shooting. What’s the real scoop?”

  “Local cops couldn’t find their asses with both hands, but hey, they have limited resources. From what I’ve heard, they’re more used to dealing with breaking up wet T-shirt contests during spring break.”

  He smiled and rocked his head at the same time. Then he popped both eyebrows and glanced at my chest.

  “In your dreams, buddy.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You never do. At least nothing worthwhile.” I glanced over his shoulder and spotted three guys wearing DEA patches talking to a man and woman wearing Border Patrol caps. The local cop was nodding his head a lot.

  “Well, if you won’t tell me, then I guess I’ll ask.” I took a single step, but Archie grabbed my arm.

  “Hold on, I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve got thirty seconds.”

  He turned and got so close I could feel his breath against my ear. I also picked up a strong waft of basil. I tried holding my breath while he spoke.

  “DEA is worried about drug cartel violence spilling over from Mexico, at least this one region just south of the border, east of Matamoras. There’s been a really bloody battle the last six months as groups vie for territory.”

  “So why pick the sleepy town of Port Isabel?”

  “Lots of theories, but no direct evidence. Couple of them think it was nothing more than a show of power and reach. That one agent with the sideburns—he’s taking the lead on the DEA side. He wants to make sure everyone is questioned thoroughly. He doesn’t think they would take the chance unless they had a specific target in mind.”

  Twisting my torso, I scanned the crime area. Lots of first responders methodically went about their work. I tried to eye all of the civilians who hadn’t been carted away in a body bag or to a hospital. Lots of regular-looking people—red, blue, and white South Padre Island T-shirts, flip-flops of various kinds, souvenir bags. I saw two boys wearing pirate hats and eye patches from a local restaurant. That instantly brought to mind a quick image of Captain Rex and his ludicrous idea of a lost bounty buried somewhere on the island. I shoved that thought to the junk-mail folder in the back of my mind.

  “Not everyone wrapped up in the drug business looks like El Chapo,” Archie said in my ear. I wrinkled my nose after picking up another strong cloud of Italian food.

  “You’re kind of cute when you do that.”

  I turned my head, a look of revulsion on my face. “Excuse me?”

  He shuffled back a step and held his arms up in a defensive posture. “Wasn’t expecting that kind of response.”

  “You can’t say things like that to me, Archie. It crosses the line. And it creeps me out.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve been learning a few things from the shrink I’ve been seeing. He says I need to be more transparent with what I’m feeling so that I don’t let it all build up and then dump it on someone.”

  I gave him an encouraging pop on the shoulder. “Proud of you, Archie. Never thought you’d have the balls to take a look inward.”

  “Well, it was mandated by the CIA brass if I wanted to get my full pension and a letter of recommendation on my way out the door.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You still haven’t told me why you’re in Port Isabel.”

  “Working a case.” He pulled a toothpick out of his front pocket and tossed it in his mouth.

  “Working a case. That’s all you have to say? I thought you were no longer employed by the CIA.”

  “I don’t like to spread those rumors. Kind of helps the fear factor of those around me if they think the CIA might come down on their asses.”

  “Ah. So, are you working as a contractor?”

  “I got my PI license. Made about twenty grand my first month.” He torqued his shoulders like he was a badass.

  “Damn.” I always wondered if flying solo was more my style. I hoped he wasn’t about to ask me to join his little firm. The thought of working with Archie again was enough to keep me in the FBI until I was buried. “What case brings you here and to Mariano’s?”

  “College kid went missing. I was talking to a possible source. Sorry about dissing you back there. I didn’t want to spook the guy off, thinking I was working with the FBI.”

  “Eh,” I shrugged. “What do you mean by missing?”

  “A couple of rich parents from Weston were about to blow their wads because their boy stopped charging on his Amex. He was on vacation down here and had been known to cross the border to have a little fun. They threw a hissy fit to anyone and everyone who would listen, but authorities aren’t giving it much of a look. Since the kid is an adult, and there are no obvious signs of foul play, the cops aren’t convinced a crime has been committed.”

  “What have you found?”

  “Not much yet. Just flew in this morning. The last he was seen was a week ago. I need to talk to his friends, although his parents say he’s been known to go off on his own. He might just be on some type of partying binge somewhere in Mexico, or even farther away, using some of Mom and Dad’s cash that he socked away.” He scratched his chin. “You know, maybe I can get a trip to Rio out of this. That’s where they invented the Brazilian wax, you know.”

  As was the norm, Archie had me speechless. Then I felt an arm around my waist. It was Luke.

  “Mom, what’s a Brazilian wax?”

  A snorting laugh from his sister, who had walked up behind him. “Squirt, are you ever going to understand the ways of the world?”

  “Erin, he doesn’t need to know something that doesn’t impact him. Not at age twelve.”

  Luke frowned. “That’s age discrimination, Mom. What do you think I’m going to do with this information…use it to bake cookies? I just need to be able to talk the talk. You know what I’m saying?”

  Archie cracked a smile and held out a fist for Luke, who bumped it.

  “I know what you’re saying. I’m Archie, by the way. Me and your mom work together.”

  “Used to work together. In a former life,” I said with hands on my hips.

  He smirked, then cupped his hand over his face, as if he was about to tell a secret to the kids. “We were co-leaders
of a joint task force to stop a serial killer,” he said in a hushed tone.

  The kids’ eyes darted between me and Archie, taking in our banter with keen interest.

  I clapped my hands loudly a couple times and said, “Okay, enough. Erin, Luke, go tell Grampy and…what’s-her-name goodbye.”

  “Cute kids,” Archie said, his eyes moving toward the area where most of the evidence—bullet shells and blood—was marked. Just behind the scene, a young Latin woman with lustrous, black hair and a figure to die for dipped under the police tape and walked straight toward Archie. At first he looked around, then he pointed a finger at his chest, his eyebrows raised.

  “I’m sorry, but have we met?” He cinched up his pants.

  At the last second, she pulled a microphone from behind her back and a cameraman appeared from behind a van. He flipped a switch on the side of his black box, and a light blinded me.

  “Are you the man who courageously risked his own life to fight off the shooters?” the woman asked while sticking a mic an inch from Archie’s face.

  He cleared his throat, and I casually took a step back, hoping to get out of the picture.

  “Well, uh, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And who are you?”

  “A reporter for Action News. How many shooters were there?”

  “Three, I think. Plus a driver.”

  “Did you not fear for your life?”

  “Well, I kind of do this for a living.”

  “What is your occupation?”

  Archie shifted his eyes to me, then back to the TV reporter. “I worked for the government. But now I have my own PI business.” He turned to look at the cameraman, then fiddled with his afro. “If anyone would like to use my services, you can arrange a free ten-minute intro conversation by going to my website—whiteshaft.com.”

  The reporter giggled, then covered her mouth. Archie didn’t seem to notice. “But let’s be clear, I don’t do pro bono work. If you’ve got the bucks, I’m your man. Whatever it is.”

  While his cheesy character was enough to make anyone laugh, his timing was way off. He was actually soliciting for his PI business at the scene of a gruesome crime.

  “Can you tell us your name, sir?”

  “I’d rather keep my name on the down-low, if you know what I mean,” he snickered.

  “But you just gave us your website.”

  He seemed puzzled by his own logic. “True. But I don’t need my name all over social media. If you’re a serious client, then go to whiteshaft.com.”

  She nodded once, as her lips turned up the corners.

  “Whiteshaft.com. You heard it here first, everyone,” she said, turning to face the camera. “We have a real American hero on our hands. He’s actually kind of modest…in his own peculiar way. I’m Cynthia Gomez for Action News.”

  The spotlight went out, and her colleague dropped his camera to his side.

  “That’s a wrap,” she said, handing him her mic.

  I could see Archie’s eyes drop to the cleavage peeking from her blouse.

  “A real American hero,” I muttered under my breath.

  A corner street light popped on and started buzzing. It was late, time to take the crew back to Teresa’s house. I scooted around Archie as he started wooing Cynthia. I could see Luke and Erin hugging Dad. I raised my hand to signal to the kids it was time to head out when someone tapped my shoulder.

  “Miss Troutt?”

  I turned to see a man an inch shorter than me. The DEA agent with sideburns and, now that I saw him up close, a scar that ran from one of his sideburns, across his cheek, and ending just under his eye.

  He flashed his creds. I saw the name Raul Marta. “No need. My, uh…Archie told me you’re leading the investigation, at least for the DEA.”

  “Good. He told me you’re FBI. I guess I should have called you Special Agent Troutt.”

  “I’m on vacation. Call me Alex.”

  “I know you gave your statement, but I was hoping for a minute of your time.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, and I want to be a team player and all, but I’m on vacation.”

  “Understood,” he said with a forced grin while taking out a small notebook. “I know when I’m on vacation, my wife tells me to keep the work stuff behind or I’m in trouble.”

  “I’m not married.” I sounded defensive, although it wasn’t my intent.

  “I’ll get right to it. During this horrific incident, did anything seem odd or stand out to you in any way?”

  “Three people died.”

  His lips drew into a straight line. I’d released another defensive remark. Come on, Alex. The guy’s just doing his job.

  “Sorry, I was stating the obvious.”

  “Look, I’m only asking because I know you’re trained. And that you have experience in these types of confrontations. You probably saw things others didn’t because they were panicking, just trying to stay alive.”

  I could hear Luke’s excited voice in the background, and for the first time since the shootout, I let the possibilities of what could have happened crack through my outer shell.

  “Those two over there…” I flipped a thumb over my shoulder and swallowed back a lump in my throat. “I could have lost them. So, trained FBI agent, experience in the field…that’s all well and good. But I’m just like any other parent, I guess.”

  Clearing my throat, I took a couple of seconds and fought back tears, thinking what could have been.

  “I’ve got three little rug rats of my own, ages seven, three, and nine months. I work crazy hours and have had to interact with a few people who just can’t be human. Some of the shit I’ve seen, it’s…”

  A gust of wind blew through his hair, but his eyes fixated on the ground, his mind obviously in a different place.

  I let a few seconds pass. “If anyone could see my nightmares, they’d probably have me committed.”

  Raul nodded while returning his gaze to me. “Amen to that. I think it’s safe to say we could keep a shrink on a full-time retainer.”

  My kids, Ezzy…they were my therapy, my reason to live. A workout every once in a while certainly didn’t hurt my emotional and mental stability either.

  I brought a hand to my temple and narrowed my eyes, trying to pull my thoughts together. “The whole shootout took place in probably two minutes or so.”

  “That matches what others have said. What else comes to mind?”

  “Gold and black bandanas. That’s what they used to cover their faces, hide their identities.”

  An image of the third shooter rounding the car pinged my mind. “The third shooter, he didn’t wear a bandana. Did Archie tell you about him?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t get a great look. He did say that he shot him in the shoulder. He was mighty proud of that shot.”

  “Saved our lives,” I said, thinking how strange it was to associate those words with Archie the jughead.

  Raul responded, but I didn’t really hear him. I was replaying those few seconds when I thought the shooter had us. The shooter had shifted his sights and his pistol toward Carly. At least that was the way I recalled it playing out. It all happened so fast that the exact sequence was getting jumbled in my brain. Maybe the shooter had focused on Carly just because she was curled up in a ball, an easy target.

  I shifted my eyes to Raul, but kept my lips shut.

  “You’re thinking something. What?” he asked.

  I wasn’t ready to throw out any theories on Carly being a target. That would lead to an endless series of questions centered around why. What if I had misread the shooter’s actions? The DEA would scrutinize her, pick apart her life to no end. And Dad too. They seemed happy and didn’t deserve to go through that kind of hell.

  A siren came to life as an ambulance motored away from the scene. Another image popped into my mind, and I snapped my fingers. “Just before that thug took one in the shoulder from Archie, I recall seeing the expression on his face. He—”


  “Had no soul. A ruthless, gutless piece of shit.”

  “That goes without saying. But there was something messed up with his face.” I looked down, trying to conjure up the memory. I could smell Italian food, blood, and a strong burning odor in the air, and then I locked in on the shooter’s face. It was skewed…off-kilter somehow.

  “I’m almost certain I have this right. The shooter had part of his right eyebrow missing. It was shaved maybe in two places.”

  Raul scratched his chin. “Hmm. A couple of weeks back, we captured a suspect who was caught selling five kilos of coke out of his backpack. He was young and scared…so scared he started talking.”

  “Did the suspect have a screwy eyebrow?”

  Raul held up a finger. “Hold that thought. Anyway, he told us there was a new gang of drug traffickers on the verge of becoming real players.”

  “Kind of like a new cartel?” I asked.

  “The word “cartel” is really used more by the media or for propaganda, to scare people into turning a blind eye, or to scare off a rival. But here’s the crazy thing—”

  A howling Archie interrupted Raul, and we turned our heads. “You want me to show you my big gun?” Archie said to Cynthia, who giggled like a schoolgirl.

  I covered my eyes with embarrassment. He was the ultimate black sheep of law enforcement, even if he was officially part of the private sector now. “Please try to ignore him, and the fact that I even know the guy,” I said to Raul.

  Why did I feel like I had to own Archie’s obnoxious behavior? Of course, guilt by association. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was like him in any shape or form.

  “You were saying…” I motioned with my arm to get Raul’s attention back to me.

  “Right. Our suspect said the leaders of this group told him if he wanted greater responsibility and respect, he’d have to have the balls to lead a dangerous task. And if successful, he’d earn ‘stripes.’”

  “What kind of stripes?”

  “Shaved notches in the eyebrows. They represent stripes on a uniform, and it gives them a similar authority or rank over everyone else.”

  “Damn,” was all I could say.

  “A few minutes later, his attorney walked in the room, and he clammed up.”