Alex Landon Starter Library (Alex Landon Thrillers)

by Gavin Reese

  As soon as the Task Force leadership determined the target vehicles and their occupants no longer represented a threat to their personnel, almost all those assigned to overwatch, including Alex, Bryant, and Essie, descended the surrounding hills and met near the armored trucks for an initial, group debrief.

  “Great work tonight,” the team leader proclaimed, “none of us caught a direct round, and only two guys got some ricochet fragments. The task force director did a fantastic job putting this operation together, and you all executed it perfectly. For the time being, I’m going to have you all debrief with your respective assignments tonight, and we’ll do a detailed, whole-group debrief tomorrow at 1700 when we get back on the clock. By then, we’ll know how successful we were tonight, but, initially, it looks like we got about a hundred guns, and several million dollars of cartel money out of their pockets and off the streets. I’ll be able to give you all a final count tonight when we meet up again, debrief, and prep for the next interdiction.

  “As for the two arrestees,” he continued, “the State Attorney General, along with the F-B-I and U-S District Attorney, agree for once. As we had hoped, they’ve been declared international terrorism conspirators and will be passed over to our federal partners. It is critical that the cartels have no chance to learn about our tactics tonight, so they can’t easily figure out how to defeat us tomorrow. So, for those two assholes, there’ll be no phone calls, no visitors, no outside contact. They’ll get a defense attorney, but only after that attorney agrees to extreme measures to keep them incommunicado. In reality, they’ll probably wanna play ball and roll on the Santa Lena cartel anyway, ‘cuz losing this size of a load’s a death sentence, regardless of whatever we do to ‘em.”

  “L-T,” a barrel-chested ginger shouted out, whom Alex recognized as having been assigned as the Arrest Team leader, “if I can interrupt. I just wanted to thank y’all on overwatch. That asshole in the yellow shirt that thought he was gonna get one in on us? Who put him down?”

  Alex looked to Bryant and Essie, and saw Bryant immediately throw his hand up. “That’s us, Sergeant. Someone else may have put some rounds in him, but our three-shooter team all pulled trigger for you.”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. If you didn’t already have our trust, you’ve absolutely got it now. Thank you for keeping watch over my team. Out-fucking-standing shooting, sir.”

  “Our pleasure, Sergeant. Do you know where he’s hit? We got a little bet going.”

  “Looks like he took at least two big-uns center-mass, damned nearly tore him in half, and one little guy in his right eye, maybe a .223. That one probably scrambled his eggs, but didn’t exit.”

  Alex watched Bryant reach for his wallet, and extended his right hand, palm up, toward the sniper to signal “pay-up.”

  “Alright,” the Team Leader said to take back the veritable floor. “Everyone here is dismissed to debrief by your assignment. Overwatch, you all can meet by the east armored truck. Arrest Team, meet by the west armored truck. Vehicle Search and Entry, stay where we are. As soon as you’re all good, break it down and go home. Get some rest. We’re handing off this scene to the Attorney General’s investigators and evidence techs to process and secure. Everyone who pulled trigger needs to see me before they leave so you can give your statement to an A-G investigator. Give ‘em whatever weapons you fired and lemme know what you need replaced from the armory. I’ll arrange for any specialty sniper weapons and gear to be replaced immediately. We just took many seven-figures in drug money, so the State AG won’t bat an eye to spend whatever’s necessary to get you operational again.

  “We’ll likely have another mission pretty quick here, so get back off admin-leave as soon as you can, but, at the same time, take whatever days off you need. I know some of you sick bastards live for this shit.”

  Alex chuckled at the TL’s morbid joke, as did many of the cops around him.

  “Questions?” The TL continued, to wrap the night up. “No?? Alright, get it done.”

  As Alex walked with Bryant and Salez to join the other Task Force members who’d been assigned to overwatch responsibilities, he felt accomplishment and, strangely, simultaneous, impending dread. What a fuckin’ night!! Cops haven’t pulled off this type of military-ambush since the Wild West! But, now, how’s Chava and his narcoterrorist cartel gonna respond to suddenly losing millions like this? “So, whaddayou two think’ll be the fallout from this, from Chava and his clowns, I mean?”

  “Depends on how long it takes for him to learn our tactics,” Salez offered. “If they don’t know how to respond to defeat us and keep the caravans running, they’ll probably try to shift their transfer methods into more wires and gift cards, but it’s hard to do with the volume of cash they have to launder. He’s still gonna have to put the bulk of it in cars, planes, and parcels.”

  “But,” Bryant countered, “if they find out how we’re doing this, and, more importantly, who’s doing it, you can bet your ass Chava is gonna put hits on every Task Force member he can identify. He’s already got an open five-thousand-dollar bounty on any cop killed in the Border States, so puttin’ contracts out on us’d be chump change for that devil. Especially when you consider what we took tonight, he could probably pay out a hundred-kay for each of our murders and still come out ahead.”

  “Let him bring it,” Alex scoffed, “if we can get this creative to stop his guns-and-money loads, wait’ll that fucker sees what we’re willing to do to stop contract-cop-killers.”

  The Recidivist

  As Dry Creek Police Officer Brad Johnson stood amid a torrential monsoon downpour, the sound of heavy, innumerable raindrops striking his waterproof nylon parka and hood drowned out most everything else at the late-night accident scene. He watched the ambulance depart with its Code-3 emergency lights and wailing siren, just ahead of Officer Dennis Talbert’s patrol car, and turned his attention back to the crash scene. God-awful mess. Walking back toward the totaled white minivan, he cautiously stepped over the tire tracks it had left in the soft mud shoulder. May as well try to preserve whatever evidence I can photograph. This sticky caliche mud is gonna make speed estimation a real bitch. For presently unknown reasons, its driver had veered the minivan right from the northbound lane, and terminated his travel into the corner of a tan-stucco-covered, concrete-and-rebar-filled cinder block wall. No brake or skid marks on the asphalt, so he might’ve been asleep…or, suicidal…

  To avoid further contaminating the vehicle’s interior, Brad looked into the open driver’s door without touching anything. Rescue efforts already fucked this car up. He tried to identify obvious contraband, particularly in light of the driver’s well-known methamphetamine habit. Only an asshole would make me work in rain like this. Selfish bastard.

  “So that was Miguel Salez?”

  Brad recognized Sergeant David Templeton’s voice, and turned around to address his boss. I fuckin’ hate these hoods, can’t see shit, can’t hear shit, but I hate being soaked even worse. “Yessir,” Johnson almost shouted to be heard over the rain, “I think he got even fatter this time. Meth must be gettin’ scarce in prison.”

  “He’s only been out for two days, he’ll thin up soon enough. Think he was celebrating with old friends and old habits?”

  “No idea. I haven’t searched the car yet ‘cuz the medics needed help loadin’ his fat ass, so there could be dope and paraphernalia inside. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so the impact messed him up pretty good, fuckin’ blood all over ‘im, but no obvious external wounds other than a broken nose and a laceration across his forehead. Been unconscious ever since I got here, so we’ll have to let the hospital tell us if he was D-U-I.”

  “Talbert followed the bus in?”

  “Yessir, he offered to help the medics if Salez starts fightin’, and to start the hospital side of the investigation for me.”

  “Do me a favor. Refer to that scumbag as ‘Miguel,’ or ‘M-S,’ or ‘convict,’ basically anything but ‘Sa
lez.’ He doesn’t deserve to be associated with his sister.”

  “Sorry, Sarge, I always forget Essie’s related.” Can’t pick your family. “Same house, same parents, but their daughter becomes a Marine, a highly decorated cop, and the first female sniper in the state, while the son becomes a tweeker and career felon. Amazing. Think we should let Essie know about this?”

  “Naw, let her sleep, she won’t give a damn, anyway. Who’s the car registered to?”

  “The plate comes back to a Miguel Salazar Salez and Rosaria Salez.”

  “That’s Essie’s folks,” Templeton explained. “D-O-C listed their address as Miguel’s post-release residence, but he stayed in long enough to kill his number this time, so he’s not on parole and isn’t monitored. Could be livin’ anywhere. I’ll have James roll by the parents’ house and see if they know where their car is. It’d be a damned blessing if Miguel got himself thrown right back in for auto theft.”

  “Yeah, or maybe for whatever we find in the car. I’d be happy to see that asshole get another nickel over a twenty-sack of crystal.”

  “He’s already in the County Attorney’s repeat-offender program, so anything more than a roach’ll get him relocated back to a small concrete box. You need anything?”

  “An umbrella?” No harm in asking, Brad thought to himself.

  “Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that. Where do you think you are, ‘Jolly Ole London Town?’ I’d stand by with you and write out the inventory list, but, ya know, lemme look here,” Templeton said while using his right hand to examine the three sergeant stripes just below the police shoulder patch on his left jacket sleeve, “uh, yep, just what I thought. I’ve just got too many stripes to get that wet. Lemme know what you find.”

  “Thanks for the help, Sergeant, you’ve always been such a giver.” Brad smiled as his boss flipped him off while plodding back toward the dry interior of his police SUV. No sense in him helping document this, anyway, I’m gonna have to keep my clipboard and inventory sheet inside the car if it has any chance of staying dry, and he can’t very well sit inside the wreckage. “I heart you, too, sir!”

  Resigning himself to a prolonged, saturated misery, Brad stamped through the deepening mud to retrieve his evidence camera from the trunk of his patrol car. Better start with the photos before anything else gets moved around inside.

  *****

  Just after midnight, Dry Creek Police Officer Scott James parked his squad near the Salez residence. Be nice to send that asshole back to the prison yard. Maybe he’ll have the decency to get locked up until his parents pass, just so they never have to deal with his shit again. “Adam-58, I’m on-scene.”

  “Copy, Adam-58.”

  Donning a wide-brimmed campaign cover to better protect himself from the rain, Scott slipped from the dry sanctuary of his car and into the August deluge. After pulling a large waterproof flashlight from its belt holder, he buttoned his rain parka closed, shut the car door, and quickly tromped toward the home. Avoiding the sidewalk, James strode through the neighboring front yard and crossed the Salez driveway in front of a white sedan he thought belonged to the mother. All the lights are out, these old folks’ve gotta be tired of cops waking them up over Miguel’s problems.

  Scott reached the front walk, just to the left of the driveway, and saw it protected by a short, gated wrought-iron fence. By design, the gate prevented immediate access to the recessed front door, which stood about ten yards farther into the property. At least Mister Salez wired a doorbell out here. Standing to the left of the walkway, James pressed the lighted doorbell and hoped for a quick response. Too fuckin’ wet to be out here.

  DIIING donnnng

  Despite the rain and the distance, James heard the barely-audible doorbell ring inside the house, which surprised him. At least fifteen seconds passed. No response yet, he thought, no lights coming on, no one moving inside. He pressed the button again. I hate having to wake good people up in the middle of the night.

  DIIING donnnngDIIING donnnng

  After soaking for another twenty seconds with no indication that anyone heard him, Scott turned his flashlight on and inspected the gate. Thankfully unlocked. He unlatched the gate, pushed it open, and shone the bright flashlight at his feet to ensure he didn’t trip over anything as he stepped into the front yard. Closing the gate behind him, Scott cast the flashlight across the front yard in search of indications that a family dog might join him as he approached the front door to roughly knock on it. The cop-knock wakes everyone up. Sorry, Essie’s parents.

  As he walked within two strides of the oversized doorway, he lifted the flashlight’s beam onto the door itself, and immediately froze. In disbelief, he stared at bloody, smeared handprints on the exterior surface of the door near its handle. Caught off-guard, apprehension and adrenaline suddenly surged within him, for he’d expected to find only a sleeping elderly couple, and not a potential crime scene. Scott quickly unbuttoned the rain parka, stowed the large flashlight, and drew his service weapon, which carried its own bright tactical light.

  “Adam-58,” he broadcast on the police radio, his voice elevated and stressed over the sound of rainfall around him, “send me more units! Unknown trouble inside the home, blood smeared on the front door!” Without waiting for the dispatcher’s response, Scott held his gun out in front of his body, stepped to the door, and now realized it was ajar. Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!

  “Adam-58, we copy, sending additional units.” Despite his ominous announcement, the dispatcher’s voice remained stoic and calm.

  “Adam-58, door’s open! I’m making entry through the front!” He knelt down near the bloody handle and took cover behind the doorframe’s left side. Holding his service Glock in his right hand, Scott used his left to push low near the very bottom of the door. Gotta open it without contaminating the evidence! After an intentional, practiced shove, it swung open just enough to reach its doorstop without bouncing back toward him. Shining his weapon-mounted light into the narrow, darkened living room before him, he saw an elderly woman lying awkwardly on her stomach atop blood-soaked carpeting. Her head lay turned toward Scott, and her hazy, unblinking eyes were opened so wide it appeared she’d died in abject terror. Even from fifteen feet away, he clearly saw the right side of her neck and throat had been cut wide open, which had exposed her larynx. Goddamnit!!

  “Adam-58, female down, Code Black. Making entry!” With deliberate, controlled movements and a raised handgun, Scott stepped into the completely darkened house, both in search of life and ready to defend his own. Goddamnit, where’s Essie’s father?!?! The living room looked like a ferocious fight had taken place, and Scott realized it probably appeared worse in the beam of his bright, tactical weapon light than it might have in natural daylight. The recliner and bookcase had been overturned and everything Scott would’ve expected to find on shelves lay broken and strewn about the couch, end tables, and floor. It’s like the scene of a fuckin’ horror movie, and the killer’s hiding somewhere in the darkness just outta sight!

  “Mister Salez! Dry Creek Police! Call out if you can hear me!” Scott knew he’d just given up any element of surprise if the murderer remained inside, but he desperately wanted to tell Essie he hadn’t wasted a second trying to help save her father. “¡Senor Salez! Es la policia! Donde esta en casa?!” Scott paused for only a moment, realized he heard nothing but rain falling on the home and outside, through the open front door. Kitchen ahead, looks like a dead-end, hallway left that looks to go to the garage, deep hallway right that looks like bedrooms. More bloody handprints and smears on the walls and hallway entrance right.

  Without waiting for backup and immediately upon recognizing the blood evidence trail, Scott pressed forward to the lightless, long, and narrow hallway off the living room’s right side. Perfect, why the fuck wouldn’t it be even darker down there? As he entered the hallway, he avoided contact with the walls and tried to step over drops and bloody shoeprints on the carpet, but moved with the clear pur
pose of either finding Essie’s dad alive, or being ready and capable of exacting revenge on her parent’s behalf. He saw a bedroom door facing him from the very back end of the hallway, but he had to first deal with rooms closer to him. With his Glock held firmly in both hands, Scott bent his elbows and pulled the weapon back into his chest to make it harder to take away, should he encounter a suspect just the other side of any of the upcoming doorways. I don’t need to use my sights at these short distances, anyway, these rooms’re gonna be small enough that aiming won’t be necessary. The first door he reached stood to his right, and he saw smeared, waist-high blood across its surface, but none on its handle. Stepping to the opposite, left side of the narrow hall, he quickly decided his best tactical advantage, having lost most of his stealth by calling out for Mister Salez, required him to immediately force it open. The thin hollow-core door gave way as soon as he struck it with a heavy right foot.

  BOOMthack

  The door easily swung open, collided hard when its handle buried in the drywall behind it, and stopped. Seeing no one in the visible portion of that room, Scott quickly stepped straight inside to search the room with his weapon and its light. Empty, no one here. “Adam-58, first bedroom west of the living area’s clear.”

  Without waiting or listening for his dispatcher to respond, Scott took back the hallway and continued pressing right. He saw the next, wide-open doorway stood on his left and, as he drew near, realized it was a bathroom. Keeping his feet striding forward, he rotated his knees, hips and torso left as he approached the door, intending to walk laterally across its threshold so he could look inside the bathroom before actually entering it. As he crossed the doorway, he saw a small vanity, sink, and mirror directly in front of him, and that the room opened up to his left, behind him. Scott lowered his weapon light slightly as he crossed in front of the mirror to avoid blinding himself, made brief eye contact with his own image, and quickly raised his light back up. He effectively used the mirror to reflect light into the back of the small room. Another, single step forward across the doorway revealed a man’s feet, calves, and knees, which appeared as though he sat just out of sight to Scott’s left in the back of the bathroom. Rotating his feet, Scott changed direction and stepped into the bathroom with his Glock pointed toward the unknown man, but still pulled into his chest. Oh my God!