Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  “If you kill MS-13’s men and take the girls, they’ll tell everyone what happened once they’re interviewed. They’ll incriminate you and your men for murder. I can’t fix that.”

  His jaw clenched. “Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.”

  I knew now that he realized there were nine teenagers being held, that he wouldn’t be able to walk away. It wasn’t in his blood. He was far too prideful of a man to do so.

  “There’s two ways this will work,” I said.

  “I’m listening,” he seethed.

  “One. Give me the address of where they are, and I’ll assemble a team and go take care of it. End of story.”

  “Not interested,” he said dryly. “First of all, you won’t kill those MS-13 pricks. You’ll arrest them. There’s no funding to keep them in prison, so, you’ll deport them to Nicaragua, El Salvador, Ecuador, and Mexico. In 90 days, they’ll be back here doing the same shit. I want them gone. Forever. The only way to do that is to kill them. Secondly, I don’t trust you or your men to get anything done and done right.”

  He had a valid point. If we arrested the men, they’d be charged with criminal entry into the USA, and deported. They would immediately come back, knowing their only feasible income would come from the same criminal activities.

  “The other way is this.” I met his hardened gaze. “Your men take care of MS-13, and then leave. On your way out, you call me on a throw-away. I’ll claim it was a tip, and I’ll fall in behind you and take care of the girls. You get what you want, I get what I want. No risk.”

  “They’ll ask why you didn’t call it in. Why you didn’t call for backup. Your plan has holes, detective.”

  I reached through my window, gripped the radio’s receiver in my hand, and yanked it until the cord snapped.

  “Looks like my car was vandalized,” I said. “I’ll say on my way in I saw a pickup truck filled with who I believed to be four Hispanic males speeding away from the scene. Upon hearing the cries of females from inside the home, I rushed inside and found the girls.”

  He shook his head. “Lift up your right shirt sleeve.”

  I raised my sleeve. He leaned toward me, studied my SEAL trident, and then nodded. “I’ll take option number two.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Three

  Nick Navarro – Day twenty-four

  I joined the Navy to fight terrorism. When I took the oath to protect the nation from foreign and domestic threats, there was no expiration date. Being a man of my word, I continued to fight the nation’s threats long after my discharge from the military.

  Until I draw my last breath, I will oppose anyone who threatens my life, or the lives of those I love – my family by blood and my family by choice.

  As much as I realize I have no desire – nor the capacity – to save the entire world from harm, if a man preys on women, children, or the elderly, he’ll come to meet his maker at the hand of me and my men. Therefore, if I have knowledge of someone committing such crimes and I don’t act upon it, I’m not any better than the filth I so desperately despise.

  The van came to a stop alongside the curb. After scanning the darkened block and seeing no signs of anyone being awake, I lifted my chin slightly. “Sound off if you’re in this, fellas.”

  “Ready for round two,” Cholo said.

  “Lead the way, Boss,” Pee Bee said.

  “Good to go,” Smokey chimed.

  “Let’s get out of this motherfucker, I’m starting to fucking itch,” P-Nut stammered. “I’m in.”

  “Fuck these pricks,” Meathead hissed. “Let’s do it.”

  I looked at Stretch. “If you hear sirens, get the hell out of here, and pick us up at the ball diamond.”

  He gave a nod. “Got it, Crip.”

  “Just like I said at the shop,” I said. “No clear target, don’t take a shot. We’ve potentially got nine teenagers in here, and I don’t want them catching a stray. I’m taking point, Cholo and Peeb are at my rear. Smoke, Nut, and Meat enter the back door upon hearing the first shot.”

  I turned around. “I doubt any of these gangbangers are wearing black headgear. So, anyone not wearing a black mask? Don’t ask questions, just shoot.”

  Five heads nodded.

  I gazed blankly through the windshield at the pitch-black block, feeling sympathy for the people who were forced to live amongst such filth. Half a dozen homes within my view had for sale signs in the front yards, and just as many others were sure to be abandoned.

  The area had been overtaken by drug dealers, squatters, and the city’s addicts, and only those financially incapable of relocating remained.

  I shook my head in disgust. “Let’s roll.”

  We exited the van and walked through the front yard of the home that was situated behind the drug house. As we approached the back yard of the home in question, Smoke, P-Nut, and Meathead crouched down and made their way to the rear door.

  Pee Bee, Cholo, and I snuck around the front of the house. Upon reaching the front door, I glanced in their direction, raised my weapon to ready, and gave the nod.

  While enlisted in the military, I’d raided more homes, compounds, and buildings than I cared to try and count. Seventy-five percent of them were filled with armed men, and I’d lived through each and every mission I’d been on.

  They never got any easier, though.

  Pee Bee booted the door open.

  I scanned the room. Two wide-eyed men dressed in chinos and wife beaters jumped to their feet.

  Instinctively, I pulled the trigger twice. The thwack sound from the silenced pistol gave little warning to anyone else in the home that we’d arrived.

  The two men fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Living room’s clear,” I shouted. “Secure the kitchen.”

  I rushed to the first bedroom and kicked the door open. I was met by the flash from the barrel of a pistol and a deafening explosion, followed by a familiar burning sensation in my left arm.

  I returned fire, striking the threat in the center of his chest. As he fell to the floor, my eyes shot toward a movement in the back of the room. My vision narrowed.

  A girl was cowering behind a coffee table. Her matted blonde hair hung from her head like thick ropes of dirty yellow yarn. She appeared to be no more than ten or twelve years old.

  I checked the closet. “Bedroom’s clear,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  I turned toward the little girl. She was completely naked.

  My blood began to boil.

  “House is clear, Boss,” I heard Pee Bee’s muffled voice say from behind me. “Got eight little girls in the back room.”

  With my jaw clenched tight, I took a moment to clear my head. Accepting what I was seeing as being part of the America I lived in didn’t come easily.

  “She okay?” he asked.

  I found it odd that she wasn’t crying, and decided she was in shock. I tried like hell to hide my anger. Grateful that my face was hidden by a mask, I scanned the filthy floor looking for her clothes.

  There were none. The only things in the room were money, drugs, empty beer bottles, and three broken hearts.

  I pushed my pistol into the waist of my pants, pulled my shirt over my head, and held it at arm’s length.

  “Put this on.” The words got caught on the back of my tongue and came out in shattered pieces. Embarrassed by allowing my emotion to escape me, I cleared my throat. “Someone will be here in a minute to give you a ride home.”

  I hoped it was enough to give her some peace of mind.

  “Boss, you’re bleeding.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She accepted the shirt with a weary hand, and then pulled it over her head. It hung from her thin shoulders like a black tent, but it covered everything I wanted her to keep sacred.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Did he--”

  After taking a quick look at him, she looked at me and then swallowed hard. “He
made me…” Her gaze fell to the floor. “He uhhm.” Incapable of continuing, she looked up. “He....”

  I didn’t need her to say another word.

  “Take her to be with the others,” I said.

  With slight hesitation in her stride, she walked toward me. As she stepped around me, she looked up. “Why are you wearing masks?”

  It wasn’t a question I expected to have to answer. My mind searched for what to say. The only answer I could come up with was simple, but true. “We’re hiding our identities.”

  “Like Spiderman?” she asked.

  I smiled, but she couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Just like Spiderman.”

  While Pee Bee escorted her to the back room, I dragged the piece of human filth into the hallway. In the process, his unfastened pants slid to his knees.

  Having him where Watson could see him would allow him to spend less time searching rooms, and more time getting the little girls to the hospital. I gazed down at him and imagined the fear the girls had lived with for the last two weeks because of his lack of having a conscious. To describe men like him as evil wasn’t even close to accurate.

  Anger filled me until I reached a point of bursting into tears. I pointed my pistol at him and fired into his crotch and chest until the slide locked, indicating all the rounds had been spent.

  Then, I reached into my pocket, pulled out the burner phone, and made the call.

  “Come on, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “I told ‘em help is on the way. We need to roll.”

  I shook my head. “You guys go ahead. I’m not leaving these girls alone until I know they’re safe. Pick me up at the ball diamond. As soon as he pulls up, I’ll slip out the back.”

  “You’re covered in blood, and you gave up your shirt, Boss. You’ll get picked up by the cops for sure.”

  “Not leaving the girls, Peeb. Get gone,” I growled. “I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

  He pulled off his shirt and handed it to me. I hadn’t noticed until he stood before me shirtless, but his shoulder and chest were covered in blood.

  “You get hit?”

  His black mask nodded. “Just once.”

  “You alright?”

  “Better off than those kids in that room,” he said. “See you at the ball diamond, Boss.”

  The men had no more than walked out the front door, and I heard the siren. I peered through the open front door until I saw his lights illuminate the driveway. As he stepped out of the car, I turned and slipped out the back door.

  While I jogged the half mile to the ballfield, I recited a part of the SEAL code along the way.

  I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work, nor seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.

  I may have left the SEALs, but the SEAL in me will always remain.

  I took one last look toward the drug house.

  Get ‘em home safe, my brother.

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Four

  Marc – Day twenty-four

  Nervously, I sat in the parking lot of a run-down baseball diamond within half a mile of where Navarro and his men were, but had no idea of the actual address.

  I couldn’t believe what I’d agreed to, but when it came to saving the lives of nine teenage girls, I would take whatever measures I had to.

  My phone buzzed.

  I swept my thumb over the screen. “Watson.”

  “2143 14th Street, North.”

  The phone went dead.

  I shifted the car into gear, turned on the lights and siren, and screeched out of the lot and into the street. The address was a little less than half a mile from where I was parked. At 2:30 a.m., I had little traffic to deal with, and was within a block of the residence within minutes.

  I flipped off the siren, careened into the driveway, and drew my service weapon. The front door was open, and although I had no reason to believe Navarro would set me up, I proceeded into the home no differently than if I was entering a combat zone.

  The sidewalk leaving the residence had a trail of blood along it. I prayed none of Navarro’s men were killed in the makeshift raid. Cautiously, I followed the trail to the door. Directly inside the threshold were two men, obviously deceased. As each of them had been shot in the forehead, I assumed it was Navarro’s marksmanship and training that took their respective lives. In the entrance to the kitchen were two more men, their bodies covered in blood.

  I checked their pulse.

  Both were deceased.

  I opened the pantry.

  Clear.

  The hall closet.

  Clear.

  I scanned the interior of the filthy home. Another man lay dead in the corridor, just outside an open bedroom door. His chinos were around his ankles, and his dingy wife beater was soaked in blood. As with the other men, his face and neck were covered in tattoos.

  The smell of urine, sweat, and death hung heavily in the air. I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard.

  The home appeared to have two bedrooms. I stepped to the door of the first room, made note that the frame of the door was shattered, and made my announcement.

  “Policia. No te muevas, o te matare.”

  The door was ajar. I pushed it open and peered inside. Short of what appeared to be a few kilos of cocaine and a coffee table covered in money, the room was empty. I stepped inside and checked the closet.

  Empty.

  I stepped to the half-naked man in the hallway, and immediately noticed the numbers one and three tattooed on his cheeks. Using the heel of my boot, I rolled his head to the side. A scorpion tattoo covered the side of his neck.

  I took his pulse.

  Deceased.

  It’s a good thing they killed you, you cock sucker. You wouldn’t have liked what I would have done to you.

  I turned toward the rear bedroom. Muffled sounds of talking and whimpering came from behind the door. I stepped to it, drew a slow breath, and reached for the handle.

  “San Diego County Sheriff, I’m going to open the door!” I shouted.

  I pushed the door open. The smell of urine, feces, and fear almost knocked me to my knees. What I saw, however, fed me the energy to remain standing.

  “I’m a police officer,” I said with a shaky voice. “I’m here to take you home.”

  I bit against my quivering lip and counted.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

  I lowered my head.

  I owe you one, Navarro.

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-Five

  Taryn – Day twenty-five

  After waking up at 6:50 a.m. to an empty bed, I was worried that something terrible had happened. Frantic, I ran to the garage. I pushed the door open, hoping his car was home, and he was on his morning run. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach when I saw that his car was gone.

  Please, not again.

  I walked into the living room and began to look for the television’s remote. I’d never seen him use the T.V., and wondered if it even worked. After a frantic search, I found it in one of the many drawers of his console.

  I turned on the television just in time to see the start of Channel 10’s news. The label at the bottom of the broadcast was exactly what I didn’t want to see.

  KIDNAPPING SOLVED - FIVE KILLED IN RAID ON GANG DRUG HOUSE

  The screen was split in two, with a man on one side, and a woman on the other. The man was obviously at the television station, and the woman was standing in front of a large crowd of reporters who were gathered outside the San Diego County Sheriff’s Office.

  As they lobbed questions back and forth, my stomach began to do flip-flops.

  “Mary, what do we know about this extremely terrifying and troubling case?”

  “At this time, John, we know very little. We have been assured, however,
that the man in charge of the San Diego Sheriff’s Office Gang Task Force will be with us any moment now for a briefing.”

  “Mary, what can you tell us about the hostages?”

  “It’s our understanding, John, that they were not hostages. Initial reports were inaccurate in that respect. We have confirmed that the nine females who were rushed to Mercy Hospital were all teenagers who had been reported as being abducted in the last two weeks. We’re happy to report that thanks to the detective in charge of the case, the families have all been reunited with their loved ones.”

  “Mary, do we know the name of the detective?”

  “John, the detective, for now, is unnamed. We’ve been advised that it’s the department’s policy to not name or show the faces of detectives in charge of such investigations when gangs are involved. Fear, they tell us, of repercussions prevent them from naming the men who work so diligently to maintain our safety.”

  “Silent heroes.”

  “That is correct, John.”

  “Mary, it’s our understanding that there were several men taken from the home that was raided to the District Medical Examiner. Were men killed in this raid?”

  “John, we have early counts of five men being killed in this operation, but that has not been confirmed.”

  I felt like I was going to throw up. I had no idea what the pecking order was where Marc worked, and wondered if he might be the detective in charge, or if he was one of the bodies at the coroner.

  “John, we’ve got to break to the briefing. Captain Sprague is approaching the podium now.”

  The camera panned to the podium. A man dressed in a navy police uniform covered in medals leaned over the microphone and cleared his throat.

  “I will take a few questions following this briefing.” He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read his statement. “At approximately zero-two-fifty-six this morning, a Gang Task Force Detective was acting on information received from a confidential informant. In doing so, he observed who he believed to be gang members approaching a residence on the city’s east side. The detective’s knowledge of the neighborhood led him to believe the residence was being utilized a gang drug house. The detective’s surveillance confirmed his suspicions. However, due to vandals stripping his issued vehicle of the radio, he was unable to call for backup. Acting alone, and with little concern for his own safety, the detective entered the residence. Upon entering, he encountered five adult males, all of which have been listed as deceased. He then located nine teenage females who were being held in the residence. The females have been identified as the nine teenagers that had previously been reported as missing, all in the last two weeks. The five deceased males have been identified as members of the La Mara Salvatrucha gang. Roughly $273,000, three kilos of cocaine, and two kilos of heroin were seized in this operation.”