Trifecta: The Program Book 1.5
Page 6
SUSPICIOUS, Book 6 Stranger Series, The Very Last One, Due Out Soon
SCOTT
Another day in paradise.
Placing the cup of black coffee down on my desk, I turn on the computer and prepare for the newest round of bad guys waiting for me.
Degenerates.
Scumbags.
Lowlifes.
Killers.
I’ve been surrounded by them for more than half my life.
First it had been the Army, doing missions that should have killed me. Going into a compound filled with beasts that had only one purpose; to kill all of us in the most gruesome way possible, and make a show of it while they did it. That wasn’t about me. It was about saving people from torture, stopping them from getting burned alive, or having their heads cut off on camera for a goddamn YouTube video. Or shot by a ten-year-old kid.
Ten-fucking-year-olds. What is wrong with this world?
I was done, I got out. Only to join the police force, the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Administration. The addresses might have been different, the accents and languages might have changed, but it was still filth. Corruption. Death and torture.
I’ve done bust’s where there had been rooms piled with chopped up bodies stuffed in plastic bags. The degradation I’ve been witness to knows no bounds, has no morals, ethics never existed there.
I’ve seen living proof that hell has no boundaries, no restrictions, no preference to color, race, religion, or nationality.
It’s alive and well, and more powerful than you ever could imagine.
It seduced, promised, and fought dirty in the most beautiful ways.
I thought I could get out. I thought I’d had enough and I could walk away, and never go back.
The Prodigal Son returned, Scott Edwards.
It isn’t for me.
Or maybe it is?
Maybe there’s something wrong with me that I need to do this. Maybe I’m just as bad as the criminals. What kind of normal person would get off on the hunt of sick motherfuckers every day, made my heart pound wildly with the thrill of the chase?
I’m not blind not to know that only someone with the same tastes, the same understandings, could know what makes our kind tick.
Feel it deep inside them.
It takes one to know one.
I sip my coffee at my nice new desk in the office area of the police precinct and check my emails. There are the usual reminders of the Monday morning Bull Pen meetings, announcements of firearms qualification.
Give me a break. I could put a bullet right in the middle of some douchebags forehead from two hundred feet.
There’s a new case.
I click open the file and read the preliminaries.
Well, this is not the usual scenario.
Case: #BZ00005469
Prescription Drug Trafficking/Embezzlement
Suspect: Thomas Jordan
Suspect thought to be responsible for illegal prescription drug trafficking throughout the United States. Operation has affiliations with organized crime.
Another dirty business man, or is he a doctor?
I open the other suspect’s file.
Case: #BZ00005469
Prescription Drug Trafficking
Suspect: Janie Simmons
What the hell?!!
Suspect thought to be prime runner for illegal prescription drug trafficking.
“JANIE?!”
MY JANIE?!