Ana Rocha_Shadows of Justice

by Ammar Habib

  I take a deep breath and let it out. I’ve done more than enough. It’s time to leave. I try to turn and head back to my car. But against my will, my hand reaches out and rings the doorbell for a third time. I wince as I do and immediately begin to wordlessly berate myself, but I still wait to see what happens. Once again, my foot is quickly tapping against the concrete. I don’t stop it this time. It doesn’t matter anymore. My ears pick up some more footsteps. However, with each passing moment, they grow fainter.

  Knowing what this means, I let out a sigh. I’ve made a fool of myself by coming here. A complete fool. Why do I do this to myself? Mary was right. It’s none of my business. Bryan and I may be partners, but he’s a grown man who knows what’s best for himself and so does his wife. If I wasn’t a cop, she probably would have called them on me. Damn my caring nature.

  Burying my hands in my jeans’ pockets, I do what I’ve wanted to do since arriving here and anticlimactically leave.

  Chapter 11

  Vinny the Rat

  The next morning is one of those rare ones where I don’t wake up from a nightmare. Thank God for that. The peaceful, eight-hour sleep makes me the most pleasant person at the station this morning. It freaks some of my fellow officers out.

  Not even a moment after I take a seat in my office chair, April follows me in. “Ana, you have a call on line three.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to your mom?”

  “…no. Not yet.”

  I pick up the phone as April leaves and closes the door behind her. “This is Rocha.”

  “It’s me.”

  Charlie. I recognize the man through his Clint Eastwood voice. From his words, you’d think he was in his sixties, but you’d be about thirty years too high. Charlie is my most reliable informant. He only ever calls when he has something good, and hearing his voice immediately excites me. “What have you got?”

  “Something big. There’s a dealer—actually he’s a Lieutenant in Los Familia.”

  My eyes grow wide with surprise. “Lieutenant?”

  “I know someone who is his loyal customer. This lieutenant has direct access to a den that supplies drugs to a good portion of Sugarland.”

  Is he serious? This is huge. I’m half surprised that I maintain my composure. “What’s his name?”

  “People call him Vinny the Rat, but I don’t know his real name.”

  “That’s good enough. Set up a meet with me and him.”

  “What do I say?”

  I say the next words without missing a beat. “My name is Victoria Gomez. I’ve got access to some new areas in Pearland that include apartment complexes and businesses. I’m looking for a supplier. You and I met and you told me about his rep. I want him to be my liaison for the supplier. And I’m willing to give him a cut. A 15% cut.”

  There is a brief pause on the other end. “…okay.”

  “Tell him that when we meet, I’ll have a contractor with me—he’s the one giving me access to these areas.” For this type of meet, it’ll be best to have Bryan with me.

  “That won’t work. He will only agree to meet if you’re alone.”

  “Can you at least give it a go?”

  “Not without the risk of scaring him off.”

  I pause for a moment, my gaze focused on my desk. “…fine. Aim to set up the meet in the last spot we used. Let me know once you get something going.”

  “Will do.”

  ***

  I pull Vinny the Rat’s file up from the archives. Standing under the dim lights and between the tall racks, I don’t even bother taking it back to my office before opening it and flipping through the pages.

  Victor M. Nelson, aka. Vinny the Rat

  b. May 31, 1959

  Height: 6’3’’ Weight: 230 lbs.

  The picture we have is from his last arrest’s mug shot two years ago in ‘97. He’s a bald, light-skinned Hispanic with a long scar running down his right cheek. Probably got that from a nasty knife wound. From the headshot, I notice the strong muscles on his neck. Most of his 230 lbs seems to come from raw strength. He almost looks like a Hispanic version of Mike Tyson.

  When he was arrested, it took three officers to bring him down and they all took their fair share of a beating from him. But what I notice most from the headshot are his russet eyes. They’re the kind a seasoned brawler would possess: intimidating and fearless. They show that the man’s fought for every inch he’s gained in life. No doubt, he’s not the kind of person you want to get in a fist-fight with.

  He has quite the history: robbery, assault, illegal possession of weapons, and even murder. In his last trial two years ago, he pleaded guilty to all accounts. The only reason he’s not on death row is because he escaped prison during a transfer last year. It was likely the work of his boss: Queen Bee—I mean Ebony Thorne.

  There are several pages documenting the connection between Vinny and Ebony. As I read through it, my eyes light up, half from excitement and half from horror. I’ve come across plenty of Queen Bee’s men. But they’ve only ever been the low-lying fruit who only know as much as they need to know about the gang. Even if they had the courage to speak out, they never knew anything that could help bring down their ‘Queen’.

  But this guy’s something else. For a while, he was Queen Bee’s personal hitman. He killed at least eight people in cold blood, presumably under her orders, but I wouldn’t doubt that there are far more murders that were never uncovered. And the majority of his murders weren’t simple hit missions. They were interrogations. Interrogations in which Vinny brought pain to his victims in every way possible before ending their lives. He cut them, burned them, electrocuted them, and beat them viciously. Vinny the Rat? More like Vinny the Devil.

  However, he’ll definitely know things—things that’ll help put the Queen down. And now, he’s going to get a load of me.

  ***

  Bryan slowly looks through Vinny’s file. He was already familiar with the name, just as every cop in this station is. I’m sure he’s studied the file before. But he still takes his time, seemingly reading everything twice. Arriving at the end of it, he blankly stares at his desk for a long moment before looking up at me.

  “Charlie told you about Vinny?”

  I nod, still sitting across the desk from him.

  “What’s the plan, Ana?”

  “Make contact with Vinny. Have him lead me to his supply house. I’ll figure out the security details and what time the most people will be in there. I’m thinking it’ll be a good hit: four dealers with a maximum of 10 kilos in storage. Then I’ll lead a raid in two weeks. Get the drugs. Bust everyone inside—including Vinny. Case closed. Then we promise Vinny to keep him off death row if he leads us to Queen Bee and helps put her behind bars, so we can bring down her cartel.”

  My partner takes a deep breath. “You may be getting ahead of yourself here. We need to think all this through one step at a time.”

  “The FBI and the force have been trying to bring Ebony down for years. But all anyone ever gets are the low-level street dealers. And she makes sure they know nothing that could really hurt her. Vinny was her private hitman, and I bet he’s still part of her inner circle. That’s why she busted him out of prison to begin with: because he’s important. This is a chance, Bryan.”

  “A dangerous chance.”

  “It’ll always be dangerous going after somebody like Ebony. If it wasn’t, she would already be locked away.”

  He leans forward a bit. “I’m not worried about Ebony right now. I’m afraid of you being with somebody like Vinny. He’s a ruthless murderer, Ana. And you’re a talented officer, but I’ve seen a lot of talented officers go out against people like him.”

  “I’ve seen the files—”

  “But you weren’t there to see the bodies of his victims. I was. I stood over those corpses. Hacked up. Mutilated. Tortured in every way possible. He’s sadistic and insane, Ana. He’s a vicious dog that doesn’t think twice
about killing.”

  “I’ve been dealing with dangerous people for months now.”

  “Not like this.”

  “I haven’t lost yet, have I? The only other option is that we try and arrest Vinny on the spot. We can have SWAT lying in wait and they’ll jump on him right when he gets there. But you and I both know that he’ll smell it from a mile away and will never show up if we do that. This is the only way to make this happen.”

  There is a long, awkward silence between the two of us. Bryan keeps his eyes locked with mine, as if he’s trying to stare me down. But knowing that he won’t be able to change my mind, Bryan breaks the stillness. “What cover are you going to use?”

  “Victoria Gomez.”

  He nods. “And the meet-up?”

  “Charlie called me an hour ago. It’ll be Friday afternoon at one.”

  “What’s the set-up?”

  “I’m meeting him. And…” This is the part I was dreading to tell Bryan. “…Vinny won’t agree to the meet if anyone else comes, including Charlie.”

  Bryan raised his eyebrow. “You’re going in alone?”

  I slightly nod.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Bryan—”

  He holds his hand up to stop me. “Let me finish. The only way I’ll let you go on this is if we do this my way. I wish you had told Charlie that I would be the one meeting Vinny, but what’s done is done. Changing everything now will scare Vinny off and get Charlie killed. When you do make contact with Vinny, I’ll be in the vicinity. Close enough to move in if anything happens but far enough to not be seen. For all we know, he might not be alone. Most likely, he won’t be.”

  I wasn’t expecting that reaction, and it throws me off for a moment. “Okay.”

  Bryan rises to his feet but keeps his gaze focused on me. “Listen Ana. When this all goes down, if you get a hint—even the smallest hint that he’s caught on, you draw your gun and bring him in even if it means blowing your cover.”

  I nod.

  “This man’s dangerous. He’s a killer. Your life comes before the mission. Don’t let your ambition cloud your judgment. No potential reward is the worth the risk of your death.” He pauses. “And when you pull out your gun, make sure your finger is on the trigger… and don’t be afraid to pull it if you have to.”

  “I won’t.”

  After a brief pause, Bryan lightly nods. “Good. Let’s go over the plan.”

  ***

  Vinny the Rat’s eyes stare right at me. But they aren’t looking at me through some photograph. No. These are in-person. And they’re filled with cruelty, not displaying even an ounce of mercy as he aims a gun at my head from point-blank-range.

  The street is littered with corpses. Just like in every other nightmare I’ve had, the sky is dark and flames surround me. Buildings and cars are lit up, their thick smoke rising into the air. I feel their heat beat against my skin as my eyes remain locked with Vinny’s brown pupils. I feel the muzzle of his pistol coldly pressing against my forehead but am unable to move.

  This is a dream, but that knowledge doesn’t do much for me. It does not lessen my trembling heart or ease my quivering. I’m completely immobile as I stare into Vinny’s wicked gaze. Helpless, I watch as the edges of his lips form into a devilish smirk.

  He pulls the trigger.

  ***

  The day of the operation, I spend the morning hours in my office, filling out paperwork over different cases and going over the plan with Bryan once more. It’ll be a normal meet. As long as I treat it as such, I’ll be able to go through it without a hitch. I won’t have my radio on me but will have my gun. Even if Vinny searches me before taking me to the stash-house, he won’t be suspicious about me having a pistol since it’s a common tool in my undercover character’s line of work.

  Cap agrees that this is a dangerous mission. Apparently, officers have gone after Vinny before but failed. One even died trying a little over a year ago. Cap would have not signed off on the mission, even if it meant losing Vinny, if it had not been for Bryan’s backing.

  Bryan plans to arrive at the scene an hour and a half before the meet. He’ll find a nice hiding hole and make sure this is not a set-up. If it’s not, then once I make contact with Vinny and am on my way to the stash-house, Bryan will tail us. If it is a set up on Vinny’s part, we abort the whole operation and try to bring Vinny in the old-fashion way. I pray that’s not the case because I doubt Vinny would even show up in that scenario.

  Two hours before the meet, I pull back into my apartment’s parking lot, needing to change out of my nicer clothes and into my undercover clothing. I quickly make my way up the flight of steps leading to my apartment door. Quickly unlocking it, I swing the door open and escape the heat by stepping inside. But I suddenly stop in my tracks.

  Sitting on my couch is the last person I was thinking of seeing today.

  “Mama!” For a moment, I think I’m dreaming before I remember having given her an extra set of keys to my apartment. I barely stop myself from instinctively drawing out my concealed handgun.

  “Hey, Ana. Are you back for lunch?”

  “Uh—yeah, yeah.” C’mon, Ana, compose yourself. Thank God I’m not wearing my badge right now. “What’s up?”

  Mama frowns. “What’s up? Is that anyway to talk to your mother?”

  Crap. Why the heck did I just say that? Horrible start. “Sorry, mama. Just slipped out.”

  “It’s okay.” She gestures for me to take a seat next to her on the long sofa. She’s dressed in a loose brown tunic and a pair of white Capri pants, appearing as calm as ever. “I’m sorry for barging in like this unexpectedly.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.” I hide the lie well as always and take my seat. But I keep a couple of feet of distance between us. Please don’t be here for the reason I think you are, and please don’t do what I think you’re going to.

  “We need to talk, Ana.”

  I knew she would say that. I just knew it. And I also know exactly what it is she wants to talk about. Of all the times this could happen, this is undoubtedly the worst. “What’s the matter?”

  “I was concerned. You hadn’t called me back yet. I’ve left at least ten messages between your home and office’s phone.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve just been busy with things lately.”

  “Listen, Ana, we’re worried about you—all of us are. It seems like you’ve dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “I have a job now mom—”

  “A job—especially the kind you have—is only supposed to take up forty hours of your week, not your whole life.”

  She’s about to go on a rant. I know it. And there’s no stopping her when she does. Bad timing, mama. Seriously bad timing. “Mom, it’s just been—”

  “And it definitely should not be keeping you away from church, Ana, or even forcing you to leave early week after week.”

  Please, mom, don’t lecture me now. Don’t make me do this to you.

  “I raised you with values, Ana. And I won’t stand by and watch you throw them out the window right after you’ve got your freedom. What did I always say: God, family, and then occupation. You’ve got that completely twisted right now.”

  I can’t take this. I’m about to go and meet one of Houston’s most notorious escaped prisoners and my mom is trying to lecture me. She needs to go. Now. And I need to get her to leave by any means necessary.

  “I don’t suppose you are even planning on coming to tomorrow’s annual family picnic, are you, Ana? Is your job or whatever you’re doing really more important than your family? Is that the kind of child I raised?”

  No, I’m actually not planning on going. But it’s time to end this. Every moment I waste here is a moment less to prepare for the meet.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have a job like this if you’re not ready for the responsibility.”

  Sorry, mama. “For God’s sake, mom, can you please stop it!”


  My voice shakes the room and nearly causes the flower vase to tremble. She suddenly jumps back an inch as my words sound off through the entire apartment. Her eyes are wide with shock as she hears me raise my voice at her for the first time in my life.

  “I’m not a child anymore! You can’t keep me pressed down under your thumb forever.” My heart quivers with each syllable I utter, but I don’t show it. I can’t show it. Not now. “Maybe instead of me, you should have kept Angela like this. Maybe then, she would have never been volunteering in that soup kitchen to begin with. Maybe then, my sister would still be alive!”

  The entire room falls silent. Deadly silent. What did I just do? Did I really yell those words at her? I can’t believe it. I watch as tears suddenly swell behind my mother’s eyes. But she keeps them from rolling down her cheeks. For an instant, I think that she’s about to slap me. Or at the very least, yell right back at me.

  But she doesn’t.

  In her eyes, I see something. Something that I have not seen since my sister’s death. Something that I wished to never have caused my mother: pain. True pain.

  She slowly rises to her feet before turning around. Without a word or another glance, she walks towards the door. As she does, she drops her key to my apartment on the floor before leaving. The door slams shut behind her.

  As soon as she’s gone, my head falls into my hands. What is wrong with you, Ana? How could you say those words to your mom? Don’t you know what you just put her through? My heart shivers under the heavy weight that is suddenly crushing it. A flood of tears unexpectedly begin streaming down my cheeks as my body uncontrollably shakes. And all I can see in my mind’s eye is the pain consuming my mother’s eyes. I feel sick from my skin to the core of my soul, as if I’m rotting on the inside.