The Harvesters: A Detective Devora Lobos Novel

by William J Manning

  “I think your friends are back for dessert.”

  He winces in pain, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh no! Lobos, come on, man, don’t let me check out like this. We’re cops we deserve to go out with dignity.”

  I hold the gun up and eject the magazine and chuck the weapon in the water. “You threw the badge away a long time ago, you son of a bitch!” I glower at him, muscles tight with rage. “Enjoy hell with your pedo girlfriend,” I hiss. Staggering away, I lean against a tree. The gator shoots out of the water like a bullet and clamps down on his ankle. He screams like a bunny caught in a bear trap; meanwhile, the other gator grabs his leg, and they drag him into the water and rip his legs off. He tries to swim away, but the gator chomps down on his neck and pulls him under.

  I groan in pain, heading over to Dorian’s body and remove the shirt off of him. I hate the idea of wearing a dead guy’s shirt, but I can’t run around with my tits hanging out. The shirt is three sizes too big, but it will do. I shout as I pull the shirt down over me. My chest and face burn like fire with every step. The soils of my feet are cut up from running through the swamp every move feels like walking on broken glass. I can still feel Brianne’s fingers inside of me and her slimy tongue on my nipples, her disgusting hot breath. A clammy feeling washes over my body and not long after I am puking my guts up. Pain shoots through my body forcing me to my knees screaming, clutching my chest. I sit on my haunches for a moment, waiting for the searing pain to die down a bit.

  I damn sure won’t win any beauty pageants now.

  Fishing around in Dorian’s pockets for the car keys, I find them. I limp back across the bridge, my feet feel like their being cut open with every step.

  Few more steps and their GMC comes into view. Time to take this car back to Miami and get the hell outta of this city.

  ***

  I arrive back at my hotel and find the police have my room roped off with crime scene tape. I park the car and open the door, and my whole body sears in pain as I open the door and hit the concrete.

  “Devora!” Munroe cries, running to me. “Devora, what happened to you?” She kneels.

  “Saul Freeman and his corrupt cops did this to me, but don’t worry, they’re dead. I killed every damn one of them.” my voice weak.

  She lifts my shirt. “Jesus! Get a medic over here right now, we gotta an agent down!” She stares at me in horror. “My god these cuts!” she feels of my forehead. “Shit, your burning up!”

  “They ambushed me when I came back here. My entire chest is on fire.”

  “It’s okay, Devora. The paramedics are coming.”

  Chapter 39

  One week later

  The lacerations on my chest and face were deep but not fatal; unfortunately, I’ll have scars killing any chance I had of being a swimsuit model. The hospital gave me a number to see a therapist that specializes in treating victims of rape. I tossed the number therapists is a waste of time. Talking to someone about your trauma won’t change what happened.

  I order a double of rum on the rocks from the bartender. Finally, this case is over and done with, and I can get out of this hell and return to my job in Tampa, assuming Tanner can smooth things over with my LT. Munroe’s wrapped up in court making sure Merryweather and Gabriella get sent to prison where they belong. Munroe tied her to my attempted murder, so there’s another charge on her plus the human trafficking and drug trafficking.

  Tanner strolls into the pub and sits on the stool next to me. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for us at the DEA. I’m sorry you couldn’t save your brother, and I’m sorry about Greg and your partner, Agent Donovan.”

  I take a gulp of my drink and slam it on the bar angrily. “Yeah… just the way it is.”

  “By the way, I smoothed things over with your LT back home, so your job is still there waiting on ya, but I would strongly consider some R&R and maybe some counseling after what you were put through in the swamp and some grief counseling.”

  I gulp down the rest of my drink and give the bartender the signal for another. I lean over to him. “Oh, you mean you’re not going to sweep all this under the rug? My brother’s death? Donovan’s death? Deputy Roth’s death or Greg’s Death?”

  “Devora.”

  “Where was all this support for counseling when I really needed it after sacrificing that kid to maintain operational integrity?”

  “Devora, listen.”

  “No, you listen. I am a wreck because of you! What was it you told me? Oh, I remember. Good job, Agent Lobos. Remember, this operation is classified. Do not speak of it outside of the safe house.”

  He sighs. “I am sorry for your losses, Devora.”

  “Fuck you, Tanner, and fuck the DEA!” I finish my drink in one gulp.

  “Anyway, I thought you might like to know we’ve arrested Kulikov for the murder of Giselle and Crimson. As for Kulikov fiancée, we changed her identity and sent her to another city for her protection.”

  “Good.”

  “Detective Sanz ended up killing the suspect responsible for Deputy Roth’s murder.”

  “The shooter killed a cop, so he was asking for an early grave.”

  “Especially when you point an automatic at them.”

  I raise the glass in the air. “Sounds like the case wraps up with a nice neat little red fucking bow. Mazel tov.”

  He frowns. “Along with your testimony against Saul Freeman and his accomplices and your… sexual assault.” His brow creases. “Are you gonna be alright? I can recommend some rape councilors.”

  Flashes of Brianne leering at me race through my mind, and I can feel her in me.

  I clear my throat and take a sip if of my drink. “I’ll be fine. My rapist is dead.”

  He frowns. “How about those cuts?”

  I take a sip of my drink, licking the liquor off my lips. “The hospital said the lacerations will leave scars, but nothing fatal. I fought a bad infection, but I’m good now.”

  “Sucks about the scars, but at least there’s no internal damage.”

  “Just my swimsuit body ruined, so I got lucky.”

  “Don’t bury the fact you were raped. If it’s bothering you, see someone. There’s no shame in getting help.”

  I finish my drink and put out my cigarette. “Piss off, Tanner.”

  “Don’t try to submerge it in booze.”

  I grab my coat off the back of the stool and walk out the door. I climb into my Dodge, cranking the engine. Shifting the gear, I head back to Tampa, back to my cat, my real home.