“I will,” Jason climbed into the hospital bed, “When there are no more Federico’s and Rodrigues’ to catch.”
He settled in and smiled.
Thomas smiled and shook his head at him.
Jason had to spend another grueling three weeks in the hospital and received physio therapy. It took another month’s recovery at home before he could go back to work.
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When he finally walked through the doors at the DA’s office, officers met him with cheers of encouragement.
He smiled and thanked everyone for their well wishes.
Once settled in his office, his secretary knocked on the door.
“Chief? This came for you while you were away,” she held an open palm out to him, revealing a micro SD
card.
He took it from her, “Who sent this?” He examined it.
“It was from an unknown source, sir. Excuse me.” He thanked her as she closed the door behind her.
He put the card into his phone. It revealed one video and one audio file.
He played the video file and watched in horror as two men with masks entered his house and left a few minutes after. As they came out, one of them was no longer wearing his mask. Jason paused the video. He knew exactly who he was looking at. The kid’s street name was Snape - Carlos had appointed him as his New York distributor just before he had come to New York to take out Thompson.
Jason grabbed his car keys. He stormed out of the office.
“Chief!” His secretary called.
“It can wait!”
“I think you should hear this!” She called after him. He halted with a sigh and returned.
“What is it?”
“Carlos Rodrigues’ new distributor has just been discovered dead in his house. It looks like he met a brutal end.”
She handed him documents.
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He snatched the documents and skulked back to his office in furious disbelief. He was back to square one…
His phone buzzed. He saw Rachel’s name on the screen.
He didn’t answer.
When the phone stopped buzzing, he recalled the memory card his secretary had given him earlier. He had forgotten about the audio file. He put on his earphones and pressed play.
“Speaking of him… Kill that asshole, Detective Jason Williams. He will be a hindrance to our success.”
Jason played the audio file repeatedly, trying to convince himself he was not listening to Thomas Patrick’s voice.
His office phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Chief, there’s a woman on the line who wants to speak to you urgently. She won’t give me her name.”
“Put her through.”
He waited a few seconds before the call connected.
“Rachel, you can’t…”
“My name is Beatrice Walters. I sent you a memory card.
Have you seen its contents?”
“I’ve just seen it.” He said with a dry throat.
“My brother told me to find you if anything happened to him. I want you to help me catch his murderers.”
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CHAPTER ONE
Leo stared at the marble floor, trying to pace his breathing. He didn’t look up—he dared not.
“This has been going on for long enough, Mister Martinez,” a deep voice emanated from one of the three chairs in front of him.
It belonged to Shawn Donald, head of The Syndicate. He inherited his position from his father, who had inherited it from his grandfather—the founder. Shawn was a lanky man in his sixties.
Leo closed his eyes.
“This is your final warning.” A deeper and more baleful voice added. Leo forced his eyes open and continued staring at the floor.
He was Ekong Oni, a powerfully built Nigerian, the son of a vigorous statesman on the African continent. He had worked his way into the Top Three after the death of 105
Shawn’s original right-hand man. He was only thirty-five when he entered the elite circle.
Shivers taunted Leo’s spine. His mouth was dry. He felt as if an invisible force was squeezing his throat. But he sat like a statue, trying not to give away his utter fear.
“Annihilate all threats associated with you. If anything reveals your identity, it could lead to us.” Shawn reprimanded him.
“I understand, sir.”
A third man, sitting to Shawn’s left, stood up and approached Leo. He had a limp—one he flaunted like a trophy—proof of one of his many vicious fights. He halted in front of Leo, who kept his eyes down.
“I hope so,” he bent down to force Leo to make eye contact with him and put a hand on Leo’s shoulder, “otherwise, we will annihilate them…”
Leo stared at the scar-faced man in silence. He was Javier Sanchez, the third and most ruthless of the Top Three. He was also a distant relative of Leo’s. And the one who had put Leo on The Syndicate’s radar years before. Not the kind of man to disappoint.
Javier smirked, “And you with them. There is a line of competent candidates ready to fill your position.”
Brad Whitney was a young, successful Harvard lawyer.
He was already going bald and wore unimaginable thick glasses. He was brilliant—the go-to attorney of the underworld.
His legs jerked up and down like springs as he sat in the waiting room. He grabbed his knees and pushed down 106
hard in an attempt to keep his restless legs in check. But they jerked more frantically in protest.
“Urgh!” He rose and started pacing.
The door opened, bringing Brad to a standstill. The guard gave him a disgusted look before letting his client inside. He was used to it. Defending criminals didn’t make him popular, but it paid.
The guard sat the tall, muscular Mexican down and started cuffing him to the table.
“Really?” Brad protested, gesturing toward the cuffs.
The guard rolled his eyes and uncuffed the Mexican.
“Make it quick.” He mumbled and left the room.
The Mexican flashed a hopeful smile at Brad. He smiled back and sat down opposite him; his legs started jerking again.
“Carlos, I have news.”
“Good news?” It sounded more like a threat than a question.
Brad said nothing; he just gazed at Carlos, seemingly in deep thought.
Carlos had been incarcerated for six months; he hated every second of it. It was dirty and crowded. And the disrespect he had to deal with was unacceptable.
He thought about the second day he had been in jail, awaiting his trial, when that dumbass Ray approached him in the cafeteria. He was minding his own business, standing in line to get a tray full of shit for dinner.
“Hey, jefe…” Carlos turned around. His gaze lowered to a man clad in tattoos, a head shorter than him. At least he knew how to address him, Carlos thought.
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The man stepped closer, too close. But Carlos had learned a valuable lesson after the Federico incident.
Hot-headedness and uncontrolled anger could have less-than-ideal consequences.
“I hear you’ve been complaining like a little bitch about your new living conditions. You must think you’re some kind of big shot.” The man raised himself on his toes,
“Think you’re better than us, eh?” He opened his arms wide, gesturing to the other inmates.
The others laughed and creeped closer, demanding action.
Carlos scoffed, “As a matter of fact, I do.” He replied calmly and turned around.
The infuriated tattooed man readied himself to take a swing at Carlos. But he expected it and swung around as the man’s fist was about to hit the back of his head.
Carlos grabbed it and applied pressure. The tattooed man didn’t show it, but Carlos knew he was hurting him good as he tried to pull away. Carlos held on. Suddenly, Carlos released the man’s fist and gave him a powerful push. He hit the ground and slid a few feet away.
The inmates fell silent. They all stared at Carlos.<
br />
“Ray, stay down, man!” Someone shouted as the tattooed man picked himself up and charged at Carlos like a buffalo charging a lion.
As the man got close, Carlos side-stepped him. He crashed into a few unwary inmates. They all toppled over. Carlos grabbed the back of his collar, pulled him to his feet and swung him around violently.
“I’ll kill you!” The man screeched, “Do you know who I am?!” He yelled and struggled desperately for freedom from Carlos’ steel-like grip.
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“I don’t care who you are.” Carlos hissed.
He pulled back his arm like an arrow and released it with all his might. Blood gushed out of the tattooed man’s nose. Carlos finally released him. The man stood transfixed for a few seconds. Then his eyes rolled back.
He fell backward, his skull shattering against the floor.
Carlos heard a thud against his back. Then another.
The prison guards had finally scrambled through the crowd and were clubbing Carlos to the ground like he was a wild animal. They dragged him out of the cafeteria into his cell. They left him there without food for two days.
By the time he was let out of his cell again, Ray was dead. Carlos shrugged and pleaded self-defense. All the inmates who were close enough to see the action testified that it was true. Carlos gained their respect and fear, and no one challenged him again. Ray’s dogs still talked behind his back and treated him with disdain, but they never approached him.
“Twitches!” Carlos hit the table and Brad jumped. A guard stormed in through the door, ready to swing his baton.
Brad held up a hand at the guard, “Get the hell out of here! We’re not done!” The incredulous guard put the baton back in his belt and mumbled inaudibly as he left the room.
“What news?” Carlos asked, half infuriated.
“The lead prosecutor working on your case is dead. Shot in a Downtown Chinese restaurant.”
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“That’s excellent news.” Carlos’ fury subsided. He sat back.
“Easy, Carlos.” Brad took off his glasses and squinted while rubbing the lenses with his tie, “Let’s not get our hopes up too high.” He admonished and put his glasses on his face. They slightly slid down his nose bridge.
Carlos frowned.
“They have solid evidence against you for the murder of Thompson Federico.” There was a slight irritation in Brad’s tone.
Carlos knew why. In seven years, since Carlos became Brad’s client, he had never been so stupid as with Thompson. Not once. He was a hot-head, as Leo always said, but a meticulous one…
But one rash, stupid move had put Carlos in the kind of trouble not even Brad could get him out of. His throat dried up as he thought about what would happen if he couldn’t get out of there. The Mexican government had agreed to him being put on trial and sentenced in the States. And he couldn’t rely on New York’s ‘no capital punishment’ policy, either. Although he had been arrested there, the judge could easily send him to another state for the death penalty.
“But there’s a chance I can get out?” Carlos tried like an opportunistic teenager.
“Carlos, be realistic.” Brad replied, stern but calm, “I just reminded you of the evidence against you. Not to mention the witnesses who are hell-bent on locking you up forever, or…” He sighed.
Carlos knew Brad was thinking about the possibility of him being sent to another state for the death penalty.
“There must be something you can do.”
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As was his sadistic custom, Brad fell silent for a few minutes.
“I don’t know what to do right now.” He finally said, rubbing his chin.
“What?!” Carlos flew up from his chair. The guard peered through the top window. Brad waved him off.
“What do I pay you for, Twitches?” He paced, stroking a hand through his hair several times, “No one saw me pull the trigger, isn’t that a legal loophole or something?”
“You’re not thinking straight. The gun was in your hand, Federico was lying at your feet, and the bullets in his chest matched the gun you had. There is no legal around your slip-up.”
“Can I make a phone call?”
“Why?”
“There is someone who can help me. I need to call him.”
Brad stood up to look if anyone was standing outside the door. He approached Carlos, “Who could possibly get you out of this mess?” He asked in a lowered voice, eyeing the door.
“Will you let me make the call or not?!” Carlos barked.
Brad gestured with both arms that Carlos should lower his voice, “Fine,” he whispered, “but I don’t have my phone on me. They took it before letting me in. I’ll arrange it.”
“Thanks, Twitches. I’ll get myself out of here. Guard!”
While the guard fiddled to unlock the door, Carlos added, “The next time we meet, it’ll be for a beer on a sunny beach, Twitches.” He flashed an arrogant smile.
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Brad smiled back with an arched eyebrow. All his clients were crazy; nothing they did surprised him. He picked up his briefcase from the table.
“Oh, I almost forgot. That kid you asked me to look up…”
“Mario! How is he?”
Brad shook his head, “I’m sorry, Carlos. He died in a prison fight shortly after his arrest.”
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CHAPTER TWO
Jason stirred when his phone made a short buzz.
He was about to drift away, “Your girlfriend is looking for you.” A voice pulled him to reality.
He sighed and sat up straight, stretching his arms out wide. He groaned as he brought his arms close to his chest. The pain from the shooting still lingered. He lifted an eyebrow at Rachel. She sat on the couch opposite him, looking through his phone with no shame.
“Are you jealous?” He taunted.
Piercing emerald eyes met his, boring into his soul. He looked away.
I hate it when she does that!
She stood up and walked over, holding out his phone.
He took it, careful not to touch her fingers.
“I have nothing to be jealous of, Detective Williams.” She said plainly and retreated to the other couch.
They shared brief smiles.
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“You should meet that woman, it looks like she really needs help.”
“She wants to play vigilante, I don’t have time for that.”
Jason stood up and stretched, “Aargh…” He frowned and rubbed over his chest. “She should go to the police.”
He walked to the kitchen and switched on the percolator.
The smell of the previous night’s pizza lingered in the air. Emma’s favorite.
“You mean the same policeman who wants your head on a plate?”
He swung around and eyed Rachel. “You need to stay out of my phone, woma…” He cleared his throat,
“Rachel, stay out of my business, please.” He tried politely.
“I didn’t get that from your phone. I heard you talking with someone about some recording. You refuse to believe it’s the voice of some guy, Tom?”
“Thomas.”
“Mm… I don’t know, Jason, you should look into it.”
She walked over to the cupboard above the percolator and reached for two mugs. She poured in the coffee, added sugar to the one and stirred. She handed the one without sugar to Jason.
“Thank you.” He savored the aroma before taking his first sip. “Why do you care, huh?”
“If there is one thing I’ve learned from my time with Thompson, it’s that everything is connected. You daughter’s killer is still out there, Jason.” She took a sip of coffee, “Maybe this Tom is connected to her murder. And that woman could be the missing link.”
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He had a mind-block about Thomas Patrick. He had heard his voice on the recording, but he was desperately looking for alternative explanations. Walter had shared his suspicions about Thomas; he died suddenly—he couldn’t ign
ore that. But maybe someone was setting him up. He couldn’t bear the thought of Thomas being one of them…
Jason took another sip of coffee and eyed his wristwatch: 07:11. Emma wouldn’t wake up for at least another half an hour. He pondered whether he should wait.
“You’re right,” He reached for his car keys on the table in the middle of the kitchen, “Tell Emma I’ll be back soon and give her a kiss from me.”
“What, no kisses for me?” Rachel teased.
Jason blushed.
A guard lingered as Carlos sat down on his bed.
“What?” Carlos hissed.
The officer smirked before he reached into his pocket and revealed a phone. He dangled it like a piece of candy.
Carlos stood up and approached, reaching for the phone.
The officer pulled back.
“What’s in it for me?”
Carlos grabbed his uniform through the thick bars and pulled violently. The guard’s head banged against the bars. He grunted.
“How’s that?”
“All right!” The guard gave him the phone. Carlos pushed him back and he almost fell. “Be quiet about it, you have fifteen minutes, asshole.”
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Carlos scoffed at him.
“Who is this?” A sleepy voice answered.
“Carlos.”
“What? Speak up!”
Carlos looked around before raising his voice a little,
“Jefe, I need your help.”
“Carlos? You dare call me?!”
“Leo, I don’t have much time, I…”
“Your stupid cop whore testified, Carlos! She made a deal with the police and had already mentioned my name before Romero shut her up. I told you she’d be trouble!”
Leo’s revelation came as a shock. Carlos didn’t think for one moment that Mary would ever talk. Not while her brother and grandmother’s lives depended on her discre-tion. His grip on the phone tightened.
“Bitch!” Carlos shouted in a whisper.
Leo was his only hope. But he knew Leo would rather kill than help him after what Mary had done.
“You know I’d never give you away, Leo.” He tried to redeem himself.
“I know, but I think I’ll silence you for good just to be sure. The organization I am a part of is not happy, Carlos, and I blame you. You stupid, arrogant hot-head!”
“Jefe…”
In The Line of Fire Boxset 5 Books in 1 (Thriller Stories To Keep You up all Night) Page 8
