I had no qualms about what I was doing, nor about what Bumpy’s final end would be. Back in Marathon, a sheriff’s investigator once accused me of being judge, jury, and executioner. He was right. For some low-life turd fondlers, prison and trials were a complete waste of taxpayers’ money.
When we had all the information we were going to get from Bumpy, I personally dragged him through the saw palmettos and oaks to the water’s edge and shot him in the back of the head.
We left him for the alligators.
“We hit three locations simultaneously,” I said, as we drove back toward the north end of Fort Myers. Before we’d left, Tony sent me and DJ the list of names and locations. “All three of Malik’s lieutenants first. If you guys have any problem with what we’re gonna do, say so now.”
“Let the bodies hit the floor,” came DJ’s growled response.
Tony replied, “One! Nothing wrong with me.”
I’d heard the Drowning Pool song before, though I’d never been a fan of heavy metal.
“DJ, you take the second address on the list,” I said. “Tony can take the third, and I’ll hit the fourth. Then we’ll converge on Malik’s place. It’ll likely be better guarded and they may be on alert.”
As we reached town, we split up, each going to an assigned place. I wasn’t worried about me or the other two guys getting hurt. We were trained professionals. We were going against punks who grabbed their crotches and held their weapons sideways when engaging. If any of us came up on more gangbangers than rounds in a single magazine, we’d have to rethink things.
Tony arrived at his location first and circled the block until DJ and I were in position. Both reported few cars and no activity outside.
“No prisoners,” I said.
“And no survivors,” DJ replied.
“Don’t hurt any non-coms,” I warned. “We want this to look like what it is—retribution. Combatants only.”
I got out of the car and walked toward the house identified as belonging to Bumpy’s friend Roshaun, who he said had been part of the gang rapes and killings. The lights were on inside but there weren’t any lights on outside of the house.
As I approached the front door, I pulled my Sig Sauer 9mm from the holster at my back. I tested the door. It was locked, with only the standard deadbolt above the doorknob. I could either knock politely, putting anyone inside on alert, or do a forced entry.
I stepped back, then lunged forward, planting my boot heel just above the doorknob. The frame splintered as the door flung inward.
Three black men were sitting on a couch and recliner as I entered, leading with the Sig. I shot all three in the center of the chest.
At the same time, I heard gunfire erupt over the comm. Tony and DJ had made their entries, too.
Movement caught my eye from beyond the living room. I wheeled and found a fourth man rounding the kitchen counter with a big Colt .45 coming up in his right hand.
I fired twice, dropping him back behind the counter.
The house became deathly quiet.
One of the men on the couch moved, so I shot all four in the head for good measure.
Then I collected my brass and left.
Outside, it was still dark—no lights coming on in the neighbors’ houses. I got in the car and took off. The whole engagement had lasted less than a minute and I’d left four men dead.
“You guys okay?” I asked.
“All good,” Tony said. “Lake Boyz lost three soldiers.”
“Make that five,” DJ added.
“Nine,” I said. “Head toward Malik’s place. Tony, you’re closest. Find a public place that’s open and we’ll meet you there and all go in my car.”
Five minutes later, I pulled into a 24-hour Winn-Dixie and found the others parked in the middle of the lot. DJ got in front and Tony climbed in the backseat.
I drove three blocks to where Malik lived. This house had lights on outside and there was a guy sitting in a chair on the front porch.
“It doesn’t look like they’re ready for us,” DJ said. “Just the one guy outside.
“Drop me half a block down,” Tony said. “Then time your arrival for when I get to the porch.”
DJ and I, being white, would never get close to Malik’s yard, let alone the covered porch where the guard sat.
I dropped him off at the corner then circled the block. As DJ and I approached the house again, Tony was starting up the sidewalk. I stopped at the curb and DJ and I bailed out of the car, moving quickly.
The guard rose. Tony pulled his Beretta and shot him twice. The man slumped back in his chair, blood spreading across his chest.
DJ and I were already at a run coming up on either side of Tony as the door flew open and two men stepped out, handguns raised. We opened fire before either man got a shot off.
Automatic weapons fire erupted from inside, blowing the window out. All three of us took it for what it was—a show of superior firepower.
But being able to shoot a gun was a lot different than shooting with accuracy. The gunman did nothing more than break glass.
We returned fire instantly, advancing toward the house. On the porch, we got low, taking positions around the open door and shattered window.
I heard a thump as something or someone slammed against the wall just inside the door. I stepped back and fired through the wall, spacing four rounds between the door and window.
A shirtless black man fell just inside the door. I nodded at Tony and he went in first, diving over the three corpses and barrel-rolling to the right. I went in behind him, moving to the left. DJ was right on my heels, weapon raised and covering the center of the room.
A tall, black man stood naked
