“It would be wise to un-cuff me and let me extract my agent while you still have a career.”
“You said my career was already fucked. Perhaps choose your words more carefully.” I point the rifle at his unwounded knee. “Now move before I blow your goddamn leg off.”
We come to the tree line, and I punch him in the nose knocking him on his ass. “Break my nose while in handcuffs, typical American cop.” He laughs with blood running out of his nose again.
“Sit there and shut the fuck up,” I say, placing my Sig under his chin. Right at this moment, I can’t help but feel he’s right, and I should just pull this fucking trigger and then stroll right out there and put two in Drakes’ head, but these assholes are not getting an easy out.
“Go ahead, do it! He snarls. “It’s your last chance for Justice, Detective. There are players here that won’t let Drake or me so much as see the inside of a courtroom.”
“Bullshit! The American government will be aching to crucify your ass since they have this burning hatred of foreign agents operating on American soil since the cold war.”
“Bloody hell! You are one simple tart. How many times do I have to fucking tell you? Your government signed off on this operation.”
“You’re lying. Now shut the fuck up!”
“For fuck sakes, how the hell have you made it this long as a detective?”
“By putting away psychopaths like you, and not falling for their bullshit babble.”
“Face it, you stepped into a world where you’re out of your element. A world where people are not afraid to kill cops to cover up their mess or, in your case, ruin their careers. So what will it be un-cuff me or say goodbye to your career?”
“I said, shut the fuck up.” I smash the butt of the rifle against his head, knocking him to the ground. I duck down in the foliage when the floodlights kick on, turning the area into Tropicana Field. “I’m not killing you and giving you the easy way out you piece of shit. The people of Tampa are gonna find out who was really behind the murder of their loved ones,” I whisper.
He groans. “A person’s gotta have dreams, I guess.”
I look through my binoculars Drake is walking toward Mateo and his four gang members. Drake hands Mateo the money, and Mateo gives him the passport and new ID. David Smiles and extends his hand out to shake Mateo’s. He replies with a smile and grasps his hand. David yanks Mateo to him, spinning him around using him as a human shield, all the while drawing his gun and cutting Mateo’s men down with almost lightning speed. David turns Mateo around, so he is facing him. Drake holsters his weapon and begins to pull out a blade. My M4 cracks off several shots. One round wings Drake in the shoulder, forcing him to drop the knife. He shoves Mateo on the ground and runs toward a cabin firing blindly in my direction. “Get on the ground, Drake!” I aim my rifle at him. As I’m about to run after Drake, something hard smashes against my head, knocking me on the ground face first. The world goes black.
I wake up face down in the mud with a bad headache, I can feel the knot on the back of my head. The first thing I notice when force myself to my feet is my rifle is gone, and so is Conroy. The cuffs are lying on the ground next to me. It’s not rocket science; it’s obvious where he went.
I reach for my Sig, and it’s gone along with my back up.
Motherfucker!
A lightning bolt shoots straight down on the horizon, lighting up the island and thunder roars. I frantically text Sullivan the coordinates of the Island and put next to it, Moonlight killer has been found come Now!
I close my phone and continue across the field. I receive another text.
Troops are on the way, please hold for back up.
I stuff the phone back in my pocket. Holding for back up means letting these assholes get away. I flick my wrist, extending my baton. That’s not gonna happen I’m sick of this damn case. Stepping through the killing field, I hear a rustling in the nearby shrubs. “Devi.” I hear a whisper from behind me.
“Mateo?”
He emerges from the bushes. “Yeah, it’s me. You see where those Puta’s went?”
“No, but you better get out of here cops are coming and give me your gun.”
“Best of luck to you, Amiga.” He tosses me his Beretta and high tails it back to his boat.
I check the gun and make sure there is a round in the chamber, and there is. I creep up to the cabin keeping my sights trained on the front door while watching the windows. I cautiously move up on the door and kick it open.
From the moment I met Conroy, something felt off stunk to high heaven, and now here I am waist-deep in the shit.
I search the whole abandon house, and Conroy and Drake are nowhere to be found. I storm out the backdoor, and when I hear a helicopter. I sprint through the brush limbs smacking my legs and arms as I plow through low hanging branches. When I reach the shoreline, I spot a Blackhawk helicopter lifting off. “No! Fuck! Goddamn it!” Rage consumes me, and I line up a shot with the chopper.
Fuck it, I will bring all your asses down. If the chopper pilots are helping Drake escape, they are just as guilty as he is.
While lining up my shot with the pilot, I spot a gunner on a Gatling gun. I’ve seen enough people killed with those in Iraq, to know firing at that helicopter with a
