by Carolina Mac
Seven o’clock in the morning on a cold gray February day. A light drizzle had started to fall on the city since they left headquarters.
“Everybody, it’s a go,” Blaine gave the word and drove into the property with his team behind him, the bus bringing up the rear in hopes of transporting kids to jail—if they caught any.
FARRELL led team two into his assigned property. He was alone in his truck, but Rocky was on his team and everybody would watch out for everybody else. Farrell passed several broken down tin boxes that used to be trailers, then came upon one in a little better shape. Two Harley’s were parked out front.
He pulled up close to the rotted deck and waved the team in. Silently the others parked and following hand signals, half the team circled around back.
Farrell waited until the team was set. He was facing the front door poised to kick it in. “On three.” He counted down and smashed the door with his boot, just below the rusty lock. With an ear-splitting crash, the door blew open and the team ran inside, kicking garbage and weapons out of the way as they grabbed sleeping kids and cuffed them.
Farrell ran straight to what had once been a bedroom. Rocky was by his side. Two twenty-something bikers were asleep on a mattress on the floor. With his SW drawn, Farrell cuffed one wrist before his man woke and Rocky did the same on the other side of the tiny room.
Farrell’s guy woke up swinging and cursing. “Stand up,” said Farrell, “and face the wall.” He jerked the guy to his feet and pushed him against the wall, grabbing the free hand and cuffing both behind his back.
He turned to check on Rocky. “You good, Rock?”
“Yep, lets get these guys to the wagon.”
The other officers were at the back door of the bus loading kids in when Farrell got there with his prisoner. “How many kids?”
“Seven in that trailer.”
“Plus, these two guys,” said Farrell. “Search the other units to make sure, but they might have all been in the one.”
“Looks like they picked the best one,” said Rocky, “and that ain’t saying a helluva lot.”
Farrell spoke into his mic. “Winding down here, boss. Got nine in custody. No shots fired.”
“Roger that.”
TRAVIS led the way through the property he was assigned to and at first it looked deserted. No movement of any kind. Then he noticed a hint of mist rising from one of the old park barbeques. In the morning dampness, warm embers were sputtering and emitting a few tendrils of smoke. He pulled into the broken down unit closest to that particular barbeque and positioned his team.
When they were ready, he gave a nod of his head and they stormed inside.
Kids hollered, screamed, kicked and cursed when they opened their eyes and found themselves being handcuffed and hauled off their makeshift beds.
Outside, Travis stood next to the bus watching the officer driving the wagon back in closer to make the pickup. One of the kids being dragged out the door, grabbed for the gun in the officer’s holster closest to him.
“Throw him down, Charlie,” hollered Travis.
Charlie reacted and heaved the kid into the deck railing. The kid hit the railing, pulled the trigger and the shot went wild.
Bang.
The kid grabbed the railing to regain his balance and Travis shot him in the leg before he could get his second shot off. The kid went down, and the gun flew out of his hand.
“Ambulance,” said Travis into his head set. “One kid shot.”
“Fuck,” said Charlie shaking his head. “My bad, man. That never should’ve happened. Should have had the snap done up.”
“Shit happens,” said Travis.
BLAINE AND FLETCH headed for the front door of the old trailer where they’d first encountered Teckford/Bernard. Men were in position all the way around the battered old mobile home, and they had backup at the door. Still it was dangerous going into a closed unit like this with so much opposition inside ready to kill you on a whim.
Blaine heard Fletch suck in a breath as they went through the door. Though they tried not to make a sound, the rusty hinges were far from cooperative. A little keening noise made Blaine wince as he led with his Beretta—not way out in front of him, but to the side—in case—just in case.
Two kids were asleep in the kitchen area of the trailer where there had originally been a built in table, now ripped out and replaced with a torn mattress on the floor. The officers behind Blaine scooped them up, cuffed them and took them to the bus. They tried their level best to do it quietly, but the kids hollered and squealed like two stuck pigs and woke others up.
A frenzy followed. Kids jumping up from where they were sleeping, grabbing for weapons—knives, handguns, shotguns—a wide choice they had ripped off at the pawn shop.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads,” hollered Blaine. Three or four did and they were immediately cuffed and taken into custody. That only left a couple more if there were eight to a group like one of the kids had said in Jesse’s interrogation. If there were two more, they must be with Teckford if he was here—back home in his old trailer.
Blaine looked over his shoulder at Fletcher and whispered, “Cover me but stay to the side. I’m gonna kick the bedroom door open.” He counted down, gave the door a hefty kick with his Harley boot and the cheap particleboard door flew right off its hinges and crashed into the room. It hit the end of the double bed that took up most of the floor space.
Both Blaine and Fletch tried to stay out of the doorway as the kids laid down fire. They backed up a step and dodged the shots coming their way. Blaine sneaked a couple of peeks to see where the shooters were in the room and spotted one on each side of the bed where Teckford lay sprawled with a bandage on his thigh and a door across his feet. His eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving. He looked unconscious or maybe he was playing possum.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads,” Blaine shouted to the kids in the bedroom.
They answered him with more gunfire. Blaine tipped his head in for a second and shot the closest one in the leg. He couldn’t have been more than five feet away. The kid dropped his gun and crumpled to the filthy floor screaming in pain.
Teckford came out of his semi-comatose state, seemed to realize what was going on around him and reached for the gun on the bed beside him.
“Don’t touch the gun,” hollered Blaine.
“You shot me, you asshole.” Teckford grabbed for the gun and Blaine shot him in the head. Blood, brains and tissue shot up the discolored wall behind the bed and the kid in the far corner charged in a rage.
With a roar, the kid turned his shotgun on Blaine, but inexperience made him slow. Blaine pulled the trigger on his Beretta, put a bullet in the kid’s left knee and dropped him. “Glove up and bag all the weapons, Fletch. I’ll get an ambulance for these two idiots.”
Fletcher smiled. “I’m so fuckin happy I didn’t get shot again.”
Blaine grinned. “Yeah, me too.”
Standing out on the wonky deck, Blaine spoke to all the teams through his head set. “Finish up what you’ve got going on and transport all your prisoners back to headquarters. Teckford is dead and I’m waiting on an ambulance for a couple of junior hard asses that wouldn’t listen.”
After the ambulance took the wounded kids to the hospital, Blaine was more than willing to leave the scene in the hands of the Medical Examiner and the crime scene unit. He and Fletch were heading for his truck when one of the officers gave a shout out.
“Got a collie dog over here, boss. Should we call the pound?”
Blaine turned to look. “Shit, that might be Bart’s dog. Has he got a collar on?”
“Yep, leather collar.”
“Put him in my truck. I’ll drop him off at the vet. If it’s Bart’s dog he’s been out here without food for a few days.” Blaine opened the back door and the step was too high for the condition of the dog. The dog whined, but couldn’t jump in. The officer lifted him in and closed the doo
r.
“Fletch, check the glove box. I think there’s some dog biscuits in there for Red and Bluebelle. Give him a handful.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
HEADQUARTERS was surrounded by media vehicles when Blaine arrived. He’d taken the time to drop the dog off at his own vet to make sure it was all right. He hoped it was suffering from nothing more than hunger. He parked his truck and couldn’t open the door for reporters pushing in close, mics in hand, to get a comment.
“How do they know stuff is happening so goddam fast?” asked Fletcher.
“They all have scanners.”
“You can’t get out your fuckin door, boss.”
“They’re quick, all right.” Blaine gave them a hand signal to back up, so he could open the door of his truck.
The air crackled with questions as he stepped onto the sidestep and draped an arm over the half-open door. “We mounted an offensive this morning against the East End Gang and brought them down. All gang members found on the properties we searched were brought in and are being processed inside.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the DPS building.
“Mary will have a list of names and charges and the number of arrests for you as soon as its available. With the number of arrests made, there’s a lot of paperwork to be completed before that information will be available.”
“Can you estimate the number of arrests, Ranger B?”
“Ballpark, I’d have to guess over forty.”
“What about the leader, that guy, Basil Bernard?”
“Kyle Teckford also known as Basil Bernard was killed during the takedown. He was previously wounded a couple of days ago.”
“Did you take him out, Ranger Blackmore?”
Blaine nodded.
“Any of the kids shot during the arrests?” asked a woman.
“I’m not positive on the number because I was only at one location, but I think three of the gang members resisted arrest and shot at officers. They were wounded and are now in the hospital. No juveniles were killed during the take down.”
“Sounds like it took a lot of organization. How did you do it?”
“Chief Calhoun is solely responsible for the recruiting of manpower and vehicles. He did a fantastic job on very short notice.”
“Will the Chief be making a statement?”
“I might be able to find that out, if y’all let me out of my truck.”
Some of the reporters laughed and backed away.
“Mary will have something in detail for y’all. Watch for it in your email. Thanks for your attention.” Blaine jumped down and headed towards the building.
He hadn’t even made it in the front door when his cell rang. Governor Campbell. “Cat, que pasa?”
“Congrats is all I wanted to say for now, sweetie. I’d like to say something publicly later if you have time to whip something up.”
“Yep, Mary will be working on the release, and I’ll save some special juicy stuff just for you.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I’ll let you go. I know you have to debrief and all that TV stuff.”
FARRELL and Travis waited in the Chief’s office and Blaine caught up to them there.
“Good job, guys,” said Blaine. “For a takedown that large there was very little gunplay involved.”
“Commendable,” said the Chief. “And Teckford has been eliminated.”
“Lots of work with the kids still to come,” said Blaine. “They all have to be processed. Hopefully, some of them will match each of the crime scenes and murder charges can be laid.”
“I heard you found Bart’s dog,” said Farrell. “He must have been hungry.”
“He’s at our vet right now, bro, and I’ll leave him there until Bart gets out of the hospital.”
“Might cheer Bart up, boss, if we told him we found his dog,” said Farrell.
“You take care of that detail, for us, would you?”
“Can do.”
Outside in the parking lot Blaine said to his crew, “We’re done for today, guys. Smithville Steakhouse at seven, then Boots for pitchers.”
“Yahoo,” hollered Farrell.
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE called Blaine after he saw the news bulletin on the TV screen in the kitchen. He was getting a cup of juice for Charity and Molly had her little television on.
“Fantastic job, partner. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“I miss you every day, Jesse, but yeah, it didn’t go too badly.”
“The Chief must be a happy man.”
Blaine chuckled. “He is but headquarters is running over with juvies waiting to be processed.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Sure is. There will be tons of interviews to be done in the next couple of weeks, and you can handle most of them. I’m particularly interested in the ones that match prints on the murder scenes.”
“Uh huh. Be nice to nail those little bastards,” said Jesse.
“We’re going to Smithville to the steakhouse, if you can join us at seven and then to Boots afterwards to see Ty and his band play.”
“Oh, shit. Wish I could. I have a fuckin date.”
“What? Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I had a weak moment and asked my new doctor out for dinner, but I’d rather be with my boys.”
“See if she’ll come with us,” said Blaine. “If she won’t, she ain’t the right one for you, anyhow.”
“Uh huh. You might have something there, partner. First date is usually kind of private, she might not like the idea.”
“Your call,” said Blaine. “You know where we’ll be. Just join in if you can.”
“Thanks, Blacky. I hope I can.”
Saint Michael’s Hospital. Austin.
FARRELL swung by Saint Mike’s hospital on his way home to tell Bart Townsend the good news about his collie dog.
Bart was propped up in his bed watching a game on the little TV. He glanced up when Farrell walked into his room, but there was no light of recognition in his eyes. Some of the swelling had eased in his face, and the bruises were mellowing in color, but he had a way to go. Farrell had no way of telling if Bart had any broken bones or other injuries below the neck.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
Farrell offered his hand. “I’m Deputy Farrell Donovan from the Blackmore Agency and I just stopped by to tell you we arrested all of the East Enders today.”
Bart’s eyes lit up. “You got those sons of bitches?”
Farrell nodded. “All locked up and the leader is dead. Blacky killed him.”
“Guess I can breathe easy now.”
“Something else turned up today while we were back searching those abandoned trailer parks.”
Bart paused for a minute then his face lit up. “Tell me you found Biscuit. Please tell me that.”
Farrell grinned. “Yep. We found him and he’s at our vet. He’ll be there when you get out of the hospital, and you can pick him up when you’re ready.” Farrell placed the vet’s card on Bart’s tray table.
Tears came to Bart’s eyes. “That’s the best news you could’ve told me, Ranger Donovan. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem,” said Farrell. “And thanks for the help you gave us. We’re mighty glad you’re going to recover.”
“Would’ve been my own stupid fault if I’d kicked off. I was so pissed about Herman and so dead set on getting even, I wasn’t nearly careful enough.”
Revenge is like that.
Farrell smiled and gave Bart a little wave as he left his room.
You were lucky, Bart.
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE TOOK an hour getting ready for dinner with the doctor. What the hell was wrong with him? Should he wear a tie? He never wore a tie unless it was to a wedding or a funeral. No tie. He better not wear jeans. Too casual. The doctor seemed more of an Armani person. Okay, he’d go with black Armani slacks and a silvery-blue silk shirt, topped with his leather jacket.
&nbs
p; Once he was dressed, he stalled, fussing endlessly over Charity, putting her sleeper on, brushing her hair and getting everything ready for Molly. He could hardly stand to leave his daughter even for a couple of hours.
After agonizing for several minutes on the porch over whether he was actually going to go or not, Jesse jumped in the Range Rover and bored down the lane before he changed his mind… again.
He wanted to go out for the celebration with his team, but he’d already made this commitment to the doctor. Could he combine it like Blacky suggested, or was that just a fantasy? Two entirely separate areas of his life at this point in time. It would never work out.
Jesse stood on Doctor Wagner’s front porch waiting for her to answer the door and the guilt flowing through his veins was stupefying. Annie could screw around with filthy bikers like Dougie the Dog in the name of work and yet he couldn’t have a relaxing dinner with his doctor? What was wrong with the way of the world. Wasn’t fair by any stretch. Why couldn’t he put Annie in the past where she belonged and leave her there?
It seemed to take forever for Doctor Wagner to open the door and Jesse wondered if he had time to make his getaway. Was he about to turn and run for the truck when she appeared in front of him?
Dressed in black with a silver shawl around her shoulders, she was nothing short of stunningly beautiful. February hadn’t been a warm month and Jesse wondered if the shawl was enough.
“You look fantastic,” he heard himself say as he stepped into the foyer. Her house was a restored Craftsman, compact and updated with extensive woodwork and tons of charm.
“Thank you, Jesse.” She smiled at him and led the way into the front sitting room. “Let’s have a drink before we go.”
Jesse nodded, but found he couldn’t think of one fuckin thing to say to her. He’d had this problem before when confronted with a new woman in his life, and it wasn’t pleasant to deal with.
Waiting patiently in the doorway for him to speak, she prompted him, “What can I get you? Whisky, wine, beer?”
“A beer is fine, thanks.”