by Tripp Ellis
"He said I can ride in Tango One!" He could barely contain himself.
"I figure he's safe up there as long as the rotor blades keep turning,” Daniels said, bringing up the rear.
We all hustled out of the station. JD and I hopped into the Porsche and pulled out of the parking lot, heading north. He kept it at a reasonable speed as we caravanned up to Pineapple Bay. The two unmarked units trailed behind us. The plain white vehicles stuck out like sore thumbs, and it only took a quick glance to realize they were county vehicles.
JD blasted the stereo on the way up, and the wind swooshed about the cabin. The morning sun beamed down, and the Porsche’s engine growled.
It wasn't long before we cruised into Pineapple Bay. We twisted our way through the streets toward the substation. We pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex across from the detention center. It was lined with palm trees and bushes. A row of hedges separated it from the roadway. It provided a reasonable amount of cover.
Similar to Coconut Key, the detention center consisted of several housing pods to contain inmates of various threat levels. The area was surrounded by a chain-link fence that was rimmed with concertina wire. Green and gold signs demarcated it as county property, and red and white warning signs told people to keep out.
There were plenty of county vehicles parked in the lot inside the fence—unmarked patrol units, vans, and personal vehicles. The facility was nestled near the eastern shore, and the apartment complex across the street backed up to a large marina.
We had a line of sight to the detention center and had a clear view of the departure zone. The county had strict protocols when it came to prisoner transports. How closely those protocols would be followed was another story.
Inmates were to be searched for weapons and contraband before any transportation, and the transport vehicle was to be searched before and after. Much like a preflight check before take-off, each vehicle was to be examined for safety and functionality. You didn't want to get out on the road without a spare tire, tire jack, and a lug wrench. All units were required to carry reflective triangles or cones and a first aid kit. Tires were inflated to proper pressure along with a full fuel tank and sufficient oil.
Once a prisoner was in motion, the transportation officer's sole function was to deliver the inmate to the destination. They weren’t supposed to stop and render aid, or interfere with the commission of a crime, or do anything else that could compromise the security of the inmate. In those situations, they were required to call for backup and keep moving. The only exception to that rule was if two deputies were present during the transport, and one could remain with the prisoner at all times.
There were rules about bathroom breaks and modifications to the vehicles. The protocols dictated if and when they could stop for meals. The deputy would choose the restaurant and the prisoner’s food. Inmates weren’t allowed to order for themselves. It wouldn’t be hard to smuggle a knife into a chili dog.
I watched through binoculars, waiting for any sign of the transport vehicle or Ed Collins. We’d been sitting there for half an hour with no indication of activity. I looked at my watch, and it was just after 10 AM. After another 15 minutes waiting, I called Denise to make sure everything was still on schedule. She pulled the information up on the computer. "As far as I can tell, nothing's been changed."
It was almost 10:30 when Ed pulled the transportation van around to the departure zone. It was a large white van with the green and gold logo of the Sheriff's Department on the side.
Ed hopped out and walked around the vehicle, checking the tires and doing a quick visual inspection. He opened the back double doors. Inside the cargo area was a metal cage that housed inmates during transport. Once inside, prisoners wouldn't have any access to windows or the driver. They could be passed food and other items through access slots.
Ed unlocked the cage and swung the door wide, then waited by the vehicle.
A few moments later, another deputy escorted Felix out of the detention center. He shuffled across the lot, wearing an orange jumpsuit, shackled around the wrists and ankles.
Felix was in his late 50s. His charcoal hair was graying on the sides, and there was gray in his mustache. He looked small compared to Ed. Felix probably stood about 5’8”. He had a medium build and looked fit. If he wasn’t in orange, he’d look like your neighbor. Friendly and harmless. Not the head of a ruthless organization.
Ed searched the prisoner for weapons and contraband, patting him down. He helped Felix into the van and locked him in the cage.
Ed signed off on the paperwork, taking custody of the prisoner, then walked around the van, hopped behind the wheel, and cranked up the engine.
The razor-wire gate slid open, and the van rolled out of the facility.
The show was about to begin.
26
Tango One hovered high in the sky, the rotor blades pattering overhead. The helicopter hung back, trying not to be too conspicuous. We followed the van from the detention center, twisting through the streets of Pineapple Bay to the main highway.
I kept a vigilant watch, my eyes scanning in all directions. The Miami Blue Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb, but a corrupt transportation officer wouldn’t likely suspect two deputies to be in a high-end sports car. I was much more worried about the trail of unmarked vehicles behind us.
Ed turned the van north onto the highway, and we followed him out of town.
So far, no sign of any threats.
There were a few cars between us and the van as we headed north. The highway was two lanes in each direction at this point.
We cruised over the water, and at the next small key, the highway narrowed to one lane in either direction, separated by a solid double yellow line.
In this particular area, there was a shoulder, a small bit of gravel, some grass and shrubs, then marshy water.
I waited anxiously for an enemy strike.
It wasn't long before a vehicle came up on us at a high rate of speed. It veered across the double yellow lines when the oncoming traffic was clear and soared past us. I thought this might be it.
The vehicle continued past our convoy and zipped in behind the transport van. At the next break in traffic, it crossed the double yellow line again, passed the van, then pulled back into the lane in front of the transport.
Nothing happened for another minute or two.
Then three more cars came up fast behind us, crossing the double yellows. They streaked by at over 100 miles an hour, the turbulent wind buffeting the car, rocking the chassis from side to side.
This was it. I was sure of it.
One vehicle pulled alongside the van as the car in front of it slowed. Another vehicle veered onto the shoulder on the right side of the van, boxing it in, and the fourth vehicle blocked the rear.
With textbook precision, they forced the van to the shoulder of the road and came to a stop, blocking the outgoing lane of traffic completely.
The two uninvolved cars in front of us stopped. JD veered onto the shoulder, passing them, pulling up to the scene.
Masked thugs hopped out of the vehicles blocking the van and surrounded the transport. They all wielded black assault rifles. The leader of the group shouted at Ed to step out of the vehicle, his angry weapon aimed at the crooked deputy.
Ed raised his hands in the air and stepped out of the vehicle into the roadway.
The gang leader marched him to the rear of the van, and Ed unlocked the doors, then unlocked the cage.
I hopped out of the Porsche, taking cover behind the open door. The rest of our squad swooped in behind me.
"Freeze!” I yelled. "Coconut County. Drop the weapons!”
My demand didn't go over too well.
The thugs aimed their assault rifles at me and opened fire. Clattering gunfire echoed, muzzle flash flickered, and smoke wafted from barrels.
I ducked for cover behind the door as bullets webbed the windshield with cracks and pelted the hood and door panels. T
he impacts popped and pinged. Shards of glass sprinkled.
JD crouched below the dashboard as bullets rocketed through the air.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
The other deputies returned fire.
I angled my pistol over the top of the door, found a target, and squeezed the trigger. The pistol hammered against my palm, and gunpowder filled my nostrils. The deafening ruckus rang my ears.
It was pure chaos.
Bullets crossed the air.
Blood-spatter spewed from bullet hits.
Thugs twitched and convulsed as the deputies peppered them with bullets.
Felix hit the ground, taking cover.
Ed hesitated, not knowing what to do. His wide eyes flicked about amid the chaos. These guys had paid him to make sure everything went smoothly. This was far from smooth.
27
Ed had to choose a side.
He reached for his gun, and the leader of the gang shot him twice before he could draw it. The bullets smacked his chest with a dull thud, and burgundy blood spewed. Ed fell back onto the ground, blood gushing from his thoracic cavity. He struggled for breath on the hot asphalt as spent shell casings danced around him.
The thugs that were still upright took cover behind their cars and the van, continuing to exchange fire with the deputies.
Traffic backed up behind us, and the oncoming traffic had crawled to a stop.
Tango One circled overhead.
Some dude heading south toward Pineapple Bay hopped out of his truck, drew his pistol, and advanced toward the fray.
With the thugs’ attention focused on us, they never saw him coming from behind. He darted across the street and took cover behind the lead car in front of the van. He angled his pistol around the vehicle and shot the leader of the gang in the back.
The perp spit up carmine red blood as he fell to the ground. The bullets exited through the front of his chest, spewing a volcano of crimson goo. He flopped to the hot asphalt and twitched for a moment.
It was enough of a distraction to give us the upper hand.
With the thugs’ attention split, we were able to take out a few more perps, and less bullets were coming in our direction.
It wasn't long before there was only one thug remaining on his feet besides Felix, who still hugged the roadway.
The final thug dropped his weapon, lifted his arms in the air, and shouted, “Don't shoot!"
The tac team swarmed in, surrounding the perp.
"Face down," I shouted. "On the ground. Now!"
His terrified eyes rounded behind the ski mask, and he complied with my command.
Erickson and Faulkner secured Felix while JD advanced and slapped the cuffs around the last living gang member. JD yanked him to his feet and hauled him back toward the rear of the transport van.
The place looked like a war zone. All of the vehicles were riddled with bullet holes, and a haze of gunpowder still lingered in the air. Spent shell casings peppered the asphalt.
Tango One continued to circle overhead.
Mendoza and Robinson talked to the good Samaritan. He was a former Army guy who just couldn't help lending a hand.
JD frowned as he looked at the damage done to the Porsche. It wasn't long ago when he had the bodywork fixed and the whole thing repainted. The poor car seemed to get trashed all the time.
I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Adds character, don't you think?"
Jack scowled at me.
28
The place swarmed with first responders. The medical examiner from Pineapple Bay arrived on the scene and evaluated the bodies. Forensic investigators snapped pictures and documented the scene, making note of every shell casing and bullet hole.
The ringleader of the gang was Felix's son, Javier. He wasn't breathing by the end of the skirmish.
Felix sat in the back of an unmarked patrol car, sobbing. The other thug was put into another vehicle. Deputies from the Pineapple Bay substation arrived on the scene, and red and blue lights flickered. The traffic was at a standstill for miles in both directions.
It didn't take long for news helicopters to arrive, taking aerial footage of the chaos. I fully expected Paris Delaney and her crew to arrive shortly. This was too juicy to pass up, even if it happened just north of Pineapple Bay.
I took the opportunity to speak with Felix.
"I swear, I don’t know anything about this,” he said. “If I would have known Javier was planning a jailbreak, I would have tried to talk him out of it."
I didn't buy it for one minute. "Bullshit.”
"All communications in the jail are monitored. I was not informed of this. There was no mention of it whatsoever. Check the logs.”
"Where is Eva Orton?"
"Who?"
"You know who?"
"I don't know who you're talking about,” Felix said.
"Javier kidnapped her. What was the plan? Bust you out of prison, escape to Mexico, and use the ransom to live?"
"I don't know anything about a kidnapping. I swear. I'm not saying anything else to you without an attorney."
I frowned at him and closed the door to the unmarked patrol car. I moved to Mendoza's vehicle, opened the back door, and spoke with the surviving thug. "What's your name?"
"I don't have to tell you nothing."
"Doesn't matter. As soon as you get back to the station and we run your prints, we’re going to find out who you are. Doesn’t make a difference. You’re not gonna see daylight for a long time. As in, never."
I ran through the same series of questions with him about Eva Orton.
"I don't know what you’re talking about. We didn't kidnap nobody.”
"How much money was paid to Ed Collins?”
“Who?"
"You know, the dead transportation officer that gave you the time and the route."
The thug shook his head. "Man, I don't know nothing about nothing."
"I'd start cooperating. You’re going down on multiple counts of attempted murder. Play nice, and things might get a little easier for you."
“Fuck you, pig."
"Okay, if that's the way you want to play it.”
I slammed the car door in his face and marched back to JD and the others who were standing near the transport van.
One by one, the medical examiner loaded up bodies, and the scene was cleared. Tow trucks hooked up to the perpetrators’ vehicles, and a deputy from the Pineapple Bay substation drove the transportation van back to the facility. It was still functional, though it would need some bodywork and a new paint job.
We wrapped up at the scene and headed back to Coconut Key.
JD angled his head around the damage to get a good view out of the windshield. It was webbed with bullet hits. The car looked like hell, but it still drove. Fortunately, the engine was in the rear of the vehicle and suffered no damage. The tires all had air, surprisingly, but the headlights were toast.
People gave us odd looks on the drive home.
JD was in a somber mood. "All that effort, and we didn't get any intel about Eva.”
I shrugged. "Maybe they didn't take her."
“I don’t know what to think.”
At the station, we filled out after-action reports. Afterward, Daniels made good on his word to buy us all beer, even though it hadn't gone as smoothly as he’d hoped.
We went to Flanagan’s, and the first round went on the Sheriff’s tab. We lifted our glasses to toast—mainly to the fact that we were all still alive.
The news played on the flatscreen behind the bar, showing aerial clips of the shootout over and over again.
From what we could ascertain, Ed Collins acted alone, but it was a shame he didn't survive to be questioned.
Daniels bought a few more rounds, then decided he'd done his duty.
The group dissipated, and we walked a block to Oyster Avenue, looking for trouble. We had no problem finding it.
29
We stopped at Wetsuit and grabbed
a bite to eat, then ended up at Tide Pool. We met Dizzy and Styxx and hung out by the outdoor pool.
"Where's Crash?" I asked.
Styxx shrugged. "I called him, but he didn't answer. He's probably still moping around heartbroken over Faye."
"Understandable."
"He should be glad it's over," Styxx said. "That girl was bad news."
"She was a lot of fun, though," JD muttered.
"You would know," Styxx said.
Dizzy's eyes flicked between the two of them. "Did I miss something?"
"JD had a little rendezvous with Faye before she got together with Crash," Styxx said, his voice thick with disapproval.
Dizzy’s eyes rounded. "Man, why am I always the last one to know?"
"You didn't... did you?" JD asked Dizzy.
"No. But now I feel like I missed out."
"The only thing you missed out on is heartache," Styxx said. "She was just a bad influence on Crash all the way around."
"I know Faye could be a little prone to excess, but we all have our indulgences," JD said.
"She OD’d before the show in New York,” Styxx exclaimed. “She almost died. And that didn't stop her from using."
I lifted a curious eyebrow. "She was using? What do you mean, like she was still popping pills here and there?"
"You two are detectives. You didn't pick up on it?"
"Pick up on what exactly?" I knew where he was going with this, and I just didn't want to hear it.
"I'm all about partying, but I draw the line at certain things,” Styxx said. “I don't put anything up my nose, and I don't stick anything in my veins."
"Tell me Faye wasn’t shooting heroin," I said.
Styxx shrugged. "I never saw her jack a vein, but I did see her Chase the Dragon."
Chasing the Dragon was slang for smoking heroin by placing it on a piece of tinfoil, heating it up, then inhaling the vapors through a straw or tube. The wispy shafts of thick smoke that wafted from the tinfoil give the impression of an undulating Dragon, hence the name.