Sin City Assassin (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 3)

by Swinney, C. L.

  Sin City

  Assassin

  Authored by

  C. L. Swinney

  Copyright © 2014 by

  RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC

  ISBN-13: 978-0991899890

  ISBN-10: 099189989X

  United States of America

  Edited by: Hartwell Editing

  Cover design by: Aeternum Designs

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. All rights reserved. No parts of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written authorization from RJ Parker Publishing, Inc. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Chapter 1:

  Fifty “boats” (1,000 count each) of previously seized ecstasy lay neatly stacked across a recycled blackjack table in downtown Las Vegas. Next to them sat a Colt .45 and a briefcase containing $250,000.00 in U.S. currency. Department of Justice Special Agent Michael Andrews, working undercover as a major narcotic trafficker for the last two years, sat nervously at the table tapping his fingers on the dingy worn felt. He’d been impressed that he was able to get so much money to flash, but it had come with a cost. The bosses had made him handcuff the money to his wrist. Andrews considered it to be a problem because if someone came to take the money, they’d have to kill him or cut the briefcase off. He chuckled and shook his head, recalling the foolish things he’d done in his career while working undercover. He forced himself to regain focus, as he was just about to meet a potential new source of the most sought after narcotics on the streets: pharmaceutical pills.

  Andrews looked around the small, secluded section of the Fremont Hotel. The area was unknown to the public, relatively secure, and had been used by Andrews and other criminals for seedy deals for the last three years. He outwardly wore his game face, but he’d done enough undercover deals to know to expect the unexpected. He replayed in his mind several previous narcotics transactions with people supposedly working for the main man. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something made him feel uncomfortable. He racked his brain trying to figure out what it could be.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up when he realized the problem. Realizing it was too late to abort the mission, he spun around to see two massive men running toward him at full speed.

  Damn it, it’s a rip off! He lunged for the Colt .45 with his left hand while trying to dodge the two men barreling toward him. Instinctively he tried to depress his panic button, but couldn’t get to it.

  He felt it before he heard it—a single gunshot that caught him right in the chest. The two men pummeled him while trying to yank the briefcase from his wrist. The last thing he remembered was hearing a thick Canadian accent from one of the attackers before a blunt object knocked him unconscious.

  One of the two attackers left the room, and within seconds, returned with bolt cutters. He cut the briefcase from Andrews’ wrist and they calmly walked away.

  The undercover protection team, positioned just around the corner, had no idea what had just happened to Special Agent Andrews.

  As Andrews regained consciousness, he rolled over his arms, which activated the emergency signal. He managed to look up when he heard the door bust open. He assumed the attackers were coming back to finish him off. Why didn’t they kill me? His analytical mind was puzzled. Then he calculated they had at least a two-minute head start on the rescue team.

  When Andrews saw it was the UC rescue team coming through the door, he chuckled. Well, there’s not much better for undercover credibility than getting shot at, he thought. I hope the bad guys didn’t see the cavalry coming. Thoughts of his pregnant wife helped him control his breathing and remain calm. He wanted nothing more in life than to tell her again how much he loved her. He decided he would survive this and, when he was physically able, he’d hunt down the person who set him up and kill them regardless if he was wearing a badge or not.

  Chapter 2:

  Before Sergeant Steve Petersen, with the Miami-Dade Police Department, could ask his best friend and soon-to-be-retired Miami-Dade Police Department Sergeant, Bill Dix, if he saw the stack of plain clothes cops running through the front door of the Fremont Hotel, Dix held his hand up and said, “Don’t even ask. You’re on vacation, and I’m close to retiring. If we don’t meet the wives in fifteen minutes, we’re both toast.”

  Petersen looked at his friend in shock. For once, something big was going down and Dix wanted nothing to do with it.

  Dix put his arm around Petersen. “Buddy, this whole retirement thing probably won’t last, but I’m going to give it a shot. I’d like to know what’s going on there,” he pointed to where the team had just disappeared, “but we have dinner dates, plain and simple. Let’s get out of here before we see something we don’t want to see.”

  They walked down the alley to take a shortcut to cross at the streetlight. They’d already missed dinner the night before, oblivious to the time while chasing Jack Daniel's with Bud Lights, and neither wanted to get in too much trouble for doing it again.

  Petersen laughed. “You can’t retire, man! You’re in the prime of your life.” He paused. “Well, of your senior years anyway.”

  Suddenly a door to their left crashed open and two burly men stumbled out and ran right into them. Dix noticed the size of the men and detected a major problem in their urgency. He saw an aluminum briefcase in one of the men’s hands and guessed it was regular size, but, in the guy’s hands, it looked tiny.

  Dix looked at Petersen with a raised eyebrow, suspecting the men had just robbed someone. He wondered if they were related to the police activity they’d just seen heading into the front door of the casino.

  In a split-second, both men produced guns and grabbed Petersen and Dix with bearlike force. They manhandled Petersen and Dix and repositioned their bodies to use them as human shields. Dix looked at Petersen again. It was the first time Petersen could ever remember seeing Dix look scared.

  Dix wrestled to free himself from the man holding him and noticed what he hoped were cops coming to the open door from the casino to the alley. He said very calmly, “We’re cops, let us go.”

  The perpetrator holding Petersen spoke in a Canadian accent, “Shit, man, we gotta go. Let’s beat it, eh?”

  Petersen also wrestled with the man holding him, but he was unable to free himself.

  A silver Range Rover tore down the alley from the opposite direction of where the altercation was occurring. It skidded just short of Dix and his captor. At the same time, two men in expensive suits with hand guns ran through the open door and began yelling at the men holding Dix and Petersen to stop.

  The passenger door of the Range Rover flung open and a man with a MP5 sub-machine gun jumped out. “Eh, you two put down your guns and we let the hostages go, otherwise, you’re dead. I’ll count to three.”

  Dix knew it was a mistake. If the men in suits dropped their weapons, they’d be dead. His heart pounded in his chest as he frantically looked for a way out. Where the hell are the real cops!

  The two men in suits looked at each other, s
hook their heads, and then looked back at the man with the MP5, who began counting.

  “One, two….” Before he got to three he began spraying bullets wildly. One of the suited men went down, while the other one ran for cover and shot back haphazardly.

  From the open door to the rear of the casino, Dix saw muzzle flashes indicating someone else was firing rounds in his direction. Jesus, this is bad! He felt the grip lessen around his chest and he instinctively tried to duck down and look for cover. Bullets whizzed by him as the two men with the briefcase sprinted toward the Range Rover. The man holding Petersen released his grip and he ran toward the others. He shot recklessly behind him while he ran.

  Dix felt helpless as he watched Petersen get hit by a bullet from one of the guys in the Range Rover and fall over. Shit! Without thinking, he bolted toward the downed man in a suit, grabbed his gun, and began firing at the Range Rover. Bullets peppered the car, but the windows stayed in tact. He switched his sights on the legs of one of the men nearing the Range Rover. A round caught the man in the leg, causing him to squeal in pain and fall just short of the Range Rover.

  The people in the car didn’t even pause. They blew right past Dix, violently turned onto the road, spun the tires, and sped away.

  Dix saw pedestrians in the backdrop, so he didn’t continue shooting at the car as it sped away. He looked over to see Petersen wasn’t moving.

  The guy Dix had shot was trying to drag himself away.

  Dix advanced with the intent of finishing the bastard off. Seeing Petersen down caused him to throw any sense of compassion and judgment out the window. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Put down your weapon! Police, drop it!”

  Dix looked to his left and saw six undercover officers screaming and pointing their guns at him. He paused as he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He momentarily considered shooting the suspect in the head.

  Dix slowly put the weapon down. “I’m a cop, my partner over there has been hit, please, please get him medics!”

  The undercover officers tried to assess the scene while frantically calling for backup.

  “Guys, we’re cops,” Dix pleaded. “You got one bad guy behind me trying to crawl away, and you got two security guards lying over there.” He motioned toward his right. “Please, get my partner help!”

  A seventh man came through the door huffing and puffing and scanning the scene in a panic.

  Dix watched as the man took in the situation and appeared to formulate a plan. Wait, do I know him? he thought.

  The man looked at Dix and froze.

  “Son of a bitch, Bill Dix, is that you?”

  “Yeah Randy, it is, Steve’s hit and lying over there—he needs medics ASAP!” Dix didn’t care that guns were still pointed at him. He started walking, then running, toward Petersen.

  The man Dix knew, Las Vegas Police Department Sergeant Randy Frazier, waved off his people and grabbed his radio to call for code three medics with an officer down. He motioned for his men to handcuff the three gunmen while he updated dispatch with the current situation.

  Dix tried to assess Petersen, but he was in shock seeing him lying there motionless. Get it together! He could tell from his days in combat that the wound Petersen suffered was a through-and-through. He had been shot near his right shoulder and neck area and it was bad.

  Petersen regained consciousness and grabbed Dix’s hand.

  Dix hoped he wouldn’t let go. “Hang in there, Steve! You better not give up! We have a dinner date to get to!” Dix pleaded with his partner and best friend.

  Petersen couldn’t talk, but his grip became slightly firmer on Dix’s hand after he heard his friend’s voice.

  Dix didn’t see any other obvious injuries. After what felt like an eternity, Dix could hear sirens. He was not a religious man, but he started praying for Petersen anyway. Lord, you better not let this man die!

  The sergeant came over and placed his hand on Dix’s shoulder. “You got any information on the shooters, Bill?”

  Dix didn’t respond. He just kept telling Petersen he was going to be okay and that he would not let him go.

  The sergeant wanted to help his old college roommate and recognized time was of the essence. The quicker they uncovered information about the shooters, the more likely they would be able to apprehend them. He again tapped Dix on the shoulder and asked him what he knew.

  “Damn it, Randy, my partner is down, I don’t have time for this shit right now!” Dix yelled.

  The sergeant understood Dix’s reaction. He could see his face had turned pale and he was likely suffering from shock, but he wasn’t about to give up now.

  “Bill, we need something! The medics are on the way. We need to get these assholes!”

  Dix snapped to attention. He knew Frazier was right. As he turned to tell him what he knew about the shooters, he felt Petersen’s grip fall from his hand. “No, no, no, don’t give up on me, Steve! Come on, man, stay awake, don’t give up!” As Petersen fell unconscious, Dix instantly began CPR on him.

  The sergeant jumped in and began doing compressions while Dix gave breaths. The radio traffic was chaotic in the background while they frantically worked to save Petersen. Dix looked up to see an ambulance slam on its brakes when it slightly overshot the alley. The driver corrected himself and sped toward their location.

  Two medics jumped out, grabbed the stretcher, and ran to help. They took over CPR immediately.

  Dix demanded to be with Petersen as he was loaded into the ambulance. The look in his eyes made it clear no one would deny him.

  As the ambulance door began to close, Dix yelled out to the sergeant, “Silver Range Rover, occupied by three, one with an MP5, license plate was 094BLT. Remember all the favors you owe me, I’m calling them all in now!”

  As the ambulance sped toward the trauma center, Frazier put out the update from Dix via his radio. Roadblocks were set throughout downtown Las Vegas and every law enforcement official in the area responded to help.

  Two of Frazier's men checked on the wounded man left behind by the suspects. They checked his breathing and looked for a pulse, and found none. They both looked up with grim looks on their faces. One of the men stated, "He's dead boss."

  Petersen seized two more times before making it to the emergency room. He was transported into the operating room and Dix was finally forced to leave his side. As Dix grabbed his cell phone to call his wife, he noticed he was covered in Petersen’s blood and his hands were trembling. It was not the first time he’d been covered in another person’s blood, but the sight caused him to shudder. He felt his pulse race as he thought about what to say to his wife and he worried about how to tell Petersen’s wife what had just happened. He sat in the waiting room cursing himself for not wearing a concealed weapon and not doing more to protect Petersen. He was emotional and needed someone to help him through his difficult time. It was a lonely moment for Dix, something completely foreign to him and he’d lost control. He was terrified that he might lose Petersen.

  After a few more minutes, he found the courage to call his wife. He also knew she would be with Petersen’s wife. “Honey. There’s been a shooting. Steve’s been transported to the trauma center. You and Michelle need to head over here right away.”

  “What! Bill, what happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?” Her voice sounded frantic. In the background he could hear Michelle asking his wife what was wrong and she became hysterical.

  “Honey, please, just come to the trauma center. I’m fine, but Steve has been injured. Just get down here right away.”

  Dix’s wife, Jessica, had never heard her husband have a shaky voice so she knew something terrible had happened. She tried to calm herself the best she could while trying to calm Petersen’s wife too. Her heart raced and pounded in her chest.

  “It’s going to be okay, Michelle. Steve’s been shot. We need to get to the hospital and see what happened,” Jessica replied in a quiet tone.

  “Hu
n, Michelle is torn up and I’m worried. We’re gonna grab our stuff and head there right away,” Jessica said to him. She tried to reassure Michelle everything would be okay, but she was flailing her arms and crying hysterically. She took off toward the sign reading “Taxi” outside the hotel, leaving Jessica in the dust.

  “Michelle, wait!”

  Michelle pushed by people and ran to the front of the taxi line. People began to make snide comments. Michelle glared at them and didn’t even have to say a word.

  A taxi pulled up and Michelle jumped in without even looking back for Jessica. Thankfully she had caught up and barreled into the taxi as it roared away from the valet parking area.

  Jessica threw the driver a hundred dollar bill. “Get us to the damn trauma center on the double!” They didn’t say a word on the drive to the hospital.

  Jessica wasn’t the least bit upset with Michelle. She’d understood that she would have probably done the same damn thing if it were her husband who’d been shot. She watched as Michelle began hyperventilating. She rubbed her back and whispered, “Steve will make it through this.” She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew her husband would do everything humanly possible to save Petersen. She cringed thinking about what her husband would do if he ever got his hands on the people responsible for the shooting.

  Chapter 3:

  Joseph and Bruno Roy calmly loaded AR-15 assault rifles as their sister, Marie Roy, expertly drove their Range Rover through downtown Las Vegas streets without care during rush hour traffic. None of them had time to feel sorry for their brother they’d just left behind back in the alley. He’d been hit by a bullet and they’d ditched him without even a second thought. They all knew the risks involved in their lives; he was just the unlucky one this time.

  “I’m heading to the secure underground garage,” Marie announced. “Once we get there, you need to get in the other vehicles and leave. We’ll meet at the safe house in Pahrump. Leave the briefcase with me.”