Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Once inside, Reilly made an immediate right into a sitting room with a large picture window that faced the street. “There,” he said pointing to body on the floor. “Take a look.”

  I knelt down and pulled back the sheet. “He looks familiar.”

  “He’s one of the men from the bank heist.”

  “That’s it,” I said, snapping my fingers.

  “First a bank. Now a gang. What’s Zapata’s motive?”

  I stood up and brushed my hands off out of habit. “Looks like he’s testing what his gang of mutants is capable of.”

  “They’re a formidable force.”

  I turned toward the direction of the familiar voice and watched Cabrera make his way down the stairs.

  “It’s a slaughterhouse up there,” he said, motioning with his head.

  “Any others I should look at?” I asked.

  “Nah, just the one. If the same group of men attacked this gang, well, that’s about ten or fifteen against twenty-five hardened gang members. Losing one is a great ratio.”

  “It’s a spooky ratio,” I added. “Do we have an ID?”

  Reilly shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re working on it. We had a few positive hits from the bank footage. Some of the officers from the Tenderloin precinct recognized the men involved with the heist. They’re talking up their contacts to see what the word is on the street.”

  I looked around at the bodies that littered the floor. This can’t be far from what a battlefield looks like after an ambush.

  “According to SFPD, this street gang is called El Caos and is not affiliated with the Colombians. Most of them are Hondurans,” Reilly continued.

  “Why a gang?” Cabrera asked as he walked around a body. “They may not buy in bulk, but they’re an important part of the distribution pipeline.”

  “My best guess is that Zapata showcased MZ-1 for another street gang and used their enemy, El Caos, as the example.”

  “If that’s true, it’s an impressive way to get them to pay attention,” Cabrera said.

  “But what does Zapata get out of it?” Reilly asked.

  I turned to him. “If they want to create their own army of fighters, they have to buy his cocaine.”

  “He’s looking to set up a monopoly.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 56

  Malcolm and his men had been on the run for close to two hours. He had only a vague idea where he was and hadn’t yet decided what to do. He had already lost a few of his men when they decided to choose their own paths. He didn’t blame them. Their situation had become frantic. But that blame could not be put on Malcolm; Zapata held that responsibility.

  Right after he and his men had wiped out the El Caos gang, they sprinted back across the park to where the vans were. Only the vans weren’t there. Thinking maybe he had misunderstood the pickup point, he lead his men around the entire park to see if a van waited in another location. It was then Malcolm realized they had been abandoned. With distant sirens closing in, they had to get out of the area. Fast.

  For the next couple of hours, he led his men down dark alleyways, along side streets and through small parks—anywhere they could stay out of sight. The chilly San Franciscan temperatures had no effect on the men, who were still running high on their adrenaline rush. Malcolm knew the worst would be determined when the men came down off their highs and returned to a more normal state. His own knuckles were bloody and raw from the bashing they had given, but the pain didn’t bother him. He never noticed.

  The men he had lost earlier headed in a direction different than Malcolm had wanted to go—deeper into the city. Malcolm, on the other hand, had other plans and headed in the opposite direction.

  Malcolm held his arm out, stopping his men under a low-hanging tree that encroached on the sidewalk and masked their presence. It also helped that the moon that night had been a sliver of itself. Had anyone noticed them, surely a call to the police would have been in order. He looked over his men and noticed some were still carrying the steel pipes used in the attack. He quickly ordered them to toss the bloody weapons down a nearby gutter.

  During the trips to the bank and to tonight’s location, Malcolm had noted every detail, from signs to landmarks to landscape. He even noted the miles traveled with a simple glimpse at the odometer. By his calculations, they were close.

  He and his men left the overhang of the tree’s branches and crossed an empty lot until they reached a drainage ditch. From there, they traversed the cement river, which sported barely a trickle, for a hundred feet or so. It ran parallel to the main highway and did the job of keeping them out of sight.

  When Malcolm spotted the familiar yellow arches sitting on top of a tall steel pole, he led his men out of the ditch and onto the access road near the highway. Moving as quickly as possible, as they were now visible to the odd car still out in the early morning, they made a right and then a left and finally another right before they stopped at the entrance to a quiet cul-de-sac. A corner of his mouth widened, creating that grin again.

  He led his men down the street, past houses whose inhabitants were unaware of the danger roaming outside their locked doors. But Malcolm wasn’t interested in them. No, no, no. His focus was on the walled enclosure at the end of the street, the building no longer hidden behind the thin layer of fog that drifted through the neighborhood—the safe haven where one Faro Zapata lay his head.

  Chapter 57

  For the second time in one night, my phone jerked me out of my beauty sleep. My hand flopped around on the night table near my bed until it found the familiar shape. A quick look at the screen revealed that it was Reilly calling again. It was a little past six in the morning though it didn’t feel like it.

  “Kane speaking,” I answered in the best non-groggy voice I could muster.

  “Sorry for the wake-up call, Abby, but we got a tip on Zapata’s location.”

  Hearing that name brought all my senses back online. “How?”

  “SFPD caught one of the men who attacked the gang last night. It took eight of them to bring him down, and he still sent one to the hospital. Long story short, their interrogation revealed a facility in south San Francisco. We think Zapata’s hiding out there.”

  “Where’s this guy now?”

  “He’s been moved to the high-security ward up at San Quentin. Look, I want you and Cabrera to go along on the raid at the facility. If Zapata’s there, I want the Bureau handling all the questioning, not SFPD.”

  “Understandable. I’ll get in contact with Cabrera.”

  “Oh, and Abby, take the scientist. I want a visual confirmation as soon as possible.”

  I put a call in to Cabrera and told him I would meet him at his hotel. The three of us could then head over to the precinct of the South San Francisco Police Department which had jurisdiction over the area where the suspected facility was located.

  I then spent the next fifteen minutes using a hot shower to wash away whatever lingering sleepiness I still had. On my way out, I checked on little Lucy, who was still sound asleep. She didn’t have to get up until later for her summer daycare program. It was half a day, three times a week, and it gave Po Po a break from watching her while I was at work. I gave Lucy a quick hug and kiss, and she responded with a mumble and turned her face into her pillow.

  Downstairs, Po Po had already started her routine of morning pancakes. Since our move to the States, she had become addicted to Bisquick and always made way more than we could ever manage to eat. It was also a bit too early to be cooking since Lucy wouldn’t be up for at least another half hour, but I knew the real reason. It ensured that she would be the one making breakfast and not me. And the battle over who mothers best continues. Whatever. Things will be back on track once I wrap up this investigation. I picked up a blueberry silver dollar and popped it in my mouth.

  “I see you’ve already made enough to feed two families.”

  “You sit and eat,” she said.

  “I can’t,” I man
aged between bites. “I got this thing.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Always something.”

  “It’s my job.” I filled a few plastic baggies with the chewy morsels and slipped them into my purse before heading out. No sense in letting them go to waste.

  <><><>

  I smiled at the officer outside Elan’s door and handed him a baggie of warm pancakes along with a small coffee I had picked up in the lobby. “There’s no syrup, but the blueberries make up for it.”

  “Thanks, Agent.”

  “No prob. Is he up?” I motioned to the door.

  “I think so. I heard some movement.”

  A few seconds after I knocked, Elan opened the door.

  “Agent Kane, it’s good to see you.”

  He had bed head and was still in sleepwear.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  I handed him a coffee and a baggie. “It’s your breakfast. Eat up.”

  He smiled and nodded his thanks before taking a sip of the coffee. “What’s the news?” he asked between chews. “I feel so isolated here, not knowing what’s going on.”

  “We have a lead on Zapata’s whereabouts. SFPD is organizing a tactical team, and we plan on hitting the location ASAP. I want you to come along for visual confirmation. It’s important to know if we have the right man so we can interrogate him immediately.”

  Elan stopped chewing and nodded slowly while looking away.

  “Don’t worry, Elan. We’ll protect you. You’ll be safe.”

  His eyes focused back on me. “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter 58

  It was a little past eight in the morning when we arrived at the secured compound at the end of the cul-de-sac. “Cul-de-sac” in this case was really a euphemism for “dead end on a long street.” There were a few small businesses, but the buildings near our target were empty. Most of the residential buildings were near the beginning of the street. It was an odd neighborhood that seemed to be in the middle of a zoning shift. The area was still fairly quiet, and the few neighbors who were in the process of getting into their cars were intercepted and ushered back into their homes.

  I parked my car up the block, away from the building in question and next to a couple of SFPD patrol cars and the officers who were assigned to secure the perimeter. Before exiting, I looked at Elan. “Stay put. Do not leave this vehicle. Understood?”

  He nodded.

  I had been adjusting my flak jacket when Cabrera arrived in his rental and parked behind my vehicle. He’d insisted on driving himself, and I didn’t care enough to question. I opened my trunk and threw him a jacket. “Here you go. I always keep a spare.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “You taking that?” he asked, motioning to a Remington 870 shotgun I also kept in the trunk.

  “It’s all yours. It’s got six in the mag and one in the chamber.”

  I double-checked my weapon and tucked an extra mag in my jacket before we joined up with the rest of the team.

  A few minutes later, the SWAT tactical team breached the front gate. In seconds, they had snipped their way through the chain link fence and were moving across the property.

  At the front door, Cabrera and I stacked up behind the team as they readied themselves for a ballistic breach after determining that a battering ram wouldn’t do the job. A member of the team moved into position with a twelve-gauge shotgun and took aim near the doorknob. He fired twice then kicked the door open.

  The team filed into the warehouse like a black centipede. When Cabrera and I entered, we were surprised to find the team still near the entrance. A quick look around revealed why: on the floor were seven or eight bodies lying in pools of blood. The lights in the facility were off, so visibility wasn’t that great. The only natural light came through the front door and a few large windows near the top of the twenty-foot ceilings. From where we stood, three corridors branched out, each lined with offices that rose no higher than ten feet. Above that was open space.

  “Move it! Let’s clear this place,” the team leader called out.

  But before anyone could take a step, a loud screeching noise echoed through the building.

  “What the hell was that?” I heard someone say.

  Heads swung from side to side as eyes searched for the source. Confused red dots crisscrossed over the white walls looking for a target. Again the inhuman sound rang out, only closer this time.

  Suddenly, a slapping sound could be heard coming from the central hallway. It grew louder with each slap until a man emerged from the darkness, sprinting directly toward us with his arms out in front, eyes wide open and that high-pitched shrill exploding from his mouth.

  The dots trained themselves on his bare chest. A beat later, hot lead tore through his torso, knocking him off his feet and leaving him motionless. The screams continued, however, as more men attacked us from every direction. Some were moving along the ceilings of the offices and jumping down. I watched two of them land directly on a SWAT team member, taking him right down to the floor and quickly initiating a fist-flailing beat down.

  The place had suddenly gone from controlled entry to ultimate chaos. SWAT members were firing in a slew of directions while what seemed like an endless supply of attackers barreled down on us. They had darkness and the high ground on their side, making our group of heavily armed men easy pickings.

  With only my standard issue Glock 22 out in front of me, I cursed that I hadn’t armed myself with heavier firepower. I looked to my side where Cabrera was, only he wasn’t there. He had disappeared. Damn!

  I knew that, at any second, I could be surprised by one of these men, so I quickly backed toward a wall to eliminate a surprise attack from behind. What I wasn’t counting on, though, was the one from above. No sooner had I turned toward the direction of the loud scream than one of the men leapt from the ledge of an office. He grabbed hold of a pipe that ran directly over me and propelled himself through the air.

  I raised my gun in hopes of squeezing off a round, but it was too late. In one fell swoop, he backhanded my weapon out of my hands and took me to the ground. He quickly straddled my chest and used his knees to pin down my arms. He leaned in close with his mouth open and his teeth bared. His hot breath reeked of spoiled meat. I kicked my legs about, but it did nothing to help my situation. I felt like I had been glued to the ground. He grabbed hold of my mouth with his left hand and held it still. I looked away for a moment but then turned back, realizing he looked familiar. The man on top of me was Malcolm.

  He squeezed harder, testing my pain threshold. It felt as if he were slowly twisting my jaw out of its socket. I tried to twist out from under him, but he was too heavy, and I had started to tire. Breathing had become a chore due to his weight on my chest. He further dug his knees into my arms, the numbness spreading. I was in big trouble. Surely if he wanted to kill me, he could have done it by that point, but he hadn’t. That was an opportunity I needed to take advantage of. Through my gritted teeth, I spoke his name.

  His head jerked to the side a tiny bit.

  Had he understood me? “Malcolm… stop.”

  Inquisitive. That’s how I would describe his eyes. I had bought myself time.

  He squinted at me. “How do you know my name?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “Elan. I’m friends with him.”

  The corners of his mouth rose, and his lips thinned a bit. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not. He’s here in San Francisco. I flew him here from Colombia just a few days ago.”

  For the first time since he had pounced on me, I felt the pressure from his grip relax. I had begun to turn the corner with Malcolm. I had to keep him talking if I wanted to live.

  “I can take you to see him.”

  Malcolm said nothing but stared deep into my eyes. His pupils were so dilated, his eyes were completely black. It was a creepy sight.

  “Let me go, Malcolm.”

  His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Had he recons
idered his response? Seconds felt like minutes as I waited for an answer that appeared to be sitting on the edge of his tongue. And then his mouth closed. A smile stretched across his face, and he said, “You lie.”

  His eyebrows narrowed, and I felt his body tense up as his grip tightened around my mouth. He raised his right arm and balled his hand. Spit formed at the corners of his mouth as he took one last deep breath. His body shook with ferocity. And down came his fist, like a missile.

  Chapter 59

  My eyes wouldn’t shut. My face remained locked, unable to turn away, like I had a sick need to watch his fist speed toward my head. I braced for impact.

  Instead of a crushing blow, a blur of movement flashed before my eyes. Suddenly, Malcolm was no longer on top of me. Where did he go? What happened? Multiple booming shots rang out above me. I balled my tiny frame in an effort to protect myself. Who had fired the shots? Had I been hit?

  Four, five, six, seven blasts until I heard the familiar click of an empty magazine. And then I felt a slight squeeze on my arm. I looked up and saw Cabrera kneeling next to me. “Are you okay?”

  My mind started to function, and I slowly realized what had happened. I looked over to the side and saw a motionless Malcolm. His torso was riddled with holes, and blood seeped from each one, forming a pool around him. His eyes were still open, staring back at me.

  “Abby, are you hurt?”

  Cabrera rolled me over onto my back, and I managed a smile. “I had it under control.”

  He gave me a tight smile back. “Yeah, it looked that way. Come on; let’s get out of here.” He helped me to my feet.

  There was still frantic movement and shouting in the warehouse. I spied a few more bodies on the warehouse floor. None appeared to be any of our men. Another shot rang out from further back in the facility.

  “This way.” Cabrera led me out the front door as quickly as I could move.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Zapata’s army ambushed us. They came at us from every direction possible. It was chaotic at first, but we turned the tide pretty quickly.”