In the end, they were all cops, good or bad, and that stood for something. Jim folded the paper and put it in his jacket pocket as he walked out and grabbed Gib and took him to the courthouse to clear the warrant.
Alverez was groggy when the Eagle walked back into the operating room. The Eagle never spoke. He opened a cabinet and took out some items and placed them in a small orange medical tray, then he walked over to Alverez and took a remote from a nearby table and pressed a button. The table folded in the middle and became a chair. Alberto could feel the cold of the concrete floor on the bottom of his feet, and the Eagle wrapped both of Alberto’s legs with two thick leather straps. The Eagle stood up and walked over to the doorway and pulled out a four-by-four cut four feet long and sat down on a stool. He put the piece of wood underneath Alberto’s feet. Alberto cried out as sharp splinters drove into them. The Eagle pulled two rusted steel railroad spikes out of the tray and showed them to Alberto without speaking. He then pulled a small sledge hammer off one of the trays next to Alberto’s head, and he showed it to him as well. When Alberto saw the hammer, he said, “I’ll talk!”
The Eagle never looked up as he held the hammer in one hand and the spike in the other. He just said, “I know you will,” as he swung the hammer down onto the spike and through the middle of Alberto’s right foot. The man screamed in pain as the Eagle struck it a second time and then did the same to his other foot.
Alberto started to black out, and the Eagle took a syringe from the tray and injected some of its liquid into an IV that was running into Alberto’s arm. He left the syringe in and its needle hanging from the IV line. Alberto shot awake, and the pain was twofold. He screamed out for mercy, but the Eagle said, “Where was your mercy? All those kids you hooked on dope? The kids who were running drugs for you? Those mules that you killed as soon as they got the drugs across the border? And now that I want information about the cop killings you ask for mercy? Five police officers have been killed, and there is still a lengthy list of names in your killer’s crosshairs. Where is your mercy for them?”
Alberto had tears running down his face and said, “It’s not just me that wants these cops dead.” “I know that, Alberto, but you know who the leader is.” Alberto shook his head. “I don’t know who the leader is. I can tell you that. I don’t know who it is.” The Eagle pulled out a plastic bag and ripped it open. It was a “pedicure kit.” He laid the items on a white towel and said, “I don’t want you to get an infection.” The Eagle pulled out a pair of needle-nose pliers and a pair of vice grips. He took a long hooked item from the kit and drove it under the nail bed of Alberto’s big toe and began to rip at the nail to raise it up. Alberto was screaming, and what little movement he could make only made the IV line swing. He started to go out, and the Eagle pushed a little more solution into Alberto’s veins, and he came awake again.
The Eagle took the pliers and grabbed the toenail and started to pull and twist it until it released, and he was able to remove the entire nail at the root. Blood, flesh, and tiny thin nerve fibers were left on the surface where the toenail had been. Alberto screamed as the Eagle ripped out one nail after another, never asking any questions, only ripping until all of the toenails on Alberto’s right foot had been removed. Alberto was in pain beyond the ability to speak, and the Eagle had all of his cameras on the entire time.
After a few minutes, the Eagle gave Alberto an injection in his right foot, and the pain stopped suddenly. Sweat and saliva were running down Alberto’s face, and the Eagle said, “The pain is only gone temporarily. You better start giving me the names of those doing the killing, and you better do it fast…or should I start on your left foot?”
Alberto became quite the chatterbox, and the Eagle recorded the names and information until he had everything that Alberto knew. When Alberto was finished confessing, the Eagle asked, “Who is running the whole show?” “I swear to you, I don’t know. I’ve told you of everyone that I know in this plot.” The pain was starting to return to Alberto’s right foot, and he begged for more medication. “Half of the names on this list are cops that are already dead. We know of their deeds. Are these two the main killers for this whole operation?” Alberto nodded weakly as the pain intensified. The Eagle gave him another injection, to which Alberto said, “Oh God. Thank you, mercy, thank you.” The Eagle smiled and said, “Mercy? No, no mercy. I don’t think you’ve told me everything, Alberto, so let’s get started on the left foot, and then I will get to your left and right hands.” Alberto let out a scream as the Eagle began to rip out the big toenail on his other foot while pouring salt in the wounds of the right.
Don Bartell was sitting at his desk at the federal courthouse checking the GPS trackers on his pretrial release personnel. He came to Garrison Cantrell, plugged in his ID number, and the GPS was blinking that Cantrell was at home. He made a note of it and went onto the next subject.
Mark El Compo got word that his next delivery of girls was coming in, and that they were being delivered to one of his safe houses in Woodland Hills. He called Andre Espinoza. “Espinoza.” “Andre, it’s Mark. How are you doing this afternoon?” “I’ve been better. I just got out of jail this morning.” “Yea, I heard. Is that having an effect on your police work?” “No…the charges were dropped a little while ago. The agent in charge was busting my balls. I want him dead, but it’s been forbidden…at least for now.” “Do what he tells you, Andre. You don’t want the FBI in this any deeper than they already are. If they get one of you two, this whole thing will fall apart, and we are so close.”
“What can I do for you, Mark?” “I have a group of girls being delivered to one of my safe houses. I don’t have Washington anymore, thank God. He was killing me by popping all of my cherries. I mean prime grade ‘A’ meat. Do you have any idea what I get for a virgin?” “Not a clue, Mark. I just get my cut of the action I handle for you.” “Well, let’s just say at auction here in my main home the really, really fine looking pieces of ass can fetch upward of a hundred thousand or more.” “Jesus! Guys will pay that much for some illegal south of the border Mexican pussy? Shit. I have popped plenty of Mexican cherries, and I can tell you it’s not worth a dollar.” “That’s because you’re Mexican. These are, for the most part, white men over fifty who want to bust a nut in a virgin…and not just pussy. All of the holes.”
There was a moment of silence, and Andre said, “Oh shit. I never thought about getting a total virgin. I can see where that would bring a few bucks, but still, I’ve done it all with them, and it’s boring, other than the screaming. That’s fun. I held several down for Howard when he was busting them out. I had no idea that you could have gotten so much at auction. Fuckin’ Howard cut into all of our profits.” “He did, but you know how Howard was. If we didn’t play by his rules, he would have ratted us all out.” “So what do you want from me, Mark?”
“I want you to be at the house when the girls come in tonight. You can even bust one if you like, just take an ugly one. There’s two that are uglier than a mud fence, but they have really, really hot bodies. There are six really, really hot ones. I need them pure. I will pick them up tomorrow.” “What time are they coming in tonight?” “Ten p.m.” “Shit. I’m on duty tonight. I will take the time to get the girls in, but I won’t be able to babysit them. All I can do is chain them up and leave them for you.”
Mark said, “I will send one of my men over to strip, feed, and clean them up. Don’t worry about that. If you can just make sure the cargo is safe and secure that will be great. I will have my guy leave one there for you. You can pick her up when you’re off shift and do her at the house.” “Okay. What do you want me to do with her when I’m finished?” “Oh, shit, I don’t know. I don’t need her for anything. You want another house servant and sex slave?” Andre sighed and said, “I already have two. I don’t want any more. Plus, contrary to what you sell, I had to take a lot of time breaking and beating them into submission.” “Well, then fuck
her, have some fun, then kill her. Just make sure no one can find the body.” “That works. You have a deal.” Andre took down the address and information and hung up. He would work his regular shift and take dinner at ten to take in the cargo.
Cosmo and C4 showed up at a little before five p.m. They went to the main entrance and before they could ring the bell, the door opened, and Sara greeted them. She gave them both a hug, and Patrick asked, “Did John tell you we were coming?” She shook her head and said, “Nothing that John or the Eagle does surprises me anymore. And to be honest, I’m glad to see two friendly and capable killing faces.” She walked them over to the Eagle’s lair and buzzed the Eagle over the intercom. “I know he’s here. I heard screaming when I was over here about an hour ago. Relax. I’m sure he will be right out.”
Sara had no sooner said it when John appeared through the darkened hallway from the torture rooms. She walked over and kissed him and asked, “Is there anything you need me to do, honey?” John nodded. “I have a guest in room one. I gave him a mani pedi, and I want to make sure his blood loss is minimal. Would you go in and make sure that much pain comes to him?” “But, of course, sweetheart.” She excused herself, and John waved to the men to follow him and headed for the conference room.
Marco and Riggs arrived at Boyd’s home at just past five p.m. They parked their cruiser, and one of the deputies walked up and asked, “Are you our relief?” Riggs shook his head and said, “Captain Boyd asked us to assist with security.” Riggs and Marco walked in as the sheriff’s deputy remained outside. The house was quiet, and Riggs walked through the foyer and into the entryway to the main house. “Captain Boyd has a hell of a nice home for a cop,” said Riggs. Marco nodded, and the two walked into a main room that was split by the kitchen and the family room. There was a double staircase dividing the formal living room, and the whole top of the stairwell was open and led to the second story of the house. Riggs looked around and saw Kristine laying on her stomach in the backyard. He walked out the door, and the second deputy just looked on as Riggs and Marco approached Kristine.
Riggs cleared his throat, and she looked up to see him standing there with Marco and jumped up, fully nude, and hugged him and gave him a deep, long, French kiss. Marco just stared. She pulled away and said, “Jesus, Riggs. You’re a sight for sore eyes. I was wondering when my dad was going to send some real cops.” She looked at Marco and put her hand on his chest and ran it down from his badge to his crotch and asked, squeezing his package, “Who’s this stud?” “Officer Marco Estrada, may I introduce Kristine Boyd, Captain Boyd’s youngest daughter.” Marco looked on, confused. Riggs saw it and started laughing. “She’s legal, Marco. She just turned eighteen a few months ago.” Kristine laughed and said, “I am legal, and Riggs made sure he got on and in me at my eighteenth birthday party.” “That was a GREAT party,” Riggs said, looking around. “So, where are your mom and Alan?” “Um…the last time I saw them she was giving Alan a blow job in the kitchen. They are probably upstairs in the bedroom. I heard her say she wanted him in her ass when I grabbed a drink from the fridge.” Riggs kissed her on the cheek and said, “I will do you later!” She smiled while laying back down on the lounge, saying, “You bet my sweet ass, you will!”
Marco followed Riggs into the house and up the stairs until they came to a large door. Riggs said, “Wait here.” Marco stopped and stood as Riggs walked into the bedroom. He heard some quiet conversation and a male voice say, “Okay, you can get down on my mom with me but no crossing swords.” Marco just stood outside the door while he heard the sounds of laughter and moaning coming from the bedroom. He looked on out to the walkway between the two halves of the house, and as he did he whispered to himself, “I sure as hell hope no one is going to start cooking.”
Chapter Fourteen
“A toast…to the Iron fuckin’ Eagle.
He will get to the truth.”
Jim walked into Judge Larry Robinson’s courtroom. He was on the bench, reading some guy the riot act before handing down the stiffest possible penalty allowed under the law. He must have seen Jim from the bench because he made a comment about law enforcement and that the guy needed to learn respect for authority. He slammed down the gavel and adjourned the court for the night. Jim walked up to the clerk and asked to see the judge in chambers.
Larry beat him to it and called out to Jim and his follower, “Come on back, Jim, and bring your little friend with you.” They walked back to Robinson’s chambers, and Jim explained the situation and sent Gib out to pay the clerk for the warrant before she left for the night. Gib walked back in with a receipt, and Robinson told him to sit. “Since when does Jim O’Brian give a shit about a lowlife skinhead?” “Don’t bust his balls. He’s a good kid. He works for a couple of my Marine Corps buddies. He’s been terrified because he’s been paying his support, and he knew if he came back here you would throw his ass in jail even if he had the bail.” Larry nodded, hanging the black robe on the rack next to his desk and sitting down in his chair. “Scare ‘em straight or lock them up, Jim. That’s my philosophy.” Larry looked at Gib sitting on a couch in the back of his chambers and asked, “You ever gonna miss another support payment?” Gib shook his head violently. “See, Jim. Another rehabilitated skinhead. So that’s it? You came here to clear a warrant for this kid?”
Jim took a cigarette from his top left pocket, and Larry said, “Give me one of those.” Jim handed him a smoke and lit the cigarettes and snapped his Zippo shut. “Well, Larry, that was the only thing I was going to do, but then I got this.” Jim handed the piece of paper he had gotten from Charlie to Larry who looked at it, squinting one eye as the smoke from the cigarette rose from his nostrils. “Hmm,” Larry said, reading the paper. “These three guys share this cruiser on the daily rotation, huh?” Jim nodded. Larry tapped the cigarette into an ashtray on his desk and pushed it over to Jim. “Don’t flick your ashes on my damn floor. You know I hate that.” Jim tapped the ashes into the ashtray while Larry put the paper down, still holding it between his fingers.
Jim pulled out his tablet from a holder he had on his chest, pulled up the kill list of officers, and handed it to Larry. He looked at it then looked back at the paper. Larry took another deep drag off the cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray and handed the tablet back to Jim. Next, he took a piece of paper and jotted a few things down and handed it to him. Jim looked at what he had written and had a confused look on his face. He finished off the smoke and said, “Who the hell is Mark El Compo?” There was a cough from Gib at the back of the room. Larry took out his own pack of cigarettes and said, “Your young friend back there seems to know the name.” Jim turned around, and Gib was standing. Jim didn’t say a word. He just turned back to Larry, and Gib made a run for the office door. Larry pressed a button next to his desk, and in a matter of seconds, Gib was back in the office in handcuffs with a black eye. Larry looked at his bailiff and said, “Put him in leg irons. I don’t want him going anywhere.” Jim took out another cigarette and lit it, and with his back to Gib asked, “Tell me what you know about Mark El Compo, kid.” Silence met his question.
Larry looked at the bailiff standing next to Gib and nodded, and the bailiff hauled off and slugged Gib in the stomach. He doubled over and hit the floor, coughing and gagging. Jim never turned around. He just looked at the printout and the note from Larry and said, “I’m going to ask you again…who is Mark El Compo?” There was a moment of silence, and Larry nodded to his bailiff again, and Gib cried out, “Human trafficking, human trafficking. The guy deals in human trafficking.”
Jim took a hit off the smoke while looking at Larry. The sun was starting to set, and the room was getting dark. Larry pulled the chain on a lawyer’s lamp that he had on his desk, and the bailiff turned on a double set of recessed lights over the couch where Gib had been sitting, illuminating the floor where he laid. Jim asked, “Is this guy a cop killer?” Gib coughed and said, “I don’t know…I have done some wo
rk for him. I have helped him get his cargo in from Mexico.” Jim didn’t look at Gib but asked, “When’s the last time you worked for him?” Gib let out a sigh of pain and said, “A couple of weeks ago. I helped him and his mules get some girls and drugs into the valley.” “Where did you get them to?” “Um…a house on Vanowen in Reseda.”
Jim took a drag off the cigarette and stood up. He looked at Larry and said, “Well, shit, Larry. Ain’t this quite the situation? This little fuck isn’t just afraid of you. He’s afraid of the cops and for a whole other reason.” Larry was smoking his cigarette. The room was almost pitch black. The clock on the wall chimed six p.m., and the cherry of Larry’s smoke was all that could be seen. Jim said, “Isn’t that the clock that Barbara and I got you when you were appointed to the bench?” “Yes, sir. That has been a trustworthy and loyal old clock, Jim. I have had that fucker for near twenty years. How the hell is Barbara doing?” “She’s doing really well. I was sorry to hear about Beth. I didn’t know she had passed until a couple of days ago. That was another thing I wanted to do, give you my condolences in person.”
Jim heard a thud, and Gib coughed. Larry looked on as his bailiff kicked the kid in the chest again. “It’s no problem. Beth didn’t want her illness and eventual death public. You were on the short list of calls, but I have been dealing with the scum of this city.” There was another thud, and Jim turned around to see that Gib was now seated on the couch, bleeding from his nose and mouth, and wheezing. “Sounds like you have some cracked ribs there, Gibson. I know my friends had no idea what you were doing in your spare time, or they would have brought it to my attention or...”
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