There was a moment of silence, and Larry said, “The Iron Eagle.” Jim nodded. Larry sat back in his chair after stubbing out the cigarette and asked, “So, what do you want to do with this guy?” Jim looked at Larry but spoke to Gib, “When is your next pickup for Mr. El Compo?” “Tonight. At the pier in Long Beach.” “What time?” “Eight thirty. There’s a boat that has been passed through customs. I’m supposed to be there with a cargo van to pick up the merchandise.” Jim stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and asked, “What’s the merchandise?” Gib coughed and said, “If I tell you, they will kill me!” Jim and Larry let out a laugh simultaneously.
Jim stood up and walked through the dark office into the light and lifted his foot to Gib’s head and said, “You really should be worrying about me. What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Gib laughed and said, “You’re the sheriff of LA County. You can’t kill me. You’re a cop. So what? You throw me in jail? Fine. At least I will be alive.” Jim let out a little laugh and leaned down and peered into Gib’s eyes and said, “You’re right. You know when you’re right you’re right. I’m not going to kill you. Neither is Judge Robinson over there or his bailiff who is one of my sheriff’s deputies. Nope. You’re right. You have no mortal fear from any of us.” Jim took a deep breath and called out to Larry, “You mind if I take this piece of shit with me?” “Not at all. I will have the bailiff take him to my private entrance. You can pick him up there.”
Jim exited the now vacant building, and Charlie happened to see him running, or attempting to run, toward the parking lot. Charlie walked out the front door of the LAPD office and headed in Jim’s direction.
“You know something?” Charlie asked. Jim stopped and looked at him in the halo of a streetlight and nodded. Charlie walked up to the passenger’s door of Jim’s car and said, “Since skinhead ain’t with you, you got something from him.” Jim nodded. Charlie popped the passenger door open and asked, “You want some company?” Jim nodded once more, and the two men got in the car. “Do you need to call in to clear yourself?” Jim asked. “I’m off duty, and if you’re going where I think you’re going, I’m not a cop right now.” Charlie took his badge off and laid it in the cup holder. “I don’t know what we are walking into Charlie. You could die.” Charlie laughed and said, “No one lives forever, Jimmy, no one lives forever.”
Jim pulled around to the private entrance of Larry’s chambers, popped the trunk of his patrol car, and walked over to Gibson who was barely standing. “You’re right about everything, Gib. None of us can hurt you, so I’m taking you to someone who won’t hesitate to do what none of us can.” The bailiff lifted Gib in his arms and dropped him in Jim’s trunk. Gib started looking around when he heard another door on Jim’s car open. It was dark, and there was only the light from the streetlights overhead. He heard Larry and Jim talking quietly, and then he heard a familiar voice and knew right away who it was.
Charlie, Larry, and Jim stood in front of the open trunk. Larry’s bailiff appeared with a glistening container, and the three men all had sparkling glasses in their hands. Gib heard the sound of glasses clinking, and then he heard Larry say, “A toast…to the Iron fuckin’ Eagle. He will get to the truth.” Gib started screaming as Jim slammed the trunk shut.
Lieutenant Harry Chilton had just finished up some paperwork and was getting ready to call it a night when his cell phone rang. He answered it and sat listening. He cursed under his breath as the caller spoke. He finally broke his silence and asked, “Where the fuck is he?” He hung up the phone and put it back on his hip. He walked over to an armory that he had in his office and pulled out an M16 from the case and several magazines for the weapon.
Doyle Markham walked into his office while Harry was checking the weapon out through the armory depot. At six foot, one eighty, with long blond hair and green eyes, Doyle was the pretty boy of West Valley. “Where the fuck are you going with that artillery?” Harry was looking down the sight after clearing the weapon chamber and said, “I just got a tip that our cop killer friend is going to skip Boyd and has his sights on me.” Doyle laughed and took the weapon from Harry and put it back in the armory. “You don’t want to go walking out the door with a fuckin’ M16, man. It’s not going to give you the protection you need.” Harry looked at him and asked, “Well, just what the hell do you suggest?”
Doyle shook his head and walked into the armory and told Harry to follow. At five foot six and two hundred pounds, Harry was squat heavy with a beer belly. The fact that he was married baffled not only Doyle but everyone in the department. He kept his head shaved and sported a goatee that everyone including his wife thought looked stupid, but he didn’t care. Doyle pulled a full set of body armor from the unit and said, “Strip!” Harry looked at him like he had three heads. “You’re gay, Doyle. I’m not.” Doyle laughed and said, “Strip, you dumb shit. You’re not my fuckin’ type. Do you want to have half a chance of staying alive?” Harry stripped down to his underwear.
Harry strapped on the shin and calf armor and worked his way up his thigh with Doyle helping him. He put on the vest and arm armor and was about to put on his t-shirt when Doyle handed him another vest. “Shit, man, how the fuck am I supposed to move in all of this?” “You will get used to it. You were arming and getting ready to walk out of here like you got a tip on where the killer will be.” “No…I got an anonymous call on my cell saying I’m next on the list. I figure if I’m armed he might think twice.”
Doyle laughed and held out his hand and placed his left finger on Harry’s right side and said, “Mary was tortured and nailed to a tree. Mario and Washington had their brains blown out by a sniper. Gil was poisoned, and Patricia had her car blown up with her in it. I really don’t think he’s going to try a sniper shot on you. Plus, you don’t live or work in an area that would be conducive to that. The body armor will deflect most small arms and even slow down a high power bullet.” “And if he goes for a head shot on me?” “Well, you can wear a helmet, but I think you would look ridiculous.”
Harry finished dressing and asked, “So, what would you carry as a weapon?” “Where are you supposed to go based on the tip?” “Nowhere, really. It was a call from a guy who said he was a friend and wanted me to know I’m next.” Doyle looked around and pulled two Glocks from the armory and signed them out with the body armor. He grabbed three extra capacity clips and handed them to Harry. “Okay. This should protect your fat ass from a first shot attempt to allow you to take cover, and then these guns will be more than enough firepower to engage the enemy.” The two men walked out of the armory and back to Harry’s office. Doyle said, “You will be fine now, so go home and get some rest.” Harry put the guns in his shoulder holsters. He had a total of four weapons on him and felt safe and reassured by Doyle’s input.
Cosmo and C4 sat down in the conference room with John. He handed them each a document and said, “According to my guest, these two cops are the killers.” Cosmo looked at the list and asked, “These two guys are wreaking havoc on the LAPD?” John shook his head and said, “I’m not buying it either. There’s someone else, but my source isn’t giving him up.” Cosmo laughed and said, “Perhaps you haven’t leaned on him hard enough.” “He doesn’t have any finger or toe nails anymore. I removed them.” C4 said, “Oh…if he knew anything, he would give it up after that. So, what do you want us to do about it?” “Well, I think we need to grab Mr. Espinosa and Mr. Estrada, and I need to lean on them.”
“I don’t think that is going to stop the killing.” John looked up to see Jim standing in the doorway to the conference room. “What do you know that we don’t?” Jim dropped Gib in front of the doorway and said, “Homey, here, has a side job bringing illegals…more directly… Mexican women into the country to be used as sex slaves and indentured servants.” Cosmo and C4 looked over to see Gib on the floor, his eyes black, his face beaten. Cosmo said, “I see he fell!” “Yea. For a young guy, he’s damn clumsy,” Jim laughed
as he said it. John looked on and said, “I’ll take him from here.” Jim said, “He has a pickup at ten in Long Beach. He told us that there are some women and drugs being smuggled in. He’s the designated driver.” “Told us?” John asked.
“Yea…I had taken him to Judge Robinson’s office to clear a bench warrant after I ran an LAPD car number that old Gib gave to me.” Jim took the papers out of his pocket and threw them on the table. John looked at Jim and asked, “Did you give Larry my condolences?” “Not directly but having old Gib here, I think, tells you he knows you care about him and his loss.” Cosmo looked over at John and asked for the papers. John handed them to him, and he and C4 looked them over. John asked Jim, “So, do we have another name to add to the mix?”
“Mark El Compo.” All heads in the room turned to look at Jim. Cosmo asked, “Did you just say Mark El Compo?” Jim nodded. C4 said, “No way…that dude is as clean as a whistle.” Jim laughed, taking a cigarette out of his top left pocket. “Yea. A whistle you just blew out your asshole!” Cosmo told John, “Man, we do a lot of business with El Compo. I’ve been to his home in Bel-Air. There’s no way that dude is into this kind of action. We would know.” Jim kicked Gib on the floor next to him while putting the cigarette between his teeth and looking at the clock on the wall in the conference room. “Gibson, this might be a good time to start talking, singing, whatever the hell it is you do, because you are in the presence of the Iron Eagle.”
Gib looked at the three men in the room and asked, “Which one is he?” “That’s for me to know and you to find out. It’s ten after eight, Gib. You have a pickup to make. You want to talk to these folks, or do you want me to turn you over to the Eagle and send immigration in to get the girls and drugs?” “You don’t know where to go in Long Beach. You don’t know who to talk to. All that will happen if I don’t show is the girls will stay on the boat, and their captors will take them back out into the Pacific and feed them to the sharks.” John stood up and grabbed Gib by the back of his neck and lifted him until they met eye to eye. “I’m the Iron Eagle. Let me show you what’s going to happen to you if you don’t start talking.” The Eagle walked down the hall, holding Gib like a rag doll. His legs were flopping from side to side as the Eagle disappeared into the darkness.
Cosmo looked at Jim and said, “You’re not alone, are you?” Jim shook his head, and C4 asked, “Is the other a good or bad guy?” “Good guy!” “Where is he?” “I dropped him off at Santiago’s with a beer and told him to sit tight. It’s going to be a long night.” Cosmo and C4 nodded and heard Gib’s blood curdling scream. Jim sat down across from the other two and said, “I’ve got a buck that says Gib has become a motor mouth.” The two looked at him and both were willing to concede that bet.
John came back ten minutes later and said, “Sara is doing a little patch work on Gibson. He’s going to take Cosmo and C4 to Long Beach to pick up the cargo.” John looked at the two men and said, “DON’T KILL ANYONE UNLESS YOU HAVE TO!” They both nodded in agreement. “Once you are on the road to the safe house, let me know. I’m on my way to Captain Boyd’s home. Gib gave me information that he got a call from Officer Marco Estrada that he is at Boyd’s home, and that Espinoza is going to be at the safe house for the girls tonight. I want Espinoza taken alive and brought to me. I’m going to take care of Mr. Estrada.”
Sara walked into the room and said, “Your boy is ready.” John pointed to Cosmo and C4 and said, “Go get him.” The two men walked out and grabbed Gib, and Jim said, “Charlie Wilson is waiting for us at Santiago’s.” John looked down and shook his head, “You can’t get him involved in this. His heart won’t hold out. Take him back to the station and tell him the Eagle appreciates his thoughts and desires, but he has it under control.”
Jim said, “No…he’s tired of this shit, John. He wants it over with, and he is willing to die to end it. Let Charlie, Steve, and I help with this. You have Boyd’s killer. Let us follow up on Chilton. He’s next on the list.” John sat down at the table, and Jim looked at him and asked, “What’s going on in that head of yours?” John said, “Garrison Cantrell killed Alberto Alverez, one of the country’s most notorious and brutal drug lords and gang leaders, right?” Jim nodded. “Then why do I have Alverez in room one with his feet nailed to a four by four?”
Jim looked on in stunned silence as John said, “The Eagle has pushed Alverez to the brink, and he’s not talking about who is running this operation. The Eagle is going to do some dental work on him to try and get more information.” Jim asked, “Then who’s buried in Alverez’s grave?” “He claims his twin brother. There were no dental records to identify the body with because Cantrell blew the guy’s head off at point blank range with a shotgun. Jade would not make an error.”
Jim called Jade’s cell phone. “Morgan.” “Hi, Jade, it’s Jim. I’m here with John, and we want to ask you some questions about the Alverez murder.” “Sure. What do you want to know?” Jim put the phone on speaker, and John said, “Jade, how did you get a positive ID on Alverez with his head blown off?” “Family and friends identified the body on scene as did the shooter, Officer Cantrell. Why?” John asked, “Where are you?” “Sitting in my living room.” “Come up to the main house, would you?” “Yea. I’m not dressed. Is that okay?” Jim smiled, and John said, “Yea, it’s fine, just wear a robe.” The phone went dead, and Jim said, “Oh come on, man. I need some fuel for the fire with Barb.” John shook his head and told him to stay put then went to let Sara know Jade was coming.
Chapter Fifteen
“A toast…to Steve getting his
head blown off before he has
to endure death by ALS!”
The Port of Long Beach was quiet. The white cargo van being driven by Gibson pulled up to the U.S. Customs’ gate. He showed his ID, and the van was passed through. Gibson drove down to the port entrance, and a Customs officer was waiting for him when he arrived near the pier. He got out of the van, and the officer said, “What the fuck happened to you, Gibson?” “I got into a fight.” “You were no doubt on the losing end.” Gibson nodded, and the agent said, “Follow me.” “Do you want me to drive the van down?” “Not yet. My boss has a conference call with Mr. El Compo, and he wants you there.” Gibson started to follow the officer, and Cosmo and C4 followed, running through the darkness out of sight of the men. Cosmo and C4 watched as the men walked down to a small Customs building, and they watched Gibson and the agent walk in. Cosmo was on the ground next to C4, and he asked, “Did that Customs guy look familiar to you?” C4 shrugged, and they moved on down near the water and came up on the backside of the building. They could see Gibson standing off in a corner, and the Customs agent sitting at a desk, but there was no one else around. Cosmo asked, “What does a Customs agent make?” “I don’t fuckin’ know. He works for the government, so too much for what he does.”
Patrick stood up to get a look into the building, and he saw that the agent had a nine millimeter handgun laying on a desk. The agent had his hand over it. “Um…don’t look now, but old Gibson is about to get his brains blown out.” Lance stood up and saw the gun as well. The two men leaned down, and Cosmo said, “John told us not to kill anyone.” “We don’t have to kill him. We’ll just…wing him.” Patrick pulled out his Glock and said, “I will take the front. You cover me. I’m just going to walk in on the meeting.” Cosmo smiled and said, “Want to bet that you kill the damn guy?” Patrick nodded and said, “Usual bet?” He nodded, and Patrick headed around the building to the entrance. Lance had not stood back up when he heard a shot. He looked through the window and saw Gibson sliding down the wall; his brains splattered all around him. He watched as Patrick walked into the building, and there were two quick shots, and Lance saw the agent fall to the floor. He headed around the building and ran to the entrance to find Patrick picking up the agent who was looking at both men in terror.
Patrick said, “See, I didn’t kill him. I just blew out both his elbows.”
Lance looked at the officer’s name tag and said, “Son of a bitch. I knew I had seen him before. This is Alex Martel. He was the agent in charge of the Eudora Huxley.” “Son of a bitch. You’re right.” Patrick looked at Martel and asked, “Didn’t you learn anything from the Eudora Huxley deal? I thought you were an ICE agent?”
Martel looked on. He was in shock. Both from the gun shots and the fact that these two men knew him. “Hey, Martel, I asked you a question. Weren’t you an ICE agent?” He nodded slowly. Patrick picked him up and asked, “Where’s the cargo?” Martel threw his head toward a small ship anchored in the harbor next to his building. C4 got over to the ship and took out three guards with tranquilizer darts and tied them up and then herded the women to the van and grabbed the drug cargo.
When they got everything into the van, Patrick went back and got Gibson’s body and carried it up to the van. “Well, this is some fucked up shit,” Cosmo said. “What?” “Well, the only dude who knows where we are going with this cargo is dead.” They checked over Gibson’s clothes, and they found a blood-soaked piece of paper with an address on it. “Well, son of a bitch, I think we have a winner. Good old, Gib. He’s still helping even from the depths of hell.” C4 put the address into the van’s navigation system, and it was guiding them to a home on the outskirts of Woodland Hills. It was ten after nine, and Patrick said as they drove up Ocean headed for the 710 Freeway, “You want to let the bet ride? We still have to take Espinosa alive.” Cosmo nodded, and the men headed for their destination.
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