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Cahill

I could hear the din from the bar as I exited my SUV and I was still almost a block away. What a shame! I knew from long experience that would change as soon as my foot crossed the threshold. I tend to have that effect on people. I’m six feet six inches tall and I weigh an even 250 pounds—all of it broad shouldered muscle. My Body Mass Index at my last physical was less than four percent. My light brown hair is styled exactly the way it’s been for the past fifteen years—ever since I first joined the Navy. Sure enough, no sooner had I taken my first step into the bar than the noise died. When I turned left and stepped up to the bar the people there couldn’t back away fast enough. I took a stool in the middle of the empty space and sat down, waiting for the bartender to approach. “I’m not looking for any trouble.” “Good…neither am I. Give me a ginger ale.” He reached under the bar for a glass and some ice. Twenty seconds later he slid the glass in my direction. I pulled a fiver from my pocket and dropped it on the bar. He ignored it and walked away to draw a few beers and pour some wine. It looked to me like this was a pretty cheap crowd. Checking up and down the bar all I could see were longnecks and drafts. I reached into the lower left pocket of my cargo pants. Like almost everything else I was wearing they were a true deep navy blue. My heavy shoes were black as was my wide belt. My belt said as much about me as the bold white lettering across my chest. Just below the American flag over my heart were the letters that were my life—U. S. MARSHAL. On my right hip was my nickel plated .44 Magnum Colt Python, just behind two speed loaders in addition to the twenty-four rounds on the belt. On my left hip was my ASP Talon baton—every bit as deadly a weapon in my hands as the revolver. A pouch at the back of my right hip held my stainless steel handcuffs and its partner on the opposite side held my radio—my link to my backup team. I placed the photo flat on the bar as the bartender returned to me. “I’ll have another,” I said in a loud voice, continuing so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Don’t pick it up and don’t make a production of looking at it. I’ve been told that he comes here a lot. Is he here tonight? If he is and he escapes because you’ve given me away I’ll see to it that you’re arrested for obstruction of justice.” He gulped a few times but did as he was told, nodding slightly in response. I continued almost at a whisper. “If my nose is pointing to twelve o’clock, my right ear to three, the back of my head to six, and my left ear to nine, tell me where he is. Again, don’t point or do anything obvious and we’ll be fine.” He pretended to wipe the bar as he whispered, “About 4:30 with his back to you.” I picked up the reflection in the mirror then asked, “Red shirt with black and white stripes, looking away from me?” He nodded again. Now, in my normal tone of voice I asked, “Where’s the men’s room?”

Fredrick_Udele · Fantasie
Zu wenig Bewertungen
69 Chs

CHAPTER 34

A minute later the tape was restarted and we heard a fourth voice. "When is it coming in? I think that I can dress in my uniform that afternoon so I can screen off the entire area and keep the rest of the cops away. Too bad I can't get one of the patrol cars. Maybe we can come up with a diversion like an accident or a report of shots fired. We'll come up with something."

"You can use my car. I'll phone in sick that afternoon. Just drive to my house and pick it up. I'll give you my pistol and belt, too, so you'll really look official."

"That's good thinking, Stan," Carl said. "Junior, how'd your sales in Memphis go last week?"

"Smooth as silk. He had the bread just the way we wanted it—small used bills…ten thousand bucks, and he said he'd need a lot more in another month. Good thing about selling there is that nobody knows any of us. That university is going to be a goldmine for us."

"Okay," it was Carl again. "The truck is scheduled to reach us from Mexico on Thursday the eighth, sometime in the afternoon. I'll get a call on my cell about two hours before they arrive so we'll have plenty of time to get ready. It will probably take us a couple of hours to get everything out of the truck and into the warehouse. Once we lock up the gate we'll be home free."

"Yeah, using that old abandoned quarry is genius. Best part is that it's on old man Bascomb's property. Nobody ever goes out there." There was some idle chatter and the clinking of glasses before the meeting broke up. We all turned to Lucy who was clearly livid.

"The fourth voice is that of Gil Parsons…Jeremy's partner in crime and on the force. I know exactly where the quarry they referred to is and they're right—nobody ever goes there. It's fenced with barbed wire on top and the gates are always locked. I don't know how Carl Haynes got a key, but I'll venture that he stole it from my father at one of his parties. The other voice is that of Stan Irwin. He's a lieutenant on the force. Geez, the whole force is corrupt."

"Not the whole force, fortunately, but enough to make sure they were never caught. I'd like to know how long this has been going on. Daryl and I will have a plan to deal with them long before Thursday."

Julia took over the meeting then. "Thank you for your assistance, Lucy. It was extremely valuable. Do you think we can get a key for the gate?" Lucy laughed and pulled her key ring from her purse. A minute later she handed a big key to Julia. "This one should do it, but I think we might want to try it first in case the lock has been changed." We spent the rest of the day laying plans for an ambush. We'd have more than thirty state police and DEA agents and Lucy promised a couple of big ore carrying trucks to block the entrance once they were inside the quarry's perimeter. Daryl and I would participate as representatives of the local police, but I insisted that Lucy stay home. In fact, I made a point of speaking with her father about her staying with them for safety. He assured me that he'd have two of the huge trucks in the area long before the Thursday deadline.

Through the bugs and phone taps we knew more than a day in advance approximately when the big drug truck would arrive in Bascomb's Landing. There are times when interagency operations have failed because of petty jealousies or ineffective communications, but not this time. We were in place before the cell phone call to Carl Haynes took place. The two ultra heavy duty ore trucks that were "borrowed" from a Bascomb pit mine about four hundred miles away arrived on Wednesday afternoon. The drivers stayed with Jonathan and Marylou overnight. Lucy told me that these trucks got less than a mile a gallon of diesel fuel. Fortunately, they have two two-hundred and fifty gallon tanks. They were hidden about five miles away on a friend's farm until called to the scene. The drivers were ready by noon on Thursday.

>>>>>>

Our first step was to arrest Stan Irwin at his home once Parsons had taken his squad car. Daryl, Max, and I knocked on his front door while Dan Powell covered the back. Stan appeared confused when he saw us, but he opened the door to talk. "You need to come with us, Stan. I have a warrant for your arrest on conspiracy to sell and distribute illegal drugs. Where's your squad car?"

"You're wrong, Chief. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"All the same, you're coming with us. Let's go."

"Just let me get my jacket." He started to turn away, but I stopped him by drawing my revolver and telling him to stay where he was.

"There's no place to run, Stan. The back is covered and you're not making any phone calls. We have you jammed. Turn around and place your hands behind your back." Once he was under control Daryl walked inside to check for any weapons. I read his Miranda rights as we walked him to the car. We dropped him off at the staging point behind an old and unused strip mall less than a mile from the quarry under the custody of the state police. Our next stop was just outside the quarry.

I parked my SUV about a quarter mile behind Parsons who was stationed just outside the open gates to the quarry. There was a lot of brush on the shoulder to cover our approach if we stayed low. I told Dan to stay back in case Parsons was able to escape. "If necessary, fire at his tires. You'll give us away, but that can't be helped." Dan nodded his agreement as we stole away until we were almost up to the squad car. Daryl noticed that Parsons had the windows open and was smoking—a definite no-no in police vehicles. That would help us if we could get close enough.

Definitely worth the read

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