Chapter Five
Caleb
“You sure you're up for this?”
I look over at Tony and give him a smirk. “Of course, I'm up for it,” I reply. “Why wouldn't I be?”
Tony shrugged and grinned at me. “You just look a little hungover, that's all.”
Truth is, I am a bit hungover. But I don't want to tell Tony that. He's relying on me to be his backup for this job. But I'd gone out the night before and although I didn't mean to, I'd tied on one a little too hard. Woke up in some random girl's bed with my head pounding like a son of a bitch.
I didn't remember much from the night before, but getting a good look at that tight little ass in bed next to me told me that it had been a good night indeed.
Of course, I spent the day hydrating and trying to recover knowing that I had to meet Tony tonight to nail down his bounty. I don't usually do a lot of work chasing down bail jumpers, but I did a little now and then. When there weren't a lot of soon-to-be divorcee looking for dirt on their significant others or missing people to track down, bounty hunting filled in the financial gaps.
Tonight, is Tony's bounty though – I'm just there for the added muscle. He and I go way back – I'd done a couple of tours with him in Afghanistan. Tony is a stand-up guy. A good man. I'd put my life in his hands more times than I can count, and he's done the same with me.
When I finally rotated out of the Corps and came back to the States, it was Tony who helped me get set up as a PI and a bail bondsman. After everything we'd seen and done over there, he knew better than anybody that a nine-to-five office job wasn't going to work for me. He knew that you couldn't adjust to life in a cubicle after spending years on a battlefield.
“I'm good, man,” I said.
“You read the file, yeah?”
I give him a thumbs up. “Of course, I did.”
He looks at me and I can see the skepticism in his face. Tony knows me pretty well and knows my disdain for paperwork. But he also knows that he can count on me when he's up against it. Knows I'll always have his back.
“You read the whole file?” he presses.
I start to nod before stopping myself and flashing him a crooked grin. “I may have – skimmed – certain parts.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Of course, you did.”
“Don't worry, man,” I say. “It's going to be fine. We'll get your bad guy and then go out for a beer.”
“It might not be the walk in the park you –”
“Come on, man,” I cut him off, “he's a twenty-four-year-old dope dealer. He's not some hardass criminal mastermind. And he's definitely not any more dangerous than some of those shitheads we dealt with over in Afghanistan.”
“True, but –”
“He's armed,” I say and tap on my chest. “I know. Got my vest on already.”
Tony chuckles and shakes his head again. “Just make sure to keep your eyes open and your head on a swivel, dude.”
“You know me,” I reply. “I'm always ready for anything.”
“Yeah, you're gonna need to be.”
We get out of the car and head toward the small duplex. The neighborhood is run down, dirty, riddled with crime. There are bars on the windows of most every home and the place is infested with drugs and gangbangers.
In other words, it's the perfect place to find the scumbag we're looking for.
“Okay, here's the plan,” Tony says. “I'm going around back. This dude is a runner and is probably going to bolt at the first sign you're there. You flush him out and I'll be waiting to scoop his ass up.”
“Easy peasy,” I say.
“Yeah, well, just remember to keep that head on a swivel like I said,” he says. “And keep your comms open.”
I snap him a quick salute. “Yes, sir.”
I watch him trot around toward the back of the house. I check my earpiece and make sure my comms are open so we can keep in direct communication with one another. Plans are great things to have, but they seldom went exactly as you laid them out. And as long as we can communicate, we can adjust to whatever wrench gets thrown into the works.
After giving Tony a couple of minutes to get into position, I head up the front walk and up the three crumbling brick steps to the porch.
“At the door,” I say softly into my comm piece. “You ready?”
“Roger that,” Tony's voice comes back to me.
I nod to myself and pound on the door as forcefully as I can and shout. “Recovery agents, open the door.”
Much to my surprise, as I'm beating on the door, it flies inward, crashing into the wall behind it. With my gun in hand, pointed at the ground, I step inside, my eyes scanning the entire room. It's empty. I strain my ears and listen, my body tense and poised to fight.
The inside of the house looks a lot like the outside – dirty, cluttered, disgusting. There are empty pizza boxes, beer bottles, and dirty dishes covering every surface I can see – even the floor. The stink in this place is unbearable. I've been in porta-potties in the middle of a heat wave that have smelled better. It's all I can do to avoid gagging.
“Caleb, sitrep,” Tony's voice came to me through my earpiece, asking for the situation report.
I keyed the mic open. “He's in here,” I say quietly. “I know he is. Just gotta flush him out.”
“Head on a swivel.”
“Roger that.”
I have plenty of experience crashing houses like this – I've been on more than my share of raids back in Afghanistan. And because of that, I developed an almost sixth sense about things – and that sixth sense is telling me that I'm not alone in the house.
“Recovery agents,” I call out. “Come out now.”
I stand statue still in the center of the room, extending my senses our as far as they can go. I know the guy is in here, I just don't know where. Moving slowly and quietly, I head toward the doorway that looks like it leads to the kitchen.
Gun drawn and held out in front of me, I step through the doorway and that's when all hell breaks loose. There's a flurry of movement as a man – our target – burst out of hiding and headed for the back door.
“Target's on the move,” I called into my comm. “Rabbiting your way.”
I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye a split second before things could have gotten really bad. A woman – all five foot two and ninety pounds of her – who I didn't see upon coming through the doorway, was swinging a cast iron skillet directly at my head. I managed to get my arm up a moment before impact, deflecting the worst of the blow – from my head at least.
My forearm went numb immediately after the skillet made contact with it, making me drop my weapon. Though I took the worst of the blow on the arm and made the skillet alter its trajectory, it still managed to glance off the side of my head. I see stars briefly and there is a high-pitched ringing in my head, but I manage to remain on my feet.
Good thing too, because the ninety pound hellcat is just behind her skillet – on me before I had a chance to recover. She's screaming, hissing, and clawing at my eyes. If it wasn't a situation that could go really badly in the blink of an eye, it would be funny. As it is though, I need to get the little hellcat off me before she gets herself hurt.
My arm is throbbing in pain from her skillet maneuver, but I don't think anything was broken. It's likely going to leave one hell of a nasty bruise though. I grab the woman by the back of her neck and pull her off me. She's tenacious and tough as hell, but because she weighs next to nothing, I manage to break her hold on me pretty easily.
I toss her to the side where she lands on her butt with a grunt. Seeing my gun on the floor, the small girl scrambles for it, but I'm far quicker than she is. I snatch the gun up and point it directly at her face.
“If I were you, I'd stay down,” I say menacingly. “You've already pissed me off. You don't want to make things any worse.”
She spits on my shoe and curses me out in Spanish. But she's smart enough to remain seated on the dirty ass floor. My gun still trained on her, I key open the mic on my comms.
“Tony, sitrep,” I say. “You okay?”
“Situation is green. Asshole in custody,” he replies, a chuckle in his voice. “What the hell is going on in there? Sounds like a catfight.”
The chuckle in his voice told me he knew what would be waiting for me in there. Knew that the biggest hassle was going to be the girlfriend, not the target.
“You're an asshole,” I say, shaking my head, unable to keep myself from laughing. “What do you to do about princess here? We baggin' her too?”
“Nah,” Tony replies. “No bounty on her. Leave her and let's split. Just – don't turn your back on her.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” I say. “Could've used that about five minutes ago.”
All I hear is Tony's laughter before he keys his comm closed. I look down at the girl who's staring back at me with pure hatred in her eyes.
“Why you always hasslin' Angel,” she spits. “He's only tryin' to provide for his family.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, maybe he wants to consider doing something other than selling drugs.”
“Yeah, like it's easy as that.”
“Listen lady, it's not my problem,” I say. “He broke the terms of his bail. That's on him and has nothing to do with me. I'm just doing my job.”
“Yeah, well your job sucks, puto,” she curses. “And you suck. Get out of my house, asshole.”
I keep my weapon out, but lower it to my side. “Fine,” I say. “I'm going. But it'd be smart for you to remain sitting where you are until I'm out the back door. Got it?”
“I said get out!” she shouted.
Not wanting to get hit with another skillet or saucepan or some shit like that, I back toward the door, keeping my eyes on her. She remains seated, staring daggers at me the whole way. When I finally get out the back door, I close it tight and turn around to find Tony standing there looking at me, laughing his ass off. Angel is sitting at Tony's feet, his hands locked together with zip ties behind his back, looking like the most miserable man in the world.
I laugh. “I'm seriously gonna kick your ass for that,” I say. “She damn near broke my arm.”
Tony shrugs. “But hey, she didn't,” he replies. “So, it's all good.”
We haul Angel to his feet and march him out to the car, our work for the night done.