Muerte - Death, It's What I Do E-Book

John W. Wood

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Within the shadows of the US Government, a decision has been made to declare war on the drug trade. Only a few know about this no holds-barred-war.

Colonel Ethan Wade, USMC, has been assigned to place a mole within the Mexican Cartel. Colonel Wade calls upon a man from within his Black Ops team, Ricardo 'Rico' Garcia, also known by his Marine handle, ‘Muerte.’ Rico is known within black ops as a Speed-Killer, and is given free rein to do whatever needs to be done to destroy the drug trade.

Rico’s cover is layers deep, and neither the DEA, FBI, nor Homeland Security know anything of his primary mission. But when someone from his past gets stirred into the mix, someone who knows who Rico is and where he comes from, things get complicated. Recruited by the cartel to spy on Rico, the two end up on a one-way ride into the desert - a ride of which results will wreak havoc across the United States and redefine the balance of power in the country.

Leseprobe

Muerte

Death, It's What I Do

John W. Wood

Copyright (C) 2020 John W. Wood

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Edited by Rich Wildbur

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

SPECIAL THANKS TO: Rich Wildbur (Editor) John W. Lesich Curt Beckner Don Dupay Robert Muccigrosso Michael J Schroeder James Farrell Steve Esparza

DEDICATED TO My Partner, Mary Felix Thank You, Mary, For Your Love, EncouragementAnd Insight

Chapter One

Afghanistan

Ricardo (Rico) Garcia, Marine handle, 'Muerte' was concealed in a ghillie suit, watched as a two-and-a-half-ton truck drove into the enemy encampment below. The terrorist commander, a tall, slender, bearded man, dressed in khakis, greeted the driver. Another man stepped out of the truck from the passenger side. Carrying an AK-47 rifle, he joined the commander and the driver. Rico clicked the talk button on his radio twice and then picked up a laser designator. Using the sight on the designator, he painted the truck below with an unseen laser light source. A group of men and chattering women came out of a cave a few yards away. They went to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. Moments later, a laser-guided bomb destroyed the truck, killing all of the men and women standing next to it. Picking up his radio, Rico clicked the talk button three times. After packing the targeting device into a canvas camo-bag, Rico removed a pair of night-vision binoculars. Scanning the target area, Rico's stomach knotted; pain and anguish forced a sob from his throat. Bits and pieces of what once were children covered the ground. The truck was not only carrying munitions, but also the children of the terrorists'.

Chapter Two

Las Vegas, Nevada

Three Years Later

Rico Garcia staggered down Las Vegas Boulevard, known as “The Strip.” Rico occasionally bumped into people who looked with disdain at the apparently drunken tourist. 'What a shame,' some thought, 'a nice looking young man acting like that in public.'

Unnoticed by the pedestrians were the three men following the drunk. One, a large man, spoke to the others, “There's an alley up ahead, we'll take him there.” The two accomplices nodded their heads in understanding. The big one slipped his hand under his shirt and felt the handle of the pistol tucked in his belt.

When the attack came, it was done smoothly, drawing little or no attention from the passersby. But what did draw their attention was when Rico Garcia exploded into a fury of controlled mayhem. Before the would-be muggers knew what happened, two were unconscious, and the big one wished he was, too. His broken nose and the empty space where a front tooth used to be, hurt like hell.

Reaching into his back pants pocket, Rico withdrew coiled flex cuffs, cuffing the big one first and then the others.

On the street, in front of the alley, two unmarked Metro police vehicles screeched to a halt, and four men in jeans and T-shirts jumped out. The four pushed through the gathering crowd and entered the alley. Sergeant Barnes, Las Vegas Metro, looked down at the three cuffed men and then at Rico. “Dammit, Rico, now we have to take them to the hospital before we book 'em.”

Rico replied, with a smirk, “I was attacked by three guys, one of them was armed. You should have gotten here faster.” The other officers, who were helping the battered muggers to their feet, unsuccessfully suppressed their grins at Rico's reply. Barnes saw the smiles but said nothing.

Barnes said to Rico, “You alright? You need to go to the hospital?”

“I'm good,” said Rico, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. After pulling on the gloves, Rico reached down and picked up the mugger's pistol. Pressing the magazine release, Rico removed the magazine and then pulled back the slide, ejecting a nine-millimeter round from the chamber. Handing an evidence bag to Rico, Barnes said, “Be sure to tag those as evidence to justify why these assholes have broken noses and nickel-sized knots on their heads.”

Barnes eyed Garcia as he bagged the evidence, thinking, 'He hasn't even mussed his fricken' hair, and his clothes look like he just put them on.' “Good job, Rico,” said Barnes, taking the offered tagged evidence. “That makes ten you've arrested this month.”

“Could have been more,” said Rico.

“Yeah, right,” replied Barnes, “But I want to keep my job, so we'll just keep doing it according to the book.”

Grinning, Rico patted Barnes on the back, “By the book.”

Chapter Three

Metro Offices

Charles Conrad, of Las Vegas Metro, the commander of the Major Crimes section, sat behind his desk with his phone to his ear. “Yes, sir, I'll get on it right away. Yes, sir, Barnes called saying they were on their way in. I'll talk to him when he gets here. Yes, sir, I'll call intel.” Conrad hung up the phone and then sat back in his chair with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. 'Well, what do you know! We've been given the green light for “Task Force Serpent”!' thought Conrad. 'This wouldn't have happened this soon if we didn't have Rico working for us.'

Rico quickly became Major Crime's number one UC (undercover). Rico was trained as a grunt when he joined the Marines. But he hadn't been a grunt for long. Rico's intelligence and quick thinking caught the eye of someone in the Corps. He was reassigned to a unit so classified that even Metro couldn't do a full background check on him. A Marine officer was sent to answer questions for the personnel department. Then when Rico went through the police academy, he aced all of the academic and physical tests. He fired expert with every weapon his instructors handed him to shoot.

Conrad smiled, thinking, 'But Rico Garcia wasn't arrogant. One would never know how good he was unless you worked with him and saw him in action.' A knock on his office door got Conrad's attention. Sitting up in his chair, he said, “Yeah, come in!”

Barnes opened the door and entered Conrad's office. “You wanted to see me?”

“Come in, close the door, and have a seat,” Conrad told Barnes.

After closing the door, Barnes sat down in one of the four chairs in front of the commander's desk.

“We have the green light to move on the trafficking,” Conrad told Barnes. “We will use Rico as the UC. I'll get ahold of Intel, ICE, and the FBI for a briefing. We'll meet in the conference room tomorrow at 0800. I want Rico and the rest of your crew there, too. Anything you have planned is to be tabled. You'll be working this to its completion, which could take up to a year, maybe longer.”

“Rico got three more muggers down on the strip,” said Barnes.

Conrad, with a lop-sided smile, replied, “Did he take them by himself again?”

“Yeah, we took all three to the hospital before we booked them. The one with the gun, a big sucker, had a broken nose and a front tooth knocked out. The other two are just gonna be sore for a couple of weeks; nothing was broken.”

“Barnes, you talk to him. I don't want Rico crossing the line and being accused of brutality.”

“I'll have a talk with him. By the way, I hear homicide had another murder in the hood. Do they think it's the same guy? Any chance that we've got a serial killer offing these guys?”

“Actually, it was two dead guys, and yeah, they think they have a serial killer working the hood. The body count is now eight, at least that they know of. Keep it to yourself though; homicide doesn't want it out yet,”

“Right,” replied Barnes. “See you in the morning. Oh, and I'll talk to Rico.”

Chapter Four

Homicide Desk

Homicide detective, David Kowalski, sat at his desk. His index finger was wrapped through and around the handle of a thick, white, coffee-stained mug. The mug was a gift from Cliff, the owner of Devlin's Bar. Devlin's was a convenient place where David used to eat most of his meals while going through his divorce. Taking a sip of the cold coffee, David frowned. 'Shit,' he thought and stood up. He reached down, closed the file on his desk, and headed for the lunchroom.

Detective Kelly Campbell, a leggy forty-year-old blond, and the reason for David's divorce saw him coming. “David, if you're getting a warm-up, would you do mine, please?”

Angling towards Kelly's desk, David smiled at her. “Sure,” he replied.

Kelly handed David her cup, asking, “Anything new on your serial?”

Shaking his head no, David said, “Not a thing, except for two more mutilated bodies. One had his jaw ripped off. What kinda animal would do such a thing?”

Kelly shook her head, “There are plenty of them out there. Put a spoon of sugar in that will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” said David, and then headed once again for the lunchroom.

As David walked away, Kelly eyed his butt. It never got old to her, seeing how David's slacks hugged his firm cheeks. The two of them were assigned as partners three years ago. After a couple of months, their sexual chemistry became too much for either of them to fight. The first time was in their police car. From that time on, they met whenever and wherever possible. But they met once too often. They were photographed by a private detective hired by David's soon-to-be ex-wife. David gave his wife a no-contest settlement, half of his retirement, the house, and their new Chrysler. In return, she didn't complain to the PD about Kelly. David and Kelly got to keep their jobs, but each was given a new partner. David moved into Kelly's house, and they cooled it at the office. A year later, they were married.

David walked into the lunchroom and saw his new partner, John Foster, a rugby player with a great sense of humor. “Morning, John,” said David.

Coffee cup in hand, John looked up and said, “Morning, you're in early.”

“Kelly got called in early, so I rode along with her. I've been going over the serial killer file. You know, it's just strange that there have been no leads or any usable evidence. I think this guy has some training in forensics.”

“I think you're right on the forensics,” replied John, “Maybe an ex-cop?”

“That's a thought… or maybe a working cop?”

John filled David's coffee-mug, saying, “Man, wouldn't that be something?”

Taking a sip from his mug, David smiled at the jolt of caffeine and then said, “Well, the un-sub (unknown subject) probably watches a lot of reality cop shows on TV. It's a good training place for wanna-be criminals.”

Chapter Five

The Next Day

Rico Garcia, asleep and dreaming, tossed and turned in his bed. His mouth moved as if speaking, but only muffled grunting could be heard. A cry of anguish came loudly across his lips. Rico sat bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping from his body.

Rico grabbed his head with both hands, his body shaking. Letting go of his head, Rico angrily threw the sheets aside and got out of bed. Naked, Rico went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, feeling the water with his hand for temperature. In the bedroom, his alarm went off, its irritating buzz getting his attention. Ignoring the alarm, Rico stepped into the shower and stood under the needle spray, the water beating down on his head and shoulders.

Flashes of his dream played in his head, of children, children he destroyed with the push of a button. As the images began to fade, Rico turned off the water. Rico reached out to the towel rack, retrieved a bath towel, and started to dry off his body. When he stepped from the shower, the images were gone. But there was anger and self-loathing at what he had done. Rico walked into the bedroom and turned off the alarm.

He dropped to the floor and began doing pushups. As the count reached 100, Rico pushed the negative feelings from his mind. He stood up and returned to the bathroom to shave and get ready for work.

At the police station, Rico headed toward the conference room, passing by detective Kowalski's desk. Detective John Foster's desk faced David's and was butted up against his. The two looked up as Rico walked past, “Morning,” said David to Rico.

“Morning,” replied Rico. “How's your case coming along?”

“Got two more,” said John, flipping open a file on his desk. “Found them in the hood the other night.”

Rico looked down at the file, seeing photos of the two dead men who appeared to be Latinos. Looking closer, Rico said, “Military. I'd say the guy who killed them was military.”

David got up and went to John's desk. Looked at the photos and then asked, “How do you figure that?”

Rico pointed from one photo to the other, “This man was stabbed in the kidney, his throat was slit, and then he was stabbed in the heart. That series of knife strikes are standard for sentry removal. The one with his jaw ripped off, I'd say the un-sub (unidentified subject) also practices what we in the Corps call tearing karate. When you get the autopsy results back, I'll bet they'll say the victim's sternum is crushed, and his heart is damaged.”

David looked at John, and then the two looked at Rico. “You've done this, haven't you?” asked John.

Rico looked at his watch and replied, “Gotta go, I have a meeting in the conference room.”

The two detectives watched Rico walk away, and then they both looked more closely at the crime scene photos. Picking up a picture, David examined it, “A military guy; it makes sense.”

John, lowering his voice, said, “Flow, in personnel… she told me a little about Rico; she was at the special interview.”

“Special interview?” asked David.

“The Marines sent an officer to answer questions about Rico; he'd left some blanks on his application. He said he wasn't sure how much he could share.”

“So what did Flow say?”

“Rico was in a particular unit that we still don't know the name of, and the Marine officer refused to share; said it was classified. The officer did say that Rico received a Silver Star and four Bronze Stars with combat V. Can you believe it, he has three purple hearts? It seems he was good at whatever it was he did and that he usually worked alone. All in all, the officer told personnel that Rico is, loyal, intelligent, and a nice guy.”

“Yeah, a nice guy… if he's on your side,” replied David. “I sure wouldn't want to be the one to piss him off. Have you ever shook hands with him? His hands are hard as a rock. No, sir, I wouldn't want him pissed at me.”

* * *

In the conference room, everyone had poured their coffees and were now in their seats. Two outsiders had joined the group, FBI agent Willis Smith, a tall, handsome black man of about forty and Dominic Del Porto, from ICE who had a swarthy complexion and biceps that stretched the sleeves of his sports coat.

Commander Conrad, sitting at the head of the conference table, introduced everyone and then said, “Our goal is to destroy a significant operation of human trafficking and drug smuggling that is centered here in Las Vegas. This group is bringing in girls, many of them youngsters in their early teens, across the Mexican border. There are also young women and teens kidnapped off the streets from across the country. The FBI and ICE will handle the Intel. Sergeant Barnes and Dominic will run surveillance and be Rico's handlers. Now then, Willis, will you give us some background, please?”

Willis stood and opened his laptop. With a few keystrokes, a picture of a man came up on the large screen on the wall for all to see. The image was a surveillance photo of a stocky man with a soul patch beard under his lower lip. He wore his thick graying hair slicked back and tied in a bun at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a flowered shirt and slacks and was standing by a Mercedes sedan. “This is Angel Hernandez, fifty-five years old,” said Willis. “Hernandez is a cartel chieftain. He has a passport stating he is a Mexican citizen. They call him, 'La Cobra' or 'The Viper.' He is ruthless and is reported to kill if he thinks he's been disrespected. He likes to gamble. He plays poker and baccarat for high stakes. Angel likes young girls and often takes possession of a new girl that is brought in.”

Willis gave his laptop a few more keystrokes, and another picture appeared. The man looked like someone out of central casting for bad guys, Willis continued. “This is Victor Gonzales, known as 'El Puño' or 'The Fist.' He is Hernandez's security, Intel guy, and Angel's enforcer. They are seldom apart, except when Angel is with his wife or one of the young girls. Victor, as you can see, is a large man, standing six feet eight inches. He is a karate expert and likes to hurt people. I also have a list of nineteen cartel soldiers, and their photos, that I will hand out to you. But these two are the head of the snake. We want them all, if possible, but these two for sure. Before sitting down, Willis said, “I'm available twenty-four seven and will have contact numbers for those of you in need.

Conrad said, “Thank you, Willis. Dominic: your turn.”

Dominic stood up, reached down, and picked up his coffee cup. He took a drink from it and then placed it back on the table. “I will be working with your UC, preparing him for his contact with the traffickers. I know you are all professionals and already know this, but I have to say it: Do-not-discuss-this-operation-with-anyone! These guys enjoy the kill. They will not hesitate; they kill first and think about it afterward.” Dominic looked down the table to where Rico was sitting. “Rico, I will want to meet with you after we're finished here.”

Chapter Six

Surveillance Briefing

The meeting in the conference room went on for another hour before it broke up. Dominic and Rico stayed behind, waiting for the others to leave. As Sargent Barnes passed by, Dominic reached out and caught him by the arm, “If you can, I'd like you to sit in on this.”

Barnes came around and sat down next to Dominic, who was now sitting at the head of the table. Rico sat across from Barnes. Dominic watched as the last person out the door closed it behind him. “Alright,” said Dominic, “we three are going to be spending a lot of time together. Barnes, it will be our job to protect Rico's back and keep him alive. Rico, your new apartment, is being wired for sound and video. You will also be issued new firearms; these weapons, if traced, will come back as stolen. In the beginning, you will not wear a wire; they'll be watching you closely and checking you often in the beginning. For the next several days, we will meet at a safe-house we have set up. There you will be briefed on your cover story, and a few changes will be made to your appearance.” A look on Rico's face made Dominic smile, “No, no plastic surgery, hair extensions and stop shaving, you'll need to grow some facial hair. Okay, I'll need your cell numbers, and I'll give you mine. I'll contact you later with the address, and the time we'll meet. Any questions?”

Barnes asked, “What about my team and the surveillance?”

“Right! The vehicle is being finished as we speak and will be available to you tomorrow. You, your team, and I will be given instructions on the equipment. Several other vehicles will also be made available to your team. Again, I'll contact you with the meet time and the place.”

Chapter Seven

Mexico

Angel, 'The Viper', Hernandez, felt his heart racing. His ears seemed to be plugged, but his gun-hand did not shake. He always felt this way when he saw the realization come to the man he was about to kill. 'Fucking mule,' he thought, 'skimming some powder from the pack he was carrying across the border. Peons, nothing but peons, you have to teach them a lesson, or they will steal you blind.' The gold plated forty-five bucked in Angel's hand: the mule's head exploding out the back. Blowback from the dead man's forehead speckled Angel's shirt and face.

Angel, handing the pistol to Victor, 'The Fist,' Gonzales, said, “You make sure his body is seen, and that the story gets around that this is what happens when you steal from me.”

“Si, I will see that it is done,” replied Victor.

“And, Victor, we will be going to Las Vegas next week. We have a shipment coming in from California. I want to go in quietly and watch ese pedazo de mierda (that piece of shit), Brendon. I hear bad things about him and the ways he treats the new girls. I will not abide by my property being abused.”

“I will have the jet readied. I shouldn't tell anyone we are coming?”

“No, tell no one. It will be a surprise visit; yes, let's make it a surprise.”

Chapter Eight

Into Character

A week later, Rico looked at his reflection in the mirror. His beard had grown quickly, and he shaped it into a Van Dyke. Using his electric trimmer, he kept the thick black beard short and neat. But it was his hair, it had been a bit long for his undercover operations, but now it was shoulder length with a moña (bun) at the nape of his neck. His brown eyes were now green, thanks to contact lenses. Randolph, the FBI's Special Operation's Specialist, stepped up behind Rico. “What do you think?”

“I can't believe the change in my looks,” replied Rico. “You can't even tell that all of that new hair is extensions.”

“Luckily, you can grow a beard quickly; it really fits the image. Come on over to the table, and we'll give you your tattoo.”

Rico followed Randolph to a small table that had an assortment of bottles containing different colors of ink. Randolph indicated a chair for Rico to sit on, and he took the other. “Give me your left hand.” Rico held his hand out, palm down, and watched as Randolph took a cotton swab dipped it in medical alcohol and cleaned the web of his hand. Randolph picked up a toothpick and dipped it into a bottle containing a blue-black ink. Using the toothpick, Randolph made three dots on the web of Rico's hand. “The three dots tattoo is a prison tattoo. It represents 'mi vida loca' or 'my crazy life.' The symbol is not associated with any particular gang, but with the gang lifestyle itself. Kinda like a motorcycle Nomad, a guy who may or may not belong to a gang.”

Rico looked at his hand, “How long is the ink good for?”

Randolph picked up the ink bottle and began replacing the cap, “Oh, it's yours. That shit never comes off.”

The look on Rico's face made Randolph quickly added, “Just joking, just joking. I'll give you the bottle, and you can renew it ever so often.”

Rico stood up and offered his hand to Randolph, “Thanks. Oh, and by the way, what do I do as my hair grows longer?”

Randolph got up from his seat and said, “I'll cut the extensions as your hair grows out. Eventually, I'll be cutting your own hair. Just let Barnes or Dominic know when you need a cut, and they will contact me for an appointment. After a while, you can go to whomever you want for a cut.”

Minutes later, Rico stood outside the building in the hot Nevada sun. He slipped on his Jaguar Sunglasses and then went to the new black Jaguar XJ that had once been owned by a white-collar thief who had run a Ponzi scheme in New York. Rico smiled and pressed the start button of the Jag and felt the torque of the engine.

Looking at the speedometer, Rico wondered if the Jag would really do the 190 miles per hour indicated on the speedometer. He knew he'd have to try it sometime.

Rico pulled away from the curb and headed toward his meeting with Barnes and Dominic at his new apartment.

Chapter Nine

Just Like Rico Said

Homicide Detective David Kowalski, and his partner John Foster, watched as the coroner pulled back the sheet covering the corpse. The dead man, his chest cavity open, with his interworkings exposed, stared at the white ceiling with dead eyes. David and John both looked away, sickened by the fact the man's lower jaw was missing. The coroner, appearing unaffected by the scene, said, “The victim died of blunt force trauma to the chest that stopped his heart… or from shock after his jaw was ripped from his face. In my eighteen years at this, I have never seen such a brutal murder. It appears to me that this was done by bare hands, no weapons were used.”

John and David forced themselves to look at the body. The coroner said, “See here where the ribs are broken? I believe that was done with a closed fist.” Then, pointing to the remaining teeth of the deceased, he continued, the teeth were knocked out by a punch followed by a grab and twist, removing the lower jaw. Your suspect is a martial artist, probably trained in some form of Karate.”

David looked at John and said, “When I was in the Navy, I heard stories about Japanese karate guys that could do this sort of thing. They called it tearing karate; said the heart could be ripped from a man's body with their bare hands. Rico told me there would be trauma to the chest. Maybe we should talk to him and get more info about this.”

John turned to the coroner, “The other victim was stabbed. What can you tell us about that one?”

The coroner said, “Three stab wounds, one to the kidney; his throat was cut from artery to artery, and then he was stabbed in the heart. A sharp, heavy blade was used, possibly a combat knife.”

David thought, 'Just like Rico said, killed militarily.' “Okay, Doc, thanks, we appreciate your time.”

“You are welcome. You should have my report on your desk tomorrow morning.”

Outside the coroner's office, David and John walked across the parking lot and got into their police unit. As David started the car, he said, “The Vic with the stab wounds was standing guard on a dope house, right?” As John fastened his seatbelt, he replied, “That's the way we have it figured, and we think the other VIC showed up unexpectedly and was killed.”

The car radio crackled, a woman's voice came over the speaker, “774.”

John picked up the microphone, “774.”

Dispatch replied, “Meet the officer at 702 north Bronson Avenue, a reported 419” (dead body)

John keyed the mic, “774, 10-4 we are en route.”

Chapter Ten

An Airstrip, Mexico

Victor Gonzales walked to his Mercedes, opened the door, and got in behind the wheel. In the background, the whine of jet engines and the roar of a twin-engine prop aircraft could be heard. Victor closed the car door, nearly cutting off all outside sounds. Pulling his smartphone from its holster, Victor said, “Cobra.”

A female voice on the phone said, “Calling Cobra.”

A moment later, the phone was answered, “What?”

Victor replied, “The bird is loaded and ready; I'll pick you up in thirty.”

“Bueno.” And the phone call ended.

Unseen by Victor, a man dressed in coveralls stood by the aviation fuel pumps. The man punched a speed dial number on a cell phone as he watched Victor leave. “This is Delta 68; the Snake has filed a flight plan for North Las Vegas. ETA is 2000 hours.” The man pocketed his cell and then stepped out of sight behind the fuel pumps.