Ana Rocha:
Shadows of Justice
Ana Rocha: Shadows of Justice
Ammar Habib
Glenda V. Mendoza
ANA ROCHA: SHADOWS OF JUSTICE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
Copyright © 2018 by Ammar Habib
Cover Art by Fiona Jayde
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author(s).
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition: February 2018
First Printing: February 2018
For more information, please visit:
www.ammarahsenhabib.com
Other works by the Ammar Habib include:
Dark Guardian
Dark Guardian: A New Dawn
Dark Guardian: Legends
Memories Of My Future
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all the officers who put their lives on the line every day in order to help keep us safe.
Ammar would also like to dedicate this book to:
His mother, father, brother,
And his great-grandfather, Amir Baig Mirza,
A police inspector and the first writer in his family
Glenda would like to specially dedicate this story to:
Her grandmother, Glenda Vivian Rocha,
And to her father, mother, brother, and daughter
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1: Trial By Fire
Chapter 2: Deadly Encounters
Chapter 3: Growing Pains
Chapter 4: The Vow
Chapter 5: Partners
Chapter 6: Two Lives
Chapter 7: Reconnaissance
Chapter 8: The Bust
Chapter 9: The Line
Chapter 10: Bryan
Chapter 11: Vinny The Rat
Chapter 12: One Shot
Chapter 13: One Life
Chapter 14: Angela
Chapter 15: The Raid
Chapter 16: Den of Wolves
Chapter 17: Peace
Setting & List of Characters
Setting:
Houston, Texas in 1999
Protagonist:
Ana Rocha – a 22-year-old Hispanic lady born and raised in Houston
Main Characters:
Bryan Fulton – Ana’s partner
Captain Scott “Cap” – Ana’s superior officer
Ben Smith – an FBI agent
Queen Bee (Ebony Thorne) – the head of the Los Familia gang
Vinny the Rat – Queen Bee’s infamous lieutenant
Ana Rocha’s Family:
Angela – Ana’s deceased sister
Ramon – Ana’s brother
Laura – Ana’s sister-in-law, Ramon’s wife
Introduction
Thank you for picking up a copy of Ana Rocha: Shadows of Justice! We certainly hope that you enjoy reading this thrilling adventure as much as we enjoyed creating it!
One of the main original motivations for writing this novel was to show a narrative from a police officer's perspective. We wished to present a story that showcases some sacrifices that not just narcotics officers, but all officers, make. In today's day and age, this side of the coin is often overlooked.
Glenda’s background with law enforcement, particularly her former experience as an undercover narcotics officer, allowed us to ground this story in reality and keep it as true as possible to what an officer might face in the field. This definitely shows in our protagonist, Ana, and many of the scenarios she faces.
We’d like to end by thanking you. An author is nothing without his readers, and we truly appreciate your support. We do not take it lightly when readers select this book out of the countless works available. We look forward to the honor of hearing your thoughts someday. Glenda and I hope this story pulls you in and that you enjoy the ride!
Thank you.
Your friends,
Ammar & Glenda
February 2018
Chapter 1
Trial by Fire
There are times when I’m sure I see her.
She’s standing in the doorway. She’s watching me from the hilltop. She’s staring back at me from the mirror. But then I remember that these are nothing more than mirages.
Because she’s never coming back.
***
The two men rush me, switchblades in hand.
Come on, Ana. Get control of yourself. Remember everything. Don’t get emotional. Predict and attack—predict and attack.
Miller is the closer of the two. The right side of his body is cocked back. He’ll lead with his right. A quick glance at the lackey tells me that he’s waiting for his boss to make the first move. Blood running from his broken nose, the lackey keeps his eyes on Miller. Once his boss attacks, the lackey will follow to finish me off.
Or so he thinks. My heart is racing—my mind runs wild. But I control my breathing like I was taught.
Wait for it. The best offense is a good defense. Wait for it. Let him make the first move. He’ll come at you with the knife. Ignore the blood and block out the pain. Concentrate on him. Patience… patience… patience.
There is a moment of calm. Then he makes his move.
Miller lunges at me with his knife. But I already saw it coming and sidestep him with ease. The blade runs right by me. As he misses, I step up into him.
Attack with precision. Don’t go for the finishing blow. Just stun him to even out the odds. Finish him later.
My open palm strikes Miller right below his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him.
“Uuuff—”
I bring my knee up. It hits him right between his legs. Before he can even fully register the pain, I powerfully strike his skull with my elbow. He spits out a stream of blood right before I forcefully shove him onto the concrete ground.
Turning around, I dodge the lackey’s knife, leaving it to cut the air a few inches away from me. Grabbing his wrist, I powerfully yank him in close while keeping my free hand’s palm open.
Make this strike count. Finish him before Miller regains his composure.
Forcing him close enough, my palm mercilessly nails his trachea. His eyes widen. His whole body goes numb for a few moments as he lets out a gurgle. Any harder and it may have killed him. The knife falls from his hand and loudly lands on the ground. Grabbing him by his hair. I smash his face against the metallic hood of my car with everything I’ve got. His face fills with blood and his unconscious body collapses.
I waste no time and twirl around. Miller comes back at me with his knife. I duck and his blade passes right over me. Coming up, I grab his wrist and twist his arm while powerfully kicking him in the stomach.
Finish him quickly. No telling how many others he might have here.
He howls in pain as he lets go of the knife and stumbles back. Taking advantage, I snatch up the switchblade and spring onto him. I ruthlessly jam the blade right into his calf, making him fall to his knees as he howls in even more pain. Seizing his hair, I raise my other fist and bring it down. The blow draws blood. It comes down again. More blood. Again.
Still holding him by
his hair, I bring up my knee and shove his head towards it. They both collide with enough force to be heard at the front of the store. I let go of the bloodied body and it falls to the ground.
But there is no time to think. Right as his unconscious body hits the ground, I hear something behind me.
The fight’s not over yet.
***
Days Earlier:
My first assignment on the new job: buy crack.
It’s not what you might be thinking. I’m not a drugee and neither is the person who ordered me to get the drugs. I’m not a dealer either. In fact, I’m the complete opposite. I’m the type of person that puts dealers behind bars. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve just become.
They did not bother to teach me much my first day as an undercover narcotics officer. I guess their idea of training was a trial by fire. With five-hundred big ones in hand, I was told to not come back until I had that amount in drugs.
I won’t forget the look on that one officer’s face. From the way he carried himself, it’s obvious that he thinks he’s “the man” of this unit. His eyes were condemning when he saw me enter the building and mocking when I left. I guess he doesn’t think pretty gals can do this sort of work.
Can’t wait to wipe that smile off his face.
But I can’t think of that right now. Armed with a freshly issued Glock, shining badge, fake ID, and my wits, I’ve got a job to do. And knowing what I know, I have a pretty good idea of where to start.
I’ve never handled drugs, let alone taken them, in my life. My family is strict Roman Catholic, and I would not even dare mention drugs in front of my folks. But growing up Hispanic in South Houston, I’ve seen people I know—people close to me—use them, take them, and sometimes even die by their hands. I’ve seen dealers, and I’ve seen their customers. I know what to look for and how to attract them to me.
Now, I’ll use that knowledge to bust them.
***
My mother always told me to dress for success. However, today I’ll be giving that advice a twist. The first thing I do after leaving the station is go back home and dress the part. If you want to attract dealers, you’ve got to be dressed accordingly. During my teenage years and early adulthood, I’ve been approached by dealers out of the blue. Of course, I always turned them down. But what I learned is that your presentation can act as a magnet. Dress too nice and they won’t approach you because they’ll think you’re square. Dress too down and they’ll think you don’t have the money. Somewhere between there is a nice medium.
Having changed in my apartment, I return to my car. Well, it’s not really my car. It’s my ‘undercover car’ as Captain Scott referred to it when he gave me the keys this morning. And just like me, it also looks the part. It’s a beat down 1995 Dodge Avenger—the first model of its kind. This model came out my senior year in high-school and I had begged my parents to get me one, but they didn’t see the value of getting me an overpriced car. That was not even five years ago, but feels like yesterday. How ironic that it’s the one given to me for my line-of-work.
The once bright red paint that I remember seeing in the ads is fading and the rims are more expensive than the car. The insides are a little torn up from the typical wear-and-tear that all vehicles experience. When this car was built four years ago, I’m sure it was a beauty. But now it’s just a shadow of its former self.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I cannot help but admire my badge. It’s silver with a picture of the great state of Texas in the middle. Or, as we Texans call it, the nation of Texas. Above it are the words ‘Harris County’ and higher than those words are the emboldened letters spelling ‘Deputy’. ‘Sheriff Dept’ is written below the image of Texas. And last, but not least, is my name: Ana G. Rocha
I check my pistol before driving off. The worst thing that can happen today is for it to jam when needed. As I eject the clip and give it a one over, the satirical part of my mind plays the imaginary headline: Undercover Officer Killed on First Day due to Jammed Gun.
That would be a bummer.
A few minutes later, I pull up to a run-down convenience store. It’s a beat down place with rusting walls and barred windows. A couple of the windows are cracked and one is broken. I guess that explains the reasoning for the metal bars. It’s the stereotypical convenience store for an inner city neighborhood and is definitely the kind of place you’d find the people I’m looking for.
There never is much of a spring in Texas and even less so in Houston. The seasons here are two months of winter and ten months of summer. It’s only April, but it’s already hot—some might call it scorching. Even in the clothes I’m wearing, I feel myself burning under the immense heat.
I thought I’d be nervous when the time for this came. But I’m not. My heart’s beating like crazy, but I’m not afraid. Maybe I’ve rehearsed this so many times in my head that I know everything that’ll happen by heart. Or maybe it’s just the adrenaline kicking in. Either way, I’m not complaining.
Entering the store, I see him right away. He’s lank and dressed like a bum. I figure that’s his car parked two spots away from mine. It’s just as beat up and unkempt as he is. The road tax sticker is two months expired too; however, that’s not my concern today.
But I know better than to underestimate him.
My Glock is concealed and loaded. Not having a safety on it makes me a little uncomfortable, but I know how to use a gun. And I’m quick on the draw too.
I silently remind myself of my fake credentials: name, where I’m from, what I’m doing. The pessimistic part of my mind thinks I should have gone over everything at least one more time. I try to not stare at my target while keeping tabs on him through the corner of my eye. I go into the same aisle as him: the milk section. I pick a bottle out of the fridge. It reeks of expiration, but I act as if I’m reading the label. I have to wait for the perfect moment.
It all felt a bit surreal the whole way here. But now, being so close and knowing that the moment to strike it quickly approaching, reality sets in. My heart grows more excited with each passing second. It’s almost same thrill I would feel before a wrestling match in high school or before sparring in Taekwondo. The only difference is that this is much more intense.
Calm down. You’ve got this, Ana.
I take a deep breath, somewhat soothing my fast-beating heart. Feeling a gaze, I look up. My pretty eyes meet his reddish ones. However, it’s only for a brief moment. Short enough to not be awkward, but long enough to get his attention. My gaze returns onto the milk bottle as if I’m reading the label.
There’s a long moment of silence… followed by another… and then a third. Each one is longer than the last. I barely stop my foot from tapping on the floor. Realizing that I’m crushing the milk bottle, I set it back down. But then I sense his approach. He slowly walks under the fluorescent lights until he’s so close that I can smell his stench. I thought that my heart would be ready to burst out of my chest. Instead, it seems to stop.
This is it. With my lips curved into a slight smile, I let my gaze leave the bottle and come back onto him.
***
“Ana, quite impressive work.”
It’s hardly past three when I returned to the station. When I came back, my head was held high and I walked in like I owned the place. My stoic eyes completely ignored everyone else as I headed towards Captain Scott’s office. From the looks other officers gave me, you would think I broke some sort of record. The same hands that carried the $500 now hold brown bags full of the white powder I was asked to bring back. In fact, I got a little more than my money’s worth.
Marching down the corridor, I managed to catch sight of that officer whose eyes had taunted me on my way out. Seeing me walk back in, the first thing he did was look away and act natural. But I felt his resentment from a mile away. I even catch the name on his badge: Mark Davidson.
I’m sure it’s a name I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.
Now sitting across the desk from the po
lice captain, I maintain my composure but can’t stop smiling on the inside. He tries to keep his poise. However, it’s obvious that he can hardly believe how quickly I returned. He skims all the paperwork I dropped on his desk. “…names, license plate numbers… on two different people?” He looks back at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody do this good on their first day.”
“Well, now you have.” Crap. That sounded better in my head. Hearing his compliment, I have the urge to jump with joy, but I somehow stop myself.
He slightly nods before sticking out his hand. “Congratulations, Officer Rocha.”
I take his hand and firmly shake it.
“Welcome to the force.”
***
After moving into my own place two months ago, the thrill of flying solo has already vanished. The apartment is in a nice gated complex and the neighbors are all good enough people. Living next door to me is a couple probably in their late twenties. I’m not sure what they do for a living, but the husband looks nerdy enough to be an engineer. Below me lives a cute little retired couple; the lady keeps tabs on all the neighbors while the husband could care less.
The apartment itself is pretty basic: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small dining room. Not exactly the castle every girl dreams of but nothing for a single gal to be ashamed of either.
I use the smaller bedroom for myself. One wall of the bedroom is decorated with a few of my accolades. Among them are countless gold medals from my high school wrestling days, including the state championship, and my black belt from Taekwondo. I don’t take any more formal martial arts classes but do practice my forms in the bedroom’s open space.