Ana Rocha_Shadows of Justice

  “Brave informant.”

  “He has his moments. Dealer’s name is Raheem Moore.”

  “Name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. Moore works for the largest cartel in Houston. He’s a slippery one though. But if the information Holmes gave me is correct, it could lead to a big bust. A good estimate is that there’ll be four other dealers in a stash house run by Moore with 9 to 10 kilos of goods.”

  “How reliable is this Holmes guy?”

  “That’s the thing. He’s been wrong before—enough times that his word won’t be enough for Cap to mobilize SWAT or request a warrant.” Bryan pauses for a moment. “He’s not even an official informant anymore—he lost that status after his last bit of info made the department waste a lot of time and resources, leading to the suspect escaping. He’s just an old contact of mine now.”

  “That’s why you need more than his word.”

  Bryan simply nods.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “You and me will check out the place from afar to see if we can spot anything suspicious. Best case scenario, we see Moore himself.”

  “And the worst case scenario?”

  Bryan slightly smiles. “We get shot.”

  “Yeah… let’s avoid that one.”

  “That’d be a good idea. We want to at least get some sort of probable cause that the place is a stash house—enough evidence to justify a warrant and raid. If my man’s story checks out, we can have a warrant within hours, and the stash house will be raided before sunset. Moore won’t have a chance to escape this time.”

  Chapter 7

  Reconnaissance

  It’s unreal to see these hallways nearly deserted. It’s only an hour before I usually arrive, but with only a skeleton crew at the station, it feels like I’m walking through a ghost town. The two of us quickly go down the empty corridor and into Bryan’s office. There are two messenger bags on his desk: one green and the other black. He grabs the green one and hands it to me. It’s not as light as it looks. Must be packing something serious.

  As I open the top flap and stare into the bag’s contents, Bryan closes the door before breaking the silence. “That’s your field kit.”

  I rummage through the bag. A half-filled notebook, water bottle, books, and used pencil bag are the first things I see. Nothing out of the ordinary there. As for the bag, it’s pretty worn down, missing a couple of buttons with several loose threads hanging off its sides. But when I dig a little deeper, I find a radio and high powered camera at the bottom. And beneath them is an extra clip for my Glock. Now I know what’s making the bag heavy.

  “Hopefully all you need to use is the camera. But there should be enough in there for you to maintain your cover if needed.”

  I look back at him and sling the bag’s strap across my shoulder. “Here’s hoping.”

  “Have you ever been to Third Ward?”

  “Nothing more than seeing it from the highway. But I’ve heard enough about it.”

  Bryan slightly smiles. “Today’s your lucky day then. You’ll be seeing it firsthand.”

  Third Ward holds the highest homicide rate in Houston. In fact, it boasts the highest crime rate, period. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. All it’s known for is gangs and crime. One look into the area and you get the sense that it’s not the kind of place you want to be walking through alone. Especially at night. It’s a sad story since Third Ward is one of the city’s historically richest places.

  “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” I quietly whisper. “Does Cap know about this op?”

  Bryan lightly shrugs. “It’s not strictly official. One thing you’ll come to learn is that Cap prefers a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ philosophy when it comes to this sort of stuff.”

  “I see.”

  He grabs a folder off of his desk and takes a photo out from it before handing the picture to me. It’s a mug shot. “Take a good look, Ana. It’s a four-year-old picture, but should be good enough to recognize Moore by if you see him. He was picked up on charges of illegal possession of guns when this was taken. But the arresting officer didn’t document the evidence properly, and Moore was let go on a technicality.”

  A dark skinned man stares back at me from the photo. He has a rough, unkempt face and a buzz cut hairdo. Some sort of symbol is tattooed on the right side of his neck. It looks like a wave of fire. Moore’s eyes hold the look of a devil. The structure of his head and neck give the impression that he possesses a lean body. He may not have the most intimidating figure, but his face appears violent enough. He’d be a handful in a fistfight.

  “A year later, Moore shot down a cop before gunning down two civilians—a man and woman. The wife was three months pregnant. He did it when he was pulled over for breaking a signal. Probably had something on him that he didn’t want the cop to find. The cop was a friend of this station’s: Zhen Hue. He left behind a wife he had married a few months before.” Bryan takes a long pause. In his eyes, I can see him reliving the nightmare. “Nobody cared… nobody except us.”

  I pick up the emotion is Bryan’s voice as he utters those words. My gaze focuses back on the photo for a moment before returning to my partner. His eyes are filled with sorrow as silence engulfs the room.

  Bryan takes a deep breath, his voice returning back to normal. “Moore disappeared and only popped up on the grid a couple of times afterwards, but we could never get official eyes on him.”

  I look back down at the killer.

  “Memorize the face?” Bryan asks.

  Handing the photo back to Bryan, I slightly nod. “It’s not one that I’d forget easily.”

  “And hopefully it’s one that we see today.”

  ***

  For the first time since I’ve met him, Bryan doesn’t have a talk show or country music playing in the car. Instead, there is silence. Absolute silence. We are both lost in our own thoughts as we speed towards our destination.

  Since taking the exit off of Highway 59 and entering Third Ward, I notice that the buildings continue to deteriorate the deeper we go into the area. This place always seemed a little worn down from the outside. But looking at it from within makes it become all the more real.

  Beaten-down fences are topped with barbed wire, intimidating and loud dogs roam backyards as they bark at anything in sight, and windows are backed up by steel bars to keep intruders out. Those are the first things I notice. There aren’t any new cars parked on the sides of the road and the ones that are don’t look very inviting. As can be imagined, nobody is keeping up with trimming the hedges, cutting the grass, or keeping the walkways intact. Every building is run down and seems to have been built ages ago. There isn’t a whole lot of upkeep here. I guess nobody here would want their house or shop looking too good. That’d probably just be an invitation for robbery.

  Everyone we pass seems to be giving us an odd look, as if they know we don’t belong. Our vehicle fits in, but maybe they can just sense that we’re not from around here. They’re dressed like you would expect people to be dressed in a poverty-stricken area like this. I don’t observe a whole lot of people out. But at seemingly every corner, there are a couple of punk-looking guys hanging around. I’m sure they’re up to more than just enjoying the hell-like heat.

  My partner is unfazed and keeps his attention on the road. I wonder how many times he’s been here before. Hopefully enough to know what he’s doing. Just looking out at these mean streets is enough to give me the creeps. The thought that I’ll soon be on them makes my stomach knot.

  As we pass a blue bricked building made up of five double-story townhouses, Bryan breaks the silence but doesn’t slow the car down. “This is it.”

  “Which building?”

  “Far right.”

  I look at it as we drive by. The building is in no better or worse shape than any of the others. The window blinds are open, but the curtains are all pulled back while the glass is reinforced by steel bars, even the ones on t
he second floor. The front lawn is a mess of overgrown grass and weeds, and the weathered rooftop is in need of repair. The blue paint appears worn down. It seems that the building was painted navy blue when originally built. But now, it has been reduced to a powder blue. Three cars are parked outside its front door: a red Lexus, a black Toyota Camry, and a black Cadillac. The Lexus is in good condition and seems relatively new—it’s probably the best car I’ve seen since coming here—but the other two look seven to eight-years-old. From our angle, none of the townhome’s inhabitants are visible.

  Bryan doesn’t slow down. Instead, he makes a turn and the townhouse disappears out-of-sight behind another apartment complex. The vehicle gradually begins to arrive at a halt until it stops right outside a beaten-down and empty park’s entrance. Switching the car into its parking gear before shutting it down, Bryan turns towards me. “You all set?”

  Making sure that nobody is nearby, I quickly whip out my Glock. Bryan watches as I pull out its clip and check to make sure the weapons isn’t jammed before loading and concealing it once again. I feel my heart slowly start to increase its pace. Is this all really happening? “Hopefully I don’t need to use this.”

  “That would be ideal.”

  “So what’s the plan?” I ask.

  “I’ll stake out on the front side of the building. You swing around to the back. Go around the park and you should end up facing the back of the complex. We’ll stake out for one hour tops—unless we get enough intel before.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Any signs of criminal activity or Moore himself.”

  “Got it.”

  “Find a nice hidey-hole. Somewhere not too conspicuous and somewhere you won’t be seen—especially from people inside the building. No matter what, don’t cause a scene and don’t step foot on their property. We don’t have a warrant here. Strictly reconnaissance. Even if you see Moore and have a chance to take him down, do not engage unless you’re being threatened. We don’t want him; we want him, his crew, and whatever he might know.”

  I nod.

  “Remember Ana, we’re not in Sugarland or Clear Lake. This is Third Ward. This is the worst place to do any sort of op. Countless officers have been gunned down here. Treat every person with a grain of salt. Anybody suspicious comes near you, don’t lower your guard. You don’t know who is a lookout, and it’s usually the person you least expect. Avoid as many people as you can. Whenever you’re in doubt, err on the side of caution. As important as Moore is, your safety comes first. I won’t be far if you need me.”

  “I can handle myself.” I don’t think I sound as confident as I intended to.

  “Alright.” Bryan gives me a quick nod. “Complete radio silence unless there’s an audible.”

  “Will do. And Bryan?” I slightly smile at my partner. “Don’t worry. We’ll nail this son of a gun today.”

  With those words and without a second thought, I grab my messenger bag and exit the vehicle. As soon as I do, Bryan starts up the car and quickly departs, leaving me alone.

  ***

  Here we go.

  Slinging my messenger bag across my shoulder, I feel my gun strapped around my waist and underneath my shirt. The morning sun beats down on me and a few beads of sweat run down the back of my neck as I begin to make my way around the rusty-fenced park. All but one swing is broken, and the slides look like they were built during the Civil War. There’s not a soul anywhere near here. I doubt any kids would even want to play in a place like this, even if it is their only option.

  I never thought that I’d end up here: walking alone through the most crime-ridden part of Houston with nothing but a pistol and my wits to defend myself. The countless negative outcomes possible run through my mind. And the more they do, the more my stomach turns over on itself. It makes me feel sick. A part of me doesn’t believe this is happening. It wants to believe that I’ll wake up from this dream at any moment. But my instincts know better.

  There’s nobody in sight and no other sound except for my footsteps and a few bugs in the grass. The stillness only makes me more nervous. Walking down the cracked pavement, one hand holds onto my bag’s strap while the other stays by my side, close to my gun.

  My hair is tied back into a long ponytail. Dressed in a pair of blue jean shorts that go a bit passed my knees and a brown, short-sleeved top, I blend right in with the locals. The clothes aren’t anywhere near posh, and there’s nothing to tell me apart from anyone I might come across. But even so, I feel out-of-place. Everyone here will see right through me. I don’t belong here. I know it. And I fear that they’ll know it too.

  A couple of women come walking down the sidewalk across the street from me. I almost jump when I notice them, but somehow keep my composure. Calm down, Ana. Damn, I’m so jittery right now—too on edge. The women are lowly talking to one another, but I hear remnants of their whispers. Dressed in shorts a bit too small and skimpy tank tops, they both shoot me a quick glance when they notice me before resuming their conversation. I don’t look their way, not directly at least. However, I keep tabs on them from the corner of my eye. Not slowing down, I act like I’m not paying them any heed. The closer I get to passing them, the more my internal alarm starts to go off, wanting my hand to be as close to my gun as possible. I ignore it, acting natural.

  The whole time, I envision the two of them suddenly drawing out their hidden weapons and gunning me down, killing me on the spot. What would Bryan think, having his partner killed within the first minute of the mission?

  But they pass by harmlessly.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Those women are probably just out for a morning walk, but my mind is making everything a threat right now. As soon as they turn a corner and disappear, something else leaps into my path. It climbs and soars over a low fence, landing a few feet in front of me: a dog—a stray dog from the looks of it. It’s big and looks like it can bite my head off in one swipe. It immediately whips its head towards me.

  It growls, showing its teeth and hunter-like eyes. Oh, crap. My hand slowly inches towards my gun. My heart rate suddenly goes through the roof. “Get out of here.”

  The dog turns to fully face me, still growling.

  My fingers graze my Glock’s grip. There’s no safety on it. If the dog makes a move, all I have to do is point and shoot. But it’s close. Too close. If it jumps, I may not have time to take it down. And firing off a shot could blow this whole op. My breathing slightly quickens as my heart pounds against my chest. “Get out of here. Now.”

  Without thinking, I take a step forward and keep my gaze locked with the dog’s. Suddenly, the beast turns around and takes off in the opposite direction. I breathe a sigh of relief and pull my hand away from my gun. Not even three minutes in and I’m already having a heart attack.

  I take a few long breaths, calming myself down the best I can. Come on, Ana. This is a walk in the park. You’re just walking down the street. No big deal.

  After taking another look to make sure nobody’s watching me, I continue down the path. Almost at the corner of the run-down street, I keep moving forward. I arrive at an intersection and turn the corner. My nerves are still a mess, but at least my breathing and heart have calmed down a bit—enough so that I can think straight. This sidewalk will lead me to the back of the complex. Hopefully there’s a park or some trees that I could use as a lookout point.

  Are those footsteps? I swiftly twirl around. My hand comes onto my pistol, but doesn’t draw it out. However, I find nothing behind me except for an empty pathway. My eyes scan the scene ten times over, but see nobody. I swear I heard something. Maybe it’s just my nerves. Hopefully that’s it. I take a deep breath to regain my senses before continuing down the sidewalk.

  There’s nothing heard except the echo of my own steps. I feel like there are eyes on me, but I don’t know if I can really even differentiate between my nerves and instincts as I turn another corner.

  I stop.

  Down the sidewalk is a gr
oup of three men. They’re a rough-looking bunch, dressed in worn-down, loose shorts and shirts. The three of them are dressed in solid red, including their over-sized caps and shoes.

  Oh God. They haven’t seen me yet. But I have to pass them if I stay on this road. I could keep moving down my original path and try to swing around from a longer way. But that’d burn more time, and I only have an hour. However, walking by them would be dangerous. There isn’t another person on sight. I doubt they’re just hanging out here to make small talk.

  My stomach ties itself into a tighter knot. I take a deep breath as I keep my eyes on the pack. One of them, the leader from the looks of it, leans against a fence, while the other two listen to him speak. Under their baggy clothing could be anything from a knife to a gun. They give off the same foul vibe as Miller and his crew. For all I know, they could be murderers like he was. This could become the same disaster as before. I could end up blowing this whole op right here. Or even worse, I could get… I should turn away. My mind is screaming that.

  …no. This job isn’t about playing it safe. There’s only one thing to do.

  Eyes straight ahead, I start moving towards them. My heart starts beating faster.

  Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum.

  It feels like it’ll burst out of my chest at any moment, and the gut-wrenching knot in my stomach only makes it worse.

  Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum.

  Somehow, I’m able to control my breathing and sweating. I barely maintain the confidence in my eyes. Whatever happens, Ana, don’t show any fear. Keep it all inside. It’ll only increase the chances of this all ending badly.

  Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum!

  A few steps in, their leader notices me. He says something to the other two with a smile, and they both also turn towards me. Now they’re exchanging glances with one another. I see the wicked smirks on their smug faces.

  There’s no backing out now, Ana.