I’m following Deacon to the station when he calls, so I hit the button on my steering wheel to answer.
“What? We’re almost to the PD.”
“I trust Lil Romeo’s intel, but maybe we should take a detour and drive by the address he provided. You know, to see for ourselves.”
Deacon has a point, but my car in the neighborhood we need to scope out will only draw attention when we need to be inconspicuous. His truck is loud and all tricked out, but it will fit in better than my car because the area we’re heading to has a lot of construction and agriculture residents who have flashy trucks too.
“Pull into the Starbucks parking lot. I’ll leave my car there and jump in with you.” Not needing confirmation that he heard me, I hit end before my friend can respond.
Now that we’re in one vehicle, we drive in the direction leading us to the street address Romeo provided to us. I sent our CI two texts since jumping into Deacon’s truck but still haven’t heard anything. If this is all a goose chase, I’m beating the shit out of Lil Romeo for wasting our fucking time.
“Park there,” I tell Deacon, pointing to a space large enough for his truck and only one house away from the last known location of our wanted gang members.
Twenty minutes pass by when my phone chimes with a text from our informant.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Deacon spouts off. “What’s it say?”
“Flores and Chico Hernandez are in the garage, and Jesus is in the living room with him. He says they have two young girls who look underage that appear to be high as a kite. He can’t confirm, but he thinks they may be part of a sex trafficking ring.”
“How does the FBI not know about sex trafficking minors?” The realization that these men are into way more shit than we knew pisses me off.
“Maybe they don’t know,” Deacon responds, trying to justify our lack of knowledge.
The garage door goes up on the house we’re staking out, and my phone chimes again. This time Romeo tells us they’re getting ready to leave, and they’re taking the girls. I quickly texted back that we’re outside and asked him to stall them.
“Fuck! We don’t have time,” I bark out.
“Cowboy up?” Deacon asks, not even looking at me.
“I’ve got both my on and off-duty guns, extra magazines, and two sets of handcuffs. You?”
“Same.” That doesn’t surprise me. On days we work, that’s our typical arsenal. Days off, we stick with our off-duty guns only. You never know who you’ll run into when you leave the safety net of our town.
“Our asses will be handed to us if we don’t call this in and wait for backup.” I take a moment to remind us what our clear directive is and what the consequences will be if we defy our leadership’s orders.
“We don’t have the fuckin’ time. It’s not just drugs we’re dealing with anymore. We can call it in, but we need to be in a position to react now, not in ten minutes.” Even though I agree, I still pull up our sergeant’s number.
“Sarg, we have eyes on Flores and the Hernandez brothers. We also have confirmation they’re heading out of town with two young girls, possible trafficking. We’re calling for back-up but can’t wait. I’ll pin-drop our location.” The call took seconds to make, only because I didn’t give our boss a chance to stop us.
My phone begins to ring non-stop, so I switch it to vibrate. Deacon and I take our badges from our belts and hook them on chains to wear around our necks for visibility. We double-check that our Glocks and CZs are loaded; it’s better to be safe than sorry. Once we have our handcuffs in our back pockets and our extra magazines in our front pockets, we both exit the truck from the passenger’s side.
“Bro, we’re not wearing tactical gear. Try not to get shot.”
“Way to jinx us, asshole.” Sometimes I don’t know what the fuck Deacon is thinking. Nobody should ever say shit like that before walking toward danger, but my dumbass partner seems to forget that.
Crouched down, we make our way to the car parked in front of the truck. Sirens sound in the distance, so I pop my head up far enough to see through the window of the vehicle. Lil Romeo was right. Chico and Flores are in the garage but don’t seem fazed by the sounds of sirens. As far as they know, they think they’re safe.
“Taking these two is our best bet before Jesus comes out,” I whisper and get a nod in agreement. “Let’s get closer.”
Before we get a chance to make our next move, the sirens stop, which is a relief. We don’t want to spook our gangster trash. My watch vibrates, so I check it. Officer Hayes texted to let us know that both ends of the street are covered, and SWAT is en route.
Not wasting any more time, Deacon and I make our move to cross the street, positioning ourselves closer. Once we’re in place and ready to confront Abel and Chico, we hear a gate close from across the street and out skips a little girl. Motherfucker!
“Are you playing cops and robbers?” The girl’s focus is on Deacon and me, but the question is loud enough for our suspects to hear her as well.
“No, little girl. Mind your fucking business,” one of the guys snaps back at her. Deacon is trying to signal to the little girl to go back inside, but she doesn’t understand.
“Not you, you big meanie. Them. The ones with the guns?” The girl lifts her arm and points in our direction.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?
“What’d you say?” a voice asks, closer than I’d care for it to be.
Deacon and I are both shaking our heads from side to side while our index fingers are pressed to our lips, silently begging this girl to shut her mouth. Right now, we still have the upper hand and know we can’t wait any longer. Simultaneously, we stand, telling both Chico and Abel to put their hands up to where we can see them, and to get on the ground, face down.
Turning my head for a split second, I yell at the little girl to go inside and lay down. Her mother comes running out of the house, screaming in Spanish as she grabs her daughter. That’s when the gunfire starts.
Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, muffling the sounds of what’s happening around me. The gangsters shoot at us, and then we return fire as police vehicles advance down the street. Commotion and chaos surround us. Emptying one magazine, then another, I finally take down Abel Flores. Seconds later, Deacon lands a fatal gunshot to Chico Hernandez.
Switching our guns to our off-duty ones, we both enter the house slowly from the garage, knowing Jesus Hernandez is still a threat. When we walk into the filthy galley-style kitchen, I go one direction, and Deacon goes the other. At the same time, with our guns still drawn, we walk around the corner to the living room to find Lil Romeo slumped over with a knife in his chest and a note attached: You got snitched out. We’ll be coming for you and your loved ones, PIGS.
The two young girls are curled up in a corner together, crying.
“Someone help me!” We hear a woman’s voice call out from a back room.
Slowly walking down the dark hallway, I check the bathroom to the left as Deacon checks the room to the right.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
Not knowing what to expect, I go low as Deacon kicks open the last door and swings to the side, using the door frame as protection.