The Missing Piece in Ranger's Life
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Chapter 15
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Ranger's POV
Watching the map screen, we saw the dot from the south with the two Washington fuckwits, getting closer to Morelli's marker which was now stationary. Zero confirmed he had stopped at a truck stop with a diner.
Standing beside Tank I nudged him and nodded. He understood. He knew I approved of his tactics and strategies. Everybody was in the game. While we were avidly watching the pursuit, I noticed that Rangeman business went on as usual in the control room. The shift was about to swing over. Tank had organised a few extra staff from Miami and a couple from Boston to support this pursuit teams, by being on call for our core business.
Suddenly, Lester's voice came over the comms. He was laughing. Cal was laughing with him.
"I don't believe it! Have a look at the place where Morelli is waiting for his two fuckwit buddies! By the way, while we wait, Hector has his laptop working overtime here, checking for cameras that we might be able to intercept."
Glancing up at the map, Cal zoomed in on what appeared to be the rendezvous location. Stephanie was the first to spot it. She couldn't stop laughing, with the hiccups and then some very elegant snort laughing. I can't believe it either. Tank unfolded his arms and was bent over laughing. The irony. We were all laughing.
"What's so funny?" asked a confused Miguel. He was relieved that neither Rex nor Thiago understood the humour of this location either.
"They have arrived at a place called Chambersburg. In Pennsylvania. Morelli originally comes from the part of Trenton known as Chambersburg."
Stephanie cued up her best Burg eyeroll.
And there it was, the light bulb moment as the three of them cracked up at the connection.
"Gotcha."
"Is he for real?"
"What the hell?!"
"Why there? Is this some sort of fixation or an obsession of sorts?"
"Do you think that was deliberate?"
"Might just be a coincidence."
"Who knows what that asshole is thinking."
"Un-fucking-believable!"
"What are the chances of there being another Chambersburg?"
The banter and commentary around the room was good. I was shaking my head. There's definitely something peculiar about this asshole. Glancing around me, the conference room had a lively buzz about it. Everyone was focused on the pursuit. I watched as Tank moved away to take a call.
Stephanie caught my eye and smiled warmly. She was enjoying the pursuit while working on her laptop, obviously checking or investigating something. She had that tenacious expression in her eyes. I took a deep breath, comfortable in my surroundings and the company, and close to the action. Being back here at Rangeman, with my team, and especially being close to her, gave me a satisfied contentedness. Yes. It certainly feels so good to be here, close to her, my Missing Piece. I felt that inexplicable sensation of warmth, and a weird sense of being more relaxed and balanced, as I watched her. I had been feeling off kilter since I left on that FUBARed mission. She centres me. It is amazing how she has this effect on me. I'm not complaining. It felt good, like I was feeling whole once again. After all, she is my Missing Piece.
I allowed Tank to maintain command as he had the situation under control. I was pleased with how the entire operation was running. I was not about to interfere.
Bobby came in and was watching the screens.
"All is going well on the control room floor. Teams have just handed over. It appears to be a relatively quiet morning. So, the pursuit, it's going well? What was all that laughter about?"
I nodded. He was just taking a sip from a water bottle, so I waited a moment poised to watch his reaction.
"Morelli just pulled into a truck stop, for their rendezvous … in a place called Chambersburg."
I grinned as his water went everywhere as he gagged and choked while trying to swallow.
"Are you serious? What the fuck is that all about?" he spluttered, wiping his mouth and his chin.
Bobby left the conference room, shaking his head in dismay, to resume monitoring and supervising the control room activities.
Tank came back and stood beside me, a smug look on his visage.
"Any word from the federal agents tagging the Washington wankers? Anyone we know? What's their ETA?" I asked Tank, looking expectantly at Cal and Zero.
Tank grinned slyly at me. "Washington Wankers. Hm. Sounds appropriate. I like that. Funny that you should ask. I just got an update. Agent Boris Hartley is coordinating his Fed teams, much like we are, also with three teams in pursuit. Once they crossed the Maryland-Pennsylvania state line the MPs backed down to allow the Feds to continue the pursuit. Some US Marshalls are also part of their back up. He confirms the straight line journey northwards of the Washington Wankers. Boris and his team thought they might consider heading further north, up to Michigan maybe, or even over to Wisconsin. Regardless, they have the Michigan-Canada border agents on standby."
"Ah yes. Boris. I am pleased to hear that. We have worked with him before a number of times. Good news."
Yes, indeed. We have liaised with him and the other alphabet agencies in a number of stateside and interstate operations. A reliable and knowledgeable agent, who is familiar and respectful with Rangeman and our work. I nodded in approval. Having reliable support is critical. We really need to nail these traitorous bastards. Tank read my look and knew what I was thinking. He glanced over my shoulder.
"I think now would be a good time for another "Lula diversion", Little Girl. Don'tcha think? We need to stall and distract Morelli while our teams make their way inside. His partners in crime have not arrived at their designated rendezvous yet. Cal, Zero, inform the pursuit teams to get situated inside and miked up. Rodriguez check if there are any cameras, both inside and outside. More importantly, Manny I want you to check who the licensee of the diner is. We might be lucky. I'll touch base with Boris and his pursuit team again."
"On it." Stephanie saluted with a cheeky grin, before shuddering at the mere thought of it.
Hey Officer Hottie.
WYD? R U there yet?
Missing you.
Honey Bee xox
"Rodriguez has accessed the camera feeds. They have internal and external feeds," Cal reported.
On cue, the third screen split into four quadrants, clearly showing the petrol pumps from two sides, and inside the diner from two angles. Morelli was about to answer his phone, checking the screen first. Initially he scowled but then he smiled. He was visibly agitated yet the text seemed to mellow him. We waited while he responded to "Lula's" text as he leaned casually against his truck.
Hey Honey Bee.
Just refuelling waiting 4 my buddies.
Gonna have some lunch and then head to the hills.
Stallion xx
I smiled at my Babe.
"Kevin Charles Connors is the licensee," replied Manny.
"Cobra!" Cal exclaimed excitedly. "His name is Chuck Connors, like the famous movie actor. Cobra is a legend. He was one of my instructors," he said reverently. "Navy SEAL, retired. Fucking awesome!"
Cobra. Legend indeed. Tank glanced at me with an eyebrow raised. I smiled at Cal fan-boying Cobra, very deservingly. Commander Connors. We both knew him and he was highly revered. The infamous Cobra. Brilliant.
"You wanna do this?" Tank asked as he offered me my phone with a grin. I was about to shake my head in the negative but he proffered the phone more insistently, giving me the go ahead. Right. Wasting no time, because timing was of the essence, I dialled the number on screen that Manny had thrown up above with his profile and recent civilian photo. He still looked the epitome of a strong, virile man who kept himself fit.
"Chuck here," he answered. On screen we could see him answer the phone.
"Sir. Major Carlos Manoso, Special Ops. We have a Code One Fugitive Alert. Three suspects at your truck stop, one already outside awaiting his two co-conspirators to arrive. Blue truck with the green tarp covering a motorbike."
"Ah, Ranger Manoso. On it. What can I do? I have security feeds, but knowing you, your tech guys will have already tapped into them."
"Affirmative. Three teams, in pairs, have just entered your diner, taking up space in the booths. Hector, our IT expert, Hispanic with distinctive facial tattoos, will approach you as I speak, with a wire and a comms unit for you, and a mike to place on the bench or table, wherever they decide to seat themselves. Lester Santos is with him. You will recognise him, Sir."
Hector nodded as he heard my command and walked towards Chuck.
"Just call me Chuck, son. Gotcha. Here's your man. Hola, hermano," we heard as he greeted Hector. "Santos. Good to see you after all this time. Let's get to it."
They bumped knuckles and quickly moved in behind the counter and to the side. He didn't ask any other questions understanding that time was of the essence, but kept the line open.
"Each team will take the booths and some Feds will also take up some customer space. Can you clear some of your customers to a safer location while this sting goes down?"
"Yes. Easy to do. Most are regulars. Two patrons are also retired SEALs. You want them to stay and make up the numbers?"
In the meantime, Hector was giving him the mikes and an ear piece while surveying the counter and the clientele, indicating prime locations for both the audio and lighting for capturing them on the video feeds. Multi-tasking, Chuck signalled to two of his patrons and quickly explained the Code One Fugitive Alert. He signalled three. They grinned slyly and rubbed their hands eagerly, happy to make up the numbers. Lester warned them not to engage, to which they nodded. Back up was good. He quickly pointed out the rest of our team, so they knew the Rangeman guys involved.
The SEALs gave a nod in acknowledgement to Vince and Zip, then Woody and Hal, who gave a salute to one of the SEALs whom he recognised.
"Good idea. The lead liaison for the Feds is Special Agent Boris Hartley. He will greet you in PA Dutch as he enters and make an order from the table by the door. He is easily recognisable with a distinctive scar across his left cheek. Be sure to call him Joe as soon as he sits down. One of the fugitives is named Joe and we want to shake his tree. We need to catch him and his co-conspirators discussing their treachery, preferably at the main counter. All three fugitives are of Italian descent."
As I explained Boris' role, Tank was on his phone to the man himself, explaining his entrance alert to Chuck Connors. I heard him explain the set up in progress. I trust Boris will fill in the details with his teams.
Chuck nodded his head as he took it all in.
"Copy that. Right. Call him Joe. Shaking the tree is gonna be fun." His grin was broad and devious.
He was pleased to be involved and deadly serious about it. His wealth of experience will be an asset to this showdown. Once the sound check was done I hung up on the phone. I donned my headset and spoke directly to the team, while Chuck engaged his customers and moved them to safety. Everyone was very cooperative and didn't show any alarm.
"This is where it will go down. Chuck, aka Cobra, will engage the three fugitives in conversation at the counter. We want them to get cosy and loose but also shake the tree a bit. Special Agent Boris Hartley, will be called Joe by Chuck as he enters the diner, to get the first rise and break in a bit of tension. Vince, I want you outside the diner in the reception area to hand him one of our comms units so he's in our feed before he enters. Treat this like any regular armed and dangerous capture. We know Morelli but not how the two Washington Wankers will react. These are desperate men. You know the drill. They will likely be armed. In addition, Tank has confirmed that we have US Marshalls are covering all the exits on the outside. They have orders to be on standby. The takedown will go for as long as it needs to. Lester, be ready to head to the bar when Mancuso starts big noting himself for which he is notorious. Wind him up. You know how to needle him. Morelli will be the one to watch. Special Agent Boris Hartley will make the official federal arrest. He will have five men inside with him."
"Hooah!" was the response in unison.
Vince grabbed a comms unit from Hector and proceeded to wait in the reception area, to re-join the teams inside, before Hartley does.
Tank took over. "The Feds just confirmed the arrival of the Washington Wankers. We have visual, but no audio. I have updated Hartley with the proceedings. Vince he's expecting you. Two of his other men are entering now, in the blue and black lumberjackets. The other pair are in mountain camo lumberjackets. They will take up the other tables thus forcing Morelli and his asshole buddies to the counter."
We all watched as everyone was set in position looking relaxed, yet poised and ready. Meal and drink orders had been made already so they appeared to be like regular customers eating and drinking before resuming their drive to where ever.
"Right. Heads up. They have met in the parking lot but they're not going inside yet. They are arguing and Morelli is doing his pacing rant."
Typical.
"Jeez. I hope he doesn't call one of them Cupcake!" Lester muttered.
Stephanie burst out laughing spilling her water bottle down her Rangeman t-shirt. Nice touch, Babe. I grinned, raising both eyebrows at her. She just rolled her eyes at me. I gave her a wink. Later, Babe. Focus. Back to the take down.
"We are a GO. They're going in."
The two Washington Wankers look a bit edgy. Morelli is checking the scene and casing the building and the vehicles again on his approach. He's been checking the vehicles while waiting impatiently. The plan was to do the take down inside, in a contained secure area, rather than out in the open. We had a contingency plan for that already. Having Chuck as the licensee was ideal, minimising the need to explain why all this high security was necessary. They are dangerous fugitives and we don't need any issues with public risk and liability, or interference. Bobby has just joined us to watch the take down.
The tension in the room is palpable. Like everyone else, I really wanted to be there, right there to confront those assholes. Miguel, Thiago and Rex were captivated and I could tell they too would have liked to be there, face to face with the fuckers who betrayed us. Tank gave me a knowing nudge and I nodded.
All eyes were riveted to the big screen, not needing the map any more. Audio was good. There was a good buzz in the diner. It all looked like a typical truck stop diner scenario. We watched the three traitors enter, glancing around before Morelli led them towards the main counter, leaving the table near the door way empty. Perfect.
"They are following the script."
I smiled, as did Tank, his muscular arms folded over his ample chest, mirroring my stance.
"Man, you guys look like you need a coffee, or something stronger. Soda? A beer? Or something stronger?" Chuck remarked in welcome.
Yeah, a tense long drive with a high fear factor will make them look worse for wear.
They weren't very responsive, just nodded. Without waiting for a request, Chuck set a couple of mugs on the counter and quickly poured three coffees, sliding over the sugar and creamer. They nodded and thanked him quietly. Chuck recognised that city folk are not accustomed to long drives.
"Long drive? Where you from?"
They were playing their cards close to their chests, trying not to declare any intentions.
"Nah. Let me guess. One of you is definitely from Jersey. Yeah?" Chuck grinned, looking directly at Morelli. A Jersey accent is one of the easiest and most distinctive to detect.
Ignoring their lack of response, Chuck went on relentlessly. While chatting away, he was surreptitiously putting the mike in place. Obviously, it was not his first experience. He was so cool and had direct eye contact with Jersey Morelli in particular. He already figured the fuckwit was the lead traitor in this trashy team. Evidently, his two lackeys were not so street smart.
"I'll let the coffee do it's magic. Margaret, the missus, makes a great coffee. Call when you need a refill." They nodded their thanks and sipped quietly, trying to relax.
Chuck seemed like he was being a real Chatty Cathy, but that was his natural manner. He was enthusiastic and was more than keen to assist us in capturing these fuckwit fugitives.
I recognised Boris in a bulky mottled black and grey fur-lined hunting jacket as he and his fellow agent entered the diner. It was obviously cold out there. Our guys looked just like any other hunter or hiker heading for the hills.
"Guder Daag, Chuck!"
"Joe!"
We chuckled when Morelli instantly stiffened as he heard his name. He almost got a whiplash in the process. But, of course, it was not directed at him. He didn't know that.
"Welcome back, Joe. Up for a bit of hunting this time? No girls I see."
"Yup. Hunting this time. Big game. Give us two coffees and a couple of grilled cheese, with tomato and bacon on the side. Thanks Chuck."
They took the table by the door. The ruse worked and Morelli slowly relaxed, though there was still some tension evident in his shoulders as he downed the rest of his coffee.
Tank and I grinned as he mouthed the "big game" remark. Subtle, Boris.
Morelli signalled for a refill which gave Chuck another cue to engage in conversation.
"Great country for camping, fishing and hunting, and especially great hiking territory. You heading to the Poconos? Tallest waterfalls in PA. Always a good sight to behold. Here's a couple of information pamphlets and maps for the hiking trails and roads to access the lake."
"Yeah. That was the plan." Morelli didn't want to disclose much but felt compelled to respond so Chuck might leave them alone. Pfft. Not likely.
One of the Washington Wankers got up to go to the bathroom. We watched Morelli scowling at Ragusto. He was not a happy camper.
"Jeez. Just going to the head, man," he muttered belligerently. Morelli nodded and looked at his other co-conspirator. A moment later Ragusto was followed by one of the Feds.
"Just chill man. Act natural. Go with the flow. Don't draw any attention to us with your agitation." Mancuso glared at Morelli. "Just quit with the jiggling and tapping. You never know who is watching. Got it?"
Mancuso took a deep breath and nodded, downing the rest of his coffee. "I need a beer."
He signalled to Chuck, "Three beers, please."
In the meantime, Ragusto returned. Morelli nudged him as he sat on the other side. "Chillax man." He nodded. He looked a bit pale. Ragusto was the eldest of the three fuckwits.
The Fed came out a moment later, casually looking at the postcards on display, grabbed a couple and put a couple of bucks on the counter for Chuck, before joining his partner at their table. He showed his postcard selection. It was a natural repartee. All good. Chuck served the beers. They clinked bottles and each took a long pull from the amber fluid.
"Just make sure you got your hunting licence up to date. The rangers are notorious for checking, especially since you have out of town plates. November is perfect time for hunting season."
Morelli visibly flinched at the mention of "rangers", but then calmed when he realised he meant forest rangers. Asshole.
"Three more beers coming up." Morelli nodded in the affirmative.
"Snack menu," he said as he offered the options. "I would recommend the Tater Skins, nice and crispy and salted. Great with a beer. Check the menu at your leisure."
That was our cue for another mike check. Lester signalled with a thumbs up.
They nodded and ordered some Tater Skins.
"If you want something more substantial after a long drive, the Margaret makes her famous fish and chips. You should check it out. Cheesesteak is a PA favourite. And we have the usual hamburgers and all."
"Yes. I need something more substantial," Mancuso muttered. He scanned the menu and signalled for Chuck to make an order.
"I'll take a cheesesteak special. What about you two?"
"Yeah. I'll have a cheesesteak and a side of fries."
"Fish and chips for me."
We watched the three assholes from behind and could hear the conversation clearly. Hopefully they'd stay at the counter. Hector had his laptop running, giving us the rear view from their booth as well as a front view from the counter.
Morelli spotted the camera above the counter. Instantly he became wary, uncomfortable, yes, quite edgy. Glancing around the room of the diner he notices the one above the main entrance and then the one at the back. He doesn't register any of our men in the booths, already in position, keeping a low profile. Hal is unrecognisable in his fur-lined trapper hat as he hangs over his plate of burger and fries, seemingly oblivious to Morelli, Woody opposite him in his typical cowboy hat, a well-worn black one, both of them wearing bulky lumberjackets. Hector is in a bulky zip up forest camo wearing a matching camo trapper's hat, low over his face, concealing his tattoos, while typing on his laptop, eating and talking to Lester. Hector, multi-tasking.
Lester. My cousin has chosen one of those Sherpa trapper fur-lined knitted hats with the long side flaps, appropriately concealing his features. Both he and Hector are sitting in a dark corner, despite the light from the laptop screen. Knowing Hector, he likely has it set on dark screen to minimise the glow. Can't have Morelli recognise him. He had already shuffled side on, his body screened by Lester's bulk. Discreet and subtle. Vince and Zip were similarly clad in different plaid lumber jackets with the collar pulled up high. They were all wearing comms and communicating to each other and to us here. Hector now had his screen with the counter view, front on.
They have done this kind of op before and their experience outweighs Morelli's and the two Washington Wankers. Sensing Morelli's wariness, the two noobs react nervously as well and glance around. Not very subtle. Playing with the big boys is new to them obviously. Fuckers.
"Are those cameras working? How come you have them?" Morelli was direct and not so subtle. Big tell, fucker! Chuck grinned.
"Ha. Yeah! In a word … bikies. They come through here in their droves and have been known to cause trouble. They bypass the town but frequently come through here. Mostly just to refuel but also for some snacks and a beer. Some just drink coffee. You know. Gotta have it for liability and insurance. You never know what drifts in these days."
"Yeah, yeah. Gotcha."
Morelli casually looked around again, noted that there were no empty tables, and the booths were taken. He turned around and decided to stay put. He was still carrying a lot of tension in his body language.
The one called Mancuso was already starting to preen, the beer obviously loosening him up. Tank nudged me as he too noticed it.
"Hey. Manoso, is the name," the arrogant wannabe shit introduced himself, "and my buddies Joe and Marco."
Sure enough, he had to say something to talk himself up. Asshole. Damnit! I really wish I was there to show him what I thought of him gloating and basking in the glory of my reputation. Fucking cheating fraud.
At that moment, Stephanie's soft warm hands grasped mine and crooned, "Easy soldier," easing my tension instantly. I was seething but with just a gentle touch she soothed the Beast within. Her fingers intertwined with mine and held me firmly. I kissed the back of her hand.
"Fucking asshole. He just dug a deeper hole for himself with openly impersonating an officer," Bobby countered.
"Pfft. Asshole. He's just added Stolen Valour Laws to his list of federal crimes because he actually made money from his deception. The fuckwit just doesn't know when to shut the fuck up. He's sailing close to the wind with that borderline identity theft as well. Fucking wanker." Tank was angry.
We all noticed the repressed anger of Morelli as his jaw tightened suddenly. It was blatantly obvious that he wanted to hit Mancuso upside in true Gibbs style, but the asshat leaned away just beyond his reach. He muttered something and we all strained to hear what he said. I looked at Stephanie who was now leaning against my side.
"Morelli told him to shut it and something close to "what the fuck you bastard. No need to broadcast anything about our presence."
Tank had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Look at Chuck. He's not giving anything away, but that minuscule twinkle I just saw tells me he speaks perfect Italian!"
"Another nail in the coffin. Fucking asshole," muttered Lester.
"When do we make our move?" asked Vince.
"Hold your position."
"Sorry. I missed that. Mandosar, did you say?" as he served the three meals.
We laughed at Chuck's deliberate feigning in mishearing what the fuckwit said.
"Manoso. Special Ops, you know." He tapped his nose secretively with a nod, smirking and preening some more. Fucking idiot.
Holy shit. The fraud has an ego problem.
"Perhaps he's compensating for something," Stephanie chuckled. Everyone in the room chuckled with her wry remark.
Lester took his cue to order a couple of beers and overheard Mancuso talking himself up.
"Man. You got a big mouth. Special Ops you say? I don't think so." Lester scanned him up and down with a disgusted and disapproving glare.
Morelli had his teeth clenched, glaring furiously at his distant cousin. "Shut the fuck up, bastardo!" he gritted out before kicking him under the counter.
"I know a Manoso. Eh! Vincenzo! C'mere. You remember that hotshot dude, Manoso?"
Vince nodded. "Yeah. So?"
"This fucker says he's Manoso!"
Vince looked over Lester's shoulder and scanned Mancuso in much the same way.
"Nah. He's a lying turd. Manoso is better looking and has a lot more muscle than this wimp."
"Give that man a raise!" yelled Stephanie, amid chuckles.
"Babe, you're biased." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "I know these things." Then she zipped her lips.
And, just like that, she'd done it again. Subtly disarming the beast.
"Hey. None of that scuffling. What's you're problem?" Chuck intervened. Lester and Vince were getting belligerent.
"This fucker says he's Manoso. I know for a fact he's not." He shoved his angry fist with the thumb up over his shoulder at Mancuso, with a contemptuous snarl.
"Manoso you say? I know him, more than just for his amazing rep. He wouldn't big note himself, either," he responded to Lester's question.
All three glared at Mancuso. Ragusto was gaping like a deer in the headlights. Morelli was muttering angrily, swearing in Italian, almost tearing his hair out.
"What did I tell you?! Shut. The. Fuck. Up! Bastardo idiota!" he growled.
Tank glanced at Stephanie, a twinkle in his eye.
"I think it's time for that news update, Little Girl. What do ya reckon? That might really stir things up a bit more." Tank's shit-eating grin was priceless.
And there it was. On the flat screen up above the counter. A special news bulletin. Chuck quickly grabbed the remote and turned the volume up, quickly concealing his grin.
…"We interrupt this station with breaking news. Lula Morelli, was arrested for attempted murder. Ms Morelli is involved in acts of treason with a former police officer, her husband, Joseph Morelli. He was last seen driving west from Trenton in a blue truck with a red Ducati motorcycle in the bed of the truck. The truck has a green tarp over the back tray. If you see the vehicle you are advised to call your local PD or highway patrol immediately. Do not approach the driver. He is considered armed and dangerous and now a federal fugitive. He is believed to be in the company of two other fugitives also wanted for federal crimes."
Morelli froze, his face aghast with the news flash. He tried to recover with his cop face slamming down, but his two Washington co-conspirators did not have that capacity. They were in shock, staring at Morelli and then each other and back up at the screen. Ah, yes, the shit's about to hit the fan!
Meanwhile, here in Rangeman HQ …
"Lula Morelli?!"
"You're kidding."
"Nope," she said, popping the P distinctly, with a satisfied smirk on her cheeky face.
"Yes, it is very true," Steph replied sweetly. "That was the second marriage certificate which we discovered in her file. Oh joy! Oh joy! The Burg is REALLY gonna love this. Can you imagine the headlines? The front page of the Trenton Times? Lula Morelli. Ha! Take that Helen Plum. Angie Morelli has a new daughter-in-law! Bella Morelli is sure to have a stroke. The only thing close to Italian in Lula would be her knock off Via Spigas!"
There was an uproar in the conference room.
Damnit! She knew! Tank knew. They both knew and did not share! Morelli? And Lula? Married?! Holy fuck!
"Was that your voice on the news bulletin, Bomber?" Bobby asked. She raised her eyebrows and her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Holy shit!"
"That was brilliant!"
"The "former" ho married the Italian jackass! Fact."
Her fingers accentuated the "former" with virtual air apostrophes.
A shrill whistle from Tank. "Focus!"
We watched, intrigued to his reaction. Contained rage, with his temple artery pulsing.
"Morelli? You married Lula? Seriously, man. That's sick." Lester laughed in Morelli's face.
Morelli was confused. He recognised Lester's voice but it was out of context.
Suddenly the three fuckwit fugitives were surrounded by our six Rangemen and the six Feds. Chuck and his two SEAL buddies were also in the mix. Lester removed his knitted Sherpa hat, as did the others, revealing themselves to him.
"Fuck!" He turned and punched Mancuso. "You fucking idiot! You couldn't shut the fuck up." Before he could throw another punch each of the Feds had them handcuffed while Special Agent Boris Hartley identified himself. He read them the Miranda Rights and listed their charges, beginning with treason, conspiracy to attempted murder, and so much more including disclosing critical information under the National Secrets Act. We watched with great satisfaction as they were led away and shoved into a large secure van, shackled in chains inside, Morelli ranting and raging the whole time. Hector had videoed their capture and shackling for our evidence.
oOoOo
Thank you for your patience. So, I gifted you an extra-long and eventful chapter, rather than split it in two, which I did consider.
I did write a one shot last week, in honour of my dear friend Margaret, titled "When Opportunity Knocks". My Muse and I have been in mourning with the sudden passing of Margaret, hence the delay.
The next chapter is ready for the final edit.