I don't own anything.
Detective Ikari
Chapter Three: Deal
"Spades?" Spades picked up his CB radio's handset and brought it to his mouth.
"Tell me something good Mike."
"We found a pusher from the DC gang," Michael Hendrix stated. "Good news?"
"It's starting to look that way," Spades replied. "You sit him down and have a little talk?"
"Are they as bad as you?" Amber growled from the back seat. Spades ignored her.
"Yeah," Mike answered. "Freddie had a nice long talk with the guy. He was eager to help."
"Ask if he knew anything," Mark ordered.
"He know anything about the girl?" Spades asked.
"He's a low level wannabe player," Mike answered. "He didn't know but three things and the first two were jack and shit."
"The third?"
"Location of the DC gang's HQ," Mike answered. "They're based out of a warehouse in the old harbor. We're heading over there now. We'd be much obliged if you and Mark joined us."
"We're on our way," Spades replied. "Who else is going to be there?"
"Conrad and Al," Mike replied. "It's their damn case of course. We also got in touch with Tim and Pablo."
"You find anything that would explain why the hell they would abduct a woman?" Spades asked.
"Yeah," Mike answered. "These guys have already moved in on the drug scene in a big way and now they want to get in on the prostitution scene."
"No wonder Giovanni wants then dead," Mark commented. Spades nodded.
"He's. . ." Amber began.
"No," Spades interrupted. "He hates prostitution. He's the reason why organized prostitution and pimping are rare around here. If a ring gets too big then Giovanni sends someone to take care of them."
"Usually your buddy Johnny," Mark commented. Spades just shrugged. As long as he wasn't hired to do something about the mob, he really didn't care.
"Sounds like they're trying to get into that old school Japanese pimping," Mark commented. "Women as slaves and all."
"It'd be just terrible if your door came open while taking a sharp left turn," Spades growled.
(:ii:)
"I'm serious," Amber growled. "You should go. You really might have fun."
"You're like the annoying little sister I never had." Amber glared at the back of Spades' head.
"What would you know about a sister?" she muttered.
"Oh," Mark chimed in. "Making cheap shots about his family. Be careful Chief, you're sinking to our level."
"She's right," Spades added. "I never had a little sister, I'm only guessing. Am I right by the way?"
"Yeah," Mark replied. "She's exactly like my annoying little sister."
"Except I control your paycheck," Amber hissed. Now she was mad at herself for taking a shot at Spades' family. Everyone knew that he had a bad family life.
"How is your sister by the way?" Spades asked.
"Dating another asshole," Mark growled. "You helping with this one too?"
"Sure."
"You should ask her out," Mark commented. "I think she was digging you when you two met."
"What's the ulterior motive?" Spades asked.
"I figured you'd have the professional courtesy not to try anything funny with a co-worker's sister," Mark explained.
"Smart," Spades commented.
"There's Mike," Mark announced. The Chrysler pulled over and Amber climbed out. The detective was leaning against the hood of his black Chevy sedan smoking.
"Afternoon Chief."
"Good afternoon," Amber replied.
"Where's the warehouse?" Spades asked.
"It's down that way," Mike answered, nodding his head towards a row of buildings. "Freddie's casing the building right now from one across from it."
"Was casing." Amber turned and saw the tall mustached man walking towards them. He un-slung the large sniper rifle from his back and folded the stock. He tucked the weapon into the trunk of the Chevy. "I didn't see hide nor hair of the girl."
"How was your view?" Mike asked.
"Piss poor," Freddie Xavier responded. "Those paranoid little dick heads blacked out the windows. If I had a thermal scope and a fifty I'd show them just what that adds up to."
"Now, now," Amber spoke up. "You know the rules. No random killing."
"When did she get here?" Freddie asked. Amber glared up at the man. "Didn't see you down there Chief."
"Good to know you guys don't just insult me when I'm not around," Amber managed through clenched teeth.
"She really is less cute when the vein in her forehead starts throbbing," Mark noted.
"I told you," Spades replied as he tugged out a crumbled pack of Gold and Milds. He flicked his wrist and took the cigar that had popped up. After fumbling in the pocket of his coat for a moment he pulled out a match. Amber winced as he lit the match by running the head along his jaw. He brought the flame to the tip of the Gold and Mild and took a long draw.
"You're all just trying to make sure that I never come with you guys again," Amber accused.
"Pretty much," Mark replied. Amber glared at him.
(:ii:)
"So what do you think?" Spades asked as he stared at the warehouse. True to Freddie's word, almost ever window had been painted over.
"I think we're going in," Freddie answered.
"Second," Mike voiced.
"Third," Mark added. "We're heading in. Legal or not? I'm sure Giovanni would be happy to clean this up."
"Try and keep it legal," Spades ordered as he lowered his binoculars. Too much of the job was politics anymore. So much worry about the rights of the criminals that people forgot they were criminals. "At least pretend like you want to capture them alive and not torture them."
"Well goody. A chance to test my acting skills," Freddie replied. "Am I staying up here for support?"
"You're the tactician," Mark replied.
"I'm staying here," Freddie stated. "Too bad I don't have my fifty."
"It's in the backseat," Mike replied. "You just got it back from that gunsmith and left it there, remember?"
"Uh. . ."
"Don't you bother keeping track of your anti-tank rifles?" Mike demanded.
"Of course I do." Spades sighed as they began to bicker. He tugged his walky talky out of his pocket and brought it to his mouth.
"Anyone else here yet?"
"Tim and Pablo just pulled up," Amber reported. "Where the hell are Conrad and Al? This is their damn case."
"They'll be here," Spades answered. "I'm heading back to the cars to get a long gun." He walked to the ladder leading from the ground to the roof of the warehouse and swung himself out onto it, black gloves squealing against metal as he slid down. He hit the ground and started walking towards the cars. He immediately recognized the four men standing near the vehicles. "About time you two showed up."
"We were on the other side of the damned city," Conrad replied. "Got sidetracked by your dear friend Giovanni. Think this might be another hoax?"
"These people need to be razed one way or another," Spades stated. He opened the trunk of his Chrysler hunted through the various weapons tucked away inside. "Non-lethal or other?" Never hurt to get a second opinion.
"The beanbags pack a bigger punch then our rifles," Al answered. "I got my hands on some of the stuff they're pushing. It looks like it packs a punch too, so we want something that will knock them down the hardest. I've seen coked out idiots take too many rounds from an M16 for me to want to carry one."
"Melody can take them down easy," Spades stated.
"Cops won't be on our ass either, always a plus." He had been a SWAT team member for more then twenty years, so Spades had no trouble trusting him.
"Non-lethal it is," Spades muttered as he tugged the two old Winchester shotguns and several other items out of his trunk. He slammed the hood and set the tools down. He spilled a box of flexible baton shells across the hood and began feeding them into his Winchester. "You get any background on these guys?" Spades pumped the shotgun's handle, cycling a shell into the chamber. He slipped another shell into the magazine and set the weapon down.
"Not much," Pablo stated. "They're keeping their history to themselves."
"What about MO?" Spades asked as he tugged off his shoulder holster with his beloved snubby and wrapped the cartridge-studded belt with the little revolver's older sister on it around his hips. He drew Melody and swung the gate down so he could slide the big old .45 Colt rounds into the revolver's chambers.
"They've been pushing pretty hard," Tim answered. "We found out that these assholes aren't your everyday wannabes. They've muscled in on drug trade big time. They've got to have a supplier somewhere and people like that tend to pack our dear friend Mister Kalashnikov's toy."
"Fucking AK-47s," Spades agreed as he holstered Melody and pulled on one of the bulletproof vests he carried in his trunk. "Where do you think they're getting it from?"
"South America," Tim answered. "You get a ledger of some kind and the CIA will owe us a big one."
"I don't trust those bastards to pay their debts," Pablo Melendez growled. "We find anything then we go to the FBI. I was CIA for a long time so trust me on this one
"Always," Spades agreed as he loaded the second shotgun. "We'll float anything we find to the LAPD and the FBI. Let them take care of the international drug rings. No money for us in that shit anyway."
"The LAPD might even forgive us for the shit we've been pulling all these years," Conrad added.
"Yeah right," Spades snorted as he buckled his vest's clasps under his arms and tossed his trench coat into the Chrysler's open back door. "We'd have to give them this shit and all the criminals from the FBI's most wanted list."
(:ii:)
Spades watched as Al pushed the door opened and carefully stepped in. He kept his shotgun tight to his shoulder and edged slowly like the experienced soldier he was. Spades was right behind him. They didn't know how many people were inside so a stealthier approach was better then guns blazing.
Spades looked around the warehouse and was impressed. In his mind he had almost been expecting a rat nest of some kind. This place was orderly and neat. Thousands of crates lay in orderly rows. He wondered what was in those boxes.
One loud burst sounded in front of him and Spades saw a man go down, probably stunned by the impact. Poor him. It would have hurt less if the blow had knocked him out. Al slammed the butt of his shotgun into the man's skull, guaranteeing he would wake up with the worst hangover ever.
There wasn't a peep from anyone else inside the warehouse. That was funny. The sound of a shotgun cycling could make a grown man piss himself. Spades had seen it happened before. "Spades!" He pressed his earpiece closer to his ear.
"What is it?"
"They're making a run for it!" Amber bellowed, making Spades wince slightly. "There are three of them getting into a car and they're carrying another one."
"Go," Al snapped. "We've got it here." Spades nodded and thrust his Winchester into Mark's arms as he sprinted out the door. He saw his Chrysler already running with Amber in the passenger seat and the driver side door open. Spades slid into the driver seat, one hand on Melody's grip to keep her from scratching his leather seats, and slammed the door shut.
"I expect for you to pay for whatever comes next."
"Don't make me regret that part of your contract," Amber growled.
"Course not," Spades replied, his hand resting on the gearshift. He slammed it into reverse and hit the gas. The purr of the idling Chrysler's modified 5.7-liter Hemi V8 became a roar.
(:ii:)
'I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die.' Amber had driven with Spades many times. Sadly none of those times had been urgent and now she was beginning to wish she had never come. "Can you slow down?"
"I'll slow down when we catch up," Spades grunted. The Chrysler shuddered slightly as he shifted to a higher gear. Amber glanced through the windshield at the speeding car ahead of them. There was simply no way that they could outrun Spades. "Go under the seat and get the rifle."
"What?"
"There's a rifle under the seat," Spades repeated. "You can use a Kel-Tec right?"
"Yeah," Amber answered as she pulled the folding rifle out from under the seat. It was one of the smaller rifles with a barrel not even ten inches long. She quickly unfolded the weapon, pushed a magazine into the receiver and tugged back the charging handle. "What are you going to do?"
"Pit," Spades answered. It was a simple answer. Amber wouldn't have expected more. She looked up and saw that they were now riding the bumper of the other car. "I just hope it doesn't go sideways and flip."
"What?"
"You're paying for damage to my car and my insurance, right?" Count on Spades to know what truly mattered in the end.
"Yeah," Amber replied nervously. "Don't go overboard."
"Never," Spades muttered. "Hold on." Amber watched as Spades tried to move up alongside the other vehicle. They immediately cut him off. "Fuck." The Chrysler's bumper slammed into the other car's bumper and it fishtailed. The driver immediately got control. "He's good."
"You're better," Amber replied. "Er. . .right?"
"Of course I am." Spades came alongside the car and the front right of the Chrysler slammed into the other car's rear left. This time the other car went sideways and skidded across the front of the Chrysler. It came to a screeching halt and Spades slammed on his brakes, the Chrysler spinning one hundred and eighty degrees before coming to a stop. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Amber managed. "You?"
"Aces. Give me that." Spades snatched up the rifle and climbed out of the car. "Don't move!" Amber opened the glove compartment and pulled out the Colt .45 auto Spades kept as a backup and several plastic safety cuffs. She checked the pistol and climbed out of the car as well. The three men she had seen run out of the warehouse had all climbed out of the car and were lying face down. "Cuff em Chief."
"Right," Amber answered. She tucked the heavy semi-auto pistol into her waistband and pulled out the safety cuffs. She quickly bound their wrists and moved to check the car. A young woman was huddled in the backseat. "Are you Maria Sanchez?"
"How's she look?" Spades called. Amber eyed the bruises on the woman's bare arms and around her neck.
"Bad," she answered, turning to face Spades. The man was standing as calm-faced as ever, meticulous hair still neat and clean and eyes as unreadable as ever. Leather clad fingers curled and Amber knew what was coming.
"Take this and turn around," Spades ordered, handing the rifle to her stock first. Amber took it and turned around, trying to ignore the sounds of flesh hitting flesh and the cries of pain.
(:ii:)
"We got her." Mark snatched up his walky talky.
"Spades?"
"Of course," the man answered flatly.
"How bad?"
"Looks like rape and assault," Spades answered. "She's terrified of me. Amber's checking her over to see how severe her injuries are."
"I see." Mark lowered the hand-held radio and took a deep breath. He had truly begun to hate human beings. "What about the three guys?"
"They're alive," Spades answered, "pretty banged up from the crash though."
"Right."
"How about you guys?" Spades asked. Mark looked around and watched as Al broke open another crate. He held up another bag.
"Heroin," Mark stated. "So much heroin that the LAPD is actually going to love us. They're on the way."
"Did you ask for EMTs?" Spades asked.
"Uh huh," Mark answered. "How far away did you guys get before you brought them down?"
"About four miles strait north," Spades answered. "Any casualties on your end?"
"No one of any importance was hurt."
"Hey!" Conrad snapped.
"Well Conrad busted a knuckle of some guy's face," Mark added. "Like I said, no one of any importance."
"You do know that Conrad bench presses your body weight for fun, right?" Spades asked. Mark frowned. He hadn't really though of that.
"Right."
(:ii:)
Amber leaned against the Chrysler's crippled bumper and watched as Spades set the CB handset down and climbed out of the car. He walked to stand beside her and leaned back too. Amber glanced at the blood staining his black leather gloves and had to look away. "I really want you out of this city Spades. It's killing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Spades replied as he shrugged off his bulletproof vest. He set the article on the hood of his car and fished out his pack of Gold and Milds. He flicked his wrist and took the one that popped out of the carton between his lips. "Have a light? My matches are in my coat."
"Yeah." Amber pulled her lighter out of her pocket and flicked it open. Spades nodded his thanks and leaned forward. He leaned back and inhaled, the tip of the cigar flaring. "You need a break from this. All you ever do is work."
"I like to work."
"You don't have any friends outside the other guys."
"I don't need any more."
"You don't even have a romantic relationship."
"Neither do you." Amber glared at the man.
"I'm only twenty-five," she growled. "You're almost thirty."
"I'm not even five years older then you," Spades commented.
"I hate what's been happening to you," Amber stated flatly. "Back when we were in college you were an asshole and you were cynical, but now. . .the things I've seen you do," she paused to collect her thoughts. "I've seen you kill people with your bare hands. That started here in Los Angeles and I want you to get out, even if it's only for a short time."
"Here are my terms," Spades replied. "You find some way of getting my snubbie into Japan. . ."
"No problem."
". . .legally," Spades finished. Amber flinched at that. "And you come with me. Maybe you'll understand if you see for yourself."
"Deal," Amber replied quickly. She glanced back at the woman lying shivered in the back seat of the Chrysler, Spades' trench coat draped over her form. "Maybe I could use a vacation too."
-End
(:ii:)
-Author's notes. Oh come on. You knew he was going to end up going.
