An American Crime Saga Part Three
Helloes! Sorry for the wait, but I was preparing for my next story (after ACS Parts 4 & 5), 'Why We Fight'. Anyway, here's chapter, uhhh… nine! And… REVIEW!!!!
Chapter Nine:
"BOOM!" a large and loud boom shook the house of Mr. Montoya as Jimmy fired an AK-47 at several targets in a row.
Jimmy had now been training for two and a half months, and was skilled with a seemingly endless list of weaponry. Jimmy was nearing the end of all the restless nights, exhausting training, and impatience. Impatience to get his money back from that detective who'd taken two close friends from him. Impatience to get out of his debt to Lazanno. Impatience to get his life back in order, crime free.
"Very good, Jimmy. You're getting better than me at all of this, and I must compliment you on your fast learning skills. You've made it easier on me as well as yourself. Now go get some rest, tomorrow we must refresh your memory on the art of bomb defusing." Montoya explained as he fell into a large char behind him.
"Thanks, sir. How soon do you think until we're through all this?" Jimmy asked.
"Not too long. You have learned most of what I know."
"Okay then, I'll go get some rest." Jimmy turned towards the spiral staircase and walked three steps before turning back.
"Oh, and have Sheen and Cindy called by any chance?" Jimmy asked. He hadn't heard from his wife and friend since they'd dropped him at Montoya's home. They said they'd visit in a month or two, and it had been two and a half months. Jimmy knew something was up, and was eager to find out what.
"If I'd heard from them, you'd of heard from them." Montoya sighed, as usual. Jimmy had made a habit of asking.
"Alright, goodnight." Jimmy continued up the staircase and up into the hallway on the top floor. He continued straight ahead on the marble flooring and turned at the last door on his left. He turned the silver knob and stepped into the guest bedroom he'd been sleeping in for the whole time. He never bothered changing clothes, as he always woke up two hours later to eat a two-minute meal and then train for five more hours.
Jimmy settled into the fresh, clean mattress and pulled up the silk blanket to his neck. He needed whatever sleep he could manage to get.
"I was called here to see somebody, who am I supposed to see!" Detective West burst through the doors of the Retroville Police Headquarters. He was angry that he'd been called to come back from Mexico to meet with his supervisors.
"Over here, Troy!" A man with a deep, raspy voice called out from across the room. He was waving a hairy, large and wide arm in the air. He had a nice watch, probably a Rolex, on his wrist separating his arm from his equally oversized had with calcium deposited on the joints. He was balder than the monopoly man, and had a scruffy, black and white beard covering his face. He was a big man, at 6 feet 6 inches, and was dressed like a stressed detective, which he was. His sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, he was sweating, and was visually distressed.
"Oh, can't wait to see what you got for me, Jack!" Troy West angrily walked a power walk to the man. The very man he'd been talking to on the phone for months. It was his boss, Jack Wells, chief of the Retroville detective unit.
"Sit down, Troy. We need to chat." Jack signaled towards a steel folding chair in front of a big, wooden desk with a nice, leather chair behind it.
"What, I get the damn steel chair? I'm doing all the work clearing the city of criminals and you're sitting in a comfy leather chair doing nothing. I'm sitting in the leather, deal with it." West arrogantly told his boss, seemingly insulted.
"You're just lucky I handle you like my number one guy, because you are my number one guy. You can sit in my chair, whatever, but we need to talk." Jack explained.
"I really hope you didn't make me drive hundreds of miles from Mexico to talk. What do you have for me, big man?" West sat in the leather chair and put his feet up on the desk, twiddling his thumbs.
"Some people in the department are looking at the massive pile of bodies you're leaving behind on your trail and are doubting that it was Jimmy. I mean, looking at you and your history, it wouldn't be surprising if they were right, Troy. And the other guys, especially the chief, are insisting that I put another guy on this." Jack sat in the steel chair as he spoke. West's smile melted away from his face.
"Another guy? ANOTHER GUY?!! Do you know what I've been through to get to Jimmy? I've been shot, Jack, shot! And guess what? I worked through it! And all of those bodies? I only did what was necessary! You said it yourself, 'do whatever is necessary'! I followed this guy to Mexico for you, for Retroville, hell I did America a favor! You can't just take me off this. I was so close to getting him!" West argued. He pulled his feet off of the desk and screamed at his boss. I mean, West was an angry guy, but never that angry. Not ever.
"I'm sorry, Troy. I have to do it. I'm giving it to Detective Paul Kennedy, the new guy. Maybe he'll do it without killing everybody he lays his eyes on." Jack sat up and walked to the door.
"You can't do this to me! What am I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and wait for a better job?" Troy was still angry.
"I suppose so. Take a vacation. Get some sleep. You need it."
Detective Troy West was speechless for a change. He sat in the leather chair, mouth wide, and speechless. He finally sat up and walked out the door, stopping by Jack.
"You are NOT going to get away with this, Jack!" West yelled, and continued on his way. He stepped into his car and sat there for a while, thinking.
"He can't stop me! This is MY job! No rookie detective is taking it from me!" West hopped out of the car and ran back into the building. He ran up to the front desk.
"Do you know where I could find Detective Paul Kennedy?" West asked the lady at the desk.
"He has the day off, today. He's at home." The lady said, engulfed in her Glamour magazine.
"May I have his address?" West asked. The lady looked up from her magazine.
"May I ask who you are? We can't just give away officers' addresses to anybody, you know."
"I'm Detective Troy West." Troy held out his badge.
"Alright, let me see, Detective Troy West. Umm… he lives at 3888 Pinewood Avenue." She replied, looking on her computer for the information.
"Okay then." West said and ran out.
"No thank you?!" The lady yelled out with no reply.
West jumped in the car and drove off to the address. If he couldn't have the job, then nobody could. At least nobody alive.
"Oh, Sheen?!" Cindy called out in their house, or at least the house she'd been living in for the past three months.
"Yeah?" Sheen rushed out of the bathroom after flushing.
"When are we going to see Jimmy. You said we'd visit a while ago!" Cindy explained.
"We will, but I've been going through the gang records. I can't find anybody who could've sold us out! Whoever did it must've known about the robbery and Jimmy's involvement, had reason to sell us out, and must not have afraid to call the cops about the robbery. I couldn't have been somebody in my unit because West probably would've spared him, but all my guys are dead. I've gotta go higher. I'm going to see Castillo. We can go when I'm done." Sheen explained.
"Okay, but don't take long. I really want to see him." Cindy said, and went to her room.
"I won't." Sheen said through the door, and went to his car. He really didn't want to see that snake of a man named Salvador Castillo III, but he had to find that snitch. He owed it to Jimmy, to Cindy, and to himself to find him. Salvador was the only man who held records on every big name in the gang. Hell, maybe Castillo would help find the snitch. Having a snitch in the gang wouldn't really help business much.
He got in the car and drove off.
"Ding-dong!" the doorbell rang loudly in the home of Detective Kennedy. The young man quickly got to the door.
"Hello?" Kennedy answered the door. He was a tall, muscular, blond headed man and had a slight resemblance to Matt Damon.
"We gotta talk!" West stepped in and quickly closed the door behind him.
"Talk? Okay, let me make some coffee." Kennedy said, seeing West's badge tucked in his coat pocket.
Just when Kennedy turned towards the kitchen, West pulled a silenced pistol from his other pocket and shot his fellow detective in the back of the head. He gently set Paul's lifeless corpse on the ground and looked throughout the house for a bathroom with a towel in it. He found one, wet a towel, and returned to the body. He gently wiped the fingerprints off of his gun and put it in Kennedy's had using the towel.
"Too much pressure, ay Paul. Shoulda known that suicide ain't the answer." West laughed at his work and left the house. He stopped at a gas station and filled up his car's tank.
He was gonna need it to get back to Mexico.
How was it? Anyways, next chapter (Chapter 10) will be the final chapter of part three, so be patient. In the meantime, REVIEW!!!!! Goodbye!!