“Oh I trust you on that one, but I new that without even being told.” he said as he left.
“Andrews how about one of your ‘out of the box’ attack plans?” I asked that as I pulled up a satellite picture of the building from the Internet.
“We go in the back of the club here,” Andrew said pointing to the screen. “Meanwhile you wait with the bikers out front. None of us will come out the front door, so anyone at all who does has to go.”
“Half of the people who work, or live close by are going to be illegals. They are not going to call the cops. This is also a ghetto area, so the gunfire may on go a while, before it gets called in. But the cleaners need time to load bodies into the dump truck,” Andrew said.
“Reverse Trojan horse,” Andrew said. “In the Trojan horse you had something that looked like nothing, but was dangerous as hell. We need a road block that looks dangerous as hell but ain’t shit. We are in and out in a couple of minutes, the bikers have a dump truck they can drive through the road block with those biker following it.
If you notice even though the street is a dead end, the last commercial building has a rear parking area off the dead end road, but the building faces the access street on the other side. If that drive from the access road runs through to the parking lot as it looks on the satellite picture the dump truck could go out that way.
So the pub was open the next day, but the half dozen men stayed hidden upstairs most all day. By 6PM we were ready to start the grand plan. We pulled down the road where the warehouse sat. We were being followed by a stolen delivery van. We wiped it clean then used some of that biker power to turn it over. “Now be careful guys they want it exactly here,” I said to the twelve bikers who helped with the rollover. I had put on the black ski mask two minutes before I met them and planned to keep it on till I left them.
Half a minute after the van turned over, a high capacity Sport Utility Vehicle emptied half a dozen soldiers into the parking lot. All of them wore body armor and everyone of them knew his job. They went to the road leading behind the building leaving only a sniper to cover the front door, just in case the bikers had a change of heart. The small attack unit went into the rear of the building and killed everyone who didn’t attempted to escape though the front door of the building.
The team’s sniper killed one before the bikers were in place, but then they killed three more. The call came over the net all was secure, so the Swamp Dog crew came out the rear got in their car and went back to the swamp. The Brit, who was the front man, got in a stolen pick up truck, and drove down to the building with the drive that might or might not go through, to wait for me. I stood with Monk and his crew while they loaded the dump truck. The all wore gloves and I made sure they did not take anything. Which meant, we left a million bucks, more or less, laying around. It made no difference, it was part of the hit plan.
The whole thing from the first shot till the last body going into the dump truck took about twelve minutes. A looked at the digital timer I had running, and knew it was too long, but the last of us left at a little after 12 minutes. The cops had not arrived at the time.
The Brit and I discussed visiting the Sheriff, but I just letting it run it’s course. I had a feeling if Mission took a good look at his finances, he was toast anyway. I doubted he was as careful as me and god knows at times it almost got away from me.
When we got back to the pub, we found Andrew waiting. “What you doing here Andrew?” I asked.
“Well we got to talking it over, and we all know you can’t screw us all. So we thought you might want to send me home with some hooch,” he suggested. That sounds reasonable. Stay for the after action debrief and we will run out and I’ll pick you up a little something for the boys.” I suggested.
“Okay I’ll start,” I said. “Did any of you notice that I dressed as a man for the raid?” I waited and neither of them spoke. “Well I guess it worked then. With that black hood on no one would know.”
“The truck,” The Brit asked.
“Monk and his boys got it from a fed-ex depot. Drove it right out the front gate at 3pm. Replaced the cut lock with their own unmarked one. No idea how long it took to get reported but they weren’t looking hard for it. The empty boxes came from a natural gas storage point in Sparta. They were empty but market flammable, and went missing from there a few hours before the raid.”
“Good work,” Andrew said. I nodded.
“The assault on the rear went well. The Vasquez soldiers didn’t have time to fortify, which is why we went straight from the vehicles to the rear door. We were inside in half a minute and cleared the two room within two minutes. A few of them went out the front but I think Monk’s people took care of them. Once we knew they were all down, we exited through the rear, since I had warned everyone to use only the rear exit. It Leo was there he is dead, if not he has the message.” Andrew reported.
“You are right, it was about either killing him or send a message to him. I expect I will be hearing from him through the Sheriff maybe.” I said.
“You might hear from the Miami bunch,” The Brit said.
“If we do, we can always have a talk with them. We have our own local soldier base now. We needed the infamous shock and awe strike, and we got it.” I said.
“Now risk assessment,” Andrew said. “Possibly some brass missed the policing sweep.”
“They have nothing to match it too. Those bodies made it out to the lake I’m sure. By now they are chum.” I suggested.
“What if the Sheriff searches your still house?” The Brit suggested.
“Well I’m going out there now with Andrew and we will move the stock and take the still apart.” I suggested. “I frankly don’t see any glaring errors.”
“Actually I don’t either,” Andrew said. “I still might need to come back and have a talk with that Sheriff.”
“Let’s go on out to my place.” I suggested.
I checked my Internet camera from the Hardee’s at the plaza. I ran all the footage on the camera and nothing changed, so I could only assume it was cool. Andrew and I rode to my house and had the after action fuck I needed so badly.
There wasn’t any love involved. It was just the celebration of being alive. It didn’t even last that long. Not because we were in a hurry to get to the storage shed, we went to the trailer because we were finished screwing. It was almost midnight when we started loading his SUV.
“So Andrew there is a case of 24 of these 1/2 liter bottles share them with the others on the mission. This is a one liter bottle give it to Martin.” I said
I was at the end of a run but I had to throw out the last ten gallons of mash. I also threw out my starter mash. I hated that because it made my mash less yeasty tasting. I put my deer corn in a five gal bucket. It fit nicely. There were a few ten pound bags of sugar stacked on a shelf.
There was one bag of unwashed bottles and the plastic bag almost full of pot stalks. I carried the pot stalks to an old dilapidated barn I knew on a nearby farm. The bottles I left on the deck at my house. They were not a bit incriminating.
Andrew helped me take the still apart. We took the cross over pipe off the still first My crossover was CPVC so it proved nothing at all. Since it was harmless I put it back in the corner of the trailer. I put the condenser/ water cooler in the back of the cruiser. I left the cooker right where it was.
Andrew kissed me goodbye at 2AM and I went back to the pub where I put the cooler in his kitchen. I put it far enough out of reach and sight so that Nita and Jeremy wouldn’t think to look inside, I hoped. I made a mental note to make the condenser more a permanent fixture by epoxying a second opening in the bottom one where the liquor could drain directly from the worm. With thoughts of a technical nature running through my head, I went to sleep on The Brit’s sofa. The one he swore was just for me.
It was almost ten minutes into the 8AM edition of the morning mountain news on the only station covering the local news from the small communities. “Police in Dobson were called to investigate gunfire reported by multiple neighbors in this semi industrial area. The picture in the back ground was of the small warehouse type building we had raided. It was a better picture than the Satellite picture. There were cop cars and state police cars everywhere. CSI lab units from the SBI and lots of uniformed officers controlling the news people.
Police say that when they arrived their entrance was slowed by an overturned truck blocking the road into the warehouse area. The Police spokesperson said they can’t be sure what, if anything, took place in the warehouse. If anything did happen here, there were no witnesses and no one left to talk about it, when they arrived. Neighbor’s claim to have made previous reports to the police that it was the headquarters of a criminal gang.
Neighbors of the building said they heard gunfire, but saw nothing. Frankly it wasn’t the first time they heard gunfire from the building, but as usual Dobson police had done nothing.
Following her description of the scene, there was some barely legal Chicano who explained that, “The gang has terrified everyone here, so that nobody looks at or talk about anything. If these hombres do not return, we will not be sad,” he said. “They were bad men.”
“If you let them come back, it’s on you my friend,” I said to myself. I had slept in and skipped the morning bike ride, not only because I was up all night, but I also didn’t have a bike handy. My safety would also been in question but mostly because I wanted to lay on The Brit’s couch and watch girlie TV with Jeremy. Which is what I did while waiting for the cops to come question me.
My cell phone rang so I answer it of course. “Sylvia Porter?” the voice on the phone asked.
“Yep,” I answered.
“We would like you to come in for questioning please,” the voice went on.
“In reference to what,” I asked as any innocent person would.
“Would you just come in please?” the voice went on.
“Of course, let me get in touch with my attorney and have him make the arrangements. Is the Sheriff in? I think he would want to talk to me before we set the appointment.”
“Miss Porter, I do not usually involve myself in individual investigations,” the Sheriff said.
“That is a very good policy. I have a policy to use information I have accumulated, when it will do me the most good. Now I know and can prove you have been taking bribes for years. I can even trace some of that money to the same drug gang that operated out of Dobson with ties to Miami. I realize you call it campaign contributions then they become surplus after the elections, so you re purpose them for a new boat and things like that. I have the facts, figures, and dates. I was planning to use them in a primary race, but I think I will get more bang for my buck now.” I said.
“What the fuck do you want?” I could picture him on the verge of a stroke.
“You are about to call a press conference and get out of this investigation. If you recuse yourself, the Miami hard cases may not kill you and your whole family. But if you don’t, I am going to call a press conference this afternoon and drop the T bomb on you.” I said.
“T Bomb?” he asked.
“Yeah the most dangerous of all, the Truth bomb,” I said.
“You will still have to answer the same questions,” he said.
“Probably, but my answers to anyone else mostly likely won’t get to the Miami Mafia, before they get to the Court House. So call your dogs off.” I said hanging up as sharply as possible with a cell phone.