Lawson by Crystal Daniels
Lawson
It's Saturday night, and I'm hanging out with Gideon and Ransom while discussing tomorrow's hunt. I breathe in the smell of beer and whiskey while looking around the bar. My eyes land on the bachelorette party located in the back near the electronic bull ride. My gaze settles on the tall curvy blonde wearing a ruffled skirt that shows off her long legs. The white shirt she's sporting, pulled tight across her ample breasts, reads troublemaker. I wonder if she's single. Hell, I need someone to take my mind off Willow who's been on my mind for the past couple of days.
Willow is new in Graystone and has been living in a hotel on the outskirts of town for a few months now. Aside from the fact she works for Genesis, there isn't much I know about her. Either way, I find myself intrigued, especially since I caught her staring at me through the diner window the other day. It didn't help when she gave me the same look when I dropped her off at her hotel room. There's no denying I make her nervous. Maybe it's because she is timid. I'm not used to women who are so reserved around me, but Willow goes out of her way to avoid me, and it makes me want to know more about her. I just hope her nervousness is not because she is scared of me. I quickly shake that thought away. I'm not sure if others see it—the way her eyes are constantly darting around, like she's expecting someone, at any moment, to appear. She never makes direct eye contact for very long and shrinks into herself when in large crowds. I've witnessed her behavior firsthand, during the grand opening of Genesis' clothing store. I noticed her hesitating to interact with many of the townspeople. It didn't go unnoticed that she was more comfortable being around women than men, either.
It almost feels like she's hiding the person she really is and what the rest of us are seeing is a smokescreen. My intuition tells me she's been hurt somehow, that a man has done her wrong. The thought makes me angry.
"Alright, let's get to know our bounty." Ransom's bottle of beer clangs against the surface of the table when he sits it down, pulling me from my thoughts. "Marcelo Wolf." He lays an image of him on the table. "6 feet, black hair, gray eyes." I glance at the photograph. Judging by his appearance, the guy has money and isn't afraid to show it.
"Looks like we have ourselves a rich criminal," I state.
"You guessed it. Mr. Wolf here owns a chain of nightclubs," Ransom says, leaning back in his chair.
I take a drink of the rye whiskey in my glass. "What is the bail amount?"
"$300,000," Ransom informs us, and I almost spit.
I cough as the whiskey goes down the wrong way. My throat burns, and my eyes water. "What are his charges?" I catch my breath.
"Alleged sex trafficking and money laundering." Ransom's answer explains the six figures. "He's also being accused of murdering some well-known guy with ties to a Cartel."
"Damn. So, is he on the run from the law or the bad guys themselves?" Gideon asks, lighting a cigarette. Tilting his head back, he blows smoke rings in the air.
"No clue." Ransom waves a waitress over.
"Another round?" Beth Anne asks with a pleasant smile. Her eyes shift to me, and she blushes. "Hey, Lawson."
"Hey, there, sweetheart." I grin as my eyes travel her body.
"Be right back," Beth Anne states, and I watch her walk away.
"You and Beth Anne?" Gideon raises his brow. "Is there a woman left in this town you haven't slept with?"
I shrug. "Nothing serious." Gideon shakes his head at my reply. "What's wrong with two unattached people enjoying each other's company with no strings attached?"
"Didn't say anything was wrong about it." He takes another pull of his cigarette then blows smoke over his head again.
"You know, settling down isn't a bad thing. Both of you should consider it," Ransom says. I can't say I blame him for trying. He has Genesis and the kids to go home to every night. Being in a committed relationship suits Ransom. He's the happiest I've ever seen him.
I down the remainder of my drink and then start on the fresh glass Beth Anne set in front of me. I wink at her. "Thanks."
"You boys need something else? Just let me know," she says in an upbeat tone, then walks away.
I clear my throat. "Back to the task at hand, fellas. Do we have a last known location for our guy?"
"His home on the Texas coast. We need to head out first thing in the morning," Ransom tells us.
* * *
Last-minute intelthis morning now has us staking out the perimeter of a single-level family home, in a lower-income subdivision, at a dead-end road more than two hours away from our original destination. We've been monitoring the residence for over three hours from a vacant house across the street. Two cars and one motorcycle are parked in the driveway, and from what we've seen, there are at least two suspects inside: one male who is not the man we are after and a woman. "I think we've been given false information," Gideon grumbles, and I don't blame him for feeling agitated. It's hot as fuck outside, and the abandoned house we are in reeks of animal shit. "How can someone treat an animal like that?" I look through a pair of binoculars at the young pup chained to the front porch, having to endure the sweltering summer heat.
"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat their pets." Gideon downs what's left of his water and tosses the bottle across the room.
I scan the home's windows again, trying to get a clear view through one of the windows, when a light comes on. "Movement in the back room." A nude woman's body walks into my line of sight, then slowly sinks to the floor until she's no longer visible. Then I see our guy, sitting on the end of a bed, shirtless. "Bingo."
"You have a visual of our man?" Ransom wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Confirmed, and it looks like our guy is getting a mouth hug."
"No shit?" Gideon rips the binoculars from my grasp. "Sure, the fuck is. She's slurpin' on his gherkin, alright."
"Jesus. What are you two—twelve?" Give me those, and stop watching the guy get his dick sucked." Ransom looks through them as well, then tosses them back to me. I shove them into my gear bag and load a full magazine into my weapon.
"We're moving in while his pants are down." Ransom adjusts his Kevlar vest.
Gideon checks and secures the handgun strapped to his thigh and the one on his hip. "Let's get our bounty."
The sun is setting, and there isn't any activity as we cross the street. A chain-link fence wraps around the property. We keep a close eye on our surroundings while approaching the gate. "It's locked," Ransom states. Gideon pulls a pair of mini bolt cutters from his back pocket, cutting the cheap padlock. "Gideon, take the back. I'll cover the side where our fugitive is located. Lawson, go to the front door to see if you can get someone to open the front door."
To my surprise, the dog doesn't bark; he does nothing more but wags his tail. Before my knuckles rap against the door, a single gunshot is heard from inside the residence. Fuck. I step to the side and press my back against the house and pull my weapon. The front door swings open, and a big motherfucker with a neck thicker than my thighs and a mullet walks out. I immediately notice the gun tucked in the waistband of his pants. "Don't take another step," I aim my gun at him, and the fucker turns, his cold eyes meeting mine.
The asshole smugly looks me over and huffs, "Or what, asshole?"
A woman inside the home screams, followed by Gideon shouting, "Fugitive Recovery agent!" causing the big fucker in front of me to react. He goes for his weapon, and I shoot. Not to kill the bastard, only disarm him, so the bullet rips through his shoulder. The shot causes him to drop the weapon in his hand, and it hits the ground. Unfortunately, getting shot doesn't have the outcome I expected. It only pisses him off more. Roaring with rage, he takes a linebacker stance, then the fucker rushes at me like a bull. What the hell is this guy on? I barely avoid his attempt at a tackle by sidestepping, and he ends up ramming into the fender of the car parked in the driveway.
He breathes heavily, blood running down his arm. "I'm going to kill you."
"Come on, man. Don't make me hurt you," I warn him, but know by reading his body language, this guy will not stop.
"You pussy," he spits at me. "You're nothin' without that gun."
I shouldn't let his words provoke me, but the asshole strikes a nerve, so I holster my weapon. "Dude, you don't want to do this." He comes at me again, and as soon as he swings, I bring the heel of my palm upward, striking the son of a bitch in the nose. I feel the bone crunch, and he crumbles to his knees. Blood runs down the lower half of his face. The motherfucker growls in pain.
Ransom appears, holstering his weapon, with a black-haired woman in tow and her hands cuffed behind her back. "Have a seat." Ransom helps lower the woman to the ground. He looks between the big guy and me. "The cops are on their way."
"Is Wolf detained?"
"No," Ransom sighs. "He's dead."
"The fuck?"
"Yep." He points to the woman, "She stuck a gun under his chin and pulled the trigger."
"You killed a guy while sucking his dick?" I let that process. She says nothing, but her red painted lips lifting in a smile say she's more than satisfied with what she's done. I shake my head. "That's fucked up."
"We all die for our sins," she says with a thick Spanish accent.
Gideon steps out the front door. He notices the guy still kneeling on the ground, groaning. "Impressive. We managed to not kill anyone today."
"You guys fucked with the wrong people," the big guy spews.
"Shut up." I retrieve my handcuffs and slap them on his wrists.
A few seconds later, three police cruisers pull up to the scene. "Which one of you is Rockwell?" the older-looking of the officers asks.
Ransom holds out his hand. "That would be me."
"Patterson." The officer introduces himself, then diverts his attention to the big guy bleeding from his nose. "Holy shit. Santiago Guerrero." Patterson looks between me, Gideon, and Ransom. "You know who this is?" Not one of us has a clue and says nothing. We wait for him to continue. "This guy is one of the FBI most wanted and a member of the largest Cartel in Mexico."
"Do you happen to know her as well?" I motion to our femme fatale sitting on the ground a few feet away. "She killed our fugitive."
"No, but if she's with Guerrero, that means she's most likely connected to the Cartel as well," Patterson supplies.
I catch the woman and Guerrero sharing a brief look between them before noticing him pull a small object from his back pocket. There's a sudden blast of sound followed by a whump, then the physical impact that knocks me off my feet. The feeling of grit stings my bare skin. My ears ring, and I hear muffled voices. Bits of debris float down to the ground, still burning. I stagger to my feet, feeling disoriented as flashes of the present mix with images of the past. "Ransom, Gideon!" My first clear thoughts are to check on my friends.
"Fucking, hell." Gideon limps toward me, holding his shoulder. I look around for Ransom, finding him helping Patterson off the ground.
"Everyone okay?" Patterson shouts. "Call dispatch and get a truck out here," he tells his other officers, who were lucky enough to be standing further away when the blast happened.
Guerrero begins laughing maniacally. "I told you that you've messed with the wrong people, motherfuckers." A few feet away, the woman raises her head and watches as the house burns. Ransom lifts her off the ground and walks toward one of the patrol cars, placing her into the backseat. I grab Guerrero by the elbow and hoist him to his feet. Guerrero rears back and headbutts Gideon. My friend stumbles back a foot and shakes his head before his eyes narrow at Guerrero.
"Oh shit," Gideon says, knowing what I'm about to do, but does nothing to stop it.
My hand tightens into a fist, and I throw a punch. My knuckles crack against Guerrero's face, causing his head to snap back. Blood flies from the fucker's mouth, and before he can recover, I deliver two blows to his ribcage.
Before I go any further, Patterson steps in. "Goddamn it." He grabs hold of Guerrero and ushers him toward a separate patrol car.
"You alright?" Gideon asks.
I try bringing my anger down a few notches, sweating from the heat of the burning house. Ransom joins us, eyeing me with concern.
"You good?" he questions as well.
"Yeah. I'm good," I assure them.
Gideon shifts his attention to the flames. "Someone really wanted that poor bastard dead."
"Well, it's not our problem anymore." Ransom folds his arms across his chest. "Let's get the questioning and paperwork over with and get the hell out of here."
I turn and walk with Gideon and Ransom toward Patterson. "You don't have to tell me twice."