Jake pivoted as the smaller man, whose senses were dulled by alcohol and drugs, was reaching into his waistband for his weapon. The semi-auto never cleared the belt and Jake fired three times from only a few feet, all three center mass. The tight grouping of hollow-point rounds, expanding upon impact, ensured massive destruction of the internal organs. The thief was dead before his body folded to the dusty ground.
The two Mexican felons never had a chance; their criminal careers ended in a matter of seconds. It was quick, dirty, and ugly, but it was done.
“Are they dead?” asked a shaken Tommy.
Jake didn’t answer as he did a quick search of the smaller gangster, grabbing the keys to the rig, a worn leather wallet, and the weapon, which he stuffed in the front of his pants. “Might need a throw-down someday,” said Jake with a slight smile. From the other thief he took the wallet and semi-automatic.
Before jumping into the cab Jake kicked at both bloodied bodies, moving them from the path of the big rig.
The sideshow was complete.
With the music still blasting from the squalid tavern across the street, the five gunshots had failed to arouse the attention of those partying on the porch. Within seconds, Jake and Tommy were out of the lot and on the road, heading north toward Los Angeles.
CHAPTER TWO
Jake maintained a safe speed keeping in the far right lane. The traffic was minimal on the I-15, so he could have opened it up without arousing any suspicion, but he had no intention of alerting some chippie trying to make his monthly quota. He checked his mirrors often but saw nothing unusual. Their escape had gone unnoticed.
Tommy Hwan, a third-generation Korean-American with a criminal record dating back to his juvenile days, was in the passenger seat. Just twenty-four, the small-time street thug, what the Koreans called a kkangpae, had no idea Jake was anything but another member of L.A.’s criminal underworld.
Forty minutes of silence was interrupted by Tommy’s plea, “You need to pull over. I gotta take a leak.”
Jake smirked. “I thought you peed your pants back there.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to pull a gun. I thought you were giving him the bill of lading and couldn’t figure out why.”
“We’ve got too much unfinished business to let a couple of jackers get in the way.”
“They didn’t get in our way for long,” said Tommy.
“What did you want me to do, give them your twenty-foot container of fake watches?” said Jake.
Tommy laughed. “They aren’t mine till you get ’em to the warehouse. The deal includes safe delivery to L.A.”
“Yeah, I guess it does say something like that in the fine print,” said Jake with a brief grin.
“You showed me something back there.”
“Yeah, so did you,” sneered Jake.
“No, seriously. A gun ups the ante on any jail time, so I don’t carry. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But you’re not afraid to pull the trigger.”
Jake merely nodded, questioning whether he’d become too comfortable with the violence that had become a part of his life.
“Killing comes easy to you,” said Tommy.
With a slight shrug, Jake said, “I wouldn’t say easy but it kept us aboveground tonight.”
“Something came up the other day and you just might have the stones to pull it off.”
“You want to give me a clue.”
“After I pee.”
Jake pulled off the freeway at State Highway 76, stopping in front of the Circle K — Mobil station. “You can run in there. Grab me a Coke on your way out. I’ll turn this puppy around, then we’ll head back north.”
As soon as Tommy exited the cab, Jake was on his cell phone. He punched in a number and after three rings a sleepy voice answered, “Yeah.”
“It’s me. We need a cleanup on aisle four,” said Jake with a slight smile in his voice.
“Jake, don’t tell me that. I don’t need any more paperwork.”
“Hey, I removed two more idiots from the gene pool.”
“What happened?” asked Trey Bennett, his case agent.
“At our usual off-loading spot in Otay Mesa, Tommy and I got hit by a couple of thieves. They’re both dead. I’ve got their wallets and weapons. You better get somebody from the San Diego office involved. I don’t think there were any wits. I didn’t have much of a choice but it was righteous. I’m not sure if the video from the cab picked it up but the audio should have grabbed it.”
“Is Tommy okay?”
“Yeah,” and then with sarcasm, Jake added, “So am I. Thanks for asking.”
Science-fiction author Robert Heinlein claimed fulfillment in life came from loving a good woman and killing a bad man. Veteran FBI undercover agent Jake Kruse had done both, but lately the killing came easier than the loving.
Jake wasn’t the only person spilling blood in Southern California this evening. An honor graduate of the state’s prison system was about to pull a trigger as well. Within days the lives of the assassin and the undercover FBI agent would intersect violently.
CHAPTER THREE
As the assassin threaded his way through the Wilshire Boulevard traffic, the female in the passenger seat rolled up her window and motioned for him to do the same. He gave her a sideways glance, sulking at the directive, but reluctantly complied. She offered an unassuming smile, then lowered the volume on B. B. King, who was soulfully singing through the sound system of the 2008 Honda Pilot LX. He playfully slapped her hand for touching his radio but knew the real business of the evening was about to begin.
In a matter of minutes sweat rained down the assassin’s face, more heat than nerves. The evening was unusually humid and even though the sound system worked, the air-conditioning didn’t.
They couldn’t afford to roll with the windows down; the dark tint obscured faces and features. He would have preferred the accompanying breeze of opened windows, but the sealed-up Honda was the safe move for the short term.
To placate the driver, the female passenger unwrapped two pieces of Korean ginseng candy, popped one in her mouth, and placed the second to his lips as they both savored the momentary pleasure.
He turned left off Wilshire, heading south. A few cars were parked on the street but traffic was minimal in the quiet upscale community. He slowed as he entered the block where the target lived. In the darkness it was hard to discern the house numbers and they both strained to find the residence. With her hands, the female motioned for him to slow down and then she pointed to a home on the right in the middle of the block.
As he edged the vehicle to the curb, stopping two houses past the target’s location, he wiped his thick dark brow with his right hand before turning off the ignition and pocketing the keys. Rubbing his hand dry on his pants leg, he popped the center console and removed the German-made Heckler & Koch Mk 23 SOCOM. With his left hand he attached a sound suppressor, then racked a .45-caliber round into the chamber. The weapon was bulky but its stopping power made it a favorite of special forces worldwide. Second place in a gunfight meant death and the assassin was taking no chances with tonight’s mission.
Though he never served in the military, he knew what it was like to take a life. He had done so on the streets of Los Angeles with a gun and in prison with his hands. It wasn’t as hard as most people believed. He was nervous the first time he pulled the trigger in a drive-by shooting, but after watching his victim fall and receiving accolades from his “homies,” the nerves quickly dissipated and he welcomed the attention.