Triple Option
Darius Powell
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Darius Powell
He knew it was the wrong thing to do but couldn’t resist. Even the canned recital of six principles of addiction he had recently memorized didn’t help. Admit that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion, he mused. Got that right, he thought. Stormy knew he was helpless.
This bondage had paralyzed his better judgment since the incident last year; still, he pulled the cell phone from his hip. Today was a bad day for this, not to mention the self imposed cessation of anti-depressants. Late night carousing for the past week wasn’t helping his complexion either and he was tired. It had been a trying day at work and he was late for an appointment at the station. Still, he dialed the number hoping that he wouldn’t get a good signal or even better no one would answer.
Peering down the hallway, listening for others, ensuring no one could hear the conversation, he spoke softly into the speaker. “Hello, this is Stormy… yeah, I know what I’m in for, but I’m feeling lucky; things have changed. Hold on a sec.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. His hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably and Stormy could barely straighten the sheet to check his notes. “Give me Crimson State and the points…yeah, I’m sure…I told you I’m feeling lucky.”
An office door swung open a few feet down the hall and out walked a well built man with red cropped hair. “Detective Brooks, the captain will see you now,” he said.
Stormy continued talking but motioned to the young man flailing his outstretched hand to signal that he’d be there soon. “Crimson State; points,” he spoke into the phone, “I gotta go.”
Stormy moved down the hallway purposely taking his time; he even drug his feet every now and then and yawned a few times. “Who are you?” he asked the young man.
“You need to be more worried about why you’re joining us this evening, Detective Brooks,” said a voice from inside the office.
Stormy didn’t care for cops like Captain Skaggs. From his perspective, guys like Skaggs played it safe, played by the rules to a fault and worked their careers constantly all in the name of frequent promotions. Ironically the two had graduated from the Academy together and were once close friends.
Throughout their twenty years on the force, Stormy always opted for gritty assignments; the grittier the better. Skaggs conversely took on more administrative and higher profile positions such Internal Affairs and the Chief’s assistant. Skaggs’ strategy worked because he was in charge of Precinct 187, Crystal City Police Department and Stormy’s boss.
“Captain Skaggs, good to see you too,” said Stormy.
“Detective Stephen Ormond Brooks, please join us.”
“Just call me Stormy like you always have.”
Starting at his eyes, the captain scanned Stormy head to toe, then glanced at Officer Dinkins and shook his head. “Didn’t you get the memo, Brooks? You were supposed to be in uniform.”
“My neighborhood cleaners went out of business.”
“Don’t push it, Stormy. Chief Coughlin is only going to protect you for so long.”
“Yes sir, Captain Robert Skaggs, sir,” said Stormy, with a slight grin.
“Officer Dinkins, please close the door. Brooks get your ass in here and have a seat,” said the captain.
Stormy felt for Officer Dinkins. What a sorry existence, he thought. It was obvious that Dinkins was fresh off the beat with limited street experience and had to have been personally recruited by Skaggs to serve as his direct ass kisser. He too would become the type of cop that real cops loathed.
Officer Dinkins closed the door to the windowless office. The captain took a seat across from Stormy while Dinkins sat next to the captain. Maintaining eye contact with Stormy, Dinkins reached into his briefcase that was on the floor and pulled out a legal pad, several file folders, and a mini tape recorder. He passed the folders to the captain and put the tape recorder in the middle of the table and turned it on. Captain Skaggs thumbed through Stormy’s file, glancing at the detective every now and then. “You have a sterling arrest record, Brooks,” he said.
“Thank you, captain.”
“You’ve also been commended several times in your career."
Stormy leaned back with his hands behind his head and started to rock on his chair. “I try my best.”
“But you also have as many fuckups, fines, and suspensions.”
Stormy brought the chair to rest. A splurge of adrenaline emptied into his bloodstream and he stood to his feet and looked down on the captain. “What is this all about, Robert? My record is nothing new to you. What do you want?”
“It’s Captain Skaggs to you, Detective Brooks…sit down!” said the captain burning a hole in Stormy’s chest with his deep stare. None of the men said a word for eight seconds. Officer Dinkins tried not to look at either Stormy or the captain and didn’t know what to do. The color of his face began to match the color of his hair.
“This Jekyll-Hyde aspect of your personality is exactly why we’re meeting this evening, detective,” said the captain.
“Is that so?” asked Stormy, as he retook his seat. “Well let’s just get with it; I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what, fuck up another crime scene?”
“Fuck up another crime scene?” Stormy stood to his feet again, gritted his teeth and pounded his balled fist on the table. “I’m the best officer in this whole goddamn precinct, and Ramirez…he had it coming. That scum-ball sold all of the drugs in this city and was running a white slavery ring.”
“We know all about Mr. Ramirez’s operations, Detective Brooks,” said Dinkins. “Our interest is not his lousy corpse.”
“I guess you gathered that from all of the extensive field work, huh, Officer Dinkins?” said Stormy. “Did the Captain teach you how to conduct a thorough stake-out as well?”
“Enough!” yelled Captain Skaggs. “We’re not here to talk about anything but your crime scene. Take a seat, detective.”
Stormy sat down and again leaned back in his chair. He waited for the Captain to comment. “The crime scene was dirty,” said the Captain. “You were there alone for an hour before anyone else. What happened?”
“What happened? I neutralized a known felon. You should give me a gold star."
“Detective Brooks, this can go one of two ways…so cut the crap! What happened at the crime scene?”
“Okay, I see. This is where I’m supposed to spill my guts, right? Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know shit. I busted into Ramirez’s apartment, capped some of his goons and placed him under arrest. When I was trying to cuff him, he reached for my gun and I took him out.”
“How were you able to kill all five of Ramirez’s bodyguards by yourself?” asked Officer Dinkins.
“I got lucky.”
“Why did you shoot Ramirez in the head…three times?”
“It was my best shot,” said Stormy, as his jaws began to tighten and his heart rate began to sprint.
“Do you expect us to believe that bullshit, detective?” asked the captain. “You just don’t get it; do you? Your killing Ramirez sounds personal to me and something was missing from the crime scene…something that should’ve been there. The captain closed all of his folders and slammed them on the table. He stood up and leaned over the table looking directly into Stormy’s eyes. “I’m going to ask you one more time; what happened?”
“You can believe what you want to but I’m sticking to my story,” said Stormy.
“Should we start over or do you want to begin your suspension right now?” the captain barked.
“Are you threatening me, sir?” Stormy said, as his eyes started twitching uncontrollably matching the speed of his heart rate.
“Not even, Officer Brooks; it’s a promise. You have twenty-four hours to produce an accurate report. If things don’t jive, you can turn in your badge and gun.”
“Can I leave now, captain?”
The captain and Officer Dinkins nodded to Stormy which gave him the sense that the interrogation was over. He walked around the table, talking to himself attempting to control the impulses that wanted to do something he’d regret. When he reached the door, he turned towards the captain. “When this is over you know you’re going to have to kiss my ass?”
The door slammed behind him.
Captain Skaggs’ treatment of Stormy was to be expected. He hated cops like Stormy; cops who thought that it was okay to break the law in order to uphold it; cops who practiced the art of ‘no holds barred’ in their approach to investigations. But more important, he also blamed Stormy for the death of his younger sister.
A little more than a year ago, Cheryl Skaggs was hanging out with Stormy. She really liked Stormy despite her brother’s disapproval. They were out late and Stormy did not want Cheryl to spend the night at his place. The last thing he needed was for Skaggs to think he was taking advantage of his sister. On the way to her apartment, they were ambushed by Ramirez’s posse. Stormy survived but Cheryl was D.O.A. at the hospital and the age of 23.
The description that Skaggs used for the crime scene stuck in Stormy’s mind. What was that asshole getting at, he wondered. Stormy thought some about the last few days. Maybe he had taken his job too serious sometimes. Maybe he had crossed the line a few times too many but his intentions had never been questioned. The Chief of Police had his back and loved his brand of crime fighting, so who was Skaggs to question it?
Stormy figured that the whole Ramirez ordeal was dirty considering the dealer’s close ties with members of the force. Despite his years in Narcotics and experience on the streets, Stormy struggled with whom he could trust. It was becoming more difficult to determine who was straight and who was on the take. One thing was clear; no one cared that Ramirez was dead and the only thing the captain was interested in was that something was missing.
“Stormy, how you doin?” asked an officer in uniform. “You droppin by the spot tonight?”
“Nah…, I gotta see my nephew.”
“How’s the little guy doin anyway?”
“Not good…he needs a new liver.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Stormy. Hang in there.”
“Thanks, Buford,” said Stormy, opening the door to leave the building. He still had time but would have to hurry to make it across town to see his nephew, Ryen, before the hospital closed. Stormy hopped into his red and black 2010 Ford Mustang GT and fired up the engine. He had a lot on his mind tonight; troubled by the meeting with Skaggs and depressed at the thought of Ryen struggling to hang onto his life.
Stormy arrived at the hospital well before closing. On his way to Ryen’s room, he was overwhelmed by the multitude of children with crutches, in wheelchairs, and being rushed to surgery on gurneys. He couldn’t help but feel bad for them; their presence confirmed Ryen’s situation all too well. Stormy also noticed that their small faces were happy and they were being kids despite for some impending death. He admired the hope that sprung from their faces. To Stormy, they were warriors…good soldiers…champs. Their courage under fire was the ethos he fashioned himself to live by. Recognize a greater power that can give strength, he thought.
“Uncle Stormy,” said Ryen, smiling with a brief spurt of energy as he turned his head to look at his uncle. “I knew you’d make it.”
“How are you, Ryen?”
Doris and Cole Brooks stood up from bedside chairs. Doris stayed by the bed and stroked Ryen’s forehead, while Cole Brooks went to embrace his brother.
“Thanks for comin bro,” said Cole. “Ryen’s been talking about you all day. He wants to know when you’re gonna take him fishing.”
“As soon as he’s well,” said Stormy. He walked over and caressed his nephew’s forehead then bent down to kiss him. “As soon as you’re well”, he spoke to Ryen.
Doris started weeping, covered her face with her hands and scurried into the restroom.
“Did I say something wrong?” asked Stormy.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with mommy?”
“Nothing, son, she’s just glad to see uncle Stormy too…Ryen, me and your uncle are gonna step outside to talk. We’ll be right back. Watch your cartoons; it looks like SpongeBob is on.”
“Okay, dad...”
The two brothers walked outside of the room. “What’s going on, Cole?”
Cole didn’t answer Stormy. His lips began to quiver and he put his hands over his mouth. Tears started to run down his face.
“Well…what’s going on?”
“His condition is getting worse, Stormy. He needs a new liver by the end of next week and we can’t find any donors. Ryen’s not gonna get that transplant. He could die, Stormy, and I don’t know what to do,” he said, wiping the tears away while shaking his head and looking to his older brother.
“It’s going to be okay, Cole.” Stormy put his hand on Cole’s shoulder, doing his best to offer reassurance. “The first thing you’ve gotta do is to be strong for your family. You can’t go on sobbin like this. How do you think this’ll make Ryen feel?”
“You’re right, Stormy. I’ll try, but I’m not like you. You were so strong after Cheryl’s death.” He stopped crying immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay, Cole. Cheryl’s been gone for a good while now. I’m beginning to forgive myself for having her with me that night.” Stormy paused and looked away, he thought about another one of the principles of addiction; examining past errors with the help of a sponsor. He then gathered himself and resumed talking to Cole. “The important thing is for us to pull together to help Ryen.”
Stormy hugged his brother. Gritting his teeth, he put his thoughts together. “Take care of your family, Cole. I’ve gotta go; I’ll call later tonight.”
“You gotta leave already?” said Cole, wanting Stormy to stay.
“I’ve got some things to do,” said Stormy. He poked his head in the room. “Ryen, I’ll see you later champ. Hang in there and take care of your mom and dad.”
“Okay, Uncle Stormy.”
Stormy ducked out, tapped his brother on the shoulder and left. “I’ll call later,” said Stormy, as he ran down the hall.
He didn’t know quite what he was about to do but knew he had to do something for Ryen. Under normal conditions, Stormy would be on his way to Jay’s Corner Pub to socialize and get drunk but tonight he was more sober than he’d ever been with his thoughts solely on Ryen. He also continued to recite the six principles. “Make amends for past errors,” Stormy said to himself.
The Wounded Duck was a hole in the wall diner that Stormy frequented when he wanted to get away from it all, think, and do so anonymously. This iconic greasy spoon was known to serve a good cup of coffee. Except for Maggie Francis, none of the other regulars knew anything about Stormy.
“Well I’ll be…,” said Maggie, as Stormy walked in. “How are you, Stormy?”
“Fine, Maggie, and yourself…”
“I’m okay darlin, except for this bad hip. Other than that, my blood pressure is in check and this place keeps me goin. By the way I lost five pounds since last month. I’ll get you that cup of joe right away. Oh, you have some visitors; they’re sitting in the back corner.”
“Thanks, Maggie.” Stormy looked to his right and spotted two faces, one bobbing his head and the other waving a hand. It was Officers Clark and Hodges from the Demon Squad.
“Thanks for the coffee, Maggie,” he said as he turned and walked over to the demons, sipping the hot coffee in between every step, trying not to burn his tongue. He reached Ben Clark and Milky Hodges’ booth and stood over them continuing to drink his coffee.
“You gonna sit down?” asked Hodges.
“Do I have a choice?”
Hodges rapidly fluttered his head from side to side. “You really don’t.”
Stormy took a seat next Hodges. “What are you guys doing here? This isn’t your kind of hangout? The titty bar is a few blocks away.”
“Oh…I see…you’re into stand-up now,” said Clark.
Lowering his voice, Stormy got serious. “No, Ben. It’s just too obvious you guys talking to me here. We were supposed to meet later tonight. You aren’t regulars and let’s face it you have reputations. I never meet anyone here and don’t want Maggie to get suspicious.”
“Let’s talk about last night,” said Hodges.
“What about it?” asked Stormy.
“Did you handle everything with Skaggs?”
“Of course I did. I mean, he claims something’s missing, but that’s all.”
“That’s all?” said Hodges. “It sounds major to me.”
“He didn’t say what was missing, so we can’t get nervous and think he knows about the money,” said Stormy.
“It better stay that way,” said Clark, as he butted into the conversation. “I don’t think Skaggs would take it too well if he found out the reason his sister was killed was because you were fucking Ramirez’s wife.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“You came in her mouth, Stormy. If I was Ramirez, I’d want to kill you too.”
“Okay, okay…I hear ya. We’ll continue with the plan, you guys just have to give me more time.”
“What do you mean more time?” asked Clark.
“Tonight’s not good. I have some personal matters to tend to.”
“Like what?” asked Hodges.
“Like personal and none of your fucking business, Milky.”
“Oooh…Clark, he’s got an attitude. Now that’s the Stormy I know and love. Look here, bitch! It was our fucking business last night when you needed our help. Don’t forget that. Me and Clark don’t exist on anyone’s books and we’d love to make you that way too.”
Stormy finished drinking his coffee, slid out of the booth and stood up. “We’ll settle our business tomorrow night.”
Clark and Hodges gathered their coats and stood up; each standing beside Stormy. “No more delays,” said Clark. They turned and began to walk out of the diner. Clark spoke again. “Brooks, how much you got riding on Crimson St. tonight? I hear the quarterback’s out. Looks like no triple option tonight.” The two mercenaries turned away again looked at one another and started laughing out loud.
“Fuck both you assholes,” said Stormy as he flailed and landed a sucker punch to the back of Milky’s neck. Milky fell flat on his face. He was out. Clark, who was twice Stormy’s size, grabbed him by the throat with one hand and squeezed the life out of his testicles with the other. Next, Clark lifted Stormy into the air and threw him over the counter into a wall shelf full of glass cups and ceramic plates. Stormy ended up knocked out on the floor with Maggie running to his aid.
The intense pain in his groin prevented Stormy from losing consciousness completely but he was really woozy. Blood dripped into one of his eyes and he felt blood running freely from his now broken nose. He could hear Maggie screaming. “Get out of here, now,” she said, and he saw her pull a sawed-off shotgun from behind the counter.
Stormy overheard Clark drag Hodges out of the diner. “This ain’t over Brooks,” he said. “No more delays.”
“Stormy…Stormy,” said Maggie, as she knelt down to his side and lifted his head. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine, Maggie, just get me to a chair.”
Maggie helped Stormy to a corner booth. She told Moe, her short order guy to take care of other customers and fetch her some more towels.
“Here, put this on your nose.” She handed him some towels. “Who were those guys anyway?” she asked.
“Let’s just say they won’t be in here anymore. I’ll take care of the damage to your place,” said Stormy, upset that he had placed Maggie in the middle of his mess and embarrassed that she witnessed him getting his ass kicked.
“Don’t worry about that honey, this place will be fine. Let me get something for those cuts. Oooh, these are deep. You need to go to the hospital.”
“No can do, Maggie, I don’t have the time. I told you I’ll be fine.”
“You bettin again?” asked Maggie with a scowl.
Stormy bowed his head. “How’d you know?”
“I heard what that fella said about Crimson State.”
“Okay, okay, so I’m fucking up again… but Crimson State’s a lock. They have the number one player in the country behind center. There’s no way I can lose this time.”
“How much you in for?” asked Maggie.
“Fifty grand…but if Crimson State wins their conference, I win double. I’ll be able to pay off this bookie and get ‘em off my back.
“That’s a big if,” said Maggie.
Stormy smiled; he was in serious denial of how bad this vice had become. Whatever the case, his balls still hurt and his face was beginning to swell. Maggie walked over to turn on the television. “I’m going to get you some bandages for those cuts. You really need to go to the hospital,” she said.
Crimson State had won the coin toss and was receiving the ball. Their kickoff team returned the ball to the 40-yard line, but when the offense came onto the field, the backup quarterback led the team into the huddle. Stormy sat down and covered his face with his hands. Those jerks were right, he thought. He knew that this was something else he’d have to worry about because Crimson State was going to get blown out tonight.
He watched the game through two quarters. As the teams headed to the locker rooms, Crimson State was down by 30 points. A report at halftime indicated that Joe Kenney Todd had disappeared a few hours before game-time and no one, not even his family, knew of his whereabouts.
“Stormy…Stormy…Stormy!” shouted Maggie, as she shook Stormy out of his trancelike daze. “You gotta get outta here. I don’t know who’s holding your bets, but whoever it is they’re probably already looking for you. I love you but I can’t have a shoot-out in my place.”
“You’re right, Maggie. No one else needs to suffer because of me stupidity.”
“What are you gonna do?” asked Maggie.
“I’ll think of something,” said Stormy.
“Here, let me bandage your forehead before you leave.”
He stood up and straightened his clothes. Taking a deep breath, he said goodbye. He hoped that he would see Maggie again because he liked her company but knew his troubles were continuing to mount. He jumped into his car and again began to recite the recovery principles. “Learn to live a new life with a new code of behavior,” he said. Reaching into his glove compartment, Stormy pulled out a small man bag. Inside was a locker key and an envelope; items he was not supposed to have.
Stormy drove across town and took the bridge out of Crystal City into nearby Touffer Springs. He was in a deserted part of town and headed for a recently closed Greyhound bus station. As he neared the parking lot he killed the lights, drove past the entrance and parked in an alley behind the depot. Before leaving his car, Stormy was sure to check for the security of his three pistols; one on his hip, one in a shoulder holster and one strapped to his calf. He also made sure he had all of his ammo.
Something wasn’t right. He was queasy, his stomach was in knots and he had the urge to take a shit. Why was he feeling this way? He got out of car, gently closed the door to keep things quiet and walked up to the side of the building quickly.
The moonless night made for minimal visibility; a small amount of working lights ensured that Stormy wouldn’t trip over any stray debris but he’d still need his flashlight to arrive at the correct locker. Locker 4867, he thought, remembering Ramirez’s last confession before he shot him between the eyes. It should be the leftmost locker in the northeast corner of the building. Good thing it’s on the outside of the building or else I couldn’t see a damn thing.
He made it to the locker, put in the key, and started to open the door until he heard voices. Stormy immediately turned to move away from the locker and bumped into someone with a really familiar voice.
“What’s goin on, Brooks? You weren’t gonna start without us were you?”
It was Clark. He was smiling, but Stormy knew that he didn’t have friendly intentions. Stormy nodded his head, then slugged him in the nose and turned to run. He ran directly into Hodges who was pointing a gun at him.
“Where you goin, Stormy?” said Hodges. Hodges punched Stormy in the mid section with enough force to knock him to his knees. “That’s for the sucker punch earlier.”
Blood covered Clark’s face as he gathered himself. Staggering to his feet and holding his nose, Clark barked orders to Stormy. “Get the money now and we’ll kill you quickly.”
“Kill me?” said Stormy, baffled by how far this had gone. “Look…fellas, let’s renegotiate. Instead of you guys getting a third, how bout you each get 40? That’s two million for both of you.”
“How bout you suck my dick and lick his balls?” said Clark, winking at Hodges.
Multiple gun shots and pellet blasts rang all around the three officers nearly hitting each of them. They dropped to the ground in combat mode. The lockers could be seen from the parking lot but a concrete wall, about four feet high, separated the lockers from overgrown hedges and the walkway and served as natural cover.
“What the fuck is going on?” asked Hodges.
“Who else wants to kill your sorry ass, Brooks?” asked Clark, while stuffing paper napkins in his nostrils.
“Guys, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” said Stormy. “Did you tell somebody else about the money?”
“I was gonna ask you the same question, asshole. What else are you into?”
Before Stormy could answer Hodges, they heard the voices of the shooters. “Stormy”…the shouting voices echoed. “Your time is up. Give us the money, you fucking moulinyan!”
“I knew we couldn’t trust you, Stormy. You told somebody else about the money, didn’t you?” asked Hodges.
“You’re really fucked up, Brooks. If they don’t kill us first, I’m gonna kill you later,” said Clark.
Even though he knew that Clark and Hodges wanted to kill him, he also knew that they needed each other to survive the new threat. “Okay, Ben and Milky, I’d say it’s about three guys. They work for the bookie I’ve been dealing with. I owe him some money.”
“You’re a fucking low-life, Brooks,” said Clark.
“Ben, it’s true, I’ve made some horrible decisions lately, but right now we have to deal with this situation. We’re going to have to split up to divide their attention and make it more mano y mano.”
“For one time, I absolutely agree with you, Brooks,” said Clark. “How much ammo do you have?”
“I got enough.” Stormy looked at Hodges. “Are you ready, Milky?” he asked.
Hodges nodded his head then jumped up and ran into the parking lot, straight towards the bookies. He startled them momentarily but soon drew their fire. He ran to a nearby dumpster and slid onto the ground and to safety. Clark and Stormy ran in opposite directions maintaining low profiles behind the wall. The gunmen concentrated their fire on Hodges but left themselves open to Stormy and Clark.
Stormy and Clark independently crept to clearings and fired their pistols, connecting with the gunmen: one in the head, one in the neck and one in the chest. The three officers reunited standing over the three dead shooters.
“Okay, Stormy, it’s time to get back to our business,” said Hodges.
“Sure thing, Milky,” said Stormy as he turned to get back to the locker. Ben Clark stepped in front of him and blocked his movement with a firm hand to the chest.
“Where you goin, Brooks? You think we trust you now? Give me the key to the locker,” said Clark while opening his hand to Stormy.
The officers heard a loud bang. Clark’s head rocked back and forth as blood sprayed onto Stormy and Hodges. A second shot rang which totally devoured Clark’s face spewing an ocean of blood. A third shot hit Stormy.
The sense of a burning arrow piercing his anatomy brought immediate pain and dropped Stormy on his back. He’d never been shot before but was beginning to think that a burning steel spiked ball was pulsating in his bicep. He grabbed his upper arm attempting to apply pressure. “Hodges, I’m hit. There’s a sniper somewhere,” he yelled out.
Stormy and Hodges quickly ran for cover under the nearby dumpster.
“We’ll have to flush him out, Stormy. I have a rifle in my car. Can you run?”
Breathing heavily to deal with the pain and using his two legs and part of his good arm to reposition himself to shoot, Stormy was set to move. “I’m ready on three,” he yelled to Hodges.
Each officer got up and ran through the parking lot scattering their shots into the air toward the warehouse building that overlooked their position. Hodges took a shot to the leg and fell down. Stormy made it to Hodges’ car but did not see the weapon immediately. He did, however, see the sniper.
Hodges was a sitting duck but for some reason the sniper stopped shooting. Hodges was able to crawl behind the base of a light post. Stormy still couldn’t find the rifle and the sniper started shooting at Hodges again. The base that Hodges was hiding behind only partially shielded his body.
The sniper hit him again in the shoulder and he fell prostrate to the ground.
Stormy shot off the lock to the trunk of Hodges’ car and pulled out the rifle. Before the gunman had the chance to finish Hodges, Stormy knelt down, took a steady aim and squeezed off two rounds that hit the sniper in the chest. He fell limp out of the fifth floor window and onto a curbside fire hydrant.
Stormy expected the bookies to be after him but the sniper was a surprise. He wanted to know the identity. He walked over to where the sniper landed. It was Officer Dinkins; Skaggs’s aide, dead stiff with his eyes open.
“Sonuvabitch,” said Stormy. He shook his head and went to Hodges’ aide. “Milky, let’s go get that money.”
The two officers limped back to the locker. “Who was the sniper, Stormy?” asked Hodges.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. He’s dead, and that’s all you need to know.”
They made it to the locker and quickly removed three large duffel bags. “Two of these are yours, Milky,” said Stormy. “I’ll help you carry these to your car.
“You sure, Stormy? I mean, Ben’s gone.”
Stormy thought about the sixth principle, help others that suffer from the same addictions or compulsions. “You were his good friend. Do the right thing for his family.”
“How you gonna explain this to Skaggs?”
“Well, Milky, I’m not going to do a damn thing with Skaggs; you are. I don’t give a fuck about the bookies but as far as the sniper, he was a police officer. He was Skaggs’s aide and was looking for this.” Stormy reached in the small of his back and pulled out an envelope and handed it to Milky.
“These documents detail all of the dealings that Skaggs and Ramirez had over the years. Yes, Skaggs would kill for it. Give this to him and he’ll make this all go away. Hell, even Skaggs doesn’t want to fuck with the Demon Squad.” Stormy winked at Hodges and walked away.
“Thanks, Stormy, maybe we’ll see you around sometime.”
“Maybe, Milky, but I have to go and see my brother right now.”