Ara 18

Not Quite a White Knight Pt. 06a

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The City Of Angels, Spring 2008

(Note: Part 5 ran seven pages, which was longer than I like. Part 6 is longer, so I have subdivided it.)

For this section:

Chapters 38 includes violence. Bad things happen to bad folks.

Chapters 39 includes sex.

This is a work of fiction. However, the record supports the historical references below (Mongols, Mandela).


Chapter 38. Bait For Assassins

The question was, how do you convince fanatics who know they will die to spill their guts and do it quickly? Of course, before I got to that point I had to catch the assassins without them doing their thing and killing me.

So I asked myself what I would use to capture somebody if all I knew was their car and a general location? The answer was obvious, whoever was looking for me would have a fake police car that they would use to pull me over after the Mustang spotted me. I planned my ambush accordingly.

I knew the Mustang was out there, and I assumed spotting my “Vicky” (my Crown Vic) would trigger a typical LAPD pursuit and pullover using a fake squad car, sort of “Smugglers Blues,” (Glen Frey video) or “Magnum Force,” (Dirty Harry). It was an oldie that worked. Since they were unlikely to know the territory my plan was to let the Mustang spot me where I wanted, then lead the fake squad into a parking lot that favored an ambush and let my people neutralize the assassins. I did plan to have both of the gang’s ECM (Electronic Counter Measure) vehicles in the area, since it was vitally important that I not ambush a real LAPD squad car. Also, with the ECMs I could block signals (radio and cell) and control traffic lights. I had a trio of distractions going, to draw LAPD elsewhere. As long as I was at it, I set up four additional contingent distractions in case the party got loud.

“Seerdon Forest” was what we called the area the 49 and the Aztexs were negotiating over, where Cosmo and I patrolled. The name was from a company that used to have a couple of factories there; with no trees in the area so the title was somewhat ironic. The area was entirely industrial and about 50% occupied. It was bounded on the north by a railroad yard, and a park on the south, so there was no exit either direction. There were no through streets; two streets exited west and one exited east.

The value of the forest is street trade. One could set up a safe operation selling drugs or pussy, and the police never came because they could not cruise through without being spotted or get out fast if there was a call. That applied to others as well; there was no fast entry/exit for a drive-by shooting or rip-off.

The Mustang was spotted every night cruising or parking along the street that was the western border of the area, positioned where they could see both westbound exits. However, they had not been seen inside the forest since Saturday. We had not identified any watcher on the east.

There is another area roughly a mile to the west that was an ideal ambush spot. It included a parking structure that was entered after a series of turns through a lot. Instead of using low curb-height dividers for the lanes they used low brick walls, roughly window-level so people could see without obstruction. However, there were a few blind turns. It was a perfect spot for an ambush.

On Tuesday morning my US Marshal email address got a report that somebody had tried to run Vicky’s plates. They came back as “covered” which usually means confidential undercover law enforcement. This means Darnel had evidence that a government undercover agent had taken the girl, possibly after killing his Black King stooges… with swords? That would change his plan, a fake LAPD squad was still his best bet but now he figured he needed professional hitters to go after a lawman. Against cops he could not use locals. That made it an expensive hit for him and a higher risk for me.

Darnel also thought that the unknown cop’s office would be informed that the plate had been run. (They weren’t, the emails just went to me, but he didn’t know that.) With that in mind he would have to get his mechanic to take a vacation.

I knew one or more Shark spies had compromised 49, but now Darnel was faced with an inconsistency. One bit of evidence (the covered plate) pointed to an undercover cop of some sort. Meanwhile his spy was pointing to a 49 member as the guy on patrol Friday night. However, the spy had the timing wrong. What would Darnel believe? Suddenly the spy was in serious danger, a false spy soon became a dead spy who told no more lies.

Tuesday evening my people reported that a formerly abandoned house in the area had suddenly sprouted a number of cameras. It was in an ideal location on a side street a block west of the forest, and Wednesday the Mustang was observed entering and leaving the yard, which had a new privacy fence. So I gave the Captain another target to take. He had the men and we wanted to snatch up everybody we could.

Most of my troops on this op would be from the Captain’s squad sarıyer escort – men who were absolutely loyal, trustworthy, professional soldiers. I let the Captain know what I had and let him handle the details. He would need a few 49 members (for 3 or 4 chase cars and the 2 ECM) from Jax.

We planned to use two ECM vehicles 49 owned; both held radios, sensors and computers. One was short range, a ’90 Caprice that would sit near the house. The other was a hi-cube van with internal antennas for long-range work; that would be parked on high ground near the planned ambush site. In both cases they would looking for transponders from real law enforcement vehicles, search for any radios (including cell phones) the bandits were using and jam cell phones, like theaters do. One of our guys had put together a pair of signal interceptors (AKA stingrays), which needed a computer pick out and translate the signals. It had not been street tested yet, but might help.

Since we might be in Aztex territory, I gave a call to their command center, to give a heads up. Tony, their President, was in a chatty mood, so I gave him an outline. I stressed it was a contract job for a relative, there would be no colors and that most of the folks would be mercs, not gangers. (They were not mercs, that was a source of pride for them, but that was close enough for Tony.) He knew the type – he didn’t have any – and properly took it as a warning for his guys. I mentioned the ECM stuff and he got interested. Could his boy Tonto come along? It was a legitimate request, especially during negotiations. I had met the kid, he was a computer wiz. I said he would be under radio silence, would have to keep his head down, and obey any orders. Also, I could not swear there would be no shooting. Tony was fine with all that, the kid needed “street time” and in his gang that was a problem sometimes. I said the op was “when spotted” so he and his boy had to be ready from 9 to midnight Thursday through Saturday. I figured that was a deal breaker but Tony said okay. So I made plans to put the kid in the van.

Since I had Tony’s kid along, I knew he would send observers, but they would be extra careful not screw anything up or get shot. In fact, it was probably better having them in the area to keep the locals out of the way.

Go Time

Thursday night all was set as soon as the Mustang was spotted in its orbit. Chase cars were in their orbits and ECM vehicles were in position. The three distractions were drawing crowds of cops away from the area plus screwing up traffic. Vans and the shop flatbed pulled on station, all with their IDs and plates covered. My soldiers took their place at both locations: the house and the ambush site. The trap was set.

Tonto was working with some people he went to school with, in the ECM van. Jax was there with Pius, who was the Captain’s second-in-command, to babysit/bodyguard. Jax was not happy about either visitor. I picked the ECM van to insure the kid would see nothing directly and was safe. We were trying to make a merger and impressing them with the op would help. Jax was in the van to command his people. Pius watched everything and he (not Jax) could take command of the van if needed. As a personal weapon Pius carried a big Desert Eagle, an expensive pistol that is scary as hell and makes big holes in people or bricks.


chase car was trailing the Mustang that was orbiting on schedule. When they were in the right spot on their route I rolled out of the Seerdon Forest westbound, coming from behind with lights and siren. I blew by the Mustang a block later, driving like I was a squad car heading to the paint store fire (distraction

, a mile south and west). They followed with a slow tail and the ECM Caprice picked up a cell call as the passed by. Moments later my guys watching the house reported that a car painted like an LA squad had smashed out of the wooden garage door and through the wooden fence gate in a hurry. It was heading my way. Moments later it went by the

chase car that had picked up the Mustang.

Cynthia, the

car’s spotter, sharply called out three observations: the car had bulletproof glass, it was an older car made to look like a current squad, and while most of the markings were LAPD, a scroll that read “Los Sicario Ninos de Diablo” was on the door. That translated as “Child Hitmen of the Devil.”

I knew the name. These were not ordinary hitters. Those “Ninos” were damn expensive and crazy and very persistent because they did not believe they would die even if shot dead. The car was coming my way at about 80 mph, which would mean contact far too early. I stepped on the gas. They kept gaining. I kicked in the blowers.

As I drove I realized that if it was the “Ninos” this was not going to be a casual pullover. This was going to be a hard, messy, public hit. They would ram me if I tried to lead them into the lot as planned. Heck, they would ram me no matter what.

I had esenyurt escort to call an audible, and I gave full credit to Cynthia, my bed warming virgin from last night who was now a woman on the cusp of high school graduation. We don’t use real names on air. “All units! Omaha! Omaha! Good looking SinSin Sharp Eyes has called the key. Shooter and ECM reset…” I then gave a series of short commands. First I ordered all traffic lights to go red for the cross streets to the avenue I was on, plus all lights in all directions for the intersections where the new ambush would be. Second I ordered the four backup distractions to raise the chaos a notch, CSI was in for a long, unfruitful night. Third, I ordered all jammers at full strength to shut down communications; that made them dead easy for the Feds to track (they are illegal), but nobody was going to move in the massive traffic jam I just created. Fourth I told the troops that the ambush would be plan “C for Charlie” on the street, not in the parking lot. They knew to look for my lights. With cross traffic stopped I sped up some more and armed my rear gun. I had set up an old M-1 from WW 2 in the trunk to fire on contact with anybody who hit the rear bumper at more than a 15 MPH speed differential. I had a trigger to fire more shots. They were going to hit me too soon, and lose their radiator in the process.

I saw their lights were closing fast behind me.

First contact was three blocks from the ambush. I turned on my rear blinders (headlight aimed at their eyes) just before they slammed into the back of my car with about a 20 MPH differential. I had turned off my airbags, I guess they did too. We both had Crown Vics; their car was the previous generation (pre-1998), but was made heavier with bulletproof glass and armor. I had targeted frame reinforcement, including a replacement rear bumper that absorbed a 15 MPH hit (from an older car’s front bumper) and dual superchargers. The gun fired on impact, then I pulled the chord twice more.

As I pulled away from the hit I saw in the rearview the steam and oil pouring out of their hood. The first hit killed their radiator and reduced their front visibility while the shocks on my ’70s bumper bounced right back leaving me with only minor damage. Normally with a messy windshield you could open the window and lean out too see, but bulletproof glass did not open. The driver got pissed.

A normal unmodified cop Crown Vic stopped at the side of the road can take a rear collision from a car moving 100 MPH faster, it was something the California Highway Patrol demanded and tested for. So ramming the back of my car is the dumbest attack they could make.

The next block included a S-curve where the road jogged, changed names and became an expensive boulevard. They hit the curb because they did not expect or see it – their windshield was fucked. I also lost speed, making it look like I had a problem. They recovered and hit the gas again. The next block was the one I planned for the ambush.

On the headset I heard Tango. “Jefe! Fire One is go.” Dependable Tango had adjusted his position. His words meant the asshole that rammed me would die. With some luck, I could take my time at it. Inspire other fools.

The boulevard had cutouts for westbound vehicles to make left turns into the parking lots of the stores on the south side of the street. As we got close to the target intersection I swerved through a wide cutout I knew, putting me westbound in the eastbound lane. (Traffic ahead had a red light.) The other car couldn’t crossover but he was now in a position for the frustrated drugged up pissed-out-of-his-gourd driver to waste a few shots through a gun port in the driver’s door. Shooting left-handed without sight he had no chance to hit me. I had the faster car while his engine lost power.

The driver could see that ahead of me the red light was holding a wall of eastbound traffic in my lane so I had to do something. If I turned left, going south, he would lose ground and I would be gone forever. If I turned right I was setup to be t-boned, so he figured I probably would not do that. Playing the odds at the next cutout – the last cutout, a short one – he slowed down and swerved over to the eastbound lane. I pulled farther ahead when I turned. But I turned right instead of left. I imagine bad words were said, because now he was in the wrong position to do anything except follow me and lose more ground. He had to make the right turn, which meant dumping even more speed.

As soon as I was through the turn I told the Captain to take the house a mile back.

The fake squad had slowed to a predictable turn. Just past the apex of the turn, Tango put a trio of military anti-vehicle tungsten core bullets from his M-107 Barrett rifle into his hood, freezing the ailing motor. Tango was on top of the 3-story parking ramp on the inside corner of the turn, his range was less than 50 yards. He fired the first 3 bullets in his magazine, he planned on getting the valve avrupa yakası escort train, the electronics and the fuel systems, and he was sure to hit them if they had used the current model of the car. Any of three hits were good enough as it was. The first solid core jammed a cylinder, which tore up many moving parts and stopping the overheated engine in mid turn, locking the rear wheels. The car spun. When the driver stopped spinning he was dead stopped looking into my headlights, spots and IR (Infra-Red) spots (to mess up cell photos), with his dead car pointed at about a 30-degree angle from me. He could not see me in the glare, but he knew I was holding a gun on him. He trusted his bulletproofing and sent a prayer, whether up or down, I didn’t care.

I was holding a military M-4, so his glass gave him zero protection. Not that it would have made a difference.

The passenger was operating a bit heavier on the loco weed; the fool opened his door and jumped out waving a pistol, using his vehicle and the door for cover from me. But “Gun Boy” was on the side of the car that faced toward the parking ramp. Before he got his gun under control Tango blew his right knee apart, with a regular trans-sonic .50 cal. bullet that had a range of about 4,000 yards. At 50 yards it was a pretty easy shot. Tango knew I wanted these guys alive for the after-party fun and games, but non-fatal holes counted as “normal wear and tear and entertainment.”

The shock of the massive bullet threw the kid over and put him down for the count. His knee and a good chunk of leg muscle turned into hamburger. He might live if we quickly cut of the dead meat from the leg, but that was not going to happen, “Gun Boy” was going to be the first star at our necklace party with special sauce. If the guy knew what was coming he would have used his gun on his own head.

Tango’s fifth shot – another regular bullet – put a hole in the rear right door. Armor protects against pistols, not big fucking rifles at close range.

Alfredo, wearing a gas mask, dashed out to the rear fender of the car. Ignoring the twitching guy on the ground, he closed the passenger front door and stuck a tube in the hole in the back door, then turned on a bottle of military-grade knockout gas. In seconds the driver was out. Alfredo stuck a needle in the wounded guy on the ground. Then he opened the door and stuck a needle of in the driver, insuring at least a 4-hour nap for both. By the time that was done Little Jose had the van, with Tango aboard, next to the car to grab up both bodies. Pliers pulled the bloody bullet out of the concrete, so the cops would not be bothered trying to figure out what happened. The flatbed pulled up as the van was loading the limp bodies.

As the fake squad car was being loaded onto the flatbed the Mustang turned the corner and slammed on the brakes. It faced several guns plus my headlights, spot and flashing cop lights. Before they could move chase car
(a Ram 1500) blocking them in. With no choice the driver and passenger came peacefully, they got in the van and kissed quick as they each got a needle from Alfredo. It seems the Mustang’s passenger/spotter was female. Little Jose drove the Mustang away.

In three minutes there was no sign of what had happened except for the spot of blood on the highway, and the heavier than usual traffic jams. On the way back I made a quick call on the radio to Jax.


The IR (Infra-Red) cameras and directional mikes in the ECM Caprice had picked up four bodies inside the house where the fake squad came from: one big adult in the basement doing weights, two skinny gamers on the first floor front with a video game, and one small adult in the first floor kitchen in back.

The Captain rang the doorbell and called “Pizza delivery from Darnel.” That brought the guy from the kitchen running, he was looking eager as he opened the three locks on the door. There was no pizza. The Captain took him out with a chokehold. Phil tossed military-grade concussion grenades between the gamers, it was game over with no pizza for them! Before the screaming ended Phil and Slim collected the two ninos. At the same time Q-Ball, our skinny assistant warlord and the only 49 member to use a weapon, tossed a concussion grenade through the basement window. Big Jose collected the weight guy.

There were needles for all.

No shots were fired at the house (flash-bang grenades don’t count). Handcuffs and quick needles were sufficient. Another van picked up the bodies. Q-Ball grabbed the recorder for all the cameras. The CCTV rig was upstairs but nobody was watching it. The internet connection was scheduled to be hooked up tomorrow afternoon. These guys plainly did not think enough about security.

Like the street ambush roughly a mile away, the house took about 3 minutes between the doorbell ringing and my guys pulling out. LAPD never stopped at either location that night; somebody assumed the 911 calls – when they eventually came through after the jamming – were pranks or low priority because they were not repeated. Plus, between the paint store fire, 2 cell towers attacked, a hotel hit by a set of smoke grenades, and 3 other fire calls, on top of a massive traffic jam with plenty of fender benders, plus a batch of reported attack by Martians or body snatchers, they had other issues to deal with.

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