Muerte - Death, It's What I Do

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Muerte - book excerpt

Chapter One - Afghanistan

Ricardo (Rico) Garcia, Marine handle, ‘Muerte’ was concealed in a ghillie suit, watched as a two-and-a-half-ton truck drove into the enemy encampment below. The terrorist commander, a tall, slender, bearded man, dressed in khakis, greeted the driver. Another man stepped out of the truck from the passenger side. Carrying an AK-47 rifle, he joined the commander and the driver. Rico clicked the talk button on his radio twice and then picked up a laser designator. Using the sight on the designator, he painted the truck below with an unseen laser light source. A group of men and chattering women came out of a cave a few yards away. They went to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. Moments later, a laser-guided bomb destroyed the truck, killing all of the men and women standing next to it. Picking up his radio, Rico clicked the talk button three times. After packing the targeting device into a canvas camo-bag, Rico removed a pair of night-vision binoculars. Scanning the target area, Rico’s stomach knotted; pain and anguish forced a sob from his throat. Bits and pieces of what once were children covered the ground. The truck was not only carrying munitions, but also the children of the terrorists’.

Chapter Two - Las Vegas, Nevada

Three Years Later

Rico Garcia staggered down Las Vegas Boulevard, known as “The Strip.” Rico occasionally bumped into people who looked with disdain at the apparently drunken tourist. ‘What a shame,’ some thought, ‘a nice looking young man acting like that in public.’

Unnoticed by the pedestrians were the three men following the drunk. One, a large man, spoke to the others, “There’s an alley up ahead, we’ll take him there.” The two accomplices nodded their heads in understanding. The big one slipped his hand under his shirt and felt the handle of the pistol tucked in his belt.

When the attack came, it was done smoothly, drawing little or no attention from the passersby. But what did draw their attention was when Rico Garcia exploded into a fury of controlled mayhem. Before the would-be muggers knew what happened, two were unconscious, and the big one wished he was, too. His broken nose and the empty space where a front tooth used to be, hurt like hell.

Reaching into his back pants pocket, Rico withdrew coiled flex cuffs, cuffing the big one first and then the others.

On the street, in front of the alley, two unmarked Metro police vehicles screeched to a halt, and four men in jeans and T-shirts jumped out. The four pushed through the gathering crowd and entered the alley. Sergeant Barnes, Las Vegas Metro, looked down at the three cuffed men and then at Rico. “Dammit, Rico, now we have to take them to the hospital before we book ‘em.”

Rico replied, with a smirk, “I was attacked by three guys, one of them was armed. You should have gotten here faster.” The other officers, who were helping the battered muggers to their feet, unsuccessfully suppressed their grins at Rico’s reply. Barnes saw the smiles but said nothing.

Barnes said to Rico, “You alright? You need to go to the hospital?”

“I’m good,” said Rico, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. After pulling on the gloves, Rico reached down and picked up the mugger’s pistol. Pressing the magazine release, Rico removed the magazine and then pulled back the slide, ejecting a nine-millimeter round from the chamber. Handing an evidence bag to Rico, Barnes said, “Be sure to tag those as evidence to justify why these assholes have broken noses and nickel-sized knots on their heads.”

Barnes eyed Garcia as he bagged the evidence, thinking, ‘He hasn’t even mussed his fricken’ hair, and his clothes look like he just put them on.’ “Good job, Rico,” said Barnes, taking the offered tagged evidence. “That makes ten you’ve arrested this month.”