“There can’t be many of ’em in there. I only see two cars parked out front,” Wrath replied.
“You think your boy’s in there?” Scrappy asked.
“This is the last place his phone pinged before it went dead.” I stared at the house, trying to see through the walls. “So, he’s either here, or hewashere, and they took him someplace else. Either way, I’m going in to find out. You guys wait here, and I’ll scout the place out.”
Rocky stepped forward, shaking his head. “Like hell you are. Me and Wrath will go with you, and Scrappy can stand guard out here.” He turned to face Scrappy. “You holler like hell if a bunch of Kings come rolling up on this place. This could be a trap. We’re walking straight into an ambush for all we know.”
I nodded.
The three of us slid around the building, taking note of the lack of any obvious security system or cameras. The house was located at the end of a street lined with drug dens and foreclosures, dotted with only the occasional maintained home. This was the kind of neighborhood where heavy shit could go down in broad daylight, but no one would ‘see’ anything.
Just about every window in the house was either boarded up or covered completely from the inside. The only unobstructed view we could find was a transom window, about nine feet up on the west side of the building.
“Gimmie a boost, will ya?” I asked, and Wrath hoisted me up.
The window provided a partial view into what looked like the living room. I could see several of the Kings sitting on a sofa, playing video games in front of a giant flat screen TV. On the floor beside them, was Leo. He was bound at the wrists and ankles and was so beat to shit I didn’t recognize him at first. Next to him was Chucky. He was also bound and clearly wasn’t having any better of a time than the one he had with me.
“You see anything?” Wrath whispered.
“Leo and Chucky are in there,” I whispered back. “Looks like four, maybe more, Kings are guarding them.”
“Are they armed?” Rocky asked.
“I don’t see any guns. Looks like they’re just playing GTA and smoking blunts, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t packing.”
“Alright get down,” Rocky said. “We saw what we need to see. We know Leo’s in there, so let’s go fucking get him.”
We made our way to the back to find a large mud room at the rear of the house. With our guns drawn, we pushed open an exterior door, and my senses heightened as we entered the house.
“Too easy,” Rocky whispered, extending his arm to keep us back. He pulled a small flashlight from his cut pocket and shined it in front of us to reveal a tripwire stretched across the floor. “Boobytrap.”
“Stay behind me. I’ll take point,” Rocky said, and we did as he commanded.
Rocky was a Marine, having done umpteen back-to-back tours in the late nineties through the mid-2000s. He was a platoon leader and highly decorated combat sniper, which left him with a box filled with medals, and a head full of demons. Demons he didn’t talk about... at least, not to me.
I followed him deeper into the building, stepping over potential ‘IEDs’ Rocky pointed out. This place might be a shithole, but it was a well-enforced shithole, so it was obviously an important place to the Kings. Even if they weren’t holding Leon here, they were holding something. Something they were willing to maim and kill for.
I was right on Rocky’s heels trying to be as quiet as I could be, the rush of adrenaline causing my heart to beat so loud I was afraid it would give up our position. Once through the mud room and the connecting hallway, we came to a padlocked door.
“We shoot it off, we alert the cavalry,” Rocky said.
“No problem.” I grinned. “I can pick that.”
“I figured,” he chuckled.
Rocky stepped back, shining the flashlight on the lock while I worked. I was a street kid, whose asshole parents really didn’t give a fuck where I was or what I was doing. And what I was doing was petty theft on the streets of Denver. It’s where I developed a deep passion for picking locks. I could pick pretty much any lock, provided it used a key and even a few with tumblers. Anything with computers, however, was above my pay grade.
I made quick work of the padlock, sliding it into my cut pocket in case anyone decided to try and lock the door behind us.
Pushing open the door, we found ourselves in yet another hallway. This one was much longer and was lit with red lightbulbs, giving the appearance the walls were washed in blood.
The music and voices were getting louder, so we headed toward the sound, quietly passing the doors which lined the hallway.
“Okay, mister social worker. What’s the plan?” Rocky whispered. No sooner had he asked, however, a plan presented itself.
From one of the doors, which I could now see was a bathroom, stepped one of the Kings. He was a big dude, and likely had a big enough voice to warn the others over the din of hip hop and tires screeching. Unfortunately, he’d find it difficult to yell for help with a gun in his mouth. I was on him the second he came out of the bathroom, and before he knew what was happening, I had him pinned against the wall with my Glock 19 between his teeth.
“Make a single sound and this hallway won’t need colored lights to make it red,” I said. “Nod if you understand.”
