Jase took another long swallow of beer. “Anything else?”
“That’s all I got.”
Reaching into the pocket of his black T-shirt, Jase pulled out a folded hundred and slid it across the table. Shifty pocketed the money, stood up and hurriedly walked away.
Jase and Ryker both finished their beers. The Yukon was parked down the block. Jase plugged Harding’s address into the nav system and drove the five-mile trip to Bellmead.
As their destination neared, the area grew more and more run-down, seedy motels and apartments, the occasional liquor store.
“Up ahead on the left,” Ryker said.
Jase slowed a little, not much. They rolled past a pair of two-story brick apartment buildings facing each other across an open area. Stairs accessed the second floor from the center of each structure, which was surrounded by patches of green too sparse to actually be called grass.
He drove around the block, checking out the dirt parking lot in the rear that served both dwellings.
“Number 18’s in building A on the second floor,” Ryker said. “That’s the end closest to the parking lot.”
“Close to his ride if he needs to run.” Jase kept driving. A few blocks away, he pulled into a vacant lot. Access in and out from three directions, nobody around, just a few cars passing on the street.
It was a dark and humid night, flat-bottom clouds drifting past a thin sliver of moon. They got out, dropped the tailgate and started putting on their gear.
Jase strapped on his duty belt, which holstered his .40 cal. A nine-inch, push-button, telescoping baton hung from the belt, next to a can of Saber Red pepper spray, a Taser X26, a set of handcuffs and a high-powered flashlight. With the possibility of facing three armed assailants, they planned to go in hot, but using deadly force was always a last resort.
His pulled on his tactical vest. Extra magazines in the pocket and a spare set of cuffs—because two was one, and one was zero to a guy heading into danger.
Ryker wore black jeans. Jase wore black cargo pants. Both of them wore high-top black lace-up boots and black T-shirts. Their lightweight jackets read BAIL BOND RECOVERY, printed in bold white letters on the back.
They headed toward the apartment building, staying in the shadows but covering ground as fast as they could.
Once they reached their destination, they separated to do more recon. Better to be prepared. Since they had no idea who was inside, they were going in balls-to-the-wall, surprise being their best asset.
It was late, most of the apartments dark, only one unit with lights on downstairs. Unit 18 had a dim light on in the bedroom, but from down below Jase couldn’t tell what was going on inside.
Ryker came around the building and moved silently up beside him. “Didn’t see anyone. Found another set of stairs leading up from the parking lot.”
Jase nodded. “You take the back, I’ll take the front.” They moved off in different directions, making a sweep of the area, planning to converge on the second floor.
When Jase topped the landing, he reached up and unscrewed the bulb in the light fixture, the only one working on that side of the corridor, and kept moving. Ryker came up the stairs at the end of the passage next to unit 18, pulled his SIG P320 and took up a position.
Jase moved closer, pulled his Kimber and knocked on the door. He heard a man’s voice, then a woman’s, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Jase stayed away from the peephole just in case, but with the light out, it was too dark to see.
“That you, Handley?”
Jase grunted, pretended to slur his words. “Come on...open the door.”
The knob turned. The door cracked open enough for Jase to get a glimpse of Harding in a pair of jeans, barefoot, no shirt, a big semiauto in his hand.
“Bail recovery!” Jase shouted. Harding tried to slam the door, but Jase kicked it open, sending the man crashing against the wall. His gun hand flew up, and the big semiauto fired into the ceiling, raining plaster down on their heads. Harding lunged, got in a punch before Jase shoved him back and pressed the barrel of the Kimber into the side of his neck.
Gun held two-handed, Ryker moved to clear the rest of the apartment. Only a few feet more to the bedroom when the door flew open.
“Gun!” Jase shouted. Ryker dove out of the way as shots exploded, and Jase dragged Harding down on the floor behind a chair.
Ryker pulled off two rounds, and Jase fired toward the men in the bedroom. When Harding tried to break free, Jase whacked him across the back of the head with the barrel of the Kimber, knocking him down, then turned and fired two more shots into the room, hitting one of the men.
The second man, scarred face, tall, broad and naked, stepped into the doorway and fired. Ryker took him out with a double tap to the chest.
Jase moved and so did Ryker. Jase went to the first man, the one still breathing. He was dark and burly, wearing only a pair of dirty white cotton briefs. He was alive and groaning, a bullet lodged in his right shoulder, his hairy chest covered in blood. Jase kicked his gun away, grabbed a pillow and pulled off the case, folded it into a square and pressed it against the bullet hole.
