Laura Lee already had her taser out. Rogers nodded to her once Wilson was in the hallway to watch their six. Rogers raised his leg and with all his strength, he kicked the door. It exploded open. Laura Lee filled the doorway and immediately fired at the man who sat at the security desk, which was less than five feet away. Direct hit. The man screamed out and grunted unintelligible animal sounds as he convulsed. His hand reached for his phone, but he had no muscle control. He knocked over everything on the desk. The monitor tipped over and fell from the desk, crashing to the floor.
In Jefferson’s penthouse apartment, Burke stared Jefferson down. He hadn’t commented on Davis’s statement.
“What can you do for me that my RPD crew can’t?” Jefferson asked Burke, getting in his face.
“The RPD doesn’t know dick about the federal task force that’s in town focusing on you. I’m not sure what you moved that brought attention to you, but something did.”
Jefferson sneered. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, I can get you intel, but it’s going to cost you,” Burke said.
“How do you know him?” Jefferson asked Davis.
“We’re fucking the same whore.”
Burke’s stomach clenched at that statement. He wanted to pummel Davis. “Do you want my services or not?” He purposefully made his voice sound impatient.
Jefferson laughed. “That isn’t the way this shit works. I check you out first, and I offer the terms. You’re here. You’re already mine. There’s no going back for you now. And if you don’t check out or fall in line, I’ll fucking put you down myself.”
“Let’s get this straight: nothing’s decided yet. I don’t care about your activities. I’m just looking to pad my bank account,” Burke said.
“If you work for me, my business activities will become your business activities. You better care about them because if I go down, you go down.”
On the street, Dupont saw the Cadillac pull up and park behind the minivan. The two men who got out and approached the front door looked like bouncers. “You’ve got company; two coming in the front door,” he broadcast.
Through comms, Burke heard that the camera surveillance room was secure. He knew there was one more Tango on the first floor and two outside of the door. Two more being added to the party was not good news.
Dupont watched them. When they found the front door unlocked, they paused and didn’t enter. He saw them both place calls on their phones. “The party crashers are holding at the front door and are on their phones.”
Just then, a phone ringing on the other side of Jefferson’s door was heard.
Burke reached out and grabbed Jefferson by the neck with his left hand as he drew his weapon, his hand clenching around Jefferson’s blood and oxygen supply. Jefferson gurgled and tried to fight him off with flailing hands. Burke spun him so that he held Jefferson in front of him as a shield.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Davis demanded.
“Our party’s about to be crashed,” Burke said. “Where’s that safe?”
“Behind this painting,” Davis said, pointing at a wild color-splotched painting on the wall, just as the door opened and the two men came in, guns drawn.
One of the men fired, striking Davis multiple times in the chest. He was knocked back and crumpled to the floor.
Burke fired at the two men, striking them both. They both went down.
On the first floor, from the back hallway near the security room, the three team members heard the gunshots clearly. “Secure him and then meet us upstairs when it’s clear, Lah-lee,” Wilson ordered as he and Rogers rushed back through the door that emptied behind the bar. Just as they came into the bar, the Tango who’d been in the private room came running out, weapon in hand. His gaze was focused on the elevator door, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two men behind the bar. His head snapped to view them.
“Freeze!” Wilson yelled.
“Drop it!” Rogers’s voice echoed his.
The man swung his pistol at them. Both men discharged their weapons. The man collapsed on the floor.
“Tango neutralized,” Wilson reported.
“The two from outside are entering,” Dupont broadcast as he watched the two men enter through the front door.
“Fuck,” Wilson cursed quietly. He and Rogers took up positions behind two booths, their aim on the doorway from the entryway.
The two party-crashers slunk into the room, keeping themselves as concealed as they could behind pieces of furniture. They had to expose themselves when they crossed into the open to go to the elevator.
