Killed, more than likely, or thrown into an even worse situation.
Lucky wanted to open a can of whoop ass on somebody for treating mere kids as disposable tools.
Bo continued, “They’ll likely be scared as hell, threatened with prison if they go to the authorities. Many are undernourished, and at least one is a pregnant female, likely in last trimester. Don’t expect to find many with green cards. Whatever you do, keep them as calm as possible. These individuals are witnesses with valuable testimony.”
Although Walter sat at the front of the room, next to Bo, he stayed silent, letting his protégé handle the meeting. None of the federal guys stepped in to try and claim the case. Would wonders never cease? Even Jameson O’Donoghue sat quietly at the back of the room. The bullshit his guys pulled not too long ago meant he’d better keep his head down. “We’ll need at least three other bilingual speakers on our team, besides myself.”
“We can provide two.” Was the bald guy with FDA or ICE? Or Homeland Security?
“We’ve got Lt. Rodriguez,” the representative from Atlanta PD said.
Bo nodded. “Good. Now, we’ve got agents tracking where the products go after leaving the warehouse. We’ve already identified several possible customers. We’ve also got agents undercover at a school where the drugs surfaced.”
Maybe they’d be able to keep Lucky’s nephew out of the line of fire. Road Rage Robinson wouldn’t have been his first choice to go undercover, but at least she passed for a high school kid. Salters had more experience, and more years, posing as a substitute health teacher.
“Atlanta PD has officers positioned at the apartment complex. While we’re conducting our raid on the warehouse, they’ll sweep the building.” Bo scanned the room, intense brown eyes focusing on each person for a fraction of a moment before moving on. “Many of the people we’ll encounter are victims. Bear that in mind when conducting yourself today. Raids are never pretty. Let’s minimize trauma for innocent parties when we can.”
Murmuring swept through the room, along with a few nods.
“We’ll set up a perimeter here”—Bo took the pointer and indicated spots on the maps. “Roads will be closed here and here. No one comes in, no one goes out.
“Once everyone is in position, Agents Harrison and Johnson will approach the gates and ensure the guards don’t call in a warning.
“First wave. You’re looking for these men.” Bo clicked a remote and four mug shots appeared on the wall screen. “They’re the ones running the operation. Their primary residences are under surveillance, but during normal working hours they’re usually at the facility.
“We don’t yet know who’s supplying this outfit, or who’s in control. The four men running daily operations don’t appear to be in charge. Someone else is calling the shots.”
Lucky wanted to get his hands on the mastermind—and squeeze. Hard. Like, until life left their body.
“We strike after 2200 hours, as soon as the bus empties at the building. We’ve identified the man at the drugstore as the owner’s grandson, Bryson Gentry, a pharmacy school dropout with just enough knowledge to make him dangerous. Agents will coincide the raids with taking him into custody. The first wave will consist of myself, Agent Harrison, and Agent Johnson. SNB is providing surveillance. The second wave will enter the building here.” He indicated the abandoned offices on the map. “Jameson is your point man.
“Atlanta PD will take up position on the loading docks, and outside the apartment building, to round up anyone left behind. Catch anyone who tries to escape. Any questions?”
Like hell would anyone get away on Lucky’s watch.
Tonight couldn’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucky strolled up the sidewalk with Johnson, hand in his pocket wrapped around his gun’s grip. They faked a conversation, though the words didn’t register in Lucky’s brain. He saved all his brain cells for watching the area.
The van across the road held SNB surveillance, and he’d seen three squad cars patrolling. Pretty obvious police presence in this part of town. Show time!
Lucky’s heart hammered in his chest. When they approached the guard shack, Johnson screeched and went down, clutching her ankle. Lucky dropped to his knees beside her, and shouted, probably a little too loudly, “Are you okay?”
The two guards stepped from the guard shack. “Private property—”
Lucky showed enough of his .38 to get their attention. “Not anymore.”
Johnson smiled, pulling her gun. One guy froze, hands over his head.
The other ran. Johnson nodded toward the runner. “I just twisted my ankle, remember?”
Fuck. They had to maintain the ruse for a few more minutes. Lucky took off. Damn the runner, damn Lucky’s fucked up ankle. Damn, damn, damn.
The guy shot a look back over his shoulder. Big mistake. Lucky jumped.
Down they both went. A fist came toward Lucky’s face, he dodged. He slammed his head against his assailants.Crack!Ow! That’d leave a mark.
