“It’s never that easy,” I reply, and I motion for a few of my men to take the lead. “But I want either the location of the gems stolen from the ship or the name of their leader.”
“And then?” Frank’s brow lifts slightly and I flash him a smile.
“Then we clean up just like old times.”
Rambunctious laughter and music pour out of apartment four as we get closer. With three men in front and four behind, it shouldn’t take long to apprehend whoever is inside. I unholster my weapon and watch the lead guard approach the door and knock lightly.
“Pizza!” yells multiple voices from inside. Footsteps thunder toward the door and it’s ripped open, revealing a topless man holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a grin born from far too much alcohol. It takes him a few slow seconds to realize we’re not the pizza, then he throws his beer bottle at one of my guards and tries to slam the door shut on all of us.
“COPS!” he bellows back into the apartment. “It’s the fucking cops!”
My men surge into the apartment with a single goal in mind—apprehend with zero casualties. As they pour into the apartment, Frank makes me hang back so we’re the last ones in. What follows is utter chaos. The apartment is pretty small, but all four men inside scramble like feral cats to get to their weapons and defend themselves or make a beeline for the fire escape which is quickly closed off by my guards. One man sprints the length of the hallway in only his boxers, blond hair trailing behind him, and tries to take out one of my men with a bedside lamp he grabbed from one of the rooms.
He’s quickly disarmed and thrown onto the floor so hard that the snap of his ribs echoes in the air.
“You fuckers!” one yells as he’s tackled over the back of the couch. “You’ll never take me alive!”
“Fucking pigs!” snarls another as two of my guards thrust him up against the wall and pin him there.
The third man with the broken ribs remains on the floor in a daze with two guns pointed directly at him and the fourth man, the one who opened the door, wrestles against the two men holding him until a sharp blow to the back of his thigh brings him to his knees.
“That’s him,” Frank says, pointing to the broken rib man on the floor. “That’s Clark from the store.”
Clark groans and gazes up at me with fogged eyes. “The fuck, man?”
“Clark Johnson?”
“Fuck off, I ain’t telling you my name.”
I step forward and place my boot on his crotch, then lean a good portion of my weight forward onto my knee. He wheezes and groans, then a thin whimper rushes past his lips.
“Yeah, I’m Clark, I’m Clark. What of it, man? You ain’t fucking cops, are you?”
“Shut the fuck up, Clark,” snarls the kneeling man a few feet away. “Don’t say shit!”
I glance at him and Frank moves closer, showing me the screen of his phone. On the display is a picture from the docks security footage showing the one idiot who took off his mask on the way out.
“And you’re the man from the docks,” I say. “We don’t need the other two.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when my men shoot the man pressed against the wall and the one pinned behind the couch. Both men flinch as their teammates are killed and I return my focus to the man on the floor.
“Where’s the rest of your group?”
Clark wheezes and shakes his head. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit.”
“Fine.” Pointing my gun down at him, I slide the safety off with a sharp click. “I only need one of you.”
“Wait—” Clark throws one hand up as if his palm can stop the bullet and groans in pain as his ribs protest. “The fuck, man, who are you people?”
“That’s not important. Now tell me where they are.”
Clark begins to cough and yelp as I increase my weight against his crown jewels.
“Don’t tell them, Clark. They won’t kill us all,” snaps the kneeling man. Frank’s by his side in an instant and punches him square across the face.
“We’re not talking to you yet.”
“If–If I tell you, you won’t kill me, right?” Clark begs.
