As their SUVs peeled out of the lot, tires screeching, I walked over to the open crates they left behind. Illegal assault rifles, grenades, crate after crate of militaryra hardware destined for a warlord in Sudan. I took out my phone and dialed Detective Miller. Miller, he answered, sounding asleep. Warehouse 4, South Terminal. I said, you might want to bring the bomb squad.
And Miller, Hunter, is that you? If you sweep this under the rug like you did my wife’s attack, I said, your name will be on the list next to theirs. I hung up. I waited in the shadows until I heard the sirens. The real police were coming this time, or at least enough of them that Miller couldn’t hide this. I watched from the roof as swarms of cruisers arrived. They found the guns.
They found the blood from Kyle’s hand. They found the chaos. This was the first nail in Victor’s coffin. His illegal business was exposed. But the night wasn’t over. I returned to my truck and checked the tracker I had placed on Victor’s SUV earlier that night while they were in the warehouse. The little red dot on my tablet was moving fast.
