Nothing Special V (Nothing Special 5)

“God in the office?”

“Yes.”

“Ro has the video running on the glasses. Pull it up.”

“Done,” he replied almost immediately. “You’re on the speaker.”

God could hear Day and see what they were looking at. “We got a lot of activity over there for a simple meeting. I think you should load up.”

“ETA ten minutes,” God answered, his strong, bass-filled voice unlike any other man in that office. “Tech, patch him through to the radio in my truck. Day, do not engage.”

“Ten-Four,” Day responded, still staring at the trucks, which had stopped circling. It was silent on the deserted street; nothing on NW Cairo accept six ramshackle homes sitting across from a dusty field and an undercover chop shop. Dusk was just starting to fall across the sky. It was the time in Atlanta where honest citizens went home to their families and the bad boys came out to play. Day ground his molars; he had a bad feeling about this. None of them made a move in the dank room, understanding the importance of silence in that moment.

No one had emerged from the SUVs. Day looked at his watch. Eight minutes and God would be there.

“Fuck. It’s Artist,” Ro whispered sternly.

Day jerked his head up. Shit! “This is not supposed to be happening right now.”

“Easy. ETA six minutes,” Tech spoke quietly in Day’s ear. “Sit tight, Lieutenant. I’m dispatching all units.”

“Oh no,” Syn murmured.

Day watched as all of Artist’s men began to exit their vehicles. One by one, Artist’s fiercely loyal minions formed a shield around him. Day counted twenty-two of them. His nerves kicked into high gear because he was sure Artist’s crew was heavily armed. He didn’t want any cops to lose their lives out there.

Several men broke off, going towards the warehouse, spreading out in a formation that told Day this wasn’t a meeting amongst colleagues. It was a double-cross. The startled sounds of the men inside confirmed it. He kept watching their every move, waiting for the sound of sirens. Just a few more moments.

Artist, still surrounded by six large men, made his way down the long row of vehicles. The door to the last SUV opened and Day watched as one of the burly men, wearing an all-black suit, yanked a frail, stumbling man out of the backseat. He could barely stand and he had a dark cloth draped over his head.

“What the fuck?” Ro whispered.

The minion yanked the hood off the guy’s head and Day’s stomach dropped. It was their informant. The same one that’d once worked for Artist, who Day had got to turn state’s evidence against the ruthless drug lord. He was beaten badly, but Day could still recognize him, he could almost feel the fear racking the informant’s body. The man in black put a gun to the back of the snitch’s head, but not before turning his evil glare up at the window where they were.

“Our cover’s blown,” Syn hissed. “We gotta get the fuck out of here.”

Day turned, along with his men, and took off to the rear of the house. The sound of the single gunshot – executing their informant – was loud, even from that distance. The cadence of their heavy boots taking the stairs three at a time sounded like the running of the bulls. Day turned the corner and heard Ro’s loud “Get down!” and threw his body to the hardwood floor as bullets riddled the upstairs and the back of the house.

Day covered his head while drywall, glass, and dust rained down on them. There was a two-second break in the gunfire and Day pulled his two 9mms out of his shoulder holster. The bullets started again, automatic pistols firing over their heads as he and his men kept their bodies as flat to the floor as they could.

“Get to that back door,” Day yelled. Tech was quiet in his ear and he knew why. His men all knew what to do. He’d let Day concentrate on staying alive.

“There’s four SUVs in the back,” Ro yelled. He was behind one of the columns at the back of the small townhome, turning every couple seconds to check the window. He had dust caked in his blond hair, making it look a dirty gray. He had blood on his cheek and forearm – probably from the flying glass – but Day saw the fierceness in those blue eyes. Ro was far from scared; he was ready to give these bastards a gunfight.

Day belly crawled with Syn to the front window, ducking every time a few bullets tore through the home. This place wasn’t sturdy enough for this. The whole damn structure was going to come down on their heads soon. The men were probably buying Artist enough time to shake down whoever he was meeting in that chop shop and get out of there.