Tony strapped on his lightweight Kevlar vest, making sure his shoulder holster fit comfortably and his Glock was within easy reach. After trying out Joe’s, Tony found he liked the weight and feel of the Austrian pistol. It was a solid, serviceable piece and worked well as a replacement for the handgun he’d given back to Shepard.
He slipped two extra clips in his belt. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, but wanting to be prepared just in case. He secured his back up ankle piece, brushing down his right pant leg.
Roberto Mendez arched a dark eyebrow, brown eyes measuring Tony. “You lethal enough yet, DiNozzo?”
“Just about.” Tony grinned, slipping a knife into a sheath strapped to his left calf, and checking to make sure the small blade hidden in his belt buckle was still secure. It was probably more than he needed but after everything he’d seen at NCIS, Tony had learned one could never be too prepared.
“And I thought LaFiamma packed a lot of heat.” Roberto shook his head, chuckling. “You are a walking arsenal, amigo.”
“Prior planning prevents poor performance, Mendez.” Tony shrugged one shoulder. It was probably more than he needed but after everything he’d seen at NCIS, Tony had learned it was better to be ready for anything. And given what they were gearing up for, the added weapons didn’t really constitute too much.
They were going out to bring in a local gang leader, Jesus Rodriguez. He was wanted for murder of four young women. They were all raped, strangled and left in alleys deep in a rival gang’s territory. It wasn’t until the third victim that they had any evidence point the finger in Rodriguez’s general direction. It took a fourth to get DNA and fingerprints that confirmed it was him. With that in hand, getting an arrest warrant was easy to do.
At NCIS, Gibbs would have gone after Rodriguez before the last victim had been killed---but Tony doubted even Gibbs could have made the charges stick. There wasn’t enough evidence then. Short of shooting him in the head and claiming ‘self-defense’ they wouldn’t have had a prayer of putting Rodriguez down and keeping him there. And while most of the squad probably wouldn’t have objected to doing just that---on Beaumont’s team you either played by the rules or you didn’t play at all.
They were on good terms with the DA’s office. Doing things right made the prosecutors’ jobs easier. Making sure all the I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed had given Beaumont’s Major Case Squad the best conviction rate in Houston.
Thinking about the dead girls, Tony couldn’t tell if Rodriguez was just another sick serial killer or if he was attempting to start a gang war. It could be a case of both. Either way, getting him off the streets was necessary, the sooner, the better.
Rodriguez had been spotted at one of the local hangouts. It was a bar attached to a run-down old hotel which doubled as a crack house and brothel. Houston PD made regular forays to clean it up, but so far no permanent solution had been found. Hopefully taking down Rodriguez would help, but Tony privately agreed with Joe when he’d said burning the place to the ground was probably the only thing that would come close to making a lasting change.
Like most gangs in the area, Rodriguez and his posse were outfitted like a small army. They weren’t guys to be taken lightly. The department believed sending in a show of force would make Rodriquez easier to arrest. They wanted to avoid a shoot out scenario, and the best way to do that was to look like they were prepared to go to war if need be. If the gang thought they were out gunned things stood a better chance of being resolved peacefully.
Tony watched as Roberto patted down his own vest one more time, rechecking his equipment with neat, efficient movements. Tony liked that about his partner. The man didn’t waste time or energy. He carried himself like the professional he was. He was every bit as lethal as Ziva…he just didn’t make a production out of it.
Roberto smiled brightly at Tony, flashing even white teeth, before sobering. “Glad you are on my side, Tony.”
“Same here.” Tony reached out with a fist to bump knuckles with Roberto. Those open statements of appreciation and confidence in Tony’s ability were another thing he liked about his partner. Roberto wasn’t shy about calling him on being an ass either if the situation called for it. It was a good balance.
“You boys ready ta saddle up?”
Only Levon Lundy could ask something like that and not sound like he was trying to mimic John Wayne, Tony thought with a wry smile. From him, it didn’t sound like an overused, outdated cliché. Tony thought it might be the drawl, or the fact that Levon really could ride. He wasn’t sure. Whatever it was…it worked for him.
Tony gave the blond a wink and a smile. “Locked and loaded, Cowboy.”
Joe LaFiamma worked the pump action on the shotgun he was holding as he walked in to the room. “Think that’s my line, Tony.”
Tony eyed the weapon. “Isn’t that overkill?”
“No.” Joe’s grin reminded Tony of a dog bearing its teeth.
“I talked him out of a bazooka.” Levon grinned, lightly slapping Joe on the shoulder.
“Not hard to do, Lundy.” Joe snorted, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have one.”
Levon smirked. “If we did, you’d be packing it.”
Roberto and Tony traded knowing looks, agreeing with Levon’s assessment. Joe normally carried three guns on him---one under each arm in a custom made double shoulder holster and an ankle gun. Going out on a case like this, Joe had likely doubled his arsenal. It wasn’t exactly regulation, but then neither were the knives Tony currently carried. Beaumont never commented on their arsenal other than to tell them to make sure they documented what they were carrying and be prepared to fully justify or explain the need for it should anyone higher up the ladder started asking question.
“We ready to do this thing?” Levon asked, amber eyes assessing them. When everyone nodded, he turned toward the door. “All right, let’s go bag us a bad guy.”
Tony and Roberto followed Joe and Levon out to their truck. Tony waved to Carol Dewing and Esteban Chavez, getting a quick wave in return. They were part of the major case squad, and they were going in a black and white with another team from Vice. The guys in Vice had been the ones to provide the initial lead on Rodriguez and had worked closely with Dewing and Chavez. They were taking the lead. Joe, Levon, Roberto, Tony and two uniforms in another vehicle were acting as back up.
The approached the target building without lights or sirens blaring. No squealing tires or cloud of dust announcing their arrival. There was no point in drawing undo attention. If this could be done quickly and quietly, it was better for everyone. Tony found he liked working with people who understood the value of subtle.
Locals loitering in the area vanished when they pulled up. Marked cars usually had that effect. It helped clear the area of innocent bystanders.
It had already been decided that the uniforms would stay outside. Their job was to watch the front and back exits. Tony wondered if he’d looked that young when he was still in blues. He shook his head. It was a sure sign he was getting old when he looked at other people and thought they were too damn young.
“Okay, Legs, where do ya want us?” Levon asked Carol. She was the lead on the case so it was her call.
To Tony’s knowledge, Levon was one of the few people she would tolerate being openly referred to as ‘legs’ from. Nearly everyone else was in danger of getting their ass kicked for even trying to use it.
No one had ever said, but if he had to guess, Tony figured the nickname was because Carol was nearly six feet tall and had a great pair of legs. With long blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and a figure any pinup girl would have envied, Carol was a beautiful woman. She was also one hell of a shot, and had a black belt in Aikido.
“Chavez and I will take the bar.” She pointed to the small building from which music could be heard and a neon light proclaimed beer and good food could be had. Tony had no doubt about the beer, but he was suspicious of the claim of ‘good food’. From the outside the place looked like it violated every health code ever written and he was sure the inside wasn’t any better.
Esteban Chavez, Tony had learned not long after he’d gotten the job, was originally a cop in Mexico. He’d chased a criminal across the boarder, working with Joe and Levon to see the man was returned to face trial in Mexico. He’d moved to the US not long after that. His contacts on the other side of the Rio Grande had made him a valuable asset to the department.
“Anders and Myers, you’re with us.” The vice cops nodded.
Dale Anders was built like the line backer. With his shaved head, steel toed boots, leather jacket and tattoos he looked like a bad ass biker. But at home, he was something of a big teddy bear if what his wife and three daughters had to say was true.
Bill Myers was nearly a foot shorter than his partner, weighed in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds if he was soaking wet. He had long curly hair tied back in a pony tail and old track marks on his arms. The marks came from vitamin shots he’d taken daily as a teenager in an effort to bulk up, not from shooting up drugs, but they certainly helped add to his cover when he need to look like a user trying to score.
“The rest of you guys take the motel.”
“Will do.” Joe nodded, the butt of the shotgun resting comfortably on his hip.
Carol looked at the uniforms. “If Rodriguez gets past us, stop him. Anyone else we aren’t really interested in tonight.”
Rodriguez was the only one they had a warrant for. And while there were no doubt at least a dozen crimes being committed in the bar and motel, they didn’t have the manpower or inclination to arrest everyone.
Tony moved with Roberto toward the motel. They didn’t move unconsciously in step the way Joe and Levon tended to do, but Tony thought that would come with time. Joe and Levon had been partners for six years. Tony and Roberto, only had two months in. They were still learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses, habits and preferences.
The motel was an old style. Tony guessed it had gone up in the late fifties. It had two stories with every room having access to the outside. The heat and humidity that dominated Houston’s climate most of the year had caused the paint to peal and flake off, leaving the main materials of construction, cinder block and concrete, exposed to the elements. Both showed their age, cracking and crumbling wherever they were visible. Metal stairs for access to the upper floor were on either end of the building. They looked suspect to Tony, rusted and worn.
He grimaced when Levon indicated they should work from top to bottom, but took the steps of the far stairway two at a time without complaint. It made sense to work the second floor first. If Rodriguez was in a room on the first floor and ran, the uniforms would catch him. If he was on the second floor, they stood a better chance of cornering him there if they were on the same floor. Levon and Joe took the other set of stairs. They’d work the second floor from either end toward the middle.
Roberto followed Tony up, moving soundlessly. His ability to be so quiet never failed to remind Tony of Ziva. She never made much noise either.
Tony knocked on the first door. He’d kick in every door if he had to, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to. And it never hurt to start out being polite. Checking the doorknob, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find the lock was broken. It likely hadn’t worked in years.
Opening the door, Tony wrinkled his nose at the smell as they checked the room. Stale urine, vomit, the lingering scent of drugs and god only knew what else made Tony glad they didn’t have to stay long. The room had definitely seen better days. The dresser drawers had all been removed and smashed apart, random pieces were scattered about the room. The bedspread was shredded, with the mattress underneath looking equally trashed. A quick once over of the bathroom, Tony was fairly certain the tub was white when it was installed but there was no way to know for sure looking at it now. The water likely hadn’t run years.
As they exited the room, Tony looked toward where Joe and Levon were leaving their first room. Getting an all clear signal Tony and Roberto moved on to their second room. It was similar to the first. Roberto muttered a curse in Spanish, shaking his head. Tony agreed. He’d seen cleaner sewers.
The third room, by contrast, was absolutely pristine. Tony pursed his lips, raising eyebrows at Roberto. His partner shrugged.
“A puta with standards, maybe?”
“More likely that than an addict.” Tony agreed with a nod. He’d never seen an addict…at least ones so far gone as to be using a flop house…having any sort of interest in personal hygiene much less inclined to clean a room.
Carol radioed that they hadn’t found Rodriguez in the bar. If he was still in the area, it was probably in the motel somewhere. She and her team were going to hold the patrons in place until she heard from them. She wanted to know when they were finished searching the rooms or had located Rodriguez.
“Will do, Legs,” Levon answered, his soft drawl coming clearly through Tony’s ear piece.
They continued searching. It wasn’t until the fifth room that Tony and Roberto actually encountered someone. A man was unconscious, lying prone on the floor, with a bit of rubber tubing around one arm, a spoon, a needle and burning candle next to him. He was probably in his mid-twenties, but heavy drug use made him appear far older. He was nearly skeletal thin, and Tony guessed he was a good fifty pounds under what would have been a healthy weight. Tony blew out the candle while Roberto checked the man’s pulse.
“Pulse is rapid but steady. Respiration seems okay.” Roberto shifted him into the rescue position as a precaution. At least he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit if he ended up puking in response to whatever poison he’d shot into his body. Although, looking at him, even if he survived the night, Tony didn’t think he’d live much longer without getting some kind of help with his addiction.
Tony keyed his mic to let Joe and Levon know what they’d found.
“He dying, DiNozzo?” Levon asked.
The question might have seemed cold or curt, but Tony knew it was just Levon’s way of getting to the point. If the guy needed immediate medical attention, it would fundamentally change their mission. With man was essentially stable, there wasn’t anything more they could do for him.
“Breathing and heart rate are fine.”
“I’ll have the uniforms call in a bus.” That was Joe’s voice, quiet but clear. Neither of them ever raised their voice when wearing a mic. “Better to be safe than sorry. In this neighborhood, we’ll be done before they get here.”
It was no secret that emergency personnel were hesitant to enter into such a high crime area. Given that it was often more like entering an active war zone Tony didn’t blame them. They were trained to save lives, not to dodge bullets or deal with being threatened by flying debris and ball bats. It wasn’t like EMTs had Kevlar or guns with which to shoot back.
“Let’s go, Mendez.” They still had a job to do.
Roberto nodded. He made the sign of the cross over the addict. Whether he was praying for him or offering last rites, Tony didn’t know.
At the next room a barely dressed prostitute answered Roberto’s knock. She stared at them for a moment, expression more resigned than surprised. She stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Not here to make your day worse, sweetie,” Roberto said quietly.
She nodded slowly, getting the message they weren’t here to bust her for practicing the world’s oldest profession. “What do you want?”
“You here alone?”
“My john left half an hour ago.” She sniffed discretely, wiping at her nose. “Haven’t gotten around to going back out yet.”
Tony wondered what she’d snorted but didn’t ask. He knew from his time in Baltimore that many women working the streets had a habit of some kind. A lot of them started out taking a hit of something to make bartering their bodies easier to do, and before they knew it they were turning tricks to pay for their habit.
Tony just checked the bathroom, and under the bed, while Roberto kept an eye on the woman. He confirmed she was the only one in the room.
“It’s clear,” he told Roberto.
“Stay here, and lock the door. We’ll be done soon.”
She gave Roberto a tired smile. “Lock doesn’t work.” It was more likely that her pimp had broken it, making sure she knew she couldn’t have even the illusion of privacy or protection.
Tony wanted to tell her to get help, to get out of this life, but he doubted she’d listen. She had to have heard it all before. Probably several times. He handed her one of cards for a free clinic and shelter that he kept in a pocket of his vest anyway. She sneered and flipped it back at him. Tony walked away. It had taken awhile but he’d learned arguing wouldn’t do any good, and he couldn’t help people who didn’t want to help themselves.
They met up with Joe and Levon outside their last room. Joe shook his head in answer to Tony’s unvoiced question. They headed down for the stairs. Tony stopped to check on the addict, making sure he was still breathing before jogging down the steps to meet up with Roberto.
More of the rooms on the first floor were occupied. Tony figured that was because he wasn’t the only one who didn’t trust the stairs, the added effort of going up was more than most wanted to put in when it came to getting high or paying for sex, and the locks on most of the doors on the first floor still worked. The better locks were a pain in the ass because it meant kicking in more doors.
They found a number of prostitutes busy with their customers. It never failed to amuse Tony the way people behaved when caught in flagrant delicto. A particularly ridiculous moment with an overweight, balding white man hiding his privates with a pair of stilettos had Tony wishing he had a camera.
All humor vanished when they heard muffled screams coming from the next room. The pitch and volume made it clear those cries had nothing to do with pleasure…at least not for the woman making them. Tony wasn’t surprised the only ones reacting to the noise were wearing a Kevlar vests. People didn’t get involved in this area…not if they could help it.
They met up with Joe and Levon outside the room where the screams had come from. That it was now silent didn’t reassure any of them. Levon stepped in front of the door, kicking it in with a brutal efficiency that snapped the flimsy chain as well as breaking the lock. Joe and Tony moved in from either side, entering the room with guns ready.
Rodriguez was on the bed, his pants open but not off and his shirt unbuttoned. He was trying to strangle a woman who was losing the fight to stop him. She kept to flailing, arms and legs swinging wildly in desperate, panic driven movements that for all the energy expended were doing nothing to save her.
Rodriguez looked up in surprise when they burst in, but recovered quickly. He rolled off the bed, pulling the now weakly struggling woman with him so she was in front of him. He snatched up a handgun that was on the night stand.
“Put it down,” Joe ordered, leveling the shotgun. He couldn’t actually fire it without hitting the woman, but Tony hoped the threat posed by the shotgun would be enough to encourage Rodriguez to comply.
Rodriguez sneered at Joe. “You aren’t going to shoot me, cerdo. You don’t want to hit the puta.”
“He might not, but I will,” Tony told him, voice flat and even. He kept his aim unwavering, centered on Rodriguez’s forehead. He could feel Levon and Roberto moving in behind him and Joe, waiting. The sound of Levon’s colt cocking was incredibly loud, increasing the tension another notch.
Rodriguez’s dark eyes measured each of them. He put his gun to the woman’s head, her eyes already wide with fear got even larger, her mouth open as she panted for breath.
“I can still kill her.”
“You kill her and you won’t get out alive.” There was no doubt about that. Between the four of them, Jesus Rodriguez would be a dead man before the woman even hit the floor.
Tony could see Rodriguez weighing the odds. He didn’t get a chance to make up his mind. The woman turned her head enough that she could sink her teeth into Rodriguez’s arm. He howled, rearing back with his gun to club her with it.
“Put it down! Now!” Joe ordered. Roberto seconded him, making the same order in Spanish.
Rodriquez didn’t comply. Both Levon and Tony fired, aim no longer lethal, but just as effective. Levon’s shot took out the gun, the colt 45 slug put a sizeable hole in Rodriguez’ right hand. Tony had aimed for his elbow, the 9mm round did serious damage to the joint, shattering bone and tearing muscle as it passed through to lodge in the wall only a few feet from where Levon’s had come to rest.
Rodriquez screamed, falling to his knees. The woman scrambled away from him, her back to the wall, bruises already appearing on her throat, face and arms. She was crying hysterically as she sank to the floor, knees drawn up to her chest.
“Mendez, call it in,” Joe ordered, moving forward to kick the handgun away from Rodriguez, keeping him covered even though it was unlikely he’d try anything else.
“DiNozzo, take care of her,” Levon nodded toward the woman, while he slipped his gun back in its holster. He grabbed a pillow off the bed, stripped the case and quickly tied it around Rodriguez’ bleeding arm before taking another and wrapping his hand.
Tony picked up a blanket that was on the floor and approached the sobbing woman. “It’s all right. You’re all right, now. Shhhh…It’s okay.” He spoke softly, keeping up the steady stream of nonsense as he got nearer, not wanting to scare her any more than she already was.
Up close, he could tell she probably wasn’t much over sixteen. He cursed silently. All the dead girls had been young, but not this young. He grimaced, giving Rodriguez a dirty look. He almost wished he’d gone for a kill shot. Miserable bastard.
Tony wrapped her up in the blanket. He held her in his arms, rocking slowly back and forth, keeping an eye on everything else going on around him.
Carol and her team arrived a few minutes later. The ambulance they ordered for the junkie upstairs had finally arrived. Levon ordered them to check out the woman Tony was holding first. Ordinarily a gunshot wound would have taken precedence, but Levon was old school. As long as Rodriguez wasn’t in danger of dying right that minute, victims, particularly women and children, always got attention first. In the few months he’d been on the force, Tony had never seen anyone argue with Levon about it. Tonight was no exception.
It took remarkably little time to wrap things up. Carol went to the hospital with the victim. They didn’t know yet whether or not she’d been raped, but given Rodriguez’s MO, it was likely. It would help their case if she would press charges, but that wasn’t something any of them really expected to happen.
Esteban and two of the uniforms went with Rodriguez. He’d get treatment and be booked as soon as the doctors gave the okay. Tony didn’t feel bad knowing his shot and Levon’s combined might have crippled him for life.
When they went upstairs to check on the junkie, he’d left. The gunfire and sirens might have triggered some survival instinct, waking him up and getting him the hell out of the area. Nearly everyone else had fled the scene at the same time and for the same reason.
“Think we should set a match to it?” Tony asked Joe as they walked back to the truck.
“Now would be the ideal time.” Joe sighed, but shook his head no. He wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders. “You okay?”
It was part of their routine. They didn’t end a case or a day without asking each other that question. And it wasn’t just asking the question---anyone could do that much---but knowing the answer genuinely mattered was another thing that made working in Houston so much different than NCIS.
“Tony?” Joe jostled him, blue eyes narrowing in concern.
“I’m okay.” Tony gave his cousin quick smile. “Just…a real long day.”
“Amen.” Joe looked over at Roberto who was walking in step with them. “Mendez, you all right?”
“Good to go, LaFiamma.”
“Lundy?”
“I’m fine, Joe.” Levon slide into the driver’s seat. “I want a drink, and something to eat.”
“Hear that,” Joe agreed, getting into the passenger seat. None of them had eaten lunch or dinner before leaving the station. Knowing one was going into a potentially lethal situation tended to put a damper on even Tony’s appetite.
Joe looked over his shoulder. “You guys want to go to Chicken’s after we’re done at the station?”
“Sure.”
Chicken’s B-B-Q Pit was Joe and Levon’s favorite place to go after work. The owner, a massive black man who made Tony feel small in comparison, was an old friend of theirs. He’d become, by extension, a friend of Tony’s. Chicken kept a table in the back reserved just for the Major Case Squad where they could relax and recoup without having to worry about dealing with any of the other customers if a case went bad. He kept everyone’s favorite music in the jukebox for them to celebrate with when a case went well. And he made the best ribs Tony had ever eaten.
Tony settled back into his seat with a silent sigh. He couldn’t remember hanging out with his old team, not once. They only time they’d gotten together before his getting involved with Jeanne had been the rest of the team getting a home cooked meal from Ziva from which they’d deliberately excluded Tony. There were plans for drinks the night his undercover case went bad---but that never happened. They’d never got together to celebrate a successful bust, or commiserate over a bad one.
His old team didn’t spend any off duty time together. They didn’t issue good natured challenges over pool games or darts, laugh their asses of trying to line dance or sing karaoke. They didn’t hang out on the weekends"shooting hoops, cleaning out the garage or helping out at the local YMCA.
Two weeks ago Tony had helped Roberto repaint the nursery in his sister Angela’s house. Angela’s husband was deployed overseas, and with the second child on the way, a boy this time, she wanted to get the nursery ready for him but didn’t feel up to doing it on her own. Tony had to agree with her that pink walls with butterflies wouldn’t be right for him. He’d never had a partner who included him in family things before. It was so incredible to have Roberto’s sister treat him just like she did her brother. She didn’t even hesitate to let him play with her two year old daughter.
And Roberto had helped Tony hunt for a place of his own. So far nothing had turned up, but it was great that his partner was willing to go look with him. Hell, Kate wouldn’t even let him stay with her when the boiler blew up at his old place. And he couldn’t see Ziva or McGee offering to drive around the city looking at prospects.
He and Roberto might not have worked out all the details of their partnership yet, but as friends, they were already well ahead of anyone else Tony had ever worked with. It was a good feeling to know he could count on Roberto both on and off the job.
When he weighed one against the other, Houston PD didn’t tower over NCIS as the better option, but there were still more pluses than minus. He regretted how he left, so abrupt and with little explanation or notice, but he didn’t regret leaving. All in all, Tony thought to himself as he watched the city he was coming to think of as home flash by the passenger window...coming to Houston had been a good move.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tony at work in Houston. Little glimpse of what it's like to work with his new team.