Reb's Rampage Read online

  * * *

  Now that the two boats that had fired on them were no longer a threat, Reb set the RPG launcher down on the deck and turned his attention to the drug sub. He lifted his high-power, night-vision binoculars to his eyes and saw that the drug sub was now back in the water.

  Reb was relieved to see that the pilot hadn’t gotten back inside the sub, yet. The pilot was busily helping the two crewmembers of the cargo ship unfasten the lifting rig’s cable connections attached to the sub.

  Reb bent over and picked up his Barrett from the deck where Billy had placed it. He kneeled down, set the legs of the bipod on top of the Revenge’s portside gunwale for support, zoomed the scope out for maximum magnification, and put the cross hairs of the scope on the sub’s pilot. The pilot and one of the crewmembers of the cargo ship were at the bow of the sub, kneeling down on the deck, working hard to disconnect the two lifting rig cables where they were attached to the sub. The other crewmember was at the stern of the sub working hard to disconnect one of the two lifting rig cables attached to the stern of the sub.

  After what seemed like forever, Reb saw the sub’s operator and the crewmember at the bow stand up almost simultaneously. They had disconnected the cables at the bow.

  Reb lifted his binoculars to see what progress the crewmember at the stern was making and saw that he had disconnected one of the stern cables and was already working on the other one.

  Reb dropped his binoculars, letting the strap around his neck catch them, looked at the scope’s display and put the cross hairs on the sub’s pilot, who had turned around and was moving toward the cockpit of the sub.

  Reb took a deep breath, moved the selector switch from Safe to Fire, released some of his breath, then held the remainder as he put the cross hair on the pilot’s center of mass and then led him a tad, just before he got to the plexiglass canopy.

  Reb squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times in rapid succession, hoping he would hit the pilot at least once.

  As Reb held the crosshairs on the target, he was relieved when he saw one of his shots hit the mark and the pilot was knocked off the drug sub by the impact of one of the big bullets.

  Not knowing what the two crewmembers from the cargo ship would do, now that the pilot was out of the action, and not wanting to take a chance they would try to open the canopy of the sub in an effort to save the sub and its cargo of drugs, Reb started shooting at them, beginning with the crewmember standing at the bow—not knowing if the one at the stern had managed to disconnect the final cable connection, and not wanting to kill him, before he had a chance to do so.

  Reb fired two shots in rapid succession at the man standing at the bow at the same time the man decided that getting prone on the deck of the sub was the prudent thing to do.

  Billy appeared at Reb’s side and picked up the other Barrett to start shooting at the two men on the sub.

  “Who’s at the helm?” Reb asked Billy.

  “The autopilot feature you’ve got on the Revenge works really good, you know,” Billy replied.

  Reb turned his attention to the man at the stern and saw he was waving to someone up on the cargo ship, indicating all four of the cables had been disconnected and that the lifting rig could safely be hauled back up now that the sub was no longer attached to it.

  As the crane operator started hauling the lifting rig back up, each of the two men on the drug sub grabbed one of the cables dangling from the lifting rig to ride back up with it.

  Just as Billy was about to take a shot at one of the men who was climbing hand over hand up a cable to the lifting rig’s steel beam, the cargo ship’s horn sounded, then the ship’s twin propellers started making turns, and the drug sub started drifting away from the cargo ship, as the cargo ship began to move off into the darkness.

  Reb slapped Billy on the back. “I told you the pilot wouldn’t get back inside the drug sub.”

  * * *

  Ramon was so fucking pissed off, he was beside himself. Two of his escort boats had been blown up, the pilot of his drug sub was dead, and his now unmanned drug sub was drifting around in the water with a cargo of drugs that was now in jeopardy. What he had thought was an innocent fishing boat had turned out to be anything but innocent.

  Even though he knew he and his men were outgunned, Ramon wasn’t going to give up that easily to the pirates or rival drug gang that had attacked him. Ramon was determined to recover the drug sub and get it back to his place on Sailors Creek.

  “Juan,” Ramon yelled out up to the flying bridge.

  “Yes, Boss.”

  “Tell Julio to get a line attached to the sub so we can tow it back with us,” Ramon ordered.

  “Yes, Boss,” Juan said. He picked up the microphone for the marine band radio and called Julio over on the last remaining escort boat and repeated Ramon’s instructions.

  * * *

  Using their night-vision binoculars, Reb and Billy stood in the cockpit of the Revenge closely watching the last two remaining boats of the drug convoy to see what they would do. They could see men moving about on both boats.

  Both Reb and Billy were hoping the fight was over and that the two boats would leave, but then the smaller of the two boats turned on a searchlight, located the drug sub with the light, and started moving toward it.

  “I wonder what they think they’re going to do?” Reb said.

  As the boat neared the drug sub, a man ran out into the bow of the boat with a long pole and reached out toward the drug sub with it.

  Reb and Billy looked at each other and Billy said, “Go ahead, you’re the better shot.”

  Reb got into position with the Barrett’s tripod legs resting on the gunwale again for support, placed the cross hairs of the scope in the center of the man’s back, and pulled the trigger twice.

  The first bullet hit the man in the upper back and he pitched forward and fell overboard into the water.

  * * *

  After watching little Pedro get shot and fall off Julio’s boat, Ramon knew it was time to cut his losses and call it quits. After all, whoever was on the fishing boat—half a mile away—was an excellent shot at long range and the longer they remained here the better the chance was that one of the marksman’s bullets would find Ramon.

  “Juan,” Ramon yelled up at the flying bridge.

  “Yes, Boss,” Juan answered, fervently hoping his boss was ready to leave.

  “Get us the hell out of here,” Ramon said, “and radio Julio to follow us.”

  “Yes, Boss,” Juan said, relieved his Boss had the good sense to retreat so they could live to enjoy another day.

  * * *

  After watching the surviving two boats of the drug convoy flee back toward Perdido Pass, Reb returned to the helm of the Revenge, pointed the bow in the direction of the drug sub, and pushed the throttles to the max. On the short ride over to the drug sub, Billy secured the Barretts, the rocket launcher, and the ammo back down below in the cabin.

  When the Revenge arrived where the unmanned drug sub was drifting about, Billy caught hold of the sub with the long gaff pole Reb had on board the Revenge for lifting big fish out of the water and into the boat. While Billy held the drug sub steady with the pole, Reb jumped aboard and attached a tow line to the connection points at the drug sub’s bow.

  With the drug sub in tow, Reb and Billy were sitting at the helm, when Reb turned to Billy and said, “Now that you’ve got the drug sub, what do you plan to do with it?”

  “I was thinking we could park it in the empty slip next to your slip at Rusty’s Marina,” Billy said. “It ought to be okay there until I call the DEA and they get somebody to come out and accept custody of it.”

  “How long do you think it will take to get the ten million dollar reward?” Reb asked.

  “You know how the federal government is,” Billy said. “If you owe them money, they want it right away, but, if they owe you money, they figure you can just wait until they get good and ready to pay you.”

  “
Ain’t that the damn truth,” Reb said.

  On the ride back in, the two men settled back and enjoyed the fresh smell of the salty air and the calming effect being out in the Gulf has on some people.

  CHAPTER 12

  Ramon Vicario’s Residence

  Sailor Creek Road

  Lillian, Alabama

  Wednesday, May 5, 2010

  3:30 a.m. CDT

  After the Easy Money pulled into the boathouse, Ramon left Juan and the other members of the crew behind to secure the boat and he proceeded out of the boathouse into the backyard of his 20-acre compound on Sailor Creek. He walked up the slight rise of well-manicured lawn on up to the rear of the two-story brick colonial mansion where he lived. When he reached the house, he walked up the short flight of brick steps that led from the backyard to the brick patio at the rear of the house. He walked across the patio, entered the living room through the French doors, and walked through the living room to the rear stairway. He climbed the stairs up to the second floor, walked down the hallway to the guest bedroom, used by his current mistress, opened the door, and went inside.

  No sooner than Ramon stepped foot into the room, the lapdog that belonged to his mistress leaped, from where it had been sleeping on the bed next to his mistress, onto the floor, and ran toward Ramon growling and yapping its fool head off. Under the best of circumstances, Ramon had no use for the miserable, little, worthless dog, at all. But after tonight’s dismal events with the loss of the drug sub, the drugs, two of his escort boats, and the boat’s crews, the dog’s growling and yapping quickly got on Ramon’s one last remaining unfrayed nerve.

  Ramon’s right foot lashed out and caught the dog just as it was about to lunge at him. The little dog yelped out in pain, as the impact sent it hurtling through the air. It crashed against the far wall and fell to the floor next to a chest of drawers. For several long seconds, the dog lay immobile. Finally, it whimpered and crawled under the chest of drawers.

  “Ramon, you’re such an asshole,” his now wide-awake mistress screamed, as she sat up in the bed. “You better not have hurt Missy.”

  Ramon walked over to the side of the bed next to the young woman and proceeded to remove his clothing.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the girl asked.

  “I’m horny and I want to fuck,” Ramon said matter-of-factly.

  The girl glared at Ramon. “Well, I’m not in the mood.”

  Ramon slapped the girl. Hard.

  “Let me clarify the situation for you. I’m horny and I am going to fuck you, whether you are in the mood or not makes no difference to me, whatsoever.”

  Ramon grabbed the girl’s wrists and swung her around so she was facing him and then pushed her backwards on the bed landing on top of her. When he tried to get between her legs, she resisted. He kept at it and wore her down and was finally able to force himself between her legs and then he thrust himself inside her.

  Afterwards, Ramon left the girl crying in her bed and went to the master bedroom, got into his bed, set the alarm clock on the bedside table for seven o’clock so he could get a few hours of sleep, and, shortly after that, fell sound asleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  Aboard Reb’s Revenge

  Inside Perdido Pass

  Orange Beach, Alabama

  Wednesday, May 5, 2010

  4:30 a.m. CDT

  Reb was sitting on the bench seat at the helm of the Revenge, as she passed under the Perdido Pass Bridge, on the final leg of their journey back home to Slip D7 at Rusty’s Marina, in Seaside Beach. The trip back in from the Gulf had taken longer than the trip out, since the Revenge was having to tow the drug sub.

  No sooner had the Revenge cleared the bridge than a spotlight came on, illuminating the entire starboard side of the Revenge. Seconds later, an automatic weapon began firing and Reb could hear the bullets hitting his boat.

  The Revenge was being ambushed by a boat, concealed behind the bridge support pier, on the right-hand side of the main channel they were traveling through.

  Billy—who was lying low next to the gunwale in the fishing cockpit back by the outboard motors—sat up, raised his M4, took aim at the spotlight on the boat that was firing on them, and opened fire. The selector switch of the M4 was set to Auto and Billy kept firing short bursts at the spotlight until he hit it and the light went out. He kept on firing at the boat and was rewarded by the sound of someone yelling out, when they were hit.

  The operator of the other boat, the last of the drug convoy’s Fountain 38 CCs, slammed the throttles wide open and its triple 300 horsepower outboard motors made the boat take off like a scalded cat. It headed toward Ono Island and Perdido Bay, beyond.

  “You okay?” Reb yelled out to Billy back in the cockpit, as the Revenge continued on its way back to slip D-7 at Rusty’s Marina.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Billy said and came up from the cockpit to the helm and plopped down on the bench seat next to Reb.

  “You sure called it right when you said they might try to hit us back there, as we came out of the pass,” Billy said. “That would have been a fatal ambush, if we hadn’t been prepared for it.”

  “It just made sense that, if they were going to try one last time to get their drug sub back, the best time and place to ambush us would be as we exited Perdido Pass,” Reb said. “Thank God we’re not far from Rusty’s Marina. I am definitely ready to call it a day.”

  “I’m with you there,” Billy said.

  * * *

  After securing the Revenge in her slip at Rusty’s Marina and the drug sub in the empty slip next to it, Reb and Billy made a quick inspection to check for any damage done to the Revenge, as a result of the ambush back at the Pass.

  Using a flashlight, they found several bullet holes on the starboard side of the boat.

  Reb took his smartphone and quickly typed out a text message and hit send. He looked at Billy and said, “I just sent Rusty a text message asking him to see about getting the damage repaired.”

  “Tell him to send the bill to my office,” Billy said. “It’s the least I can do for your help in getting that ten million dollar reward my little police department so badly needs.”

  “Should I point out you haven’t gotten the reward yet?” Reb said.

  “Don’t even go there,” Billy said.

  “Forget I said it.”

  They offloaded their gear from the Revenge, carried it up to the parking lot, and loaded it into the back of Reb’s SUV.

  After they got in the SUV and Reb cranked it up and got the AC going, Reb asked Billy, “You at all concerned about going off and leaving two hundred million or so dollars worth of illegal drugs sitting on the drug sub?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay then, you want to run down to the Waffle House and get something to eat?” Reb asked.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Reb, I’d just like to get home and catch a few hours of sleep before I go in to the station today.”

  “Sleep sounds really good to me, too. I guess I’ll get something to eat later today, when I take my weapons back up to The Farm.”

  Reb put the SUV’s gear selector in Drive, released the parking brake, and he and Billy headed home for some well-earned shuteye.

  CHAPTER 14

  Ramon Vicario’s Residence

  Sailor Creek

  Lillian, Alabama

  Wednesday, May 5, 2010

  7:00 a.m. CDT

  The alarm clock went off at seven waking Ramon from a sound sleep. He opened his eyes, sat up, saw the sun was up, and his initial thought was that it was a great day to be alive. Here he was, an illegal alien in the United States of America, selling illegal drugs and living like a king. What could be better than that for someone who had grown up in poverty in Veracruz, Mexico and had not even a high school education? Then the memory of what had happened overnight came flooding back and he knew that the day ahead of him was going to be a bitch.

  Ramon got out of bed, quickly dressed, and then went
downstairs to the kitchen to get some coffee and breakfast.

  Juan Guzman, who was already seated at the small kitchen table drinking coffee, looked up when Ramon entered the kitchen, and said, “Good morning, boss.”

  Ramon grunted in reply, as he took his seat at the kitchen table. The housekeeper—a woman in her sixties whom Ramon had brought into the country illegally from Mexico—bustled over with a steaming hot cup of coffee for him. Ramon took a sip of coffee and then sat at the table staring into his coffee cup in contemplation.

  Juan had the good sense to realize his boss was in a foul mood and kept his mouth shut.

  Finally, Ramon looked up at Juan. “Did Miguel and Roberto make it back?”

  “Yes, Boss,” Juan replied. “They got back to the boathouse around five o’clock.”

  “Why so late?”

  “The boat that attacked us was towing the drug sub,” Juan said. “Apparently, they could not make very good time towing it.”

  “I wasn’t expecting them to tow the drug sub back,” Ramon said. “Were Miguel and Roberto able to do as I asked?”

  Juan slid a piece of paper across the table to Ramon. “They ambushed the boat as you instructed, boss. The men on the boat returned fire and Miguel was wounded. Roberto was able to get the boat’s registration number and got the name of the boat, too, before he had to leave because of Miguel’s injury. Roberto said he didn’t think he or Miguel did any damage to the people on the other boat.”

  After looking at information on the paper, Ramon asked, “How badly is Miguel injured?”

  “Not too bad, boss. The bullet went through his arm. I told Roberto to take Miguel to the doctor we use in Pensacola. I haven’t yet heard anything from them since they left.”

  Ramon took another sip of coffee before saying, “I think it’s time for me to visit one of my nightclubs in Pensacola again and find another one of these young American girls who will exchange sex for all the free drugs they can consume.

  “Juan, Angelina’s time here is at an end, she no longer interests me. Help her pack her things and then have one of the men take her and that worthless lapdog of hers back to Pensacola and drop her off somewhere.”