Page 154 of The Fourth Option
Walker had thirty seconds before Gormley’s vehicle would emerge from the other side of a row of containers. He slipped the Dewalt twenty-four-inch wrecking bar from his belt, sprinted low across the dock, and took up his position behind a stack of pallets. Heart steady. Breath slow.
The cruiser rolled to a stop. The door opened. Gormley stepped out. Walker watched as he pulled up his pants, burped, and looked around. He reached back into his vehicle and extracted a long flashlight. He turned it on and shined it into the darkness.
Don’t move.
Walker remained perfectly still. Movement would draw the eye.
Gormley had never done that before. Maybe with Dupuis gone he was being more cautious.
The light passed over him once and then returned.
Stay still but be ready.
Gormley turned off the light and threw it back into his vehicle.
The detective grunted and approached the trailer.
As he fumbled with his keys, Walker made his move, sprinting toward his target.
The short crowbar connected with the base of Gormley’s skull with a sickening crack that reminded Walker of a gunshot.
The detective fell forward against the door and then back onto the concrete.
For a moment Walker worried that he’d killed him.
He quickly checked for breathing and a pulse.
Still alive.
Walker slid the crowbar into his belt and frisked the downed officer, relieving him of his duty pistol and extra mag, his backup ankle gun, badge, wallet, and his car keys. Setting them aside, he removed Gormley’s handcuffs and secured them around the man’s meaty wrists, locking them behind his back.
Then he grabbed him by the cuffs and dragged him toward his Charger, feeling and hearing both shoulders pop from their sockets. It was a struggle but he managed to work the larger man into the cage in the back of the police cruiser, locking him behind the partition that usually separated the good guys from the bad.
He retrieved Gormley’s personal items from where he had fallen and deposited those in the passenger seat. Then he started the car and slowly drove down the pier, stopping about ten yards from the end. He cut the engine.
As he waited for Gormley to come to, he inspected the interior of the unmarked cruiser. No shotgun or rifle. He popped the trunk and found a medical kit and Remington 870. It’s tubular magazine was fully loaded but the chamber was empty. He put both in the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel.
Hearing movement in the back seat from behind the protective partition, he twisted in his seat.
Gormley blinked, dazed, then attempted to push himself up, screaming in pain at the effort.
“I heard your shoulders pop out of their sockets, Gormley. Probably rotator cuff tears. Painful. A good surgeon could fix you right up, but after tonight you won’t need a doctor, you’ll need a mortician.”
“Who… who the fuck are you?”
Walker saw the recognition dawn across the detective’s face, a recognition quickly replaced by terror.
“Please,” Gormley gasped. “Please, I’m not the guy you want.”
“Who do I want?”
“Fuck.” Gormley strained and fought through the agony, positioning himself upright in the back seat. He was sweating profusely and breathing like he had just finished a marathon.
“It’s time for a little talk, Detective. I took out Rayne, Hendrick, and Dupuis. I’m working my way up the chain. Tonight, you are going to tell me who else is involved in your little operation. If you are truthful with me, I might let you live. If you are not, well…” Walker started the Charger. “We are going to see if your car here floats.”
“Jesus, come on. Don’t do this. What do you want? Who hired you? The cartel?”
Cartel?
