‘Get My Dope Back!!’

A few hours after making the drug bust and completing the required paper work, Chief Hogue walked out the backdoor of the police station and headed for the fire station to tag and photograph the evidence. Upon opening one of the bay doors, he slowly walked entered the building. However, something did not feel right. He walked to the truck, checked the doors and continued to the rear. The rear entrance was closed.

Maybe, it is just my old age.

Suddenly, the faint scent from the smoked weed hit him like a brick.

It smells like someone been smoking weed in here.

Immediately pulling out his Mag Lite heavy duty flashlight, the chief slowly followed the scent of the weed through the building. He carefully and silently checked each room. As he walked into the sleeping quarters on the second floor, the scent increases dramatically. Quickly, the chief pulled out his gun as he carefully walked into the room. The first thing he noticed was the cot where Randall previously sat smoking from the open bale of weed.

Damn, I got bums. The least he could do is clean up.

Chief Hogan briefly shined the light on the bottle. Randall had few belongings, so the only evidence he left behind in the fire station was the used cola can and the empty Milwaukee Best beer bottle. He knew of only one bum that liked to drink Milwaukee Best. Bending over he picked up the trash from beside the cot and tossed it into the trashcan. Promptly checking and locking all the doors and windows in the building, he secured the abandoned fire station and returned to the bay.

Officer Carlos Steadman arrived at the fire station to help with the evidence.

‘Hey, chief; so how do you want to do this.’

‘Well, Steadman, I figure the first thing we should do is unload all this stuff so we can weigh it.’

Sergeant Milner walked into the bay from the restroom.

‘So, what you guys got up?’

‘Nothing I was just telling Steadman that I wanted to unload the truck. Look, if you guys tear open the bundles, it will be easier to count and we will finish a lot faster.’

Twenty large clear cellophane wrapped bundles were in the truck and Officer Steadman and Sergeant Milner broke each bundle apart and unloaded them from the back of the truck while the chief counted, tagged and weighed the individual packages. By three o’clock the next morning, the three men finished counting the enormous shipment. The final count was fifty-nine thousand nine-hundred and eighty ten-pound packages of marijuana.

The total weight of the shipment was less than three tons of top-grade Purple Kush marijuana. The entire load carried an estimated street value of one-hundred and fifty million dollars. Chief Hogan had no idea that this was the biggest drug bust in the history of Alabama. The men stacked the marijuana against the back wall and tossed a tarp over it.

‘I found cans and a beer bottle up stairs so there must a bum sleeping in here at night. Steadman, I need you to stand guard here. If he comes back lust chase him away. He’s harmless. I will schedule someone to relieve you on the next shift.’

The officer took a seat behind the desk in the bay as the chief and Sergeant Milner walked to the police station.

Meanwhile in New Orleans, Frank Riggers quickly strolled into Scott McLean’s body shop on Canal Street, sitting his large two hundred and thirty pound frame in the chair in front of the large oak desk inside Scott’s office.

‘Scott, I got troubles. Some hick town sheriff in Alabama confiscated my shipment. I need you to go down and see about it. Take some of the men and some money and get my fucking dope back!!’

Scott was an ex Army Ranger that discharged from the military five years ago and moved back to his boyhood home in New Orleans. After his father died, he assumed control of McLean’s Auto Body shop, the family business. However, it was a small shop and New Orleans had an abundance of larger body shops. To survive and stay in business, he did odd jobs for Frank, one of his boyhood friends who became one of the major drug dealers in the city.

‘Oh, okay Frank, but what about the two drivers.’

‘See, if you can bail them out, and then bring them to my house in the Bayou for my gators to eat.’

Frank got up from the chair, walked to the white Bentley idling in the parking lot. Signaling to his driver to open the trunk, he reached inside and returned with a briefcase full of money. Walking back into the office, he placed the case on the desk in front of Scott, popping the leather lid open.

‘Here is one million dollars. When you return with the shipment, I will give you the other half.’

He slid the briefcase across the desk.

‘Like I said on the phone earlier your fee sounds unreasonably large.’

Turning the large briefcase, Scott thumbed through a couple of the stacks.

‘Frank, this is a major job. To get that truck back, I’ll have to kill some cops. If I get caught that means I get a lethal injection or life without parole. Anyway, you got a problem and I can solve it; just remember you get what you pay for. Consider the job done and the boys dead.’

After Frank left, Scott stored the money inside the big safe in the office. Searching through the desk, he looked for some numbers.

This job must be important for Frank; he never paid me that much before without a fuss. I got to get some good men because it is going to be a fight to get that truck back.

He decided to call ten members of his old Ranger squad; government trained killers. Twelve hours later, Scott had a well experience recon team assembled, heavily armed and ready to go. The team loaded the two black Ford F-350 trucks with the equipment and headed for Marion.

Five hours later, the two trucks pulled into the Marion Motel parking lot. Freddy Masterly pushed against the rear seat of the truck Scott drove.

‘Man, I’m glad we’re finally here. I’m too old to be stuck in one position for a long time.’

Jumping out of the open door, he stretched and yawned. They were exhausted from the trip. However, there were a lot to do. They needed to get busy checking out the town; someone had to find out where the U-Haul truck and the dope were stored, and figure out how to get the boys out of jail. But, the first thing was to rent some rooms and get something to eat. Scott strolled into the lobby of the quiet motel and rung the bell on the desk.

Silvery haired Martha Melton walked to the front desk. Her family owned the motel for generations and she took over ten years ago after her father and mother became too old to continue to run it.

‘Good evening, how may I help you today?’

‘Yes, Madam, I need to rent four connecting rooms.’

Scott wanted to make sure everyone was together so no one got lost.

‘Well, I got two rooms that connect and two more that is right next to them, would that be okay?’

‘That will be great.’

Scott replied and pulled a large wad of crisp hundred dollar bills out of his Levi jeans pocket.

‘The price is sixty-nine dollars per night. How long will you be staying?’

Looking outside at the trucks, she slid the registration card across the counter.

‘So, you have family here or are you coming for the fishing tournament over at Lakeland Farms.’

As usual, Scott lied to the woman.

‘Yeah, we’re here to fish. We’ll be here for a few days; I’ll pay for three days I’ll come back and pay some more if I stay longer.’

He paid her in cash and gave her the fake ID he brought with him.

She looked at the Id and checked it against the name on the card.

‘Ok, Mr. Wilkerson. The rooms are numbers 120, 121, 122, and 123. Now room 121 and 122 are the connecting room.’

She handed him the blue plastic door cards. Pointing at the map of the property on the desk she instructed him how to get to the rooms.

‘To get to the room, just turn left and drive around the main building to the rear. The rooms are right in the middle the building you’ll be looking at. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Marion.’

She put the cash in the cash register and watched Scott leave.

Scott and the gang of hired killers arrived in Marion less than a week after Chief Hogan arrested the two drivers and confiscated the large shipment of marijuana. Three days later after scouting the town and getting familiar with the everyday routine of the tiny 15 person police department, the heavily armed and military trained gunmen opened fire on the police building in a violent clash that left three police officers badly wounded and most of the rest hospitalized. Around 3:30 a.m., the first attack took place at the fire station as the gunmen retrieved the shipment.

The four hooded men approached the fire station as the corporal stood outside smoking a cigarette. As they got closer, Freddie suddenly put his hands in his pockets, retrieving a gun.

‘Hold it and raise your hands.’

“Wow, cool it, you know this is police property, are you crazy?’

“I ain’t crazy; now where’re the drugs.’

‘You need to go to the hill for that because I ain’t got anything on me. No narcotics, no contraband, no drugs….”

He started to list off all the things he didn’t have on him, trying to stale for time or a chance to signal someone for help.

“Okay, funny guy, we don’t come to listen to your jokes. We heard that ya’ll had a whole shit load of drugs locked up here somewhere, now here the fuck is it.’

Pulling back the trigger, Freddie shoved the barrel of the gun hard into the corporal chest.

‘I told you I ain’t got nothing on me; no narcotics, no contraband, absolutely nothing.’

The corporal was obviously getting nervous by the way his legs started to uncontrollably shake.

‘Slowly reach in your pocket and give me the keys to the door.’

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, griping the key ring tightly, but didn’t comply to open the door. Surprisingly, he threw the keys across the pavement into the bushes. As one of the men ran to retrieve them, the other masked assailant frisked the corporal and removed his weapons while the fourth man held the corporal in a military style choke hold.

Freddie took a few steps back and violently struck him near the base of his rib cage hard enough to knock the wind out of the corporal and down to one knee. The masked man reached down and grabbed the back of his collar roughly standing him up again.

‘Get up; we aren’t going to ask you again.’

Freddie slammed the butt of the gun against the corporal head; this time breaking the skin and drawing blood. At this point, the other man returned with the keys that the corporal tossed into the bushes. He walked back to the corporal, and now with raised fists punched him hard in the mouth, knocking him completely to the ground.

‘Where is the dope?’

‘There’s no dope! I didn’t have any narcotics, no contraband…..’

The corporal voice slowly dwindled down to a whisper as he repeated the list of drug he didn’t have on him. One of the men took the keys and after some time turned one in the lock. The door came open.

‘Hey, where are you going? You can’t go in there! That is official police property.’

‘Well, I hope you will forgive me if I don’t listen. Now, let’s go, NOW!!’

Roughly pulling the corporal up off the ground and shoving his face hard against the edge of the open steel gray door, Freddie and the other two followed him while the last man stood guard outside. Carlos started to plea for his life, informing them that his wife was pregnant with their first child. A crimson stream of blood trickled from the gash on his head and mingled on his chin with the blood from his displaced and broken nose.

‘Its okay cop, I don’t want to hurt you. As a matter of fact, you can go as soon as you show us where the dope is kept.’

‘You are making a big mistake. Let me go now and I’ll forget about this. I have not seen any of you guys face so no one has to ever know.’

One of the men slapped the corporal on the back of his head.

‘Hello? The man asked a question. Now tell us where the fucking dope is.’

This went on….and on…and on….for another few minutes. Finally, Freddie shot the corporal in both knees with a silenced twenty-two automatic pistol and he finally told them where to find the drugs. Leaving the young wounded corporal on the floor, Freddie and two gunmen hurriedly emptied the contents from the U-Haul into the bed of the two dual cab trucks.

Around 5:00 a.m., Scott and David Bristol, a well trained explosive expert, quickly approached the rear of the police station from the alley. Since they knew the routine of the police officers, they waited outside for the shift change. During shift change, the officers met inside the small police station to exchange notes, get updates, and to receive the daily shift assignments. This would be the perfect time to strike. Scott decided to sit up in front of the police station across Washington Avenue. He broke into the rear of Martha’s General Store and took position on the roof of the building while the other man attached eight explosive charges to the station. From up there he could see everything, the police building, the fire station, the main street and David doing his job crawling around the outside wall strapping the bombs in place. Scott held his raised hand in the air to signal him that he was in position.

At 5:10 a. m., approaching from Judson Avenue, Mitchell Davenport and two of the men ran up the hill toward the jail house. It was located down the street from the police station on East Lafayette. This early in the morning, Marvin Orland was only jailer on duty. Dressed in a stolen police uniform, Mitchell tricked him to open the door, shot him in the chest and the men quickly retrieved the two drivers from the confinements of the cell.

‘Man, I’m glad to see you guys. I knew Mr. Frank wouldn’t forget about us.’

Mitchell immediately placed his gloved hand over Adam’s mouth. He and Billy followed closely behind the gunmen as they ran toward the fire station. By 5:40 a.m., most of the team had returned to the firehouse to help loading the truck.

After hiding the last of C4 bombs under the building by crawling through the crawl space attaching them on the support beams, David glanced at the face of his watch. It read 5:48 am. The first officer usually arrived at 5:50 a.m.; then the rest would trickle in later. The shift meeting started at 6:00 a.m. on the dot every morning. Because of the small weekend crew on Monday morning, six officers arrived for the shift meeting. David remained motionless in the bushes counting the police cars as they parked on the lot. The watch dial read 5:59 a.m. and Chief Hogan’s cruiser, the last car to arrive, pulled into the lot. He parked and quickly walked inside. Suddenly, David cell phone flashed a text message. That was the signal; it was time to get to work. He gripped the detonator, waited for a few seconds; then squeezed.

The night for a weekend was quiet. The chief took most of the calls because he had very few officers on the weekend available and they were assigned to the drug squad. The first call was a verbal argument inside a house. When he arrived on the scene, it was apparent that mom was upset at her daughter, and her boyfriend. She had come home after work and found them making love in the den. Sara was 15 and Tom is 17.

The mom said that she didn’t was the boy around her daughter. After giving the usual sex leads to AIDS and unwanted babies talked to the kids, he instructed the boy to hit the road, and told the mom to call if he came back. After that call, he went behind a liquor store, found 2 people in the back drinking and informed them to go home to finish their drinks. Next was a call about a stolen vehicle that just happened to be parked right next door to the liquor. It turned out the perp left the car there after a late night joyride. As he walked back from the vehicle, a "Code 900" went out over the radio. This means there is something important going on, and you may not use your radio unless you are on that call. The drug squad detectives were serving a search warrant on a dope house.

The rest of the day was slow, a call to a fight that turned out to be a one punch knockout, people smoking marijuana on the Kipper’s Apartment’s parking lot, and Ginny giving head to a john behind the bus station. After that call, he was done for the day. Throughout the night, he noticed the three trucks driving around but since the fishing tournament been going for the past week, there was a lot of strange traffic in town. He just ignored them and returned to the police station, parking in the front lot in his usual spot.

Corporal Stacie King spoke as soon as the fatigued looking chief entered to building. She worked for the police department for eight years but recently decided to take the desk job because she was pregnant with her first child.

‘Morning Chief, how was your patrol? Since tomorrow is your day off, you and Martha got plans? Oh, the fax from New Orleans is in the folder on your desk with all of the other notes you wanted.’

He quickly thanked her, poured some coffee into his mug and briskly walked down the short hall into the meeting room.

‘Good Morning, people, grab a chair because we got a lot of information to cover. The New Orleans Police Department informed me that we might have some trouble coming our way.’

Before the chief could finish his sentence, suddenly there was a rumbling, as if a train were going past. The first bomb loudly exploded. ‘Boom’; the east wall and part of the ceiling crashed down on top of Corporal King pinning her underneath the rubble. Seconds later, nine more loud explosions and the rest of the police building violently rumbled and then quickly collapsed into a pile of rubble. The walls of the red brick police station imploded and in the process, none of the officers were able to flee to safety from inside the building. The unexpected explosion buried the entire on duty police department and shut down the communication to the outside world for the police. Marion stood helpless and at the mercy of these contract killers. The collapse, which occurred about 6 a.m., also brought down parts of two neighboring buildings on the eastern side of the police station. Seconds later, the whole area was covered in a haze of dusk and smoke.

With the entire Marion police force immobilized, the men retreated to the nearby fire station and joined their comrades. As they were leaving the fire station, they were engaged by some of the local residents that heard the commotion. However, after throwing four hand grenades, the gunman continued their escape down highway 5. Meanwhile, in Marion, there was a lot of blood on the street. Some civilians were badly hurt from the exploding grenade. Milton Adkins was killed when the fleeing truck ran into him as he stood in the street firing shots from his hunting rifle at them. Kate and her baby Allison were hit by flying fragments from the grenades and were rushed to hospital. The police station was destroyed and nine officers lay hurt under the rubble as everyone in town came to lend a hand at digging the victims out. Corporal King, Jailer Marvin, Officer Steadman were admitted to the Intensive care unit of Hospital in stable but critical condition.

Soon, the two trucks were safely out of Marion and headed west on Highway 5. The mission was successful. They retrieved the dope, the drivers and none of them got killed. Success!!

‘Oh, uh, Shit Cops…’

Because he was still nervous from being busted out of jail, Adam exclaimed the same thing for miles every time he saw a car look anywhere close to a police car. To make thing worse, the young man talked constantly most of the trip.

‘Yeah, hey, ya’ll live in Orleans? I live in the Upper Ninth Ward just before you get to the Desire Projects. I’ve been there for years living with my mom. Well, I sure do appreciate ya’ll coming to get us out. Uh, so, how ya’ll learn all that stuff anyway? I mean it was like a fucking action flick with all of the explosions and stuff. That was great.

‘Right…do you have to talk so much?’

Scott was getting tired of hearing Adam’s voice. He turned up the radio, but Adam continued to talk, only louder. Adam reached over and changed the station.

‘This music isn’t going to cut it…. What else is on? Oh, uh, there is a good song.’

Turning the volume up sky high, a rap song blasted out of the speakers. Scott angrily turned it down.

‘Man I’m sorry; I have my stereo up loud when I drive. I’ll just turn it up a little okay.”

Scott turned giving him a death stare.

‘I don’t think so. You can just go turning a person’s radio like that? Bitch, you better watch your step.’

The cab of the truck remained quiet for a few minutes then Adam’s mouth started again.

‘Who here is over 21 raise your hand?’

Most of the hands went up in the air.

‘Okay, Who here is over 40?”

One hand goes up in the rear seat.

‘Okay then old fart pass me another beer?’

The truck quickly fell into a deadly silence. Thirty minutes later, Adam started up again.

‘Who brought the pot? Now, we all work for the biggest dope dealer on either side of the Mississippi River. Shit, we got a shit load of weed in the back; I know someone got to have a joint.’

The silence continued. Later looking around the roomy truck, thinking he saw a familiar face, he pointed to a one of the men in the back seat.

‘Haven’t we’ve been in jail together before? You look familiar.’

‘Yes…. I’m the guy that fucked you up the ass the last time you were behind the wall at Angola. Come on bitch, climb back here and sit in my lap.’

Everyone except Adam laughed. It was not funny because he’d been constantly raped during his last three year stay at Angola. They didn’t know that if it would’ve been any other time and place, Adam would’ve complied and submitted to the animal lust of another man.

‘No, you must be thinking about this bitch driving. I’m talking about in Orleans Parrish jail. Your name is Jessie, right?’

‘Yea…that’s me.’

He continued looking around.

‘Small world, must suck to get arrested and shit, lose everything and having to start over as hired help, huh? How big were you before they busted you?’

‘Nope, they didn’t bust me. The case got thrown out.’

Three hours later, the group of men arrived in Louisiana. The trucks dropped eight of the men from the recon team off at their various locations, and then David, Scott, Billy and Adam headed to the house to see Mr. Riggers. The group arrived at the property deep out in middle of the Bayou. Because the house was a distance from the parking area, they parked the truck and took the short walk down the wooded path to the house. As the men arrived to the half way point to the house, David shot Billy twice in the back of the head with a .38-caliber pistol. With each powerful blast from the snub nosed gun, clods of brain matter flew out of his damage skull. His limp body quickly fell to the ground with a loud thump and twitched. David placed his foot on the dying corpse and unloaded another round into his head. The force from the close range blast caused the head to raise off the grown the drop back down spraying blood and bone in the air.

‘What the fuck? Man. Why ya’ll do that?’

Surprised and frightened by what just happen to his friend, Adam decided to run for his life down the road leading to the two-story home. However, Frank Riggers stepped forward from the unseen hiding spot behind a large Pine tree. When the scared driver ran by the tree, Frank fired a shotgun blast into the right leg of the young man. The force of the blast demolished a portion of the victim’s leg exposing the torn muscles and bone. Looking down at his damaged leg, Adam, eyes wide with fear, realized that he was facing certain death and desperately pleaded for his life. He was willing to do anything to live, absolutely anything.

‘AWW, shit, please, Mr. Frank, what I do wrong. I didn’t talk. I kept my mouth shut the whole time I was locked up. Please, Mr. Frank, have mercy on me.’

‘Mercy, you, you better talk to the man upstairs about mercy; all I got here is hot lead for your ass.’

He stomped the open wound in Adam’s thigh. Crimson blood oozed out from the pressure, running down his thigh and dripping onto the gravel covered walk way staining it. Not wanting the family to see what was going on; Frank roughly drugged the helpless young man to a patch of grass between the trees.

Adam pulled himself across the ground until he had his arms wrapped around Frank’s ankles. He shoved the rifle against his victim’s skull and pulled the trigger back.

‘Please, Mr. Frank, don’t kill me. I do whatever you want. Shit, I suck your dick right here and now. Shit, I suck you while I take it up the ass if that will keep me alive.’

He reached up and grasped at Frank’s crotch. Frank slammed the butt of the rifle hard against the pleading prey’s skull.

‘I ain’t no homo, bitch. You’re ready to meet your maker, fool.’’

Adam hadn’t been to church since her mother forced his to go during his boyhood growing up in the projects. Scenes of him stealing dollars from the church’s offering basket as they passed it around suddenly flashed through his mind. It seemed so real; however, now he wished he hadn’t did it.

‘Mr. Frank, I know you going to kill me, but may I have one dying wish; please. Can I say bye to my mother and say a prayer.’

Being somewhat religious, the ruthless drug boss decided to grant the young man’s dying request.

‘Nah no calls but I will give you three minutes to call God. I hope you get an answer because you only get one call.’

Mr. Riggers gave the man three minutes to pray and stepped back, lit a cigarette and waited. After 30 seconds into the prayer, Scott unloaded three shots into the base of Adam’s skull.

‘I told him he could have three minutes. What happened; what the fuck you do that for.’

Tired from the long trip, Scott answered while pointed the gun at the flinching body.

‘I got tired of hearing him talk. Frank, the little bitch talked all the way back from Alabama. He wouldn’t shut up, for nothing. He bitched and moan about this and that. Every hour, he wanted to stop to use the restroom. He got on my last nerve when he turned my damn radio. I should’ve kill the bitch in the truck and tossed his body somewhere on the side of the road, but the gators need the food.’

Suddenly, the dying man groaned as he took his last breath.

‘See, on the fucking fool’s on the ground dying and he still want shut up.’

Scott rapidly fired three more shots into the corpse.

‘I bet you money that will shut you up, bitch.’

Frank could not keep from laughing. Scott was scary but the last comment was stupid. Later, the three men retrieved some towels from the trucks, wrapped them around the blood-soaked heads of their victim: then stabbed the dead bodies in the heart to stop the blood from pumping. Using two sharp chainsaws, some other cutting tools and great skill, the men cut up the bodies for disposal to the waiting alligators in the Bayou.

Hours later, Scott and David drove the two trucks to the barn on the east end of the property and unloaded the marijuana.

‘Frank from the looks of it, we got most of it back. I think there was some in the police station when David blew it up.’

The men finished unloading the marijuana. Later after returning to his office to get two motorcycles, they drove the two trucks to Lake Pontchartrain and dumped the vehicles in the bottom of the lake and returned to the office.