Primary Command_The Forging of Luke Stone—Book 2_an Action Thriller by Jack Mars

Author:Jack Mars [Mars, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2019-07-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

7:40 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time

Parkfair Apartments

Columbia Heights

Washington, DC

This should be the right apartment. 3B.

The man’s large, hairy fist knocked on the heavy steel door again. He glanced at his partner, a tall, good-looking black man he’d been told to address as Roger Stevens. That wasn’t the man’s name. Or maybe it was. Impossible to say.

Stevens was dressed in the uniform of a DC Metro police officer. He certainly looked like a cop. Serious like a cop. He had a whole benevolent hard-case, up from a difficult childhood thing, happening around his eyes. The act was convincing.

“I don’t know, Rog. It’s early, you’d think someone would be home.”

The man’s name was Dell. Michael Dell. Call him Mike. That wasn’t really his name, either. It would be nice if it was. He was dressed like a cop, too. Somehow, he felt like he didn’t pull it off quite as well as Officer Stevens.

For one, he was bulkier than Roger Stevens, and the cop suit didn’t fit him right. For another, he had tattoos. A lot of tattoos, to be frank. Mostly, they weren’t showing right now. The cop suit hid them pretty well. All except for the ones on his knuckles.

The fingers on his left hand, if they were coming at you in a fist, spelled out the word BANG. The fingers on his right hand spelled out the word POW! He was right-handed, and tended to jab with his left. So: BANG, BANG, BANG. Then the right: POW!

Good night.

Most cops didn’t have tattoos quite like these. Oh well. It probably wouldn’t matter. The cop game only had to last a few minutes.

“I hear a rustling in there,” Officer Stevens said. “I think she’s coming.”

They were in the third-floor hallway of a new, clean, well-kept building of low-income housing. The neighborhood outside was gentrifying, with the immigrants and minorities who had lived there for generations being joined by a steady influx of well-to-do young white people armed with college degrees and entry-level jobs on Capitol Hill. Restaurants and nightclubs and malls were opening to cater to them.

The neighborhood had been a dump not that long ago, and now it wasn’t as bad. Officer Michael Dell thought that was all very nice. Heartwarming, even. An urban success story.

The door to 3B opened. A beautiful young woman stood there. She had straight black hair, dark coffee-colored skin, and she wore a loose, flowing garment of white and purple. Her brown eyes were tired, but wary. She looked like she just woke up.

“Yes?”

Officer Dell glanced at the card in his hand. He held the card out to his right, above and away from her. He was mindful of the POW! on his fingers.

“Are you Nisa Kuar Brar?” he said, nearly stumbling over the tongue-twister name. “Wife of Jahjeet Singh Brar?”

She looked from Dell to Stevens and back again, her eyes widening.

“Yes?” she said.

“Your husband drives a taxicab for On Time Taxi service?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Dell nodded. “I’m Officer Dell, and this is Officer Stevens, of the Washington, DC Metropolitan Police Department.

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