The Mutiny of the American Foreign Legion by Neal Alexander

Author:Neal Alexander
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-628-01-2979-2
Publisher: Neal Alexander

43

Downtown Los Angeles

Devon headed north on Maple Avenue for an ambulance operators’ meeting downtown.

Parked under the Santa Monica Freeway, a couple of ICE officers were expecting him. When Carl had been released from jail on the contempt charge, ICE had doubled down by sending him to Los Angeles for this high-profile mission. With him was another ICE officer, Josh Minassian.

As Devon emerged from the shadow of the freeway, Josh pulled out and accelerated to get behind his Ford. Then they turned on their lights and siren, and Devon pulled over.

When Carl stepped out of the car, he heard Devon’s engine still running.

“Turn off your engine and drop the keys out the window!”

Devon complied. By now Carl had drawn his pistol and was walking slowly up the side of the Crown Vic.

Devon restarted the engine with spare keys, floored the gas, and sped off.

Carl raised his pistol and fired at the Ford as it left him in its trail of exhaust fumes. One round hit the rear window, but it didn’t shatter. Another hit a tire but left it intact.

Josh pulled up alongside in the ICE truck, and Carl jumped in.

“He’s got himself run-flat tires.”

“Whatever. He’s not getting far,” replied Josh as he tried to narrow the gap to the Ford.

A few blocks further on, they made a hard left, then a right, passing empty lots and homeless tents. As they kept north, more of the units were occupied, mostly selling fabric and clothing accessories. Halfway down a block, Devon suddenly pulled over in front of a nondescript single-story storefront. Josh braked to a halt twenty meters back on the other side of the street, then reversed back at an angle, back wheels on the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians, to point their truck at Devon’s car.

Both ICE officers opened their doors and crouched behind them, training their pistols on the Ford’s driver-side door. The door opened and Devon’s head showed for a split second. Carl squeezed off a round, but as he did so, the windshield was punctured by an incoming shot.

“Shit!”

Carl and Josh tried to locate the source of the fire.

A woman pedestrian screamed as the street emptied and shopkeepers scurried to close their shutters. Only a homeless man, curled up on a cardboard box in a doorway, stayed put, apparently oblivious to the firefight picking up around him.

Devon ran, crouching, around the car and into the storefront door before the ICE officers focused back on him.

“Someone’s on the roof with a rifle,” said Josh. He let off a couple of shots, blowing geometric chunks of 1930s stucco off the cornice.

One of the storefront windows blew out as a fire extinguisher crashed out through it. A pistol shot from one of the ground-floor windows smacked into the driver’s-side door. The officers flinched, looked at each other to make sure they were OK, then back to the storefront. Venetian blinds flopped back over the window and stopped them from seeing inside.

“We’re going to need the backup team.”

“Right.”

Josh got on the radio while Carl tried to cover both the roof and the window.

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