SEMPER FI… GOODBYE

Story #1 of the Troubleshooters Series

Semper Fi Sniper

Rick and his team of Marines are on missions to find and eliminate Jihadist terrorists. When Rick’s wife is murdered, and the case goes cold, he says goodbye to the Corps and goes home to find her killer. A few months later, his sniper team reaches the end of their enlistment and joins him.

Rick ► Team Leader/Sniper Brad ► Rick’s Spotter/Buddy Jessica ► Rick’s wife/prosecutor Mike ► Lawyer/Pilot/Recon Maria ► Communications/Stunt Driver Greg ► Dart Guns/Tranquilizers Barbara ► Martial Arts/Firearms Sheri ► Wall-Climbing Parkour

PART ONE

Rick discovers his wife has been murdered by a man she prosecuted.

Chapter One

Rick was on the roof of a bomb-damaged building in Kabul, Afghanistan with Brad, his spotter. Rick had never missed a shot. So, he had never needed a backup sniper. Brad was there to measure wind speed and keep Rick apprised of things outside the narrow field of vision of Rick’s telescope. The other members of his team were hunkered down on the roof of a building across the street.

Rick’s handler, a major at field headquarters, had told him about the meeting between two Jihadist leaders. Rick and his team had followed one of the Jihadist and his guards to the building. A few minutes later they saw the other Jihadist and his guards enter the building. Rick and his team were lean, lethal men and women with the patience of Job. They’d wait until the terrorists came out of the building, then execute the plan.

This wasn’t a war where soldiers on both sides wore uniforms. Nor was it like a Hollywood movie where the good guys wore white and the bad guys wore black. Rick and his team were camouflaged predators hunting prey who wore everyday clothing. They were never sure who was friend or foe. So, they assumed that everyone had a bomb concealed beneath their clothing. Boys, girls, men, women, goats with bells around their necks and dogs with packs on their backs were all suspects.

As he waited for the Jihadist leaders to leave their meeting, Rick asked himself why he was risking his life and the lives of his team to assassinate religiously obsessed men with the goal of killing Infidels, men and women who didn’t accept their religious beliefs. He was a Marine and would always follow orders, but these missions had nothing to do with defending America.

An hour later the guards came out with guns drawn and heads swiveling left and right, their eyes scanning the area up and down the street. Rick put the cross hairs of his telescope on the entrance and his finger on the trigger. He had installed a titanium safety plunger on his MK22 for a lighter, smoother trigger pull. Less friction. More accuracy. And the suppressor on the end of the barrel would make it less likely the terrorists could identify his position when he fired. Wouldn’t matter if they did. The other members of his team would shoot the guards before they could look in Rick’s direction.

The guards stepped away from the entrance to make way for their leaders. The two senior Jihadists stepped out and began walking toward their vehicle. Rick quickly put a round in each of their heads, then watched his team do the same to all four guards.

When they returned from their mission, Rick was called into the major’s tent. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Gunny. Your wife was murdered.”

Rick’s mouth dropped. “Jessica. Murdered? How… when…”

“Don’t have the details, but I was told the police suspect her killer is someone she prosecuted.”

Rick took a deep breath, let it out with a long sigh and began shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s… was… the assistant district attorney. Asked her a dozen times to switch sides but she was committed to taking bad guys down, not defending them. And she always countered with the argument that I was risking my life as a Marine Raider more than she was as a criminal prosecutor.”

“I’m sorry, Rick. Damn sorry.

The major pulled a bottle of brandy from his desk and handed it to Rick. He took a long drink and handed it back to the major. They continued swapping the bottle until it was empty.

“I’ll put Taylor in charge of your team. Go home and give your wife the farewell she deserves.”

“Taylor? He’s never led a team in the field, Sir. How about Gunnery Sergeant Doyle? He’s — ”

“Doyle isn’t available and your team will get Taylor up to speed. A helicopter will take you to the Kabul airport where you can take a MATS flight home. I hope you find peace. It’s one thing to lose a fellow Marine but a wife, well, that hits even closer to home.”

Rick stood and thanked the major.

Chapter Two

Rick drove his Jeep Wrangler to the memorial service for his wife. Her friends had taken a picture of Jessica and placed it above her casket.

Engin Akyurt + Author

After the pastor had given his eulogy, Rick stood and faced the men and women gathered to say goodbye to Jessica.

“She was the sunshine of my life. An anchor in stormy seas. Someone to come home to after I’d put the bad guys away. Now a bad guy has taken her away.”

Rick looked at the casket.

“I’ll find him, Jessica, and make him pay for taking your dreams and my sunshine away.”

He looked at her friends. “We’re all going to miss her but I don’t know what else I can say… to her or to you. So, I brought my guitar to sing a few songs that might speak for all of us.”

He began with REM’s Everybody Hurts then moved to Sting’s In Fields of Gold, James Taylor’s How Sweet it is to be Loved by You, and Celine Dion’s Because You Loved Me. When he was done, he shouldered his guitar and walked out of the church with tears in his eyes and an ache in his heart.

After the memorial service for his wife, Rick drove to the police department to speak with the detective in charge of her case. The desk sergeant asked Rick for his name, then motioned to an officer standing nearby. The officer patted Rick down, then led him into the room where the detectives had desks.

“Tim, this is Rick Nelson. He’s here about the murder of his wife.”

Tim stood and shook Rick’s hand. “Sorry for your loss. I don’t have a suspect behind bars. Just a list of suspects she successfully prosecuted since becoming the assistant district attorney.”

Tim pulled the list from a drawer in his desk and handed it to Rick.

“Your wife successfully prosecuted hundreds of criminals but only 18 were paroled within a year after she was murdered. The black asterisks are those who were paroled more than a month before she was killed. The red asterisks are those who were paroled less than a month before she was killed.”

Rick nodded. “Hmm… 12 black and 6 red. More likely someone would seek revenge within a few weeks after being released from prison. Have you narrowed the six down any?”

“No. Two of the six disappeared within weeks of being paroled. We’ve got BOLOs out for those two. The other four had solid alibis for the morning your wife was shot. I personally interviewed people in the area where she was killed but nobody saw or heard anything. When are you scheduled to go back to your outfit?”

“Friday. Wish I had time to help you find her killer.”

“Wish I had time to narrow those suspects down to one before you leave. Give me a way to contact you.”

Rick told the detective how to reach him, shook his hand and made his way out of the building and back to his rental. He opened the door and sat down. Jessica had been the rock in his life. An anchor in stormy seas. The sunshine of his life. Someone to come home to after he’d put the bad guys away. He wanted to find her killer, then take the law into his own hands. But he didn’t have the time or the resources. So Friday morning he took a MATS flight back to his team in Afghanistan.

Chapter Three

“Welcome back… to Hell,” barked Brad.

Barbara walked over and put her arms around Rick’s neck. “You look like a guy who could use a hug.” She kissed him on the cheek, then turned to Greg. “Not to worry lover boy. You’re still my number one.”

Everyone laughed, then gathered around Rick. The women pecked his cheek and the men slapped his back. They were Marine Raiders bonded by three tours of life-threatening togetherness. In towns with home-made bombs buried in the streets and snipers hiding in the buildings. In mountains with terrorists behind every rock and tree. In deserts with danger lurking in the dunes. They had known each other since high school and had joined the Corps within weeks of each other with the same patriotic, flag-waving, gun ho spirit.

Rick glanced from face to face. “It is good to be back. Even here… in hell. Speaking of hell, the major just gave us our next assignment. He wants — ”

Mike laughed. “Now there’s the gunny I remember. Our Semper Fi, mission-oriented boss is back.”

Brad gave Mike a thumb up then turned to Rick. “What kind of hell is it gonna be this time?”

“The major wants us to stop the Taliban from recruiting boys into their training camps.”

Greg frowned. “The Taliban is doing that damn near everywhere. Did the major give us a place to start?”

“Yeah,” replied Rick, “it’s a small village of farmers in a rural area about sixty clicks northeast of Kabul. The Taliban are recruiting men and boys in cities and towns, but the major’s orders are to concentrate on villages.”

“Probably easier to intimidate people who work in farms than in factories,” said Sheri.

Rick nodded. “And easier to invade a small village and get out with their captives. But they kill Infidels, including Muslims who reject their fanatical interpretation of the Koran. That alone makes traditional Muslims fear them whether they live in a village or in the city.”

“They’re bullies,” said Greg, “crazy fundamentalists. Can’t wait to do a little bullying of our own.”

Rick heard his cell buzz and looked down at the screen. “Won’t have to wait long. The major wants us in five.”

They all stood and headed for the major’s tent. He briefed them on the Taliban’s upcoming raid on the village.

“How do we know that, Sir?” asked Rick.

“We’ve got a man in the terrorist group that’s been tasked to recruit the villagers. He infiltrated the cell more than a year ago. He’s the same spy who gave us the intel on those Jihadist leaders you and your team neutralized just before you took leave for your wife’s memorial.”

Chapter Four

The next morning Rick and his team of Raiders ate breakfast, grabbed their gear and jumped into their Humvees. A few minutes before noon they stopped just short of a hill that overlooked the village. From there they’d be able to survey the area without being seen by anyone in the village. Rick got out of his Humvee and put his binoculars up to his face.

The major’s brief had covered tactics and an overview of what a farming village was like. Rick knew why the major had included those things. You couldn’t predict how a seemingly trivial, irrelevant fact might play a role in the success or failure of a mission. So, Rick’s eyes watched the people working their fields while his mind played back the things the major had brought to their attention.

More than seventy per cent of Afghans live in rural areas, not cities, and half of the children die of chronic malnutrition. So farmers plant wheat, barley, and rice to have food to eat. And most of the farming is done by women because a large percentage of the men leave to join the Taliban. Farming also helps a village remain independent of government interference. Villages that depend on government subsidies to survive are forced to accept things they would otherwise reject.

Rick moved his binoculars from the wheat field to what was obviously a poppy field. The food fields helped villages remain independent of government interference. The poppy field was evidence that these villagers were slaves to a drug cartel.

Rick didn’t see anyone with a rifle watching the workers or standing in the shadows of the houses. He could feel the adrenaline rising up in him. Yeah, he and his team would waste the Taliban when they came to take men and boys away. But he’d get the major’s permission to come back and execute the drug cartel when they came back to harvest the poppies. Rick was on fire with his hatred for anyone involved in drugs. His passion to avenge the death of his wife would never end.

Brad walked over and touched Rick’s shoulder. “See anything?”

“Women, boys and men working a field of wheat and a field of poppies. Nobody with a weapon that I can see.”

“Poppies. Hmm, wonder if that’s a voluntary or involuntary project.”

“I doubt they’re growing poppies for their own use. More likely it’s for a drug cartel whose threatened them to do it or else. And you know what the or else is.”

“I do and it’s even more likely the poppies are for the Taliban so they can finance their campaign of terror and hatred for Infidels.”

Rick nodded. “If you’re right, our intervention will kill two birds with one stone.”

“Yep,” replied Brad, “We’re the stones and the Jihadists are the birds.”

Rick’s team couldn’t assume that none of the villagers were sympathetic to the Taliban. Or that none were spies prepped to alert the Taliban that a squad of Marine Raiders were preparing to ambush them. Rick had studied a map and several satellite images of the village and knew there were very few places to hide. So he and his team were wearing clothes typical of what people wore in rural areas like this one. Their disguises included fake beards, wigs and gray turbans.

Just after 1400 hours, two pickup trucks and a large van without windows rolled into the village. In the bed of each pickup was a man standing behind a 50 caliber machine gun. Both were wearing a black turban. The driver and passenger of each pickup got out. They were also wearing black turbans, bandoliers across their chests, and rifles slung over their shoulders.

They walked over to the people working the fields. One of them, probably the leader, pointed his finger at one of the boys, jerked his thumb toward the van and hollered something at the boy. The women began screaming protests. One of them ran towards the leader with her hoe raised over her head. He pulled his side arm and shot her in the forehead, then pointed to another boy.

Rick and his Raiders had been walking slowly down the dirt road toward the village when the leader shot the woman. She was obviously the boy’s mother because he ran to her, fell down and began sobbing. The leader pointed to one of his men and said something. The man hustled over to the boy, pulled him off his mother and began force marching him toward the van.

The moment the Jihadists had disembarked from their vehicles, Rick had assigned each member of his team to one of the terrorists. When the leader shot the woman, Rick spoke into his comm unit. “Execute!”

It was over in a few seconds. Greg and Barbara shot the men standing in the bed of the pickup trucks. Brad shot the leader, Mike and Maria took out the two men standing near him, and Rick shot the man taking the boy to the van. Paul and Roger had been assigned to eliminate the men in the van. They did but Roger took a bullet in his thigh and Paul in his shoulder. Maria, the team’s radio and comm specialist, called for a helicopter to evacuate Paul and Roger. Rick called the major to report the success of their mission.

Chapter Five

When they got back to their base, the major was standing outside his tent. “Well done,” he shouted, “Shed your gear, then muster up in my tent.”

Rick and his team stowed their gear and headed back to see what the major had to say.

“So the villagers are growing poppies. That’s typical in rural areas. The Taliban uses the poppies to make heroin to finance their agendas. It’s damn likely that next visit those villagers get from the Taliban will be to collect the poppies or to make the villagers suffer for what you accomplished today. So I’m sending you back there to intercept the next gang of Taliban soldiers, whether they’re after the villagers, the poppies or both. The colonel has promised to keep his eye in the sky on that area. The moment he sees anything moving in that direction, you all have a green light to blow them fuckers away. Do I hear an Oorah?”

The major’s tent reverberated with a dozen Oorahs. The major stood up. “Take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it.”

They went back to their tent, sat down and silently considered what had happened in the village and what the major had said about their next mission.

Greg opened his foot locker and pulled out a bottle of Widow Adams Kentucky bourbon. He took a long pull on the bottle, then passed it to Brad. The bottle made the rounds from one team member to the next. When the bottle got to Rick he swallowed a mouthful. “After burying Jessica, I knew it was gonna be tough to come back here and shoot terrorists. What I really wanted to do was stay there and shoot her killer.”

He paused to hand the bourbon to Barbara. “But you all made coming back here easier than I thought it would be. Thanks.”

Oorahs rippled through the members of his team.

Mike said, “I’m no mind reader but you got that look on your face that says you’re not finished briefing us.”

Rick laughed. “Yeah, kinda ironic. What we do here can lead to PTSD when we get home. But what happened back there gave me a dose of PTSD when I got back here. Jessica’s death puts a whole different spin on things, you know. I’m not saying I need a psyche eval. I’m just tired of risking my life for something that makes no political or patriotic sense.”

Barbara turned to Mike. “Sounds like you did read his mind. And mine too. The major will have to put a gun to my head before I’ll reenlist for another six in the Corps.”

Greg said, “I got your six, love. Right behind you.”

“We volunteered for these missions,” said Brad, “so our end of tour dates are not necessarily official.”

“Yeah,” agreed Marie, “but we’re GIs, government issued property of the United States Marine Corps. You all know what that means.”

Sheri gave Marie a thumb up. “Yep, our next assignment won’t be a suggestion. It’ll be orders from headquarters.”

Greg said, “Oorah to that. My first day in boot camp, our drill sergeant told us to write home to momma and tell her to sell the shit house ’cause we got your ass now.”

Marie laughed. “Thanks for the comic relief, Greg, but keep in mind that our end of enlistment date is official.”

Brad said, “Oorah to that, Marie. Oorah to that. Watching the medics load Paul and Roger into that helicopter made me glad they weren’t in body bags. The next time we get into a helicopter, I want it to be because we’ve all reached our EOT and our EOE.”

Greg laughed. “Then all we have to worry about is whether or not the towel heads shoot our ride down.”

Greg was the team’s official comedian but his attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. Being a Marine was serious business. Thinking about not being a Marine was even more serious.

Chapter Six

Rick’s team did return to the village. When the Taliban arrived, they killed all but the leader. Ten minutes of enhanced interrogation convinced him to give it up or else. The intel they extracted from him enabled Rick’s team and three other Marine Raider teams to put a dozen Taliban cell groups in northern Afghanistan permanently out of business. Six months later, Rick reached the end of his enlistment. He walked over to the major’s tent and announced his decision to end his career in the Corps.

“Major, I reached the end of my enlistment three months ago.”

“You want to go home to find your wife’s killer. But you made Gunnery Sergeant in less than ten years, Nelson. Another six will put you within four of retirement. Then the bennies kick in. Monthly income. Medical. The works.”

The major paused to stab his cigar into an ash tray.

“Your team needs you. Hell, I need you. Give me another six and we’ll rip another hole in the Taliban’s ass!”

“You’ll find someone else to take my place, Sir. Brad is as good a sniper as I’ll ever be and the team respects him.”

“Yeah, Brad is a good Marine and a natural born leader. Like you.”

The major locked eyes with Rick but said nothing.

Rick broke the silence. “Sir, I’m done hunting a zillion maniacs here in Afghanistan. I’m going home to hunt for one maniac in America.”

The major nodded. “You gotta do this. I understand. The Corps will miss you. I’ll miss you. Semper Fi and goodbye.”

They saluted each other. Rick gave the major a very proper about face and left the tent. When he got back to the tent he told his team of his decision to end his enlistment and go home to find Jessica’s killer.

Brad walked over and put his hands on Rick’s shoulders. “This goodbye is only temporary, Rick. You know how we all feel about what we’re doing over here. Won’t be long before we join you in the good old US of A.”

Brad looked at the others and said, “Do I hear an Oorah?”

The tent reverberated with a loud round of Oorahs.

“You guys are not too macho for touchy feely stuff,” said Barbara, “Let’s send our Gunny off with a group hug.”

Barbara was right. The men joined the women in giving their Gunny a group hug.

Chapter Seven

Rick’s departure from the Corps compelled his Sniper team to question their role in the war against terrorists. They felt like pawns in a game of chess that had nothing to do with defending America.

Barbara frowned. “I’m tired of risking my life for something that makes no political, practical or patriotic sense.”

Marie said, “We followed Rick into the Corps. We can follow him out. Our end of enlistment is only a month from now.”

Brad nodded. “The major will have to put a gun to my head before I’ll reenlist.”

Marie said, “He won’t have to. We’re GIs, government issued property of the Marine Corps. He’ll keep us here, saying our next mission is a matter of national security.”

“Yep,” agreed Sheri, “it’ll be orders from headquarters.”

Greg said, “Roger that. In boot camp, the drill sergeant made it clear the Corps owned us lock, stock and barrel. Told us to write home to momma and tell her to sell the shit house ’cause we got your ass now.”

Sure enough, their next mission was orders from headquarters and a week beyond their end of enlistments. Taliban terrorists were forcing the inhabitants of a small village to grow poppies and make heroin. The major put Brad in charge of the team. They killed all the terrorists but the leader. Ten minutes of enhanced interrogation yielded enough intel to put a dozen Taliban cell groups in northern Afghanistan permanently out of business. When they got back, they told the major they were leaving the Corps to help Rick find the man who killed his wife.

Chapter Eight

After the memorial service, Rick drove to the police department to speak with the detective in charge of Jessica’s case. The detective stood, shook Rick’s hand and handed him a list of suspects.

“Your wife prosecuted hundreds of criminals but only six were paroled within a month before she was murdered. The black asterisks are the four who have solid alibis for the morning your wife was shot. The red asterisks are the two who disappeared a week before she was killed. When my BOLOs on those two went cold, the DA put the case on ice.”

Tim paused to sip his coffee. “When are you scheduled to go back to your outfit?”

“I’m not.”

“You left the Corps?”

“Killing the man who murdered my wife trumps killing terrorists in Afghanistan.”

“And you expect me to turn a blind eye?”

“I’ll make a citizen’s arrest. If he pulls a gun, I’ll but a bullet in his head, call 911 and tell the cops I was defending myself.”

“The cops will call the coroner, put you in handcuffs and take you to jail. Then you’ll have to convince a jury it was self defense.”

“What if I record his confession, then call the police?”

“Will they find evidence of an enhanced interrogation?”

Rick shrugged.

Tim leaned forward and whispered, “Put his body where nobody can find it.”

Chapter Nine

Rick drove to the house he and Jessica had bought after their marriage. He knew he couldn’t live there with Jessica gone. He called a realtor and put it on the market, then drove to the cabin his father had built and stocked with food, water and supplies when the cold war heated up.

At the cabin, he poured himself a Brandy and sat down in his father’s recliner. He looked around. This was home. His eyes stopped on the picture above the fireplace. His father and the boy he had been looked down at the man he was now with smiles on their faces and guns in their hands. He walked outside and watched the sun go down and the stars come out. That night he fell asleep dreaming of the day the picture had been taken but woke up from a nightmare of a man killing his wife.

The next morning, he hiked down to the stream with the rod and reel his father had bought him when he was a boy. He tied a fly on the end of the line and gave the pole a strong whip. He watched the fly hit the water. As it drifted downstream, he felt his mind fishing for something below the surface, waiting for that something to rise to take the bait.

A moment later his line went taut. He jerked his pole to set the hook and began reeling the fish toward the shore. It was a rainbow trout struggling to escape the hook and the line. Rick brought it out of the water with his net, slipped his fingers into the gills, removed the hook and tossed it into the stream. He watched it swim away. Rick knew it didn’t have a smile on its face or a plan for how it would spend the rest of its day. But he had a smile on his face and knew how he’d spend the rest of his day.

PART TWO

Rick develops a plan to find Jessica’s killer.

Chapter Ten

Rick drove to the intersection where the police had found Jessica with a bullet in her head. A man ran over and began cleaning his windshield. Rick rolled down his window and handed him a twenty dollar bill. “How long you been working this intersection?”

“Since the dinosaurs died.”

“Then you might remember the morning a woman got shot here. About seven months ago?”

“Ain’t got nothin’ more to say to the fuzz.”

“I’m not a cop. I’m Rick Nelson, her husband.”

“Yeah. Saw that name in the paper the next day. She pulled up, rolled her window down and gave me a fiver. I did her side then moved to the passenger’s side. Alluva sudden I heard a pop. Looked over and saw her head hit the steering wheel. The horn started beepin’ loud ‘nough to wake the dead.”

“Did you see who shot her?”

“Yep. Big white dude with a Dodger’s cap standin’ across the street lookin’ right at me. Felt a shiver run up my back. Couldn’t move a muscle but when he pointed his finger at me and yelled ‘BOOM!’ I ran like the devil was after me. Didn’t work this corner for six months in case he came back to shoot me like he shot her.”

“Would you help an artist make a sketch of the shooter’s face? I’ll give you ten Ben Franklins. Five now and another five when the sketch is finished.”

“Wow! That’s a lot of green. Okay, but I ain’t gonna point to him in a lineup or in a courtroom.”

“You won’t have to because I’m not giving the sketch to the police. They wouldn’t hunt for the shooter based on a sketch drawn with the help of a homeless guy who washes car windows. But the sketch will lead me to him. Then he’ll be dead.”

When the artist was done, Rick drove Benny back to his corner and gave him the remaining $500.

Chapter Eleven

On his way back to the cabin, his phone buzzed.

“Rick. Brad here. Meet me at the Red Pony Bar & Grill in an hour.

“You’re stateside? What the — ”

The line went dead. He jumped in his Wrangler and headed for the restaurant, eager to see his long time buddy. When he walked in he was greeted with a chorus of Oorahs and Semper Fis from Brad, Maria, Greg, Barbara, Mike and Sheri.

Rick raised his eyebrows and spread his hands. “Tell me this is just a thirty day leave.”

“This leave will last longer than 30 days,” said Barbara.

“We followed you into the Corps,” said Mike, “so it was a no brainer to follow you out.”

Sheri said, ”Hunting for Jessica’s killer trumps hunting for terrorists.”

“What’s your course of action?” asked Greg.

“Still a babe in the woods, Greg. I initially thought I’d lure the shooter back to the corner where he had killed Jessica by swapping places with the homeless guy who saw the shooter. We’re about the same height and build. I planned to enhance the similarity with a shabby shirt, tattered pants and a week’s growth of facial hair.”

“How would you lure the shooter down there?” asked Brad.

“I found the host of a daily talk show who was willing to take a call from me pretending to be the homeless man who could identify the man who shot Jessica.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Gunny, the shooter wouldn’t believe even a homeless dude would be that stupid. He’d know it was a police sting.”

“And we were still in Afghanistan,” said Brad, “where we couldn’t have kept the shooter from putting a bullet in your head.”

Rick exhaled through puffed lips. “Okay, that COA goes in the toilet. Let’s get together at my cabin to find another way to find the shooter.”

Chapter Twelve

Rick’s team mates followed him to his cabin. When they arrived, Brad said, “Didn’t know you had a cabin, Rick.”

“My father built it, then stocked it with food, water and supplies in case the shit hits the fan. When we were up here, it felt like he was my friend, not just my father. Come inside. I’ll give you a tour.”

He showed them the tunnel leading to the bunker and his father’s stock of food, water, tools and guns.

“Wow,” said Barbara,” you could live here for years.”

“And hold off a small Army,” added Sheri.

When they got back to the main room, Rick passed the artist’s sketch of the man Benny had seen and the photograph Tim had given him of the prime suspect.”

“See if you think the sketch matches the photo.”

“That’s the guy!” hollered Greg, and everyone agreed.

“You know the name of the man in the photo and the sketch?” asked Maria.

“Fred Bonner. He killed her less than a week after he was paroled.”

Mike stood. “Let’s contact Bonner’s parole officer to get his last address and the name of a relative, a former cell mate or an ex wife. Intel to put us on his trail so you won’t have to pretend you’re a homeless guy. You have the name of the shooter’s parole officer?”

“Barry Coffman. Anyone want to volunteer to meet him?”

“Yes,” said Barbara.

Greg looked at Barbara with his eyes wide and his eyebrows up.

“I won’t take my clothes off, Greg.”

Chapter Thirteen

The parole officer gave Barbara the sister address, the name of his cell mate at the state prison in Lancaster and a drug dealer in east LA who Bonner owed money to.

Barbara check her notes. “The sister said, ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea where that idiot is, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. He’s my brother.’ Her eyes told me she knows where he is, but blood is thicker than water. His cellmate wanted a shortened sentence before he’d tell me anything. I told him that wasn’t going to happen. He gave me the finger. I bent it backwards until I heard it snap. His drug dealer said he’d tell me where Fred was if I made it worth his while. I told him if he knew where Bonner was he would have sent his goons there to get the money he owed him. He called me a feisty little bitch, then told his body guards to escort me to his boudoir. You all know how that turned out.”

Greg laughed. “Yep. Broken jaws, missing teeth, black eyes, and swollen nuts.”

Everyone gave Barbara a round of Oorahs!

Sheri said, “I ran Bonner’s name through a plethora of search criteria and discovered that all of his recent phone calls were within 5 miles of his sister’s place in Indio. He’s living with her. Let’s get down there ASAP.”

An hour after they arrived, Bonner drove away in a dark green pickup. They followed him to a bar called Tito’s Tacos & Tequila.

“I’ll invite him to the motel across the street for some under-the-covers fun. I’ll spike his drink with that date rape drug Greg gave me.”

Rick and the others took a table near the back and watched Maria take a stool next to Bonner. Maria knew how to entice a man with her Latin beauty. Her seductive smile was enough to make Bonner order drinks. One of his buddies said, “You gettin’ lucky, Bonner?” The distraction gave Maria time to slip the drug into his glass.

When Bonner got woozy, Maria helped him out of the bar, across the street and into the motel. The team waited a few minutes so Bonner’s buddies wouldn’t think they were with Maria. When they got to the motel, Bonner was out cold on the bed. Mike put him in a chair, then Greg injected him with a wake-up and tell-the-truth drug. After a few minutes of enhanced interrogation, he admitted to killing Jessica.

“Yeah, I killed that bitch but no way a jury will buy my confession. You tortured me into it.”

Rick said, “What makes you think you’ll ever face a jury?”

Geraldo

➨Thanks for reading Semper Fi Goodbye. Let me know what you liked and disliked with claps, comments and highlights. Then read Blind Date, the second story in the Troubleshooters Series.