Rashard “Stone” Williams walked into the downtown bar looking for his old friend. The bar was packed with people enjoying their drinks and laughing loudly among themselves. He walked through the establishment, turning his head back and forth. There was sports memorabilia all over the walls of the bar. As Rashard approached, his friend jumped out of his seat.
“Stone, what’s going on?” asked Gentry.
“Damn. It’s been a long time. I can’t believe you got the Marine Corps to give you orders to San Antonio.”
“Hell, man, I wanted an easy duty station. There ain’t nothing like recruiting,” laughed Gentry as both men took a seat at the table.
“I bet you getting all kinds of recruits in the Corps. I know you loving San Antonio. It’s some pretty ladies out there.”
“I’m doing my thing. I can’t complain. Oh yeah, it’s some pretty ladies in San Antonio, but I’ve settled down, Stone. I got my queen at the house. I just had a baby girl six months ago,” smiled Gentry.
“Congrats man. What’s her name?”
“Her name is Patricia and she was born with a head full of hair. She was 5 pounds, 14 ounces.”
“That is incredible! Ol’ Gentry, a daddy now.”
The men were friends before the Marine Corps and were both from Montgomery. They attended the same high school and both went into the military after they graduated. Their friendship intensified when they found themselves fighting on the front lines in Iraq.
“I can’t believe you a cop out here in Houston. I heard ‘bout you and what happened back home. Organized crime in Montgomery, who would have thought it?” asked Gentry in a sarcastic tone.
“Who said politicians don’t commit crimes?” smiled Rashard.
“Stone, out here bringing down rich gangsters.”
“Can I get two beers at this table?” asked Rashard flagging down an attractive waitress to their table.
“I heard that you are on a special task force out here in Houston,” said Gentry.
“Yeah, my squad goes after the worst killers out here. The criminals call us the Ghost Squad, because they say they never see us coming.”
The pretty waitress came to the table with their beers in hand.
“Is there anything else I can get you gentlemen?” asked the pretty brown eyed waitress.
“Well, Brittany,” said Gentry reading her name tag, “after we finish these beers, you can bring over a pitcher of Budweiser. I hope you’re our waitress tonight.”
The waitress had a dark brown complexion with an extremely attractive body. Her face was beautiful and she had a smile that would light up any room.
“Yeah, sweetie, I will be here all night,” she said flirting with Gentry.
She turned quickly around and headed for another table. The two men continued their conversation.
“Don’t you miss the Marines?” asked Gentry.
“Yeah, I do sometimes. I miss going to all those different countries and I miss the action. Being a cop on this task force is almost as exciting as being a Leatherneck.”
“I’m going to retire as a U.S. Marine. I love the military life, Stone. This is what I’m good at. This is my gift. I don’t mind being an infantry Marine.”
“I hear you, man. I’m glad you love it. It wasn’t bad for me and it gave me a chance to get out of the neighborhood. Shit, who would ever think cats like me and you would be in Singapore? We’ve been all over the world,” said Rashard with a smile on his face.
“Man, do you remember those girls we met when we got off the ship?” asked Gentry.
“Damn, they were fine. I remember those two very well.”
“Hell, I may move to Singapore when I retire from the Corps.”
“Damn, Singapore got you sprung like that?” asked Rashard.
“Naw. I just like that country. I want to live overseas; I got a taste for that lifestyle.”
“I hear you. You sound like my other friend Maxwell. The boy went to Japan and never came back. Married a beautiful Japanese girl and still lives in Okinawa.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout bro,” said Gentry with a laugh.
“Let’s make a toast to all our lost brothers,” said Rashard.
The two men clanged their beer bottles together. Both of the men tipped their bottles over spilling some beer on the floor of the bar. This was an act of respect for their fallen comrade Scott. Lance Corporal Scott fought with the two men in Iraq. He was killed in action in a town called Nasiriyah.
“Scott was a good Marine,” said Rashard
“Shit, Stone, he was a damn good Marine.”
“Have you talked to anyone else that was out there with us?” asked Rashard.
“Gunnery Sergeant Smiley is now Master Gunnery Sergeant.”
“That’s cool. Is he still crazy?”
“Hell yeah, Stone, you know that motherfucker is always going to be crazy.”
The two men continued to talk and enjoy each other’s company. The mix of cold beers and sports highlights on the big screen televisions relaxed them. No one in the packed bar seemed to notice anything odd about the two men that walked into the bar. The men walked up to the hostess booth and eyed the bar for a familiar face. The men did not look out of place with jackets on, because it was a cool September night.
The two Hispanic men walked over to a table where three black men and a woman were talking and drinking beer. The happy group never noticed the approaching strangers.
“Are you Ice?” asked one of the Hispanic men.
“Who the fuck wants to know?” asked Ice eyeing both men coldly.
“Do you know these fucking clowns?” asked a man at Ice’s table.
“We’re here to collect!” screamed the other Hispanic man.
The three men were surprised when the Hispanics pulled automatic weapons from their jackets. The armed men opened fire without any hesitation. The sound of automatic gunfire surprised the other patrons of the bar. People in the area screamed and dove for cover hoping not to be victims of the heartless shooters. Bullets sprayed the three men and the young woman who were sitting at the table. Blood appeared from everywhere as the assassins terminated their targets with extreme precision.
“Get the fuck down!” screamed Rashard as he and Gentry dove to the floor.
Rashard reached for his back up pistol which he had in an ankle holster.
He and Gentry sprang into action trying to reach the front area of the sports bar and took cover behind a huge bar booth.
“Freeze! H.P.D.! Drop them fucking guns!” screamed Rashard as he got up from his covered position.
Rashard’s gun was drawn and it was pointed at the shooters. The two gunmen were surprised to hear someone yell “police.” They quickly turned on their heels. Rashard wasted no time and shot twice, hitting one of the shooters in the middle of his chest. The man was thrown violently backward to the ground from the shots, which killed him instantly.
The other gunman screamed out in anger and started firing wildly at the officer. Rashard dove out of the way of the wild gunfire. The shooter continued shooting at Rashard as he ran out the front door of the bar. The officer returned fire but did not hit the fleeing man.
“Stone, Stone, I’m hit!” screamed Gentry.
Rashard looked over to see his friend bleeding heavily from his stomach. Both of Gentry’s hands were covered in dark blood that was gushing out of the open wound.
“Man, I can’t believe I got shot in the States. Ain’t that some shit?”
“Be cool. An ambulance is on the way. Stay with me, Marine!” said Rashard as he cradled the injured man in his arms.
Rashard tried desperately to keep calm and not panic. Within a matter of minutes police officers and ambulance workers ran into the bullet-riddled bar. They were trying desperately to care for the injured and traumatized survivors.
“I need some help over here!” yelled Rashard.
Two paramedics ran over to help Gentry.
“We need a stretcher! This guy has a serious abdominal wound!” yelled one of the paramedics.
Gentry was quickly placed on the stretcher. Rashard walked out of the building with his friend as he was loaded into the ambulance.
“Call my wife, Stone. Let her know I’m OK,” said Gentry as he handed Rashard his cell phone.
The doors of the emergency vehicle were then closed and the injured Marine was ready to be transported.
“Is he going to make it? What hospital will he be at?” asked Rashard.
“It’s hard to tell. Stomach wounds can be fatal. He will be at Lone Star Memorial,” said the paramedic hurrying to the front of the emergency vehicle.
“Fuck!” yelled Rashard out of frustration.
Rashard watched the ambulance until it disappeared into the darkness. He had just seen one of his oldest friends taken away with a life threatening injury. The event seemed surreal to him and he had to make himself walk back into the sports bar.
There were a number of officers inside the bar by this time. People were being questioned about what they had witnessed.
“What the fuck happened in here? Can you explain how you’re always around when some shit goes down Stone?” screamed downtown patrol supervisor, Lieutenant Diaz, eyeing Rashard closely.
Lieutenant Diaz was Rashard’s supervisor before he joined the Ghost Squad.
“I was here with a military buddy having a few drinks. All of a sudden we hear gunshots. The second shooter was about six foot maybe 170 pounds. He was a young Hispanic male and he had a black jacket on with a hood; the guy had a shaved bald head with a thick goatee. He looked to be in his early 30s.”
Lieutenant Diaz radioed the suspect’s description in to the dispatch operator. The operator then alerted patrol officers to be on the lookout for the dangerous suspect. They were told to use extreme caution if they encountered the shooter.
“We got four dead men in here and one woman. We’re not sure if this was random or a hit. Hell, guess it’s good you got one. You Ghost Squad motherfuckers are always involved in some shit.”
“Like I said, sir! I was here relaxing and the place got shot up. I reacted and tried to stop these fucking idiots!” said Rashard annoyed, pointing at the dead gunman he had killed.
“Do you know who the victims are?” asked Diaz.
“I don’t have a fucking clue about any of these people.”
“I recognize this guy. This is Devin Dennis. Everyone calls him ‘Ice’ on the streets. He runs with the Fifth Ward Mafia. I busted him for having a pistol a few years back. Damn, I guess who ever had it in for him wanted to make a serious statement.”
“I think this shit was beyond a statement. This was too bold to be something random. There were at least thirty witnesses in this bar,” said Rashard.
The Fifth Ward Mafia was a local street gang that operated in the Fifth Ward, which was in the northeast part of the city. The gang usually was involved in drug dealing, weapons trafficking, and home invasions.
“I’m pretty sure they were after Ice. He is one of the shot callers for the gang,” said Diaz.
Both men looked at the carnage that was left at that table. The victim’s bodies were twisted into gruesome positions. There were puddles of blood on the table and on the floor of the bar. Crime scene investigators were scrambling to identify the rest of the victims. The only person with no identification was the man that Rashard had killed.
“Crime in this city never sleeps,” said Talley, who was with the coroner’s office.
“What can you tell us ‘bout that guy?” asked Rashard pointing at the dead gunman.
“Well, Stone. I can tell you he’s dead.” said Talley sarcastically.
“Look, dumb ass! Do your fucking job! Ain’t shit funny ‘bout these bodies! Get your head outta your ass and get these fucking people in the morgue!” yelled Diaz.
Talley started to move with a new found since of urgency. He did not want to get on the lieutenant’s bad side.
“Stone, you know the drill. We got to go to headquarters,” said Diaz.
Rashard was very aware of the procedure. He knew that his supervisor, Sergeant Smith, would be contacted. His major concern was the identity of the hit man he had killed.
“What organization is bold enough to do something like this?” asked Rashard to himself.
He was also concerned about Gentry’s welfare. It was supposed to be a regular night on the town and something like this happens. The odds of a major shootout happening were slim to none, but it was just his bad luck. At that moment he felt like the unluckiest man on the planet.
