The large man wobbled on his stilted toes as he peered in the window. He holstered his weapon to pull out the radio positioned behind it on his patrol belt. The heavyset cop didn't have a lapel microphone attached and had to unclip his radio each time he needed to use it, which this time, he didn't get to do.
While the officer was engaged in a tug of war over his radio with impressive girth spilled out atop of it, Hatch struck the butt end of her pistol against the base of his skull. He fell to ground knocking over the bike she'd narrowly avoided. It clattered loudly in the silent countdown Munoz had given.
Hatch quickly used the man's two pair of cuffs to bind each wrist to his opposite ankle, the crisscrossed shackles rattled as the unconscious man now lay hogtied where he fell. She stuffed his wallet in his mouth and unholstered his pistol and tossed it in the bathroom window. Hatch hoped, should she not make it, the gun would provide Ayala and the others another option before submitting to the hitmen. Hatch hoped they never had to find it.
The gun landed softly on the towels Josefina had set out for Letty. Hatch rounded the other side of the small house, staying out of the light emanating from the patrol cars parked in front. She used the trees as cover while she snaked her way through the darkness, leading up to the other men holding the good people inside hostage.
When she heard Munoz speak again, she realized he hadn't heard the crash of the bicycle, or at least made no mention of it when he spoke next.
"You have offended the courtesy of my offer by not accepting it." He sounded genuinely disappointed. Maybe this tactic had worked in times' past. But to lay one's self at the feet of their killer is what sheep do. And she was no sheep. Rachel Hatch was a wolf. And wolves don't lay in wait. They hunt.
"Sadly, Miss Nighthawk, we must do it the hard way. I take no comfort in saying this, but you have chosen a painful death, one that will go on hours longer than it should, and one that you could have avoided for the innocent people inside." Munoz signaled silently with his hands, directing the two remaining men to enter the front door.
The man closest to her, the one Hatch had intended on taking as her own hostage, rounded the front of the vehicle he'd been standing beside. He walked through the headlights and met up with the other officer. The two formed side by side and moved in step toward the front door.
Hatch changed plans on the fly when she saw Munoz was intently focused on his two henchmen going forward at his command to do his dirty work. The intersecting paths of headlights was a tactical move used in felony stops conducted by law enforcement officers. The cones of light from the use of high-beams, spotlights, and takedown lights work to blind those on the other end. That part was apparent. The why was less apparent. And Hatch, having spent fifteen years in her capacity as an MP, knew the answer. In that answer came her next move.
The overlapping light between the two vehicles in a felony takedown serve a very important purpose. It created a black hole. Officers used the void to place cuffs on suspects. It is done in that dark space for one important reason. Nobody on the other side of the light can see what happens. It keeps the bad guys from knowing what's happening. For most, seeing their thug friends disappear is scary as hell. Or so she'd heard from the numerous criminals she'd done it to. And though the man only a few feet in front of her wore the uniform of her brothers and sisters in blue, he did not honor it. He was a criminal. And the criminal was standing directly in the black hole.
Before he had a chance to even unfold his arms, she had kicked hard at the back of his legs, buckling the man. Hatch caught him mid-fall and just before he struck the ground, she spun him to the side to keep him off-balance while she threaded her arm under his right armpit.
A fraction of a second passed before Hatch had Munoz locked against her body. His right shoulder pressed firmly against his neck was countered by Hatch's forearm squeezing the other side. She locked the choke hold in place using just her right arm, the palm of which was pressed flat against the right of her own neck.
This maneuver did many things at once. By controlling Munoz' right arm, he was unable to access his gun. Leaning him back against her body kept him off-balance enough that she could maintain effective control while enabling her to keep him in front of her as a human shield with her Glock pressed against his left temple.
"Tell your men to come out and drop their weapons. Do it now." The stink of his cologne tickled her nose as she whispered into Munoz's ear.
"I would, but they won't listen."
"You're their Lieutenant, of course they'll listen. Now tell them to stand down."
"They'll kill me just to get to you. Nobody fails Mr. Fuentes." The macho bravado she'd seen in him before at the police department lobby was all but gone. Strangely, it wasn't fear replacing it now. It was peace. Munoz surrendered to the acceptance of his death with an almost enviable serenity. The road he'd taken in life to bring himself to this point had finally reached its ultimate and expected trade-off, as deals made with the devil typically do. Maybe when Munoz signed his soul away, he had also resigned himself to this outcome long ago.
The two officers Munoz had sent inside now stood on the front porch with the door opened behind them, their guns pointed out into the light, blinded by their devices, and momentarily frozen by the invisible adversary who hid behind their lieutenant holding him hostage. "Nobody inside boss," one of them said.
"Take the shot," Munoz yelled in Spanish.
The two men, suddenly aware of the shift in power, widened their stance and took aim but did not fire. Not yet at least.
"Kill her," he hissed. The words never getting past his lips as Hatch constricted.
The men on the porch had yet to move. Instead, they peered out into the light and shifted their weapons in several different directions. They didn't know where she was.
Hatch made herself as small as possible behind Munoz who was of similar height and size. She prepared for the eventuality that once the rounds started firing, she would move Munoz forward and try to flank around to one of the vehicles. It wasn't a perfect plan. Lots of variables. Lots of places for Murphy's Law to insert itself.
Coiled. Ready. Hatch breathed in the muggy air tainted with the cologne of her hostage.
The first bang came, followed immediately by another. And neither came from a gun.
Both armed men were now face-down on Ernesto's yellow porch. Standing behind them, or more appropriately above them, Hatch saw Miguel Ayala and Ernesto Cruz holding up heavy cast iron pans like baseball players, celebrating an over-the-fence home run. The two men broke into a bit of a jig.
Munoz cursed at the sight of his two men being handcuffed together by the two older gentlemen.
Munoz, realizing his fate was back in Hatch's hands, made a last-ditch effort to break free by bucking hard.
Hatch felt his movement in his muscles before he made it. She began her counter before he attempted his attack. With the forward threat neutralized, Hatch stowed her gun and used her left arm to lock in the back of Munoz' neck. The interruption of the blood and oxygen to the brain caused the corrupt lieutenant to drop to the ground.
When consciousness returned, Munoz was cuffed to the open door of the police cruiser he'd arrived in.
"You might as well kill me." He spat blood into the dirt.
Hatch felt the cold steel of the Glock against her back and seriously considered taking the dirty cop up on his offer.