On the other side of the globe, where night was still well underway, Thomas Filligan was having the worst day of his career. His informant had told him that Tony Montero, a big time coke dealer was on town and planning a buy out of the spoils, and a very large one at that, of another dealer, Pablo Ruiz, who was killed in a police shootout weeks ago.
The sound of the waves reaching the cliff side of the beach made him uneasy. He was inside his 1998 Ford Taurus for five hours and still nothing. Only the dead of night and the sound of the crashing waves to keep him company. Thomas was the DEA agent responsible for the death of Pablo Ruiz. He was glad that his ten years investigation ended up on these terms. He was not sure if he would be able to convict Pablo Ruiz on any charges at all. What pissed him off was that after all these years of hard work and finally, of an end, some dirty scumbag was already on line to make it all start again. Life, as he thought, was a big pile of horse
. The silence was suddenly broken with a loud sound of screeching tires. Thomas, half numb on his seat, went automatically on position of alert. A black work van appeared then on his rearview mirror and proceeded to the warehouse district on Miami Beach. As the van passed his car, he crawled awkwardly on the floor and waited two minutes to get back up. As it proceeded he watched when the van stopped at one of the large warehouses and four figures came slowly out of the vehicle. Two of them went then to the back and opened the doors of the van. It was hard to make out the faces but when he saw what they were transporting his whole world went black.
Spell Checked by the great Jaws 0178
Edited by Bond Maniac, 07 September 2006 - 05:47 AM.