Dragon-fly

Chapter one

The Sunfish lives.

Wind, of a particularly strong caliber whipped up some loose sand, blowing it about. Crickets made their chirping sounds like a finely tuned choir, from their unknown perch, the song only being interrupted by the sounds of a shovel hastily excavating soil.

Beau Laurier momentarily paused from his intense digging to glance up at the darkened sky and wipe his dripping brow, nearly knocking the overhead flashlight headband from his forehead,

It was well past midnight and he had been digging this damned hole for about two hours now, his movements which had started out precise and strong had dissolved into panicked weak jabs as the minutes eventually dragged on into hours.

His arms felt like jelly.

But he couldn’t stop, not when he was this close

‘How low did that asshole drug lord Giovanni bury the stinking money?’ Beau seethed internally, jabbing at the soft soil angrily

Time was of the essence.

They could be already waiting for him at the designated location and the faster he did this, the faster they could board the next plane to Switzerland and lead happy, millionaire lives

Or worse still, if he dallied any longer, those assholes could discover he had tricked them into digging in the wrong spot and come for his head…..

He had to hurry before that scenario burst into reality

With renewed vigor, Beau stuck his shovel into the soil and just as he would have it, it clanged against something metal

Immediately, he dropped to his knees and started clawing away at the remaining dirt with his gloved hands, he wanted to see what made that noise and if his deductions were indeed true.

A minute passed and breathing hard, Beau gazed down at what he had uncovered.

a huge metal box, reminiscent of a big lockbox, darkened by age and grime sat surrounded by mounds of dirt like a filthy king.

The flash light’s beam bounced off a heavy padlock that bolted the box closed

’Was this it? Was this Giovanni Torreto’s lost fortune?’ Beau thought as he crawled closer to the box, his blue green eyes framed by thick dark lashes, wide as saucers

‘Open, a key, I need to open the box’

He grabbed for the shovel again and in a few strained movements, managed to get the padlock off. Sucking in a breath, he unceremoniously threw open the lid of the box and peered inside

His wide as saucers eyes became even wider.

The silence of the barren field was broken, giggles, infrequent maniac spurts of laughter all emanating from deep within Beau. He couldn’t believe it, he actually couldn’t believe it.

Rows and rows of green little faces of Benjamin Franklins stared up at him, pristine and crisp in clear protective plastic. He couldn’t believe it

The legend was true. He wasn’t just spit balling in the dark

He couldn’t help the little jig that he erupted into.

This was great!

This was absolutely great!

Silently, Beau thanked every entity and deity there was for their goodwill

But this wasn’t the time for dancing or praying.

Stopping suddenly, he glanced down at the money, mentally counting. If each stack of hundreds amounted to ten thousand then there was roughly about 15 million dollars in the box

Just as he said.

“No dallying Beau” he muttered to himself as he scrambled out of the 8 feet hole and grabbed the gym bags he had purchased at Walmart a few hours ago

He needed to get moving

It took the better part of an hour to get all the money into the bags and long minutes to get them and himself out of the hole

Smiling underneath his ski mask, he hauled the bags to the car he ‘borrowed’ from those assholes, one by one, stuffing them in the trunk and some in the back seat. After tossing in his dusty shovel and gloves, he slammed the trunk shut and turned towards the opposite side of the highway, where a streetlight stood prominently, casting a yellow glow down on him and his ‘borrowed’ Prius

Hidden within the bulbs, but not cleverly so, a CCTV camera sat blinking, recording.

Beau knew it was there but he still went on to stick up his black painted middle fingers before grabbing his crotch and thrusting, a symbolic gesture to all those shit heads and cocksuckers who had written him off

A maniac laugh ran through the air as the car peeled away leaving dust in its wake.

~…~

The cashier in the gas station store sat morosely at the counter, the phone he held beeping constantly as he idly played Candy Crush, the sounds of ‘Sweet! Delicious!’ ran through the empty store.

It was a slow day today, usually the odd drunk would have stumbled in wanting to buy some Funyuns or something but there had been no customers, but it was 2:15 am so he wasn’t expecting anyone.

The teenage cashier sighed deeply as he cleared another level. He shouldn’t have switched to the night shift with that fucker Benny, he could be at home now, playing Call of Duty or better still asleep, or getting fantastic head from his boyfriend. Instead he was here watching over a dead store in the dead of night.

’I should really get back to college’ the cashier thought drily

Just then, the screech of a car pulling into the station yanked him out of his thoughts and he sat up and looked out the smudged window.

A black Prius screeched into the station and stopped at pump one, the door flew open and a long, black jean clad leg stuck out first before another and finally its occupant was out of the car.

The cashier’s eyes widened as he took in the bronze haired, lean muscled man who was currently filling his car.

’what was a guy who looked like he just walked off the cover of GQ doing in a rundown gas station in the middle of the night?’

The guy turned to replace the pump, giving the cashier his defined profile.

Strangely he couldn’t take his eyes off this new comer, his handsomeness and obvious class radiated through even as he brushed a hand over his dust covered clothes and leaned leisurely against his car.

He seemed like he was waiting for someone or something

Candy Crush and his boredom laid forgotten as the cashier continued watching the strange handsome man, he was more interesting than a stupid game.

He watched as he pressed a smartphone to his ear, spoke a few, unheard words, before lowering it again

A phone call…

Who was he speaking to?

Barely five minutes later, another car pulled in right behind him, a little red Honda. The doors opened and a middle aged couple emerged, both dark haired and bespectacled.

The dark haired woman rushed forward and engulfed the handsome man in a huge hug, followed closely by her husband

’so he was just here to meet his parents?’ the cashier thought as he watched the unfolding scene

He continued watching as the handsome guy motioned the middle aged couple over to the trunk of his car, speaking rapidly as he drew it open and showed them what was inside.

The couple’s eyes widened to the size of UFOS as they took it in.

The cashier silently wondered what was in that trunk. Perhaps a dead body?

The handsome guy smiled as the dark haired woman burst into tears and embraced him once again, stuttering unheard, teary words. He consoled her, his smile still intact as he did.

Finally he stepped back, clapped the dark haired man’s shoulders before dropping the car keys he was just twirling around his long fingers a few minutes ago, into his hand. In one swift move, he swooped down and extracted something from the trunk before slamming it shut.

He was still smiling as he waved goodbye to the retreating car, looking genuinely happy.

The cashier watched as he silently turned on his heel and started towards the Honda but stopped halfway and turned in the direction of the store .

He was coming in here?

The bell above the door jangled as the man stepped in, a small smile still on his model like face. Gracefully, almost like he was floating, he stepped to the counter and spoke in a crisp clear British accent

“Hello there”

The cashier was stunned, frozen as he observed the man’s perfect features up close, silently wondering if he was real. And he was freaking British too?

He must be dreaming, he must have fell asleep on the job again

“H-hey” he stammered out after unknotting his tongue

“Its pretty dead in here right?” the man paused as he squinted down at the tiny name tag the teenager had stuck to his garish red and white striped shirt “Nathan”

Nathan nodded enthusiastically “Yea, pretty dead”

The man smiled warmly before asking “Do you have any hammers for sale?”

Internally, Nathan recoiled, his thoughts flying ’Hammers? Don’t tell me he’s some kind of deranged psychopathic murderer?’

His shaky hand rose and he pointed to the last aisle “Right beside the canned foods”

As he walked away, Nathan quickly palmed the pepper spray he tucked beneath the counter while silently cursing and weeping

’Its always the cute ones that are psychos’

The man emerged again, a hammer handy, his smile still intact. Nathan slightly backed away as the strange man giggled under his breath and placed his phone on the counter before raising the hammer over his head

Nathan watched in fascination as he murdered his phone, smashing and pounding the electronic into a pulp. Glass shattered all over the counter as he pounded and hammered like a deranged person, that now creepy smile still on his face

When the phone was beyond recognition, he finally stopped, exhaling loudly as he dropped the hammer on the counter, beside the destroyed phone and dragged his hand through his hair

In a breath he said “Thank you” and flashed an award winning smile at Nathan before reaching into his back pocket and slamming down a huge wad of cash

Nathan’s wide eyes became even wider as he eyed the stack of Benjamin Franklins, mentally doing the maths

It was easily 10,000 dollars or even more

What the hell?

“Its for the hammer and..” he paused and leaned forward slightly “That nice phone you’ve got there” he finished, pointing at the Iphone Nathan held in his death grip

“My phone?” he asked breathlessly and the man nodded

A few minutes later, Beau walked out of the store, his eyes glued to his new phone as his fingers flew over the keyboard

“Its over bitch” he muttered as he typed, pausing in the middle of his walk to his car to press send

Afterwards, he cackled like a witch, slid into his car and sped out of the station.

It was just 8am and already Rylan Valencia’s day was already in the toilet.

First, he woke up with a migraine, one that made his eyes water and made him want to crack open his skull and rip out his brain, Second, as he was pulling into work today, he mistakenly stepped in dog shit, soiling his favourite leather boots.

The last and most prominent reason was where he was right now… at the funeral of his former partner and mentor.

This was easily one of the worst days ever for Rylan.

He winced as the bagpipist started playing, blasting out loud, solemn tunes that made the insides of Rylan’s head throb angrily. He was so over this.

The sun was blazing down, making the humid air even more stifling, this was not the best day for a funeral

But he couldn’t say that to Seth Wickers’ widow who was currently wailing her eyes out a few feet from where he stood, clutching that folded flag like her life depended on it, he also couldn’t say to her that ‘her deceased husband was a sellout and a traitor’

That would just ruin the whole mood of this shindig wouldn’t it?

So Rylan just held his tongue, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks and prayed to God almighty that this funeral would be done soon so he could finally get his morning coffee, pop a few asprins and get to work

He didn’t feel bad one bit for the dead fucker, well that’s what he gets for fucking around with the Los Santos Vagos Cartel.

Dammit! His anger resurfaced by just thinking about how much police secrets that fucker had leaked to his cartel overlords

Great thing he was dead now. One less snitch in the department to worry about

But those Los Santos dickheads were brazen as shit, shooting a cop in the street, just a few feet from his precinct, even if he was a dirty cop, was unbelievable.

What was more unbelievable was that there were no leads on who the trigger man was.

Rylan was tempted to let the fucker get away with it but he couldn’t, he was a detective after all and a cop was dead, other cops could be in danger since Los Santos has taken a liking to murdering police in cold blood, he had to protect his brothers in blue.

But this case was a kick in the balls though.

There were almost a dozen people who could have done this but he didn’t have the slightest clue who it was.

Damn it all to hell!

He was just about to swear under his breath when a familiar, black dressed woman stopped in front of him, sniffling profusely.

Fuck! Its the widow

“Mrs Wickers” Rylan started; his voice gruff as he looked at her tear-stained face through the lenses of his sunglasses “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He hoped he didn’t sound too insincere.

He was sorry she was now a widow, but he wasn’t sorry for the death of the lying, cheating scum she had been married to

Seemed like she didn’t notice his insincerity as she replied tearfully “Thank you Officer Valencia” pausing to dab at her eyes, she continued “Seth was really fond of you, you know. He used to tell me stories of your closed cases when he was still your partner.”

’Well, I did close a lot of cases back then’ Rylan thought drily.

“Your husband died a hero, I’m sure he’s in a better place and wouldn’t want to see you crying for him.”

Those words almost choked him as he spoke them.

But they seemed to work as the Widow Wickers sniffed derisively and straightened her spine a tiny bit “You’re right” smiling weakly, she continued “Thank you for the kind words.”

Rylan nodded and watched as she walked off into the dispersing crowd. Finally, this sham of a funeral was over.

He was just about to turn on his heel and walk off when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Rylan Valencia, comforter of widows and hero of men. That would look good on a tombstone, won’t it?”

Glancing to his right, he spotted the speaker, smiling widely at him, her police cap perched precariously on her blond head, a few unbound strands of her fair hair blowing in the humid wind.

Internally he rolled his eyes and hissed under his breath “That’s a bright smile for a funeral.”

The latter immediately adjusted her expression to one of solemnity, although faked and hopped to Rylan’s side, her cap bouncing on her head as she did “Shit! I hope the widow didn’t see me smiling.”

“I hope she did, then maybe something interesting can happen at this god forsaken tears fest.”

The blond woman pinned him with a dry look “Still fuming about Wickers?”

Valencia scoffed and turned on his heel, marching off across the grass “Fuming is an understatement, Blackwood.”

Claude Blackwood scoffed herself and took off after him “You should calm your tits man, we’ll catch the guys that did him in, don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I’m fuming about” Rylan muttered under his breath.

She marched alongside him, her hands stuck in her pockets “You should really work on that crappy temper of yours Valencia, or else you’ll never get a boyfriend.”

“Fucking hell” he swore, making a few heads of nearby cops turn to him “This again?”

Blackwood smiled up at him, her gray eyes flashing in the sunlight “I am allowed to be concerned for your relationship status, I am your partner after all.”

“At work” Rylan enunciated “That means my personal life shouldn’t concern you.”

“My son’s godfather’s personal life does concern me though.”

Cursing, he threw his gaze upwards “I knew I fucking shouldn’t have accepted.”

Still smiling, Claude chimed out “Too late, we’re family now”

Claude Blackwood had been Rylan’s partner for 5 years now. She was a very involved mother of two and despite her airy and nonchalant disposition, she was a brilliant detective, very detail orientated and smart beyond words. Rylan often felt like she would probably become the Commissioner of Police in a short couple of years.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“You’re so stoic and serious, nobody wants that.” she neared him, leaning up to his 6ft5 height on her tiptoes and only reaching about three quarters up his tie “You got to smile more, show people your pearly whites and that you’re not some gargoyle from some castle somewhere.”

Rylan frowned impressively, obviously not amused by her comment “Smiling is a shit waste of facial muscles.”

“So, is frowning, Mr. smart guy” she paused and dropped back to her normal height, a slightly irritated look on her face “Do you know what your nickname is at the precinct?”

He shook his head and backed away, preparing to walk off “Don’t know, Don’t care.”

“It's Hatchet face”

That made Rylan frown even deeper, his thick brows almost forming a ‘V’ “Who the fuck came up with that?”

Claude shrugged “Doesn’t matter, what matters is that I don’t want to be walking around with someone called ‘Hatchet face.’”

The throbbing in his Valencia’s head became worse “Those fucking dickheads!” he cursed loudly, his irritation evident in his tone and sending tremors through everyone who heard him.

If he was pissed off before, he was spitting fireballs angry now.

“It doesn’t matter dude, just cool it. I just came over to tell you we have a new case” Blackwood orated, shuffling from foot to foot.

Rylan stifled his rage long enough to ask “New case? What’s it about?”

“Captain Langley said he’ll tell us himself, so we have that to look forward to” she started forward, in the direction of the parking lot “We’re already late Grumblina”

Captain Preston Langley blew out a huge sigh as soon as he stepped into his office and closed the door.

One cop from his precinct dead, the commissioner breathing down his neck, cracking his balls to catch the trigger man… it was a complete nightmare.

The silver haired man leaned against his desk, folding his arms, his head hung. This was not a good time to be Captain.

In the last five years, West Valley City has seen an increase in crime of about 15%, with most of the crimes perpetrated by those pesky Los Santos Vagos cartel members.

From first degree murder to burglary to assault to drug running, racketeering… the fucking list goes on and on

And the Commissioner wasn’t having it, he was cracking down on gang related crimes and the captains of the various precincts were his punching bags.

Langley was tired at getting railed at for not doing his job right and directing his squad.

He was getting too old to be shouted at like a toddler.

And that wasn’t building morale in the squad either.

Ultimately, his life would be better if the Los Santos cartel would just disappear off the face of the earth.

But the puzzling bit is after so many years of inactivity, they were now blazing a path of destruction in the city. What brought about the change?

Who was controlling all this?

And then, how were they connected to this new case?

Langley’s line of thought shattered when he heard a familiar harsh knock on his door, the force of it rattled his blinds.

With another sigh, he let out “Come in Valencia.”

Rylan pushed open the door and stomped in, an incredible frown on his face, the polar opposite to his cheerful, smiling partner who skipped in after him and shut the door behind her.

‘What crawled up his ass and died?’ Preston thought as his eyes swept over Valencia’s pissed off frame.

“Good morning, Captain” Blackwood chimed, still smiling.

“What’s good about this fucking morning Claude?” Langley breathed out as he rounded his desk filled with paperwork and slumped into his seat, throwing a hand over his eyes.

Blinded, he continued “A cop is dead, and the commissioner wants my head on a spike outside his office” sighing again, he peeked out from between his fingers at Rylan, who stood legs apart, his caramel eyes blazing like the fires of hell.

“What happened to him?”

Claude shrugged, her now unbound blond hair bouncing as she did “He’s been like this since the funeral.”

Preston covered his bright blue eyes again, wanting a glass of whiskey more than anything “Pissed that your former partner is pushing up daisies now Valencia?”

“Not a chance sir” Rylan growled out, the vein in his temple pulsing.

“Then why the scary face huh? feeling murdery? Might as well just shoot me so I can finally retire.”

Blackwood’s loud gasp filled the office “Don’t say that sir! this precinct would crumble without you.”

The captain sniffed and sat up, his chair creaking as he did “The squad is crumbling with me still here Claude, might as well….” he didn’t finish, instead he yanked the tie from his neck and ripped the cap from his head, tossing it to the couch a few feet from him. He hated wearing full regulation uniform.

“How’s the Wickers case going? Any new leads?”

Valencia grumbled and mirrored the captain, yanking off his cap and smoothing his coal black hair underneath “No new leads so far sir. Its a cold trail”

“Then fucking hell Rylan! we’re fucked up the ass! The commissioner wants the shit who did this behind bars as soon as possible, I can’t keep promising him results I don’t have.”

If it was even possible, Rylan looked more pissed “Sir, those cartel scumbags rotate their hitters, who knows whether the guy we’re looking for is even in the country right now.”

“Then find out if he is and lock him up, milk out every CI there is until we nab the fucker clear?”

“Crystal” grumbled Valencia

Preston turned his piercing eyes on Blackwood “Same goes for you Claude.”

Scrubbing his hands down his face, he leaned back in his creaky chair and surveyed the two best detectives in the precinct, one frowning at him, the other grinning like an idiot. They were like oil and water, yet they got along well and closed cases faster and better than any other pair of detectives out there.

Deep down in his old hunk of a heart, he harbored some kind of fatherly pride towards them. They were like his kids, well even better than his kids.

Clearing his throat, he reached across his desk, plucked a file from the precarious heap and slid it towards Rylan.

“Last night a call came in from an anonymous tip about a group of cartel runners digging up a farm in Eastville County around 2 o’clock in the morning, old English guy worried than some criminals were planting some weed on the property”

Valencia took up the file and flipped it open, his fiery eyes scanning the contents “They were probably looking for the lost fortune of Giovanni Torreto”

“Exactly my thought, so I sent some uniformed officers to take a look and arrest the shits digging up the hole, figured I could get them on trespassing on private property” Langley paused and flicked his nose “But then this morning some highway officers report a huge hole dug by the side of Route 46 with an empty metal box inside.”

“A metal box? Someone must have found the missing cash” Claude said, siding up to Valencia to look at the file he held.

“Seems like it” he paused again and reached into an open drawer by his feet, a flash drive appeared in his hand “the highway rangers sent over some footage from a camera stationed at the Route, my guess is someone from the cartel must have stolen the money, question the ones in holding and find out who it was. Maybe solving this case will get the commissioner off my back.”

The pair nodded and Blackwood took the drive Preston held out “We’ll get right on it sir.”

“Don’t luck out on this one Rylan, this is make or break for us.”

Rylan nodded once and turned towards the door, he had to get to work. If he can’t find who killed that scum Wickers, he can at least find out who stole 15 million dollars' worth of drug money.