Street Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

get any easier for a Spanish speaking, black, outsider. Mario’s muscles had not been forged in a gym, but through repetitive use.
                  Through all of this though, Mario had retained a heart of gold. When no one was threatening him he was kind and generous. He had a laugh that filled a room. Mario was also known for trying to find the best in everyone. He and Russ had become fast friends since they met two years before. They would have been close in any conditions but they had a forged their relationship in the fire of combat: their friendship was unbreakable.
                  “So, where is it?” Russ asked.
                  “You know these goat herders, they move around. Who knows where he is.”
                  “Yeah, but you know as well as I do, this guy isn’t a goat herder.”
                  “It’s easier for me to stomach, pretending they’re goat herders rather than drug dealers. I can defend and support defending goat herders. Drug dealers is a lot tougher, why is the US government protecting these drug dealers and doing them a favor by killing off their competition?”
                  “Because their competition flew two planes into the twin towers,” Russ said, continuing to scan the horizon, only half listening to Mario. It wasn’t a new rant from Mario. Russ knew his part in it, “Drugs are going to happen. If it isn’t al Quida growing it, then it will be these guys, and if not them, the next guy.”
                  Mario snorted, “Whatever, I just do as I’m told. Hey what is that, at one o’clock?”
                  Russ swung the binoculars toward their one o’clock and saw a small plume of sand rising from over the next dune. The plume grew stronger and finally Russ watched two beat up Toyota pickups crest the ridge. Whatever color these two trucks had been, their paint had long ago been stripped by the blowing winds. The resulting gray-tan bodies actually blended fairly well with the dunes, making a half way decent camouflage. They were both four doors, with large tires. The tires were low in air pressure to help them grip the sand. The two trucks headed right for the Hummers.
                  Russ looked back at the two Hummers behind him and said to the gunners, ”These are most likely our contacts, but stay sharp and ready, just in case they aren’t.” The two men in the vehicles behind him nodded and swung their .50 caliber guns in the general direction of the incoming vehicles. Russ swiveled his gun behind him so it wouldn’t get in the way of a conversation. He then pulled his Beretta M9 from its holster on his hip and placed it on the roof in front of him. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
                  The Toyotas pulled up in a cloud of swirling dirt and killed their engines. The air filled with the scent of burnt oil. The windows were covered in a fine layer of dust that did a better job of hiding the occupants than any tint would. Russ heard the pace of breathing pick up from the roof gunner closest to him. Russ took his eyes off the trucks for a fraction of a second to fire a glance down at the Beretta then back to the trucks. He clinched then unclenched his right hand.
                  Suddenly the passenger door of the trailing vehicle opened and a man dressed in the traditional robes of the local herders, and devout Muslims, stepped out. The man could have been thirty or fifty, his face hidden by a dull beard and weathered by the sun. He took a long glance at the waiting Hummers then, without closing his door, stepped round and opened the rear door to the truck.
                  From the rear door, a man dressed in similar white robes stepped from the back but this man was obviously much older. As he put both feet on the sand, he stood, but with a pronounced curve in his spine. Someone unseen in the car