Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 17

"Que pasa, holmes?" Julio said, gripping the handle of a tech with the barrel leveled to the ground. "Are we doin' this or what?"

"Soon as you tell me where you're supposed to be." C's answered, using the slits of moonbeams that penetrated the brush of trees to make out Julio's face.

"Man we're on this shit again?" Ernesto asked, aggravation brooking his tone as he adjusted the belt strapped to the M-16 around his body.

"You got something more important that needs to be spit?" C's replied, pinning Ernesto with a glare so lethal, it could've been loaded in a chopper and used in the place of a hollow point. When Ernesto's mouth clamped close and he glanced away, the corner C's mouth hitched. "Then shut the fuck up, and let me run this shit back one more time before we move out."

"Go ahead, holmes," Putt said, drilling Ernesto with a breath snatching unit, before glancing to him.

"Since your ass love to run yo' mouth, so much tonight, let's start with you," he said, pinning Ernesto with a glare. "What's your position?"

Ernesto jutted his chin out, but avoided direct eye contact, choosing to stare somewhere just below his nose. "Skirt the perimeter, take the trap house from the south."

"How the fuck, vato," Miguel said, shoving Ernesto from behind, causing him to fall hands first into the open trunk. "That's me and Putt's location dumb ass, you and Juan are supposed to drop anything within the west borders, so they can't reinforce the damn house."

"Please tell me, you already knew this shit, ese?" Juan asked, grabbing the front of Ernesto's shirt, under the Teflon vest. "Nest, I swear I'll do you myself, if you fuck around and get our asses hemmed up, on GP."

A rumble of agreement rippled through the group of gathered bodies huddled around the back of the car. Ernesto wrenched out of Juan's grip, and then moved to the edge of the group while ducking his head. C's mouth twisted in a sneer as he watched him, after a couple of moments he lifted his hand to quiet them down, and regain control. "Let's not split focus. Juan, you take Nest to the side and make sure he knows what the fuck to do 'fore we move out." C's waved at a box of silencers in the trunk. "Use these on your glocks, we don't want those fuckers to know that we're here until we neutralize the woods and are kicking in the front and back door. Ya dig?"

"For sho'," Putt said, snatching one from the box, and then screwing it on the barrel of his nine.

Juan pounded fist with him, before reaching into the box too. "You already know," he said, attaching his silencer to the end of his forty-five.

He waited for the others to screw the added attachments to their automatics. When they'd finished and returned their gazes to him he continued. "Alright one more damn time from the gate. Lando, holla at me."

Lando, a five foot four, Dominican, shoved his iron in his holster and stepped forward. "Me and Miguel clear out our side of the border, once we put those bitches to bed in a dirt nap, we wait for the signal, then move on the house from the east, and from that point, blow the back out of anything moving that ain't friendly."

"Preach!" Miguel said, sneering at Ernesto, before reaching forward to pound the side of Lando's fist. "My, hombre. Least with you at my back, I know I'm coming back."

"M, talk to me." Lando laughed. "You had doubts?"

"Naw, niño," Miguel said, jerking his thumb in Ernesto's direction. "Your boy over there just had my ass trippin' for a minute."

"Que pasa, Ortiz?" C's asked, purposely ignoring Lando and Miguel's stunts to keep shit down, and their squad together on the same page.

"Carlos, Ralph, and Dom are already in the south, west, and east trees, mapping Vasquez's men routes and will be sending coordinates through your talkies, so keep your bud to you ear," Ortiz said, pinning each of them with a hard stare, and then resumed. "Give me a minute to get in position, and I'll let you know what they looking like in the north, C's."

"Cool." His head bobbed in answer as the first drop and proof of rain splattered against his forehead. Damn. Couldn't that empty headed weather girl get it right at least once? With the oncoming of the storm, the difficulty of their already long shot mission had doubled. Swiping the single drop from his face, he resumed evaluating the readiness of his squad. "Let's hurry up and finish this." He paused, glancing up at the sky, and then back at his crew. "I wanna try to stay ahead of the storm. Juan, please tell me yo' boy ready to move out?"

Juan and Ernesto stood huddled together several feet away from the group, going back and forth in loud heated whispers. After a few more moments of arguing, Juan looked at him, tension and stress creasing his, scared as shit, expression. "Yeah, he ten."

C's closed his eyes, and slowly exhaled. That shit sounded like a lie. He swore if Ernesto fucked this up for them, he'd do the bastard his damn self. "Turn on your radios and put your buds in your ear. For now, except for our ghetto birds in the trees, we radio silent. I want the line free for location guidance, and my signal. And remember, stay the fuck off the dirt paths. That's how they're moving and they'll blast anything on it unfamiliar. Ya dig?"

Several heads bobbed in a nod, before each of them began putting on their ski masks and night goggles. Once they were all ready and strapped, they spread out along the tree line of the woods. Raising a fist in the air C's signaled for them to move out.  As they made a slow progression into the dense darkness, he smirked, flipping the switch on his night eyes. His homeboys thought he was trippin' when he'd copped the clunky items. Saying that it would be too hard to maneuver with the heavy glasses attached to their heads, but he'd bet dollars to no money, that right then they were silently thanking his ass for the advantage.

Slapping away thorny shrubs that swiped at his face, he moved forward with his heart pounding like a bitch in his throat. At any moment he expected to hear the discharge of gunshots, and astonished rage in Vasquez's men voices, when they realized their spot had been penetrated like a hood rat spread eagle and laid flat on her back. But each passing second, brought along nothing but more silence, save the thunder that was now loud and close enough to shake the ground beneath his feet. The crackle in his ear from the radio paused his advancement.

"C's you got one not even two feet in front of you." Ortiz's voice cracked through over the open line.

C's craned his neck right, and then left. He spotted his first target. Ortiz was right, a couple of feet away, in his blind spot, a shadow outlined in green stood with his head cocked to the side and an AK-47 aimed directly at his face. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Game over.