Here’s the first chapter of my debut novel, Bite The Bullet.
Sergeant Ryan Malone wanted to scream when reading the headline of the Chicago Sun-Times:
“$500,000 in Heroin Confiscated.”
He scowled as he cursed under his breath. Then he tucked the paper under his arm and took a sip of coffee. To his right, he saw two tourists posing for a picture in front of the Nike store. He scowled again and climbed into his black Chevy Impala. He saw his reflection in the rearview mirror. His short brown hair was standing up from the wind, and he patted it down with his hand. The stubble on his square-shaped jaw was mostly dark but revealed specks of grey that framed the frown on his face. Malone looked over at his partner, Max. With his lean build, brown Italian leather jacket, and spiked black hair, Max looked more like a rock star than a cop. Max slouched in the passenger seat, blowing a puff of smoke through the cracked window.
“Can’t believe this shit. A major bust the day after crime stats are released,” Malone said, tossing the newspaper on Max’s lap. “This time it’s 500 grand in heroin. Some fucking suit is pulling strings to spin stories while the goddamn city is dying.”
Max leaned forward in his seat and turned toward Malone.
“People are busy, man. They got jobs, they gotta pay the rent. They’re gonna watch football, get drunk, and get laid. Unless you’re on the South Side, no one gives a shit what’s going on down here. It ain’t nothing new. Just some gangs at war with each other and politicians spinning shit to get their asses reelected.”
“I’m sick of this goddamn game. The assholes got it rigged. Shit, they just released Ramon Garcia. There’s your headline. That bastard’s a parasite killing the city.”
“Yeah, I know. That asshole never should have got parole.”
“You’re bumming me out. Making me wanna get a drink,” Malone replied.
“Always been this way, you know?” Max said.
“Then what the hell are we doing?”
“Might not look like it, but we’re fighting the good fight,” Max said with a smile. “Taking down one bad guy at a time.”
“Still a bunch of bullshit,” Malone grumbled, pulling out onto the street. “Hey, hand me my sunglasses, will ya?”
Max pulled a pair of cheap black sunglasses out of the glove box and gave them to Malone.
“Thanks, it’s bright as hell out here today.”
“No problem, Johnny Cash.”
“Huh? Hell are you talking about?”
“You know other colors exist, right?” Max said as he pointed at Malone’s black sunglasses, black leather jacket, black button-down shirt, and dark-colored jeans.
“Whatever, man,” Malone laughed. “Why don’t you pay attention to the job, eh?”
“You know… since Jerry’s put in his papers, maybe we can get more done,” Max said, blowing another puff out the window. “Just don’t rock the boat too much and piss everyone off.”
“Yeah, I’ll leave that one to you,” Malone said with a laugh.
“We gotta start looking out for ourselves. Bet half the force is on the take.”
“Probably more than that. But it ain’t about the money. I just wanna see some fucking progress. ‘War on Drugs’ my ass.”
“I hear ya. Maybe there’s a way to clean up the streets and take care of ourselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“Find a way that everyone wins. Cause what we’ve been doing ain’t working,” Max said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Got that right. Let’s talk about this more later. Gotta get our heads in the game.”
Malone parked behind a black GMC van on the street. Malone and Max got out of the Chevy.
An odd-looking pair got out of the van. Leo was a clean-shaven, middle-aged white man with thick black glasses who would look at home working in IT. Johnny was a young black man that could easily be mistaken for a rookie despite having worked for the CPD for the past five years.
“Hey, guys. You good?” Malone said as he finished off his coffee.
“Yeah,” Johnny said.
Leo nodded and opened the backdoors to the van. The four men gathered at the rear of the vehicle. Leo handed Malone a Mossberg 500 tactical shotgun. When Malone held the gun, it made him feel surprisingly comfortable. It was like a runner strapping on their shoes. The race was about to start. But this wasn’t for fun. The stakes were life or death.
“Okay, we got a Latin King stash house here,” Malone said. “Love to find Diego Garcia, a.k.a. Disciple Killer. He’s been seen over here. Prick’s been shooting up the South Side for a long time. Could be some other civilians in this two-flat, so we gotta get in and out. Have to assume these pricks are armed and high as a kite too.”
Malone noticed the sweat beading on Johnny’s forehead.
“I’ll go in first,” Malone said, “then Max and Leo.” Malone pointed to Johnny. “You’ll be covering our backs.”
“Got it,” Johnny said.
The transition from beat cop to the Gang Task Force would take some time. Malone figured Johnny needed a few more months on the job. Then he’d be alright. Until then, Malone would keep him under his wing.
Max turned to walk toward the building and froze in his tracks. “Damn. Smell that?”
“Shit, yeah. Probably a meth lab. Could be our location, or it could be upstairs. Let’s go get the masks,” Malone said.
“That shit smells like a skunk swimming in cat piss,” Max said as the men walked back toward the van. “Remind me why I took this job again?”
“Because you can’t sing or dance, asshole,” Malone said with a chuckle as he got a gas mask from the back and pulled it down over his face.
The other men pulled on their masks too.
“Ready?” Malone’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
All four men rushed towards the two-story house. Malone led the way and stopped by the doorway before nodding to Max.
Max swung the battering ram and took out the door.
Malone barked out, “CPD! Freeze!”
A twenty-something white male in a stained white t-shirt jerked his head up. “Shit!” He tipped over a glass container of a yellow liquid on the countertop and held a lighter on it.
Max watched the man run out the back door.
The fire spread and the smoke swallowed up the filthy kitchen.
Malone screamed, “Fire! Get back!”
He spun around and followed Max and the others back toward the door.
The fire spread around the table to the chairs, igniting the bottom floor. Malone scrambled out the door after Max and tried to catch his breath.
Someone screamed for help on the second floor.
Malone spotted an elderly woman at a window, banging on the glass with her bare fist.
“I just called it in—fire is a couple minutes out,” Leo said.
“That’s bullshit,” Malone replied. “Get the ladder.”
“It’s not tall enough,” Leo said.
Malone looked up to the second floor again.
“Don’t fucking do it,” Max barked. “Ain’t nothing we can do until fire brings a truck with a ladder.”
“Fuck that. Get our ladder. Meet me at the window,” Malone said. He picked up the battering ram and ran back into the smoke. He had zero visibility and felt like a mouse in a maze. Finally, there was a break in the flames and he raced to the stairway. A quick swing of the battering ram and he was inside.
More noises. This time it was coughing.
Malone followed the sound and found the woman on the floor, unconscious. He leaned down to scoop her into his arms and peered out the window.
His men had pulled the van into the yard. A ten-foot ladder was held steady on the top of the vehicle by Johnny and Leo while the top of the ladder leaned against the house.
Max scaled up to the window where Malone could transfer the woman into his arms.
“You okay?”
Malone nodded once and passed the woman over.
He watched as Max then carried the woman down the ladder to Leo and Johnny. Once she was secure in their arms, Malone climbed down the latter to escape the flames licking at his heels.
“Thought you were fucking dead,” Max said as he hopped down to the ground.
“Yeah,” Malone said with a cough. “Me too.”
“Why you gotta be the hero? You know how goddamn lucky you are?”
“Lucky? I feel like an ashtray,” Malone said with a cough as he sat down on the van’s bumper.
Max handed over Malone’s flask. “Think you more than earned this.”
Malone took a drink and slowly exhaled. Two fire trucks arrived along with an ambulance, pulling up to the curb next to them. Malone felt a weight off his shoulders as the EMTs loaded the woman onto a stretcher. Once she was secured, one of the EMTs turned his attention to Malone.
Malone tucked the flask into his pocket. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” Malone said as he waved them off.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Just need to catch my breath.”
“You might wanna leave this asshole alone,” Max said to the EMT. “Bastard just ran into a meth lab because he didn’t wanna wait around for you.”
“Shit—a meth lab? You know how lucky you are? Had to pull out five dead from a meth lab explosion yesterday.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Let me check your vitals?”
Malone ignored the question and turned toward Max. “You see where the prick that bailed on us went?”
“No, I was getting the ladder for you. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Probably at the hospital or something. We’ll find him.”
“Let’s look around. He couldn’t have gotten too far.”
“You sure you’re up for this? You look like shit.”
Malone glared back at Max.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Stupid question.”
Malone took another drink.
“Hey boys, get your asses over here,” Max said loudly toward Leo and Johnny.
“There’s an APB on the runner,” Leo said.
“Good,” Malone said.
“Be nice if the prick is already in custody, you know?” Max shot back.
“Let’s look around a little,” Malone said as he walked over to his car. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up.”
The other men nodded and walked toward the van.
After driving up and down residential streets for half an hour, Max stretched his arms in the passenger’s seat. “We ain’t gonna find this prick on the street,” he said.
“Probably right,” Malone said, eyeing a gas station at the corner. “How ‘bout some coffee?”
“Come on man, gas station coffee tastes like shit. Dunno how you drink that crap,” Max replied.
“It ain’t that bad.”
Malone pulled into the gas station. As he got out of the driver’s seat, he smirked when he saw Max getting out too. “Afraid you’re gonna miss me?”
“No. I gotta take a piss.”
“I guess that’s allowed.”
“If not, too fucking bad.”
Malone went inside, walking over to the coffee machine, while Max hurried to the restroom.
As he poured a cup of coffee, Malone scanned the store. He was alone other than the fifty-something man behind the counter.
Malone grabbed a granola bar off the counter and met Max at the register.
“Let me get that for you, since you’re a hero and all.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna hit the can too.”
Malone entered the men’s room and splashed some cold water on his face and dried off with a paper towel. Cleaning up helped him clear his head and get back into action. Then Malone met Max at the car.
“You ask the guy at the counter if he’s seen our guy come in tonight?”
“Nope.”
“Gimme a minute.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You think he’s that dumb?”
“Just a minute.”
Malone went back into the gas station. “Excuse me,” he said.
The man behind the counter looked up from his book. “Yeah?”
Malone flashed his badge. “You see a white guy in a ratty white t-shirt, long black hair? Last hour or so? Probably acting really nervous and awkward.”
“Matter of fact, I have. Bought a forty. Eyes wide as saucers and really nervous, just like you said.”
“How long ago?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes. Somewhere round there.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Malone found a small alleyway behind the gas station. He drew his P226 and slipped past the dumpster. Then he saw a man with long black hair sitting on a plastic crate drinking a forty of malt liquor.
“Hey, asshole, you saving some for me?” Malone said as he pointed his gun at the meth cook.
“Shit man,” he said, putting his hands up and dropping his bottle of malt liquor.
“You had a woman living right above your meth lab. Did you know that, or do you just not give a shit?”
No answer.
“I asked you a question, asshole. Did you know about the woman upstairs?”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“That’s what I thought. Stupid piece of shit.”
Malone pistol-whipped the man in the head, knocking him to the ground.
“What the fuck you doing? I’m bleeding!”
The man sat up and had blood streaming down from his forehead dripping onto his dingy t-shirt.
“That’s just a scratch.”
“I’m bleeding man!”
Malone pistol-whipped him again, this time in the face.
He looked down at his P226 and saw blood on the barrel. He wiped it on the man’s shirt.
“Get your lousy ass up.” Malone holstered his gun, cuffed the man, and walked him around to the front of the gas station.
Max jumped out of the car. “Goddammit man, I ain’t doubting you again.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Malone said with a smirk, “How ‘bout you have someone take this little shit off my hands?”
“Gladly.” Max took the perp and had him sit next to the car as he called it in.
Malone took a deep breath as he pulled a cigar out of the inside of his leather jacket and lit it. He watched Max pace in circles until he hung up and then he walked over to the driver’s side window.
“Just called the others. Think this shitbird will talk?”
“Not sure, but it’s always good to take a meth cook off the street.”
“Damn right. All in a day’s work,” Max said with a grin.
“You wanna go get a drink?”
“Raincheck. I got something planned with my old lady.”
“This mean you got a new blow-up doll in the mail?”
“Very funny.”
“If you ain’t gonna go out, at least have a drink now.”
“Absolutely.”
Malone reached into his glove box and pulled out the flask. He took a slug of whiskey and passed it over to Max leaning on the side of the car. When Max handed back the flask, he put it in his pocket. Then, he saw Leo and Johnny pull up in the van behind them.
“Can you get a lift with them and process this guy? I’m beat.”
“Yeah, you bet.”
Max pulled the perp out of the car and walked him over to the van.
“Hey, Malone,” Leo said. “Good work here. How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Great work.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow,” Malone said as he climbed back into his car. He drove back to the crime scene and watched the fireman hosing down the smoking house. A month back he found a whole family dead inside from a meth lab explosion.
The sights. The smells. Another pull off his flask didn’t erase the ghastly images in his mind. He thought of the woman from earlier today. If he hadn’t gone into the building, she would have died too. He beat his hands on the steering wheel and let out a scream.
Today had renewed his passion for justice. Things had to change. Now.
Want more? You can pick up my debut novel at the following stores below.
