Chapter 252: America's Most Dangerous Retirement Club
Late at night, two pickup trucks sat side by side on a residential street, just outside a single-family house in suburban Los Angeles.
The house belonged to Roger, a well-known LA drug dealer, though Roger himself was no longer among the living.
That afternoon, Jake's training officer Alonzo had led his crew, along with Jake and Ian, in a raid. They'd not only killed Roger but also discovered a staggering $2 million in cash hidden beneath the floorboards. But as they were dividing the loot, Jake's sense of justice got the better of him, and he objected to this blatant police corruption. Growing up in the projects, Ian was no stranger to this kind of criminal behavior, even from corrupt cops like Alonzo. Yet in this critical moment, he chose to stand with his friend.
In the end, Ian managed to escape under Jake's protection, but Jake was captured.
"That the house?" Murphy observed the distant residence through binoculars while sipping coffee from his thermos. Ian's eyes widened.
Could he really trust this guy?
Ian had good reason to doubt. Murphy looked exactly like any other elderly man you'd see at a VFW hall or community center.
Who'd ever seen an elite operative drinking black coffee from a thermos while on a tactical mission?
Honestly, if Ron hadn't repeatedly told him he could count on the old-timers at headquarters for anything, he would've bailed. The gang members from his old neighborhood seemed more reliable than these senior citizens.
They might not know much about other things, but at least they were faster on their feet.
Still, he chose to trust Ron. After all, that man meant everything to his family.
"That's it. Jake was still alive when I left. I figure they don't want to kill him before they catch me—they're hoping to keep him alive as leverage."
Ian's assessment was surprisingly calm, unshaken by his friend's capture. Murphy nodded approvingly. This kid had potential.
"That's a bit inconvenient. If you didn't have a friend trapped inside, we could just level the building and call it a day. Now we'll have to go in hard," Hannibal said with disappointment, leaning forward from the back seat and peering through night vision goggles. The interior lights were off, but Ian could clearly see Hannibal's eyes glowing an eerie green.
"Assault's fine, but to ensure the hostage's safety, I need someone to infiltrate. You up for it?" The window of the adjacent truck rolled down, revealing Andy, who had assumed tactical command.
With all the regular combat personnel on leave, Andy found himself leading this improvised special operations unit composed of military retirees.
It wasn't just because he held the highest former rank among those present, but more importantly, he had virtually no combat effectiveness anymore, so they'd simply given him the command position to keep him from wandering around and getting in the way.
"No problem." Hannibal opened the door and tucked a set of kitchen knives into his tactical vest, then threw on a ratty old jacket.
He looked like any other elderly man on death's door. Ian's eyes widened. "Don't you need a gun?"
"Nah, these are more reliable. Killing's about brains, not firepower. If brute force was all it took, Schwarzenegger would be President instead of just an ex-governor."
Hannibal smiled grimly, his unnaturally perfect teeth sending a chill down Ian's spine.
"Be careful. Mason and I will create a distraction to give you an opening." Murphy gripped Hannibal's shoulder firmly. Hannibal gave him a confident nod and headed toward the house.
With each step, his posture became more hunched. After about thirty feet, the predatory sharpness Ian had glimpsed earlier completely faded, and he looked like any other old man out for an evening stroll.
Murphy and Mason silently grabbed their gear, shouldering tactical packs and spreading out in different directions.
"Anything I can do to help?" Ian asked Andy, watching the elderly figures disappear into the shadows with growing unease.
He was starting to think that even calling his little brother Carl and his crew would be better than risking a bunch of old-timers who belonged in assisted living.
"Don't worry, kid. These guys are more dangerous than you think," Andy, who knew them best, said calmly. Victoria, sitting beside him, took Andy's hand and said, "Come on, honey, get in our truck. I made some of Andy's favorite chocolate chip cookies—I'm sure you'll like them too."
Ian climbed in, bewildered. He felt like these two weren't here for a rescue operation, but rather for a tailgate party.
Silence settled over the area. The dead drug dealer's location was neither fortress nor safe house. Besides his single-family home, there were only a few other houses scattered around, with large vacant lots between them. From the house, you could see everything approaching from any direction.
"Boss, think that kid called the cops?" One of Alonzo's men asked nervously from his position at the window.
"Impossible. I'm a senior federal agent. If he filed a report, I'd know about it. He'll definitely come back!" The long wait was making Alonzo increasingly agitated, and he kicked Jake, who was bound on the floor.
Jake, gagged and tied up, groaned through his restraints. With the deadline for paying off his Russian creditors approaching fast, Alonzo could only pray the kid would show up soon.
Or better yet, when he arrived, he'd run into those damn Russian gangsters, and they could eliminate each other!
"Boss! Someone's coming!"
His man called out. Alonzo quickly moved behind the window and peered out carefully, but he didn't see Ian. There was only a hunched old man outside.
"Damn it, we're waiting for that punk Ian! Not some old geezer out for his evening constitutional!" Alonzo slapped his subordinate upside the head. "Don't worry about the old man. I only want you watching for Ian. If it wasn't for you idiots, he never would've escaped this afternoon! I—"
Before Alonzo could finish, automatic weapons fire erupted. A stream of bullets punched through the window, the nearest round barely missing his face!
"Holy shit! The kid's back!" Alonzo cursed and dove away from the window. He shouted to his men: "He's at three o'clock! Lynch, Jesse—you two go take him out! I'll provide covering fire!"
Alonzo suddenly popped up at a different window and fired several rounds at the source of the incoming fire, immediately suppressing the position so effectively it went silent.
At this moment, he finally had a chance to assess the situation outside. The old man who'd been walking had already hit the deck when the first shots rang out, his status unknown. The firing position that had just engaged them was also quiet. He immediately ordered: "He's still out there somewhere. Move!"
Without hesitation, the two men Alonzo had called out leaped through windows on opposite sides of the house, weapons ready. Alonzo, drawing on his extensive experience, took cover behind a wall while observing the situation outside through a small mirror.
Murphy, who had initiated the firefight, watched the two men emerge from the house and smiled. The first phase of his plan had worked perfectly. He tossed aside his rifle and dropped from the roof, his agility remarkable for a man pushing seventy.
As soon as he landed, he used his compact frame to advantage, concealing himself behind a thick oak tree. Moments later, as one of the men approached the tree, Murphy swiftly drew his tactical knife and slashed across the man's throat.
Before the man could even scream, his windpipe was severed, and he collapsed with a look of utter disbelief.
Elsewhere, the second operative, sensing something was wrong, spun around and upon seeing Murphy, raised his weapon to fire. However, Murphy made no attempt to dodge, instead pointing behind the man with a mischievous grin.
"Nice try, but I'm not falling for that old trick!" the gunman thought, and was about to pull the trigger when he felt a sharp blow to the back of his skull, followed by overwhelming dizziness, and he lost consciousness.
"Beautiful work!" Murphy gave Mason a thumbs-up, and Mason returned the gesture. "Not bad yourself."
Higher up the slope near Alonzo's house, the two old soldiers exchanged satisfied nods, simultaneously donning night vision goggles, swinging their packs around front, and pulling out smoke grenades one after another, lobbing them onto the flat ground in front of the house.
"Pop! Pop! Pop!"
The area outside the house was instantly shrouded in thick smoke from seven or eight different canisters. A wave of dread washed over Alonzo. That amateur Ian would never pull something this sophisticated.
He'd found professional help!
The thought had barely formed when a concentrated volley of rounds peppered the wall beside him, confirming his fears.
"Rat-a-tat-tat..."
"Keep your heads down! They've got thermal imaging! They can see us through the smoke!" Alonzo yelled, ducking into the bathroom and dumping a basin of cold water over his head.
He'd heard of techniques that supposedly fooled thermal optics, but he wasn't sure how effective they'd be. He could only hope for the best.
"Ian! Jake's still in my hands! If you don't want him dead, drop your weapons and come out!" With the area outside completely obscured by smoke, Alonzo had an idea. He grabbed one of his remaining men, pressed his gun to the man's head, and shouted, "You can't tell through all this smoke whether I'm aiming at the real hostage or a decoy!"
Alonzo was a genuinely experienced agent. If he'd applied even a fraction of his tactical skills to legitimate purposes, he wouldn't have ended up in this situation.
But his threats were met with only silence. Just as Alonzo's anxiety was peaking, he suddenly heard something clatter across the floor.
"Grenade!" Alonzo immediately threw himself flat, his men following suit.
But after several tense seconds, there was no explosion. Alonzo raised his head, scanning the floor until his eyes settled on an ordinary rock.
Son of a bitch! He'd been played again!
Who was out there? How could they be so tactically proficient? Alonzo felt genuine fear. This level of skill rivaled Navy SEALs.
But before he could formulate a response, two figures appeared at windows on opposite sides of the room, almost simultaneously opening up with automatic weapons.
"Brrrrap! Brrrrap!"
The crossfire from two different angles instantly shredded his remaining men. Alonzo, no longer concerned about Jake lying bound on the floor, bolted for the door.
But just as he stepped outside, he felt a sharp pain in his side.
Looking down, he saw a kitchen knife buried in his ribs. Without thinking, Alonzo spun around with his pistol.
But before his gun hand made it halfway around, a flash of steel severed his entire hand, along with the M1911 it held, sending both flying through the air. Alonzo finally got a clear look at his attacker's face, and horror washed over him.
It was the harmless old man he'd seen strolling outside earlier.
Hannibal licked blood off his blade and frowned. "Your blood reeks! Not even fit for seasoning. Time to die!"
Another flash of steel swept across.
Alonzo's body crumpled to the ground, blood gurgling from wounds to his mouth and throat. Just then, the thick fog from the smoke grenades finally began to clear.
Ian stared at Alonzo's corpse in disbelief. "That's it?"
"What else were you expecting?" Mason shrugged. "He's just a dirty cop. How much trouble could he possibly be? This barely qualifies as a warm-up."
"Speaking of which, I'm getting hungry. What's for dinner?" Andy asked as he approached Hannibal.
Hannibal pointed at Andy's face with amusement. "Andy, you've got lipstick on your collar."
"Do I?" Andy calmly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the spot with obvious pride. "Maybe I wanted someone to notice. Acknowledging a lady's affections is a gentleman's responsibility."
"Hold on, who's that? Did Alonzo have backup coming?" Murphy frowned as he spotted a car approaching at dangerous speed.
"We need to move!" Ian exclaimed, checking his watch. "That's the Russian mob! Alonzo killed one of their guys earlier. He was robbing dealers to buy his life back!"
"Wait! What about Victoria?!" Andy called out nervously, running toward his truck.
But then, a scene unfolded that he would never forget.
Just as the gangsters' car was about to ram his truck, Victoria suddenly produced a submachine gun and opened fire on the approaching vehicle.
"Brrrrap!" Rounds punched through the car's body, but it kept coming.
Just before impact, Victoria dropped the SMG, grabbed the truck's roll bar with both hands, and flipped herself up and over in a perfect backflip. At the same time, she pulled the pin on a grenade and dropped it through the car's sunroof.
"BOOM!" The gangsters' vehicle exploded into a fireball.
Victoria landed gracefully and walked back toward Andy, not even bothering to glance at the burning wreckage behind her.
Andy turned to find his three old comrades hadn't moved a muscle. "You guys knew about this all along, didn't you?"
"Good night, Andy."
(End of this chapter)
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