station. Low-riders, SUVs, vans and pickups filled the parking lot. Gangsters shouted, swore and pointed angry fingers. The name El Hombre flew back and forth. Kaino was right, these weren’t upper echelon cartel men, they were gangbangers, and they were strangely reluctant to start shooting here at the one place they all respected.
“Kill the lights,” Bolan ordered.
“Denying your area power grid access...now.”
Gangsters of various stripes shouted in alarm as the street went dark. Bolan clapped the master sergeant on the shoulder. “Lay down the law, Kaino.”
The cop began to fire.
The gas rounds thudded from the barrel of the big 12-gauge in slow, methodical fire. They didn’t have a huge payload but Kaino had a lot of them. Bolan poured fire in on top of his partner’s, arcing high for a two-tiered barrage.
“Shoot and scoot, Kaino. They can’t see you but they can see your muzzle-blast.”
Pistols popped in answer from among the cars. Bolan and Kaino moved and dropped gas into the milling gangsters without mercy. The return fire came ever more sporadically. Bolan popped his drum, slipped in a specific 5-round clip and stalked toward the gas cloud.
“Cover me, Kaino.”
Kaino slapped in a fresh drum as Bolan strode up to an SUV and fired.
The Dragon’s Tongue ammo sent a one-hundred-foot jet of flame playing over the vehicle. The effect lasted less than a second. Any exposed person in the path of the flame would be badly burned. Gangsters choking on tear gas screamed at the effect. The driver slammed his vehicle into Reverse and rammed the vehicle behind him. Bolan hosed down two more vehicles and sent tongues of fire into the lanes between the clusters of gangs. Gangsters ran in all directions.
Kaino’s mask smothered the sound of his laughter to the general public, but Bolan heard it loud and clear as the master sergeant sent out clouds of rubber buckshot at calf level and swept his former opponents from back in the day off their feet. Bolan reloaded and flamed another five vehicles.
The rout was total.
Rubber screamed on asphalt as smoking rides peeled to get out of the gas and flamethrower effect. Bolan took the loudspeaker out of his bag and connected it to the mike in his mask.
Bolan’s voice boomed like God on High. “I am El Hombre! The gas station is mine! Miami-Dade is mine! I’m coming for all of you!”
He watched with mild satisfaction as the remaining gangsters ran, limped or crawled out of the war zone.
CHAPTER TWO
Miami-Dade Safehouse
“Did you have fun?” Aaron Kurtzman asked.
Bolan glanced at the Miami Herald. The morning headline read Gang War Erupts! In a smaller font the side story talked about a “Disturbing new twist in the ongoing turf battles. Police tactics purported used in battle.” Bolan turned to Kaino. “Did you have fun?”
“Oh, big fun.” Kaino held his hands three feet apart. “Huge.”
“Yeah, I guess we had fun, Bear.”
“Speaking of fun.” Kaino glanced at the laptop he’d been issued. He was speaking to someone named Bear, but his video window was blank. Kaino was a trained investigator, and he could tell by facial cuts that the man across the table from him was looking at a face. Kaino spoke to the Bear. “Your man here told me he would prefer it if I didn’t contact my department unless it was an emergency or to request resources.”
“That would be preferable,” Kurtzman agreed. “What’s on your mind?”
“Last night was fun, but what’s my status now?”
“As of now you are on an open-ended, paid, consulting leave of absence.”
“Never heard of such a thing.”
Bolan held up his Justice Department Observation Liaison Officer badge. “Want one?”
“Nah, open-ended paid consulting leave is good. So what’s next?”
“That depends on you.”
“Me?” Kaino threw back his head and laughed. “Dude! You just kicked the Zetas’, Gulf Coast’s and MS-13’s asses all at the same time. You’re El Hombre! King of the street, and may I add proud new absentee owner of a gas station! Dude, I just walk in your shadow and I’m thankful for the slot.”
“Didn’t know you were a poet, Kaino.”
“Puerto Ricans,” Kaino acknowledged. “We’re poetic people. So what can I do for you, El Hombre?”
“We’ve been picking up some real strange chatter. That led us to the Miami-Dade area.”
“Chatter?” Kaino queried.
“Yeah.”
“Like intelligence communications and satellites and shit like that?”
“And shit like that,” Bolan confirmed.
Kaino shrugged. “Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“I thought you were here about cocodrilo.”
“Crocodile?” Bolan queried.
“Well, yeah. Oh, and by the way, just so you know, Cocosino will be coming for both our asses after your little stunt last night.”
“Killer croc? Isn’t that a Batman villain?”
“Well, yes and no. I assure you Cocosino is real, and we have a trail of bodies to prove it.”
“You’re saying you have a supervillain straight out of a comic book in Miami-Dade?”
“We have a killer for hire straight out of your worst nightmare. A guy who doesn’t care. An enforcer. A guy who everyone’s afraid of. And you wrote your name on a wall. I really hope you understand the implications of that. Cocosino will be coming.” Kaino gave Bolan a very shrewd look. “But that’s not why you’re here, you’re here because...?”
“What’s cocodrilo?”
Kurtzman spoke triumphantly across the link. “Spanish from the Russian, krokodil, and that’s our link!”
“What does this crocodile stuff mean, Bear?”
“It’s bad.”
Kaino nodded. “Muy malo.”
“Krokodil is Russian for crocodile,” Kurtzman said.
“I picked up on that.”
“Krokodil is a new designer drug. It’s a desomorphine, or morphine derivative.”
“A
