The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 152: Highly Insulting]

The night was deep, and the warehouse was brightly lit.

AKs, ARs, and shotguns lined up on shelves, and everyone was picking out their preferred weapon.

Ayala stood in front of a whiteboard, drawing a simple blueprint based on the information provided by Ramirez.

Dressed in black tactical gear, Camila drew her military knife from her waist and pointed at the blueprint, addressing her subordinates, "Brothers, the targets are just two people, one man and one woman. But don't underestimate them; this couple is top-notch with firearms."

She hadn't found a picture of Hawke Osment, so she attached a poster of Erica Ferguson from the newspapers to one side of the whiteboard. "This is one of our targets. I don't require them to be captured alive; just eliminate them."

A big bearded guy commented, "That girl is hot."

Camila retorted, "Her shooting skills are hotter than her looks!" She encouraged their spirits, saying, "Take down either Erica Ferguson or Hawke Osment, and besides your base pay, you'll get an additional bonus of 2 million dollars."

At this declaration, a dozen hulking men drew sharp breaths.

In a place like Mexico, a few thousand dollars were enough to spark a fierce fight.

Camila pointed her knife at the back door location on the blueprint, addressing the big bearded guy, "Quevas, you take seven men and initiate an attack from the back to prevent their escape; the rest follow me through the front door."

She then looked at a bald man. "Cesco, you take a team to hit the garage from this side; the rest come with me to storm the front door of the villa."

"Understood!" Their responses were orderly.

The group Camila brought were elite members. Before joining the mule gang, they all shared a common background as Mexican drug enforcement officers.

Just like Campos told Hawke, many join this line of work in Mexico to transition into dealing drugs.

Everyone selected their weapons. Camila picked up her AR, emphasizing once more, "Remember, do not underestimate the enemy!"

Ayala added a comment, "Once the job's done, we'll disperse according to Plan B for the retreat. If anyone gets caught by LAPD, remember what to say; your families will live in plenty."

The rogues boarded several vehicles, including two taller trucks.

...

Ayala and another person drove first to the entrance security kiosk. With money and fake reporter badges, they walked right in.

While the security personnel were counting the cash, the two struck and sent the guards to meet their maker.

Multiple vehicles drove into the Silver Lake community under the cover of night, arriving near the target villa.

Two taller trucks parked against the wall.

...

In the main bedroom of the villa, lights were on.

After practicing his shooting, Hawke, fresh from the shower in shorts, approached Erica, who was drying her hair. "A few days ago, your mother contacted me."

Erica glanced back. "I heard my mother say she was going to invest in your new company."

Hawke suddenly heard a loud sound -- the security system emitted an alarm; the villa was under invasion.

He typed on the computer keyboard in the room, revealing the surveillance footage.

Under the concealed monitoring camera, multiple vehicles were parked in front and behind the villa walls, and two trucks were positioned out front with armed individuals climbing over the walls into the yard.

In that brief moment, Erica switched off the hair dryer, removed the elastic from her wrist, tying her hair back.

Hawke grabbed a tactical vest from the nearby cabinet and threw one to Erica, hurriedly putting on another. He reached for an AR15, handing one to Erica and keeping the other for himself.

Both wore tactical vests outfitted with three AR magazines, a Glock handgun, as well as earpieces, military knives, and basic gas masks.

In a flash, Hawke and Erica were fully armed, even outfitting their rifles with suppressors.

"Target consists of over twenty individuals, surrounding us from front and back," Hawke reminded, "You cover my back, I'll cover yours."

Erica offered no signs of hesitation as she grabbed her firearm and bolted out of the room.

As she ran, she dialed 911: "This is Detective Sergeant Erica Ferguson, badge number... I'm at the Silver Lake community, Unit 10, being attacked by over twenty armed assailants. Requesting immediate backup! Please dispatch SWAT as soon as possible!"

The LAPD's Parker Center was immediately stirred awake, with alerts sounding within the Special Operations Bureau and SWAT teams.

But it would take time for them to arrive; Hawke and Erica had to hold the line.

Erica opened the north-facing multi-windowed house and dashed in, reaching a nearby window. She tapped on the keyboard, activating the computer screen, which revealed the surveillance footage with thermal imaging, showing eight figures.

She spoke into her earpiece, "I see eight on my end."

Hawke responded, "Thirteen in the front yard."

...

Near the yard's wall, two ladders fell, and thirteen fully armed figures, including Camila, entered in succession.

The villa was eerily silent, with the largest window on the second floor brightly lit.

Camila gestured to the group. Cesco led several men forward swiftly to the side.

Ayala leaned against a light pole and waved, "Fernando, stun grenades!"

That couple had impressive shooting skills and physical prowess, having prepared a big surprise.

A big man standing at over six and a half feet led two men forward.

Fernando held a shotgun that could blast through standard bulletproof glass.

The other two pulled out stun grenades obtained at high prices from their belts.

...

On the second floor, Hawke alerted, "Get ready, I'm turning on the lights."

Erica replied, "Roger that."

Hawke pressed the remote; as the second-floor bedroom lights turned off, brilliant lights illuminated the back and front yards as if it were midday.

The security system activated, too.

Suddenly, transitioning from night to day disoriented those outside; instinctively, they shielded their eyes.

Some even fired shots defensively into the night.

Gunfire erupted, striking walls and windows on the first and second floors, but the bulletproof glass absorbed the onslaught.

Hawke had already stationed himself at a window, bracing his AR15 to the waist. Within the 50-meter range, the armed figures barely resembled fixed targets on a shooting range.

Without needing to aim carefully, thanks to his extensive practice, his gun was pointed at the tallest man.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The crisp sound of gunfire rang out as three shots exploded against Fernando's ample torso.

He never even let out a scream before crashing to the ground.

His two followers sought cover, one feeling something beneath his feet; as he stepped, a faint crackle emerged.

He realized with the last flash of awareness that his friend's head had burst like an overripe melon nearby.

Hawke smoothly tracked his weapon, firing again.

The man with the smoking head crumpled, bullet hits to his chest.

The others scrambled for coverage; some hid behind trees, others behind ornamental structures, and some sprawled flat against the ground.

Having adjusted, their eyes began to adapt to the lighting; one-by-one, they lifted their weapons, targeting the light sources.

Bullets flew around, slamming against the window, sounding like breaking glass.

It was a chaotic scene of shards and battleground slogs.

Hawke ducked behind the stone wall structure, repositioning himself for another shot at a window.

...

"Lights out, take down those lights," Camila bellowed, shooting at the overhead light fixture with her AR.

However, the light remained lit, and she cursed under her breath, "All the bastards living here are such freaks!"

Ayala crouched behind a thick tree, using the light to observe the glass situation. That couple was really twisted to utilize bulletproof glass!

He realized things weren't going well; the gunfire was too sporadic.

Some weren't even firing!

Not from hesitation, but from inability.

Behind a stone figure, someone emitted a pitiful cry.

This individual was knowledgeable enough in the military sense; even while being distracted by the harsh light, they quickly sought refuge behind the stone statue.

With others laid flat on the ground, one raised their weapon yet felt a jolt from beneath.

The metal crown atop the sculpture wobbled slightly, the embedded marble ball dislodged and burst mid-air.

Not a loud explosion but enough to be incredibly humiliating.

Inside that ball was a potent coil of capsicum resin used in self-defense sprays and pepper.

When the liquid burst forth, it splattered onto the Mexican's skin, body, and face, seeping into his eyes.

The experience, more agonizing than being sprayed at close range by a cop, sent him screaming unintentionally as he wiped and smudged it further into his eyes, exacerbating the pain.

He lost control of his body and stuck his head out from behind the statue.

In the gaze of Ayala, this poor soul was shot dead.

At the same time, another attempted to sprint behind a platform but stumbled into a suddenly appeared pit.

At the bottom of that pit were pointed spears glinting ominously.

Surrounded by confusion, Ayala pressed firmly against the tree trunk.

Above, a package unwrapped, releasing a soft netstrung with metallic wire and weighted grenades, descending to cover several square meters.

On the second floor, a deadly marksman fired. Ayala heard the wind whoosh over his head too late to dodge, so he instinctively shielded his head with his arms.

The net fell, brushing against his skin as electric sparks crackled; Ayala turned with great effort to glance toward Camila's side but didn't see his beloved. He thudded onto the ground.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The deadly AR rang out three consecutive times, hitting Ayala in the chest and one shot piercing his neck.

...

Six feet away, Camila, crouched behind the support of a light pole, saw Ayala with only part of his neck still affixed to his body, his eyes wide with disbelief.

She raised her weapon and aimed at the second-floor window, firing frantically.

But her opponents remained safely shrouded in darkness behind bulletproof glass; there was little she could do.

Gunfire and cries echoed in the backyard, too.

Her men were being slaughtered!

This was entirely different from what she had envisioned.

The expectation was a stealthy infiltration, an explosive strike. Even if detected, they could rely on superior numbers and firepower to eliminate that couple.

Just as Camila entertained this thought, another applied to Cesco's left leg caught fire on the other side, and he rolled out to try to put out the fire.

...

In the bright light, the flaming figure rolled over for safety, but to the opportunistic Hawke, it was just an easy target.

Swiftly adjusting his aim, he called out the targets while helping them eat the pain away.

As three rounds fired, the target felt relief from the flames and let the fire consume his upper body.

He writhed in agony, appearing to nod silently in gratitude.

In the front yard, several survivors lifted their weapons to unleash a barrage at the second floor.

But the windows had bulletproof glass; Hawke in darkness had the height and stability to control the field.

He relocated, targeting the areas from where gunfire erupted, emptying his magazine into the fray.

One Mexican slumped over with his AR.

Changing the magazine, Hawke frowned slightly.

The craftsmanship was imperfect; multiple security traps remained untripped or failed to activate after being triggered.

There were myriad areas in need of improvement.

*****

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