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Meek knew that information was power, and he was willing to go to any limits to pay for any information regarding Panamanian Pete, his family, and his men. He had duffel bags filled with cash, and he had put the word out.
Soon enough, information about Panamanian Pete and his peoples started to pour in. Meek found out that Panamanian Pete’s older brother Mike was staying at an unassuming apartment near the bus station on Main Street in Hempstead with his wife and kids. Mike wasn’t a criminal like his kingpin brother, but had worked in transit for ten years and was a law-abiding citizen. Meek didn’t care; he put out the hit and sent his killers to retaliate for the brother’s sins.
***
The day was clear and sunny when Loon came to a stop in front of the five-story brick building. He had an address, a picture, and a motive. His lips pulled on a Newport, and then it went flying out the window. Evening time was approaching, meaning people would soon be on their way home from work, creating rush-hour traffic. Loon sat coolly across the street from the building. He just had to wait, be patient, and then create hell when it was time.
***
Two hours later, a white Civic parked on the street, near the building, and a man in his early forties climbed out with his two children, ages five and ten. Loon watched the man in his work uniform grab a few things from the backseat of his car and proceed toward his residence.
It was time for Loon to make his move. He donned a black ski mask and picked up the MP5K, cocked it back, and got out the car with urgency. He kept his eyes stuck on his target and hurried his way. He lifted the submachine gun in the victim’s direction, and when Mike finally noticed the threat looming his way, he stood wide-eyed and almost frozen with fear. He was holding his little girl’s hand when the gunman opened fire on him.
Over a dozen rounds instantly slammed into the man’s chest and torso, his grip around his daughter’s hand released instantly, as he was violently gunned down. His body was lifted from the pavement and then crashed right back against it.
When the gunfire finally ceased, the kids were heard screaming from the top of their lungs. Their father was dead, his blood spilling all over the sidewalk, his torso deformed with bullets.
Loon quickly retreated, his mission accomplished.
***
Detectives Albright and Yang stepped into the room with the witness. She sat silent and afraid. They had finally tracked down the woman from Club Revolt, the one who was with Jason Miller the night of the shooting. She had dyed
her hair from brunette to blonde and gone to Boston after the incident, afraid for her life. Albright and Yang were relentless in finding the shooter and bringing him or them to justice. The security footage from the club had finally been released, no thanks to the owner’s reluctance and his lawyers putting up a wall behind him. But Albright got his warrant for the security footage at Club Revolt and went through it meticulously, looking at every minute of it. He found out that Kip was in the club that night. Albright and Yang knew they needed more evidence on Kip. His attendance at the nightclub would simply be considered circumstantial evidence during litigation. They needed more, such as a witness to place Kip as the shooter.
Both detectives sat across from Kimberly Bush. She was beautiful, with nice curves, and a nervous smile.
Albright placed a cup of coffee in front of her and said, “You’ll be okay.”
“I don’t know anything, detectives,” she said.
“We just want to talk, that’s all,” he replied calmly, not wanting to spook her or push her too far.
Yang chimed, “We just want to know what happened that night.”
“I had a good time, and then I left,” she said.
Albright said, “But you see, security footage shows you leaving the club with Jason Miller the same night, and moments later, he’s robbed and shot. We simply want to put the man behind this behind bars for a very long time. And we need your help. We just want you to look at some pictures and point out the man who attacked and robbed y’all.”
Several sheets of men’s mug shots were placed in front of Kimberly. She still looked reluctant, but that night had haunted her for weeks, and many nights she couldn’t sleep.
Although Albright and Yang weren’t the primary investigators on the Miller shooting, they took the initiative to investigate it on their own. Albright had been after Kip for a long time now. He knew if he got something on Kip, the dominoes would start to fall.
Kimberly stared at the mug shots. She went through quite a few photos until she saw the shooter—Kip. His mug shot was scary, his eyes intense. She stared at the picture, her heart beating fast. Exhaling with uneasiness, she pointed to his photo and uttered the words both men had been waiting to hear for a long time.
“That’s him!” she said.
“Number seven?” Yang asked her.
She nodded.
Both men smiled.
“We need you to circle and initial the picture,” Albright said.
She took his pen, circled the photo, and initialed her name next to it.
Detectives Albright and Yang felt that they finally had their man.
