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Morales, with his hand up, translating to cease fire, bent down while pulling handcuffs from his side and wrenched Errol’s hand free of Tati’s grinding boot.
Just as everyone was beginning to deflate from the adrenaline rush, with nothing to lose, Errol, with his unencumbered hand, pulled the other pistol from his pocket.
As Errol raised his arm, a loud zapping noise popped and sizzled, shards of electricity hitting Errol squarely in his head and shoulders, a sound Grant knew all too well and that seemed to come from Flynn.
Errol screamed again. His body writhing uncontrollably on the blood-splattered marble.
Grant blinked, conflicted as to what came as more of a surprise. The fact that an elderly woman wearing an apron and Flynn with a pink Taser was what brought Errol down, or that it was Alpha Morales, in full FBI gear and full head of hair, clearly heading the specialized tactical SWAT team. Four Glocks, now pointing toward a drooling and twitching Errol as Morales finished handcuffing him.
Behind Morales, a short squat man in an ill-fitted suit and a comb-over stepped from behind the SWAT team and kneeled beside Errol.
The man lifted Errol’s twerking head by the hair as thick strings of drool cascaded from his mouth and onto the floor.
“You tried to fuck me over, Errol,” the man said with a sniff. “You tried to double-cross me, you spineless fuck, and steal my money so you could post up in some cum-infested casino bar in some lame-ass European shithole of a country and fritter it the fuck away.”
Tati, sidled toward Grant and whispered, “Arturo Morales aka Les Grossman.”
Grant nodded, more surprised to see a fully uniformed and booted up Alpha Morales watching over the entire scene as if he had done this a hundred times, professional and self-possessed and, shockingly, again, with a full head of hair.
Despite his small stature, his newly exposed persona made him look ten feet tall.
Arturo was still in Errol’s face, his own a mottled red and full of unrepentant rage. “You and me. We have unfinished business, you piece of shit fuckface. And it’s important that you know, it’s going to be painful and it’s going to be brutal. Because nobody,” he said, beginning to lose his voice, spittle flying. “…and I mean nobody, double-crosses Arturo Julio Morales.”
Then, Arturo stood, still clenching Errol’s hair in his fist as he dragged his victim outside.
