The first raid was on the warehouse in the industrial district. ,As we approached, I felt a familiar rush of adrenaline even with the lack of these kind of things I have been on as of late. We moved in swiftly, we secured the perimeter and stormed the building. The suspects were caught off guard and the arrests went smooth.

  "One down." Jacob said, his eyes gleamed with determination. "Let's keep this quick momentum."

  As we made our way inside, I noticed a few workers huddled in a corner, their faces pale with fear. Jacob and I approached them, we flashed them our badges. "I'm Detective Grant, Miami PD. This is Sergeant Flint, We'd like to ask you a few questions..."

  One of the men, a burly guy with tattoos covering his arms from top to bottom nodded at us. "I don't want any trouble Detective. Whatever you want to know, we tell you okay?"

  "That's more like it." Jacob said as he took out his notepad from his jacket.

  "What can you tell us about the shipment that was supposed to be arriving tonight?" He asked.

  "It was supposed to be big. Muy grande." He said , his voice trembled with fear.

  "Ortega's been on edge about it for weeks. High-grade weapons, military stuff. We were just here to unload and stash. Unload and stash."

  "And who is the buyer?" Jacob asked, he stepped closer to the group of men.

  The man shrugged helplessly. "We know only as El Diablo. No face, just name. He sounds like bad news to us yo."

  Jacob and I exchanged glances of approval, we knew we were on the right track.

  "Thank you gentlemen." I said as I walked away with Jacob.

  The next location was the luxurious mansion on the outskirts of the city. As we approached, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. My instincts told me caution, I kept my hand near my weapon for the second something went haywire.

  Before we could act, a shot rang out through the alley, I felt a sudden searing pain in my shoulder, fell to my knees, my vision blurring with every second that went by, the final thing my eyes caught was Walter's face, filled with a sense of satisfaction. Darkness overtook me.

  "Izzy?"

  "Izzy??!"

  Jacob tapped my uninjured shoulder, I shook my head and looked around to try and somewhat remember what was happening, I looked over at Jacob.

  "Huh? I'm sorry..." I said.

  "You alright? You look like you just saw a ghost..." He said.

  "Y- Yeah- Yeah. I'm- I'm good. Just getting the jitters. Last time I heard a gun go off. It didn't go so well."

  We eventually took care of the guards and moved inside. The contrast of the mansion was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. As we combed through the rooms, we found different hidden compartments filled with cash, documents and weapons.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  In one of the rooms, a young woman cowered behind a desk. She looked terrified, her makeup smeared from crying. I approached her slowly, hands up to show I meant no harm. "Hey, it's okay. I'm Detective Grant... Izzy Grant... You're safe now."

  She sniffled, as she wiped her tears. "I-... I work for Mr. Ortega.. I didn't know-... about all this. I swear."

  "What's your name?" I asked gently.

  "Maria," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

  "Maria, that's a nice name..." I said smiling at her... "We need your help," I said. "What can you tell us about Ortega's operations here?"

  She hesitated, glancing around nervously. "He...he keeps everything hidden. There's a safe in his office, behind a painting. I've seen him go there a lot. I think that's where he keeps his most important documents."

  "Thank you, Maria," I said, giving her a reassuring smile. "You've been very helpful."

  With Maria's information, we quickly located the safe and cracked it open. Inside, we found a treasure trove of evidence—ledgers, bank statements, and contact lists that would be invaluable in taking down Ortega's network.

  As we were about to leave, Ortega himself appeared, walking out of one of the nearby offices of the mansion, he began to laugh, trying to catch his breath through the wheezing once again... I froze in place...

  Walter chuckled, barely able to catch his breath through the wheezing. "Oh... that's a good one, Flint... Grant... Do you think speaking to me like that is going to make me drop my gun and you fiends can take me away that easy? HA! Fat chance Flint. You've both got guts, I'll give ya that... And hey, who said I was going to shoot one of you?" He'd laugh again, and the wheezing continued.

  "Looooooooooook who it is! Sergeant Flint and Detective Grant! Good to seeeee you back." He'd continue to laugh, wheezing.

  "It's over, Ortega," I said, my voice steady. "You're... under arrest."

  He laughed once again, "Ohhhhh, reallllly... Do you've really think you've won Grant? How's the shoulder? Hmmmm? You know what happens if you mess with me the wrong way... This is just the beginning."

  "OH, it's just the beginning hmm? You nearly took my life, my career when you shot me... So if anything, I have a right to be standing in this building trying to destroy everything that you built." I said with arrogance.

  "OHHHHHH, it's just the beginning hmm? You nearly took my life, my career, everything when you shot me. I'm lucky to be standing here. So, if anything. I have a right to be standing in this building trying to destroy everything you have built singlehandedly as a punishment." I said with venom in every word.

  He smirked at us, he then stuck his hands out for us to cuff him. "Oh well... I'm yours... Just remember... El Diablo is always watching..."

  "We'll see about that," I replied, I cuffed him and lead him outside to my squad car.

  With Ortega in custody, the final location, a high-end nightclub downtown. We moved in quickly, we rounded up the last of his associates with minimal resistance. By the time we finished, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the city.

  Inside the club, the scene was chaotic. Music still blared from the speakers, and patrons were being herded out by uniformed officers. I approached the bar, where a young bartender was trying to blend into the background.

  "Detective Grant, Miami Police" I said, flashing my badge. "I need to ask you a few questions."

  He gulped, his hands shaking as he wiped down the counter. "I don't know anything, Detective. I just serve drinks."

  "That's hard to believe," Jacob said, joining me. "You must have seen or heard something. Talk, and maybe we can cut you a deal."

  The bartender's eyes darted around, clearly weighing his options. "Okay, okay. Ortega used this place to meet clients. Big deals went down here. Drugs, weapons, you name it."

  "And El Diablo? What's the deal with that?" I pressed.

  He hesitated. "I've heard the name. People talk about him like he's a ghost. No one knows what he looks like, but he's dangerous. If Ortega's gone, he'll come looking for whoever took him down."

  Jacob nodded, he scribbled notes in his pad. "Thanks. You've been helpful."

  We exited the club, the satisfaction of a job well done mingling with the knowledge that our work was far from over. As I sat at my desk later, reviewing the day's events, I felt a sense of accomplishment. We had taken a significant step in dismantling Ortega's network.