The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 99: The Crew Turns to Robbers

[Chapter 100: The Crew Turns to Robbers]

At the front of the upper deck, Allison waved to the two without an ounce of embarrassment and asked, "Wanna join us?"

"You all go ahead." Hawke remained unbothered, giving Erica a knowing look as they made their way to the back deck together.

"Just like Hollywood," Erica whispered, admiring the scene.

They reached the end of the deck, sitting in the last two chairs, gazing up at the stars.

Not far ahead, they faintly heard some sounds.

The two figures morphed into one leaning against the railing as the other stood behind.

Erica openly enjoyed the show. "Didn't expect there'd be a free show tonight."

The shameless Hawke raised the binoculars he brought along. "It's even got a plot worthy of the San Fernando Valley."

Suppressing a laugh, Erica replied, "It's definitely more entertaining than the stars."

The performers on stage could vaguely see their audience enjoying the view. One lout even had the audacity to use the binoculars!

Such shamelessness!

Finally, feeling awkwardness fill the air, Allison picked up her clothes and dragged the man downstairs, but instead of returning, they headed to the outer walkway on the second deck.

...

It was then Erica noticed lights turning on in the side rear area. Looking over, she remarked, "Looks like another boat is coming."

Hawke recalled what Johnson had said: "It's the fuel replenishment ship."

Lights illuminated the rear deck as several crew members appeared, busying themselves.

Hawke glanced down to see the second mate on the back deck.

Before long, the first mate came over too.

Erica watched the back deck with a profession-related sensitivity, murmuring, "Just for refueling. Why are so many gathering at the back deck?"

Hawke lowered his voice, "Let's observe first."

Both wore dark jackets, hiding on the upper deck where it was hard for anyone to spot them.

...

The fuel supply boat slowly approached and parked alongside the aft deck.

Crew members from both sides became busier.

Fueling was underway, but several boxes filled with vegetables and drinks were also being moved onto the yacht's back deck.

Hawke lifted the binoculars, using the light to examine the crew on the supply ship and scrutinized the boxes closely. He leaned in to Erica, whispering, "Dwayne packed enough food and provisions for five days. There's no need for this." ȐáꞐǑᛒΕS̩

Taking the binoculars, Erica inspected for a moment, her expression turning serious. "I smell drug traffickers."

Hawke turned on the recorder, angling the lens downwards.

Erica had her fishing harpoon slung on her wrist, holding her hunting slingshot tight.

Hawke worried she might act rashly and pointed toward the fuel ship. "There's a lot of them."

Erica merely prepared for the worst, nodding slightly.

...

On the back deck, the second mate asked the transferring crew member, "What's the amount this time?"

"Double from last time," the man replied.

With such a cargo involved, the second mate wouldn't dare take it lightly and motioned for three trusted associates.

Each opened a box to inspect the contraband hidden within the compartments.

The first mate quietly took two steps forward, observing quickly, calculating the quantity and value while the second mate conversed with the Mexicans.

O'Reilly arrived next to them.

The first mate gestured to the Mexicans with his eyes, indicating they'd discuss it later.

Matching the count, the second mate instructed to move the cargo into storage, locking the door once finished.

Once the fueling wrapped up, the Mexicans gradually returned to their vessel, and the fueling boat drifted away from the yacht.

...

As the lights dimmed, the first mate turned to the second mate. "Where's the money?"

Sensing trouble, the second mate stuffed his hand into his coat pocket. "We agreed that once we reached land, I'd pay you fifty percent more."

The first mate replied, "We want it all."

At this, the second mate pulled out his gun quickly.

But before he could even aim, one of the three associates waiting behind already had his firearm pressed firmly against the second mate's lower back. "Don't move!"

The second mate turned back, looking shocked at his own men. "You all..."

Another said flatly, "Sorry, boss, you offered too little, and they offered too much."

The first mate stepped forward, snatching the gun from the second mate's hands.

He had a plan for how to deal with this guy.

The yacht would arrive at Guadeloupe before dawn, and a few cuts to the second mate followed by a toss into the sea would surely make the sharks happy.

The seven men present could testify that the second mate fell overboard by accident.

Once they finished handling the cargo, they planned to leave Los Angeles immediately.

...

Meanwhile, on the outer walkway railing of the second deck, Allison and the young chef had reached the brink of a wild storm, their environment stirring up excitement.

Allison, akin to a washed-up Hollywood star, reveled in the thrills of the night and suddenly shouted.

"Who?"

The crowd on the back deck was tense, especially those who had betrayed the second mate with their emotions running high.

The gunman instinctively turned the barrel towards the sound and pulled the trigger.

Bang! Bang! Bang--

Gunshots rang out, bullets pinging off the ship.

In America, many people could distinguish gunfire.

Allison screamed and quickly turned, bolting down the second deck.

The chef was even faster.

...

The first mate shouted, "Stop shooting! Stop shooting!"

The gunman emptied the six-round revolver before finally ceasing fire.

"Damn!" the first mate cursed and ordered someone to tie the second mate up, gag him, and lock him in the cargo hold.

O'Reilly approached, gun drawn. "We're in trouble, the woman screaming was the most flamboyant girl on the yacht."

The first mate recalled that woman who had been flirting with men around. No doubt about it.

O'Reilly asked, "Boss, she saw everything, what do we do?"

What to do? The first mate wished to ask someone how to handle this but the other six men all looked to him, waiting for orders.

He knew he couldn't remain silent; at this critical moment, he had to assert control over them, pondering for a moment. "O'Reilly, you take three men armed to the lounge. Secure the satellite phone immediately, then head to the second and third decks, tie up the wealthy guests and the captain!"

He directed two others: "Bert, you get back to the engine room, guard it. Richardson, you come with me to the cockpit. The rest wait until we secure the ship!"

The crew, already tough characters, sprang into action.

...

A little earlier, on the upper deck, Hawke and Erica exchanged glances and ran towards the stairs.

Erica only said, "If we get captured, our lives will be in someone else's hands."

Hawke said nothing else, nodding slightly before rushing down the stairs.

As he reached the third floor, the master bedroom door suddenly swung open.

Johnson poked his head out just in time to find two sharp fish harpoons pointing at him, prompting him to raise his hands. "Guys, it's me."

He didn't know Erica, but he recognized Hawke. "What's going on? I thought I heard gunfire; it went off several times."

"The crew became robbers and are armed!" Hawke couldn't afford to waste time; he quickly jumped downstairs.

Erica followed closely.

Johnson hesitated momentarily and, barefooted, followed behind.

Hawke reached the stairway corner, raised his fist behind him, and Erica came to a stop.

Following Hawke, she lightened her steps and quietly crept downwards.

From the first floor, the rapid sound of footsteps signaled that trouble could come their way at any moment.

Hawke quietly made it to the second floor, signaling to Erica about their footing.

Erica nodded slightly, crouching down, using the angle to conceal her body.

Johnson caught up and pointed to his chest.

Hawke pointed towards the laundry room by the stairway, whispering, "Don't move until I start."

Johnson squeezed into the laundry room.

Hawke sidled into the hallway where a shared restroom awaited.

He hid by the restroom doorway, ready to fire with the fishing spears positioned on a rubber band.

The footsteps soon reached the stairway, sounding frantic.

Hawke could tell that they didn't have any professional training.

...

O'Reilly had the satellite phone while looking for spare keys to the hatch and led the second mate and three rogues upstairs.

The top thug turned the corner of the stairway, coming to the hallway, and abruptly noticed something shimmering brightly under the lights.

Before he could react, Hawke's close-range fish harpoon hit him right in the neck.

The thug gasped for breath, feeling weak as he toppled sideways.

Simultaneously, Erica stood up from the stairs leading to the third floor, her right hand pulling the rubber band on her harpoon taut.

A whooshing sound sliced through the air as the second crewman rushing up felt something collide against the back of his head.

Then his vision faded to black as he collapsed to the ground.

O'Reilly aimed his gun, but Johnson charged from the laundry room, grabbed the man with both hands, and threw him out. The guy's back hit the stair railing and his body was almost broken into pieces.

As the fourth thug attempted to retreat, Hawke rushed up, snatching a handgun from the floor and fired three rounds down toward the stairway.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The first two shots hit the thug's torso, while the final shot found its mark on his head.

Meanwhile, Johnson swiftly maneuvered behind O'Reilly, expertly twisting his arms behind his back, eliciting rapid breaths from him.

He glanced at Hawke and Erica a few feet away, holding their calm and not even breaking a sweat.

At that moment, the hallway fell eerily silent, void of screams or anyone checking the situation.

Erica picked up a handgun.

Hawke began checking the other three men, temporarily turning off his chest camera and stating, "They can't make it."

"Relax, everything will be fine," Erica reassured him.

O'Reilly overheard, his eyes wide as he stifled pain. "You guys are insane! How dare you kill someone!"

Hawke and Erica looked at the four handguns they'd brought, ignoring his outcry.

Hawke

Hawke adjusted his angle for more light to shoot a clearer video.

Erica stripped away the compartments, enabling Hawke to film the inside plastic packages.

Just one compartment had thirty large packages.

Erica opened another box down to the compartments beneath the bottles, finding the same thirty plastic packages again.

Another box behind it yielded a similar result.

Hawke captured every moment.

The sheer number of packages astonished even Erica.

After finishing the shoot, Hawke turned off the recorder. "Congratulations, beautiful detective, you've cracked a major armed drug trafficking case."

The yacht came from Santa Monica, registered in Los Angeles, so the case undoubtedly fell to the LAPD.

Erica was unreserved. "No need for gratitude; this case can serve me well."

Outside, the sky was brightening gradually.

Once the people were awakened, they reacted with surprise and fear, with Johnson naturally assigned to calm them down.

Meanwhile, Hawke settled in the cockpit, supervising the captain as he piloted the ship back to Santa Monica.

*****

/Sayonara816.