Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

an advantage over him in being more level-headed. He also, more importantly, knew that his friend had his back covered when they were out on raids. Like Lazlo, Markle just wanted to get the job done, and this had inevitably led to him being investigated in the past by Internal Affairs regarding unorthodox methods of obtaining arrests.

Lazlo now told him the story behind the chef killings and showed him the crime scene photos. Markle, concurred that it could only be the work of El Gordito and his men, but he was surprised at the staging of the murders with the roaches and bugs––it was something new for the kingpin. After finding out what Lazlo intended to do next, Peter Markle insisted on marking his first day back at the NYPD by assisting his partner in the arrest of El Gordito and his top four henchmen: Manuel Hernandez, Alberto Gonzalez, Mario Cervantes and Victor Sanchez

El Gordito stood by a window, looking down at the spectacular view of Manhattan. Behind him, in his spacious corner office, stood Manuel Hernandez and Mario Cervantes, arguing over a late drug shipment.

The doors burst open and Lazlo, Markle, Cousins, and two other heavily armed NYPD officers marched into the room.

A scar like a flat brown worm ran over the top of one eye to the bridge of El Gordito’s nose, preventing an even raising of his eyebrows. “Gentlemen! Have you come to start a war?” His joke only thinly veiled his underlying outrage.

“Miguel Vargas,” Lazlo announced using El Gordito’s legal name, “Manuel Hernandez and Mario Cervantes, you are all under arrest for the murders of Ignacio Felix and Ricardo Aparcio,” said Lazlo, and he continued by reciting their Miranda rights.

“Warrant!” El Gordito demanded.

“No warrant. I have probable cause,” Lazlo replied.

“You are out of your mind, Detective Lazlo. Your department can’t afford this!” El Gordito mocked and motioned to his men to present their wrists in front of them for handcuffing. “Let the officers do their job, gentlemen.”

“No! Put your hands behind your back,” Lazlo said as he forced the kingpin’s arms into position and cuffed him, after pushing him down onto his desk.

“Careful Detective. Haven’t you learned yet that I own this town?” Vargas warned.

Markle, like Lazlo, was unfazed. He demonstrated his disregard for El Gordito’s power by using a display of unnecessary force, slamming the head of one of the drug lord’s men down onto the desk as he cuffed the guy. “He resisted arrest,” Markle announced, looking El Gordito squarely in the eyes.

“Your rule is coming to an end, El Gordito. This time you’re going down. Where are Sanchez and Gonzalez?” Lazlo demanded, barely hiding his disdain.

“Well, normally I would tell you to go to hell, detective. But I want to assist you in your unlawful arrest of as many of my team as you want. It will make your fall that much harder. Take these cuffs off me and I will call my lawyer and get them to come into the station.”

Lazlo obliged, and El Gordito dialed his lawyer. “I’ve been arrested, and I’m being taken to the . . . 73rd. Precinct?” He sent Lazlo an inquiring glance, and Lazlo nodded in confirmation. “Along with Hernandez and Cervantes. They also want to arrest Gonzalez and Sanchez. Would you be so kind and ask them to come to the precinct?”

He didn’t bother to listen to his lawyer’s objections. He just hung up.

John had somehow rested far too long on Lazlo’s couch, underestimating his need to regenerate. He had left the brownstone, probably hours after Lazlo.

He was now sitting and waiting by Lazlo’s desk in the detective’s pen at the precinct. And suddenly he heard shouts of protest—a distinctive mix of Mexican and New York accents. Had Lazlo arrested El Gordito and some of his men? Acutely aware that just like any other spirit, Santiago’s spirit would be able to see him, John had to quickly disappear. He moved quickly out of the detectives’ bullpen and into the confines of the officers’ kitchen. He waited there, allowing sufficient time for Lazlo to place each of his arrestees into separate interview rooms—a move that would be necessary, he guessed, to see if their stories checked out.

John then cautiously moved out from the kitchen and back in the direction of the detectives’ pen, following the corridor that led toward the row of interview rooms. He stepped inside the observation room overlooking Interview Room 1.

Lazlo and another man, not in uniform, he hadn’t seen before were already in there, deep in discussion. Looking through the window, John immediately recognized El Gordito sitting alone in the interview room. This close, he could see a scar close to one of the drug lord’s pitch-black eyes. He shrugged off the chill he felt from the man’s stare and lopsided grin on the other side of the glass. Of greater concern was that El Gordito wasn’t possessed. What the fuck? Where the hell was Santiago’s spirit? He slipped out into the corridor and into each of the observation rooms overlooking the remaining interview rooms. None of El Gordito’s henchmen were possessed either.

He returned to the first observation room, where Lazlo was still talking to the other man, with whom he clearly had a high degree of professional chemistry. John suspected he was probably another detective. He was saying to Lazlo, “I couldn’t be sure at first, when we arrested El Gordito and his men, but just now, when I cuffed Hernandez to the table in Room 3, I could see he has scratches along the index and middle finger of his right hand. They look fresh.”

“That would be consistent with a scratch from the chef’s broken tooth while trying to stuff him like a goose for foie gras,” Lazlo declared.

Just then, a slick-looking man in a suit that managed to look both expensive and sleazy entered the interview room. He straightaway cautioned his client to stay silent. He stared at the one-way glass. John immediately noticed he was, in