Chapter 2: Predator

February 14, 2029 AD, San Miguel de Amagasi, Quito, Ecuador, Earth

The noise of the ceiling fan was barely audible above the murmur that filled the room, but Carlos Moreno still found the sound soothing, even a little lulling. He felt himself growing drowsy.

“Don’t get killed out there. I mean it. These people are dangerous.”

He looked up at Captain Serrano, standing at the front of the room, the concrete walls painted a dull yellow that was beginning to flake.

“Now, for your individual assignments. Lieutenants Molina and Sanchez? You’ll take Carlos Arcos Street. Leon and Garcia? I need you on Amagasi del Inca.”

The captain, wearing the gray uniform of the National Police of Ecuador, continued to rattle off men and locations from the duty roster, placing the officers of the San Miguel de Amagasi police station where they would do the most good during the night. When his turn came, Carlos was not surprised to find himself partnered with Luis Carriel, a young lieutenant with short hair and a thin black mustache.

The other men in the room stirred, ready to leave, but Carlos could sense the briefing wasn’t quite over yet. Standing at the podium, Captain Serrano huffed and fixed him with a steady look.

“Lieutenant Moreno,” the heavyset, middle-aged man said, “you always get your man. Don’t disappoint me this time.”

It was true. Well, not literally true, of course. Always implied he was infallible, which was obviously not the case. But Carlos believed, truly believed, that no one should get away with crime. In many ways he felt that catching the perpetrators was more important than actually penalizing them. After all, if criminals weren’t caught, what good were severe punishments? If they were never apprehended, the law became merely academic.

No, Carlos firmly believed that the best deterrent against crime was ensuring that everyone out there knew, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt, that if they broke the law, they would eventually be caught and their ill-gotten possessions would be confiscated. After that, it didn’t matter to him what the courts chose to do with those he arrested. For all he cared, they could just be given a slap on the wrist and sent home. As long as they understood that committing crimes in his district was futile, he was certain they would remain on the right side of the law in the future. Everyone would be far safer if he could prevent the crimes from happening in the first place.

And Lieutenant Carlos Moreno always got his man.

After receiving their assigned locations, the officers of the San Miguel de Amagasi police district filed out in pairs, talking among themselves as they walked out of the old building. Earlier in the day, the weather had been pleasant enough, though the rain had made him miserable. Of course, that was to be expected in the rainy season, but fortunately—though the sky was still overcast—the downpour had ceased in the past hour.

As he and Lieutenant Carriel walked the dark city street, he sent his wife a quiet, loving thought. Teresa was probably already in bed by now, after a long, lonely evening caring for their son. It was a thankless life, being the wife of a policeman. He only hoped he would do right by her. One day, he thought, he would make enough money for them to move to a better part of the city, somewhere safer where Thiago could grow up without fear of the ever-present gang violence.

“Do you really think they’re here? This doesn’t seem like the kind of neighborhood where Los Cóndores would hang out.”

Carlos looked to his right at Lieutenant Carriel, walking beside him on the still-wet pavement. The young man hadn’t been with the district long. He had arrived here from… where was it? Gualo? Llano Grande? Carlos wasn’t sure. Wherever he was from, he had been assigned to the San Miguel de Amagasi district for only a few months.

“And you know this… exactly how?” he asked his colleague, trying not to sound too harsh. In this job, there was no room for assumptions.

Lieutenant Carriel shrugged. “It’s just a feeling. I don’t know. Maybe they are.”

Those kinds of instincts were certainly very useful to have for a policeman. Carlos didn’t dismiss Carriel’s assertion because it came from his gut.

He dismissed it because it was wrong.

Because Lieutenant Carlos Moreno knew these streets. He had walked them since graduating from the Police Academy ten years earlier. He knew who belonged on them and where they should be.

And he knew who did not.

On the corner, just outside one of the apartment buildings lining the street, three young men huddled around a broken-down car. As the two police officers approached, Lieutenant Carriel grew tense.

One of the boys—he couldn’t have been more than seventeen—wearing a yellow hoodie, jumped off the car and walked up to Carlos.

“¡Eh, Lobo! ¿Cómo va?” the young man exclaimed, his face breaking into a grin as he raised his hand to give the older policeman a high five.

“How you doin’, Miguel?” Carlos replied. To his right, Lieutenant Carriel visibly relaxed.

“You seen any Los Cóndores around? Anything out of the ordinary?”

The young man grew a little tense but didn’t withdraw. While he clearly didn’t want to put himself at risk by telling on the local street gang, he also seemed to trust the policeman.

“Nah, you know how it is,” Miguel replied. “We stay out of trouble.”

“I know you do. And if that ever changes, you can bet that golden chain of yours I’ll tell your mother all about your misdeeds.”

In response, Miguel made a sound of mock fear. Carlos slapped him lightly and playfully on the cheek.

“Don’t disrespect Verónica. You’d be nothing without her, Miguel. But seriously, have you seen any of them around tonight?”

The boy hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ángel and two others were here an hour ago. Don’t know where they went.”

Carlos nodded. It was good enough. If the Los Cóndores lieutenant was in the area, they would find him sooner or later.

* * *

Three hours later, the rain had returned, and Carlos felt miserable as he and Lieutenant Carriel stood beneath a small overhang made of rusty iron sheets, trying to keep themselves dry as best they could. At least the weather wasn’t cold, he thought. It was a small comfort, but it would have to be enough.

Through the haze of the night, two headlights appeared on the dark street.

“Here we go,” Carlos cautioned his partner. Lieutenant Carriel looked up to follow the headlights with his gaze, a concerned look settling on his face.

“You’re sure it’s them? Maybe we should just step back and observe.”

Carlos's reply was final. “It’s them.”

He was just about to draw his gun and step into the street to halt the car when a movement on the other side of the road caught his attention. Against the fluttering drapes of the window of the building there, the shadows projected from inside were difficult to interpret, but something in his gut told him whatever was happening inside the apartment was important.

“Wait,” he told Lieutenant Carriel in a low voice, cautioning him with his hand to step back into the darkness and let the car pass. Once it had disappeared down the street, Carlos motioned for his partner to follow as he crossed the road and entered the dark, narrow stairs rising from the sidewalk into the rundown house. The muffled sounds seeping through the thick stone walls confirmed he had been right.

There was no time to waste.

With his full force, Lieutenant Carlos Moreno threw the weight of his body against the wooden door, slamming into it and splintering it on impact.

“Stand down!” he shouted, his voice filled with every ounce of authority he could summon as he simultaneously drew his gun. “This is the National Police of Ecuador. You’re hereby under arrest!”

The inebriated man inside the room, standing over a terrified woman on the floor, turned around and slowly lowered his raised hand as Lieutenant Carriel approached him.

“You let Ángel get away so we could go handle a domestic dispute?” the younger policeman asked as he cuffed the man’s wrists. Carlos couldn’t tell whether there was pride or scorn in his partner’s voice.

“Trust me. We’ll get Ángel, too. But I wasn’t going to let this girl get hurt on my watch.”

Lieutenant Carriel nodded, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. He did seem relieved they hadn’t had to confront Los Cóndores, though.

“Police brutality!” the arrested man shouted as the two of them walked him out through the broken-down door.

Lieutenant Carriel indicated the fragments of the entrance to the apartment with a tilt of his head. “No offense, sir, but this carnage feels a bit like overkill for a case like this.”

Carlos looked around. The woman’s home could be rebuilt, but only because she was still alive. Her husband would surely remember the violent and immediate police response to his heinous act and would think twice about abusing her again.

“Strike early and strike hard, Lieutenant Carriel,” Carlos told his partner. “Saving lives is our job, not dancing around people’s feelings. The dead can no longer exercise their privilege of being annoyed with the way we do our work. Our job is to make sure everyone is still around to complain about ‘overkill.’”

He expected Lieutenant Carriel to continue the argument. The young man, fresh from the Academy and not even half a year on the job, seemed to be more by the book than Carlos. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Following the rules certainly had its place. But he himself couldn’t do so at the expense of lives.

When they stepped out onto the street again, he realized he would never get the chance to hear his partner’s counterargument.

Out there in the damp darkness of the night, Ángel was waiting for them.

“¿Y ahora qué, Lobo? ¿Te perdiste?”

The tattooed man dropped his still glowing cigarette on the ground and put it out with the sole of his expensive shoes, grinding it into the wet pavement as rain dripped from his long, black hair. The faint fizzle that followed was barely audible.

“You’re under arrest!” Carlos shouted to the Los Cóndores lieutenant as he reached for his gun. To his left, the handcuffed abuser stumbled away, lost his balance, and fell to the ground.

Getting his weapon out in time was, of course, impossible. There were three Los Cóndores here and only two policemen, and Ángel and his enforcers had clearly had time to prepare while they waited. Carlos looked at Lieutenant Carriel. This was probably exactly how the young man had feared the night would end, and Carlos felt sorry for him, but this was the life they had chosen. Their first duty was to the job.

“Get him.”

The command from the tattooed gang leader was simple and direct. Carlos looked around, expecting the two enforcers flanking the Los Cóndores lieutenant to close in on him. But Ángel’s gaze wasn’t directed at them.

The man was looking straight at Lieutenant Carriel.

“Sorry, sir,” the young policeman said, his voice filled with an equal mix of embarrassment and disdain. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. I tried to dissuade you from this confrontation, but you kept pushing. You left me no choice.”

An icy hand gripped Carlos's heart. He wasn’t exactly surprised, of course. This was Quito, and the salary of a policeman was just barely enough to get by on. Every day now, food prices seemed to rise, and he was very well aware that some of his colleagues had found alternative ways of supplementing their income. Ways that didn’t always obey the letter of the law.

He was only heartbroken that his partner had turned out to be one of them.

For a moment, Carlos’s hand hovered a centimeter above the gun on his hip. He had been so close, but he couldn’t take the chance now. To his right, Lieutenant Carriel stood with his legs spread as if bracing himself for the confrontation with his elder partner. The young man’s pistol, held in trembling hands, was pointed straight at Carlos’s temple. He would never reach his own weapon in time.

Then he felt a wave of dirty water wash over him.

On the street behind them, a car sped past, splashing a veritable cascade onto the sidewalk where they stood as it drove through a deep puddle.

Lieutenant Carriel swore, and as his hands wavered for a short moment, Carlos reached for his gun while simultaneously dropping to the ground. Rolling to the side, he found cover behind a large, rusty oil drum sitting on the sidewalk.

Before his former partner had time to react, the two Los Cóndores enforcers in front of him opened fire while Ángel backed away up the dim stairs behind him. In the darkness of the night, with rainwater in their eyes, the gunmen’s aim was off just enough that Carlos managed to peek out of cover without being hit. Around him, the buzzing thuds of bullets striking the walls and pavement stung in his ears.

Returning fire, Carlos’s first shot hit one of the enforcers in the upper arm, making him drop his gun. Swinging his own pistol to the left before diving back into cover, Carlos fired a second round at the man standing beside the first, hoping to hit his arm as well. But in the confusion, the bullet strayed from its intended target and instead struck the gang member in the chest, ending his life instantly. Angry at himself for the mistake, Carlos bit his lower lip.

From behind, where Lieutenant Carriel was crouched behind two large sacks of corn resting on the pavement on the far side of the building entrance, the shaky voice of the former policeman rang through the night.

“Drop the gun, sir! Think of your wife and kid. You can still get to see them again.”

That, Carlos thought, was exceedingly unlikely, if he were to surrender. And besides, giving up wasn’t exactly his style anyway.

Suddenly, a searing pain in his left leg told him he was quickly running out of time. The cover the barrel provided had been just enough to buy him a little breathing room, but not enough to keep him safe, and now one of Lieutenant Carriel’s bullets had found its mark. Carlos bit his tongue to manage the pain and tried to pull his injured leg closer to reduce his target profile.

As he did so, Lieutenant Carriel dove out of cover in an attempt to outflank him. Carlos fired a couple of rounds of suppressive fire in his general direction to force him back into hiding, but the hail of bullets tearing into the dim entranceway from his former partner, now standing in the rain on the dark street behind him, told him his plan had failed.

From the entrance, he heard a scream, followed by the thumping sounds of a body tumbling down the stairs. With a cracking impact, Ángel’s skull struck the pavement as the dead body of the Los Cóndores lieutenant spilled out onto the street.

Carlos felt a sting of regret. There was, in a grim way, some poetic justice in the gang member he had been hunting being killed by friendly fire from the corrupt cop Los Cóndores had planted to keep an eye on him, but it was not the outcome he had wanted. Still, given the circumstances, it was likely the best he could have hoped for.

Seeing that he had inadvertently killed his own employer, Lieutenant Carriel briefly ceased firing. Knowing he had only a few short moments of respite, Carlos stood up, aimed his pistol at his former partner, and rushed forward to cuff him.

Or, to be precise, tried to rush forward.

The pain in his injured leg shot through his fibula like lightning, and he fell to his knees while desperately trying to keep his gun trained on Lieutenant Carriel, who was now crawling backward across the wet asphalt.

“Just shoot me!” the former policeman screamed at Lieutenant Moreno. “Get it over with!”

Carlos grunted, trying to work through the pain in his leg.

“That’s not going to happen!” he shouted back. “You know very well we don’t do capital punishment in Ecuador. I’m not going to let you turn me into an executioner!”

“That’s it, eh?” his former partner responded mockingly. “You can be judge and jury”—the man nodded toward the apartment door they had broken down earlier without a warrant or proper procedure—“but not executioner?”

“That’s right,” Carlos told him as he finally snapped the cuffs around the former policeman’s wrists. “You’ll get to explain yourself in court. Everyone will see what you did here.”

The night was dark, but in the end, he had prevailed.

The wolf always got his prey.

Author's Note

The story you're reading is one of many set in the Lords of the Stars universe I've been creating over the past 30 years, where familiar characters and places reappear, and new favorites await discovery. Check out my profile to explore more stories from this universe.

While Scorched Earth is entirely standalone and can be read without any prior knowledge, I think you'll also enjoy Wonders From Beyond the Sky, Time for Memories and Choices of Steel, all of which are standalone sequels to this story.

Visit the official Lords of the Stars blog for more information about this hard sci-fi universe: https://lordsofthestars.wordpress.com

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