Bantering Series 3: Bantering With A Dandy
highlight_author
SJ Wilke
highlight_reads
15.1K
highlight_chapters
45
Banter, once a hired gun, now balances life as a police detective, wife, and mother of two energetic boys. She thrives on adrenaline, tackling criminals with skill, but domestic life and her unconventional methods at the force keep her on her toes. When she goes undercover as a glamorous dame to catch a notorious drug lord, her keen senses and fearless attitude are tested like never before. Between protecting her family, outsmarting criminals, and keeping her team in line, Banter proves that courage, wit, and a little sass can conquer anything.
Chapter 1
Book 3: Bantering with a Dandy
Banter had crammed herself between a large garbage bin and the building. She was flat on her stomach. The crud she was lying on was impossible to identify. She had the hood of her black hoodie pulled low over her face.
There was a heavy odor cooking around her that smelled like the combination of urine and rotting garbage. The temperature was eighty degrees, even though it was almost 2 a.m. on a Friday. She was sweltering.
Sweat kept sliding down the side of her face, irritating her since she couldn’t move to wipe it away. If she dipped her head at all, the salty sweat slid into and stung her eyes, blurring her vision.
She carried a paintball gun that was loaded with customized paintballs. The balls contained fluorescent orange paint along with a tracking bug. The undercover group had been after a drug lord for months, but he kept evading them.
Banter had offered one solution. Mark him with a bug and see how far they could track him. She had four shots to work with.
Three undercover officers disguised as rogue teenagers had a paintball fight there earlier in the evening to set the scene. They had splattered the buildings with different colors, including orange. Even a few cars got hit.
The building next to her was a nightclub where the drug lord liked to spend his evenings. She had been told they knew he was there.
It was near the time he left. He had a small limo that drove him around, but whenever the police followed it, it ended up in a garage, and the drug lord went missing. Somehow, he was changing cars, and they weren’t catching him.
There was no conversation coming through the earpiece in her ear. However, she swore she could hear one guy breathing. One undercover, who watched the front, wouldn’t talk to her until he saw their target leaving.
She had no visual of the front door and only a partial view of the street where the car would pick him up. That was a narrow window within which to hit her target.
In the shadows across the street or around the building, she knew were the other two undercover officers who were posing as teenagers. They were to create a diversion, allowing her to pull her shot and remain undetected.
This setup was simple, but she had a bad feeling about things. The area was a little too quiet. No one had left the nightclub for over an hour, which was unusual, considering the time.
The number of cars in the area was less than the other times they had staked out the club. She was wondering if the earlier paintball fight had spooked them.
A creak behind her caused her to hold her breath and listen hard. She suspected it was the door on this side of the building. However, the light over the door had no bulb, leaving everything in the dark.
“Oil that damn thing next time.” The voice spoke in a whisper.
Banter didn’t recognize the voice.
She heard muffled footsteps heading away from her. Based on the number of footsteps, she estimated that there were three people. She shifted to look without moving the paintball gun, but the garbage bin blocked her view.
Then she felt a waft of cool air that had escaped the building through the door. The air carried a whiff of cologne. It was rather strong. She almost preferred the smell of the garbage.
“Door.” The undercover watching the front alerted her.
The limo pulled into view.
A man came out the front door. She also felt the cool air from this door wafting down. Her nose caught the odor of a man who needed a shower. Something didn’t feel right.
“Target out the side door.” Banter kept her voice ultra quiet.
“Front door.” The undercover sounded absolutely certain of himself.
Banter rolled her eyes. They didn’t believe her. That irked her. She wished she could pull a shot at her own guy.
Banter slid through the grime to extract herself from behind the dumpster. She had her gun tucked tight against her so it wouldn’t bang or catch on anything.
She rose and checked down the alley. Her eyes had become well accustomed to the dark. There was no one in sight. She trotted soundlessly to the end of the alley to peer around the corner.
There was a car, not a limo, picking up their target. She moved as quickly as she could, aiming and pulling her shot. The paintball splattered against the man’s suit coat.
“Fucking kids,” the man hissed through his teeth.
He took off his suit coat in haste and flung it to the ground.
Banter risked one more shot, hitting the man in the middle of his back. She dropped to the ground.
“Arg. Damn it.” He sounded in pain.
She knew paintballs hurt, especially since all that was between his skin and the paintball was his thin silk shirt. He was going to have a nasty red welt.
There were two bangs of gunfire, and bullets whizzed high over her head. She knew they didn’t know where she was. The shots were merely their attempt to scare off the paintball shooters.
The target cursed as he got into the backseat of the car. She noted he didn’t seem to care that he had left his suit coat behind. The car drove off while two of his lackeys headed in her direction.
“Need a little help back here.” She hoped the gunfire spurred the two undercovers to move ahead of her asking.
The two lackeys, still unaware of her on the ground, were almost upon her when two paintballs splattered on the wall across from her. The men swerved toward the shots. They ran down the alley.
Banter rose when they left, trotting behind them. Two more paintball splatters directed the men to turn one way. When she reached the end of the block, she turned the other way.
Banter jogged for three blocks with the paintball gun hidden as much as she could under her sweatshirt. She was feeling extremely hot and sweaty now.
A car pulled up to her. She slid into the back and sprawled along the seat to stay out of sight. The car drove off slowly.
“What happened back there?” Peter said.
He was a young-looking guy who had portrayed one of the rogue teenagers. Banter thought he looked like he was still in high school, but he was already a six-year veteran of the police force.
“The target suspected something. He left through a side door.”
“Our guy saw him come out the front.”
“I remember our target wears a strong cologne. That should be part of his profile.”
“Never smelled it.”
“You have been working in garbage too long.”
“On this gig, I have.”
“I think he is sending a decoy out the front, which might be why you guys aren’t seeing him when you follow him. You’re probably following the wrong target. This time he’s tagged.”
“Good.”
Banter almost fell asleep while he drove.
He was a smooth driver, navigating corners gradually and stopping slowly. She knew he was taking the long way around to a not-so-good neighborhood where everyone kept to themselves and didn’t ask questions.
He pulled into the garage of a vacant house and turned off the car. She rose, leaving the paint gun. There was another car in the two-car garage.
She got into the passenger seat. Peter slid into the driver’s seat. She took off her hoodie, rolling it up, while he pulled out of the garage, aiming for the middle of the city.
“Go through the drive-thru. I need a soda.” She fanned herself to cool down.
There was no air conditioning in the car. She thought of complaining about the beater cars the police force used. However, because of their budget, she knew her complaints would fall on deaf ears.
“Sure.”
Peter, despite sweating profusely, seemed to ignore the heat. His long brown hair had become plastered against him. He had more than just a five o’clock shadow.
He cruised through an all-night fast-food place. They both ordered sodas while keeping an eye out for anyone who might have tracked them.
“I like working with you.” He sucked down his soda fast.
“You just like soda.” She sipped hers at a more leisurely pace.
“Yeah, and that you like to get soda. And you don’t sit there and chatter.”
Banter glanced at him. She thought he was an unusual officer. He didn’t like to talk too much, which was fine with her. She didn’t like talking either.
They both fell into a comfortable silence while he drove around the city. He finally parked the car a few blocks from the police station. Peter left the car and walked off.
Banter got out and went another way than he. Within a short time, they converged at Ray’s office. He was the director of undercover ops.
Ray was looking very pleased. He had dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. Banter rarely saw him out of his suit and tie. He didn’t look very official.
“We followed him to a building where we suspect they’re making meth and receiving shipments of drugs.”
Banter sipped her soda and wrinkled her nose. Even though she had removed her black hoodie and had rolled it up, she could still smell it. It stank. She looked at her gloves, which she still had on. Maybe it was her gloves.
“Now we have some places to watch and get evidence,” Ray said.
“Are we finished here?” She gave her gloves a quick sniff. “The stink is getting to me.”
“I don’t smell a thing.” Peter shrugged.
Ray also shook his head.
“You guys need to have your sniffers checked.”
“We’re done here. We’ll meet in the morning. Have a good night.” Ray shuffled paperwork.
Banter rose. “You mean, have a good morning.”
She knew Ray would ignore her shot at semantics and didn’t wait for any retort while she left his office. Ray’s office was on the sixth floor. She had a long walk down since she didn’t like to take the elevator.
At the door to the parking garage, she paused before stepping out, on high alert.
lists_shelf_title
view_allreading_lists:lists_shelf_subtitle
