"Damn!" O’Shay jerked around to see two men with semi-automatic rifles shooting anywhere and everywhere. The swat team began firing back. O’Shay crouched behind his car. "They must have known something was up," O’Shay told Sampson. When it was clear, O’Shay ran in back of the Monte Carlo. The driver of the van ran down the street. He chased him. The man turned and fired, but O’Shay couldn't move fast enough. He felt something rip into his stomach and he swaggered. He still had the gun and managed to shoot once more, before the pain sliced through him and he struggled to remain conscious.
Sampson came over and bent down next to O’Shay.
"On man...Rick, hang in there. He called the chief. The chief told Sampson the ambulance would be there shortly. In a matter of minutes, all hell had broken loose. All three, including O’Shay, were hit.
O’Shay woke up, smelling that awful smell of alcohol. He knew he was in the hospital. His stomach burned and his head felt heavy like someone showered him with a ton of drugs. He was alone for a few minutes and then a pretty nurse, with long auburn hair and white skin, came in and saw that he was awake. She smiled and then summoned the doctor.
Doctor Granger came in, took his vitals and explained what had happened. The bullet had punctured the stomach, but luckily, hadn’t hit any of his organs. After a two-hour operation, the doctor said O’Shay would be ok. He had a few bruises from hitting the cement, but other than that, O’Shay was fortunate, they had told him. Sampson came in a few minutes later with a vase of flowers. He pointed to them and shrugged.
"Well, someone had to give you flowers." They both laughed.
"So, what happened with our suspect?" O’Shay asked. He moved the bed with the remote, so he could sit up.
"Well, Manuel Felipe got shot in the leg and is recovering just down the hall from you. Manuel was the leader of the pack. The Neely's place was not the only one he worked for, either. Apparently, he used the gardens to stash the cocaine and then once a month, he would ship it to Mexico. The other two, who by the way died at the scene, were distributors. The teenager was lucky he didn't get mixed up in all that. This drug operation had been going on for nearly two years." O’Shay whistled low. "They found over two-hundred million dollars worth of cocaine--all in plants and fertilizer bags and all in different houses. He confessed that he killed James because he found out. That must have been why he was so nervous at work the day he died. He seemed smug about it too, when he told them how he killed James and then walked away." O’Shay shook his head. "It looks like Manuel Felipe will spend a long time in prison. Oh and Mr. Neely called and sent his regards,” Sampson smiled. O’Shay snickered.
"Look, I'm sorry for the rough start we had. You didn't deserve the crap I dished out," O’Shay said.
Sampson stared at his shoes. "It's ok. I understand." They both had an awkward moment and then O’Shay sat up.
"Well, what a week, huh? I think we deserve a vacation after taking down a massive sting operation. What do you say we take a much-needed couple of weeks off? I’m sure the boss will have no objections. Plus, we could both use it." Sampson nodded. O’Shay thought it was indeed time for a breather; a perfect time to see his kids.