Read Game Changer for Free Online Page B

aware that seconds
mattered, he tore at his tux like it was on fire, stripping down to his boxer
shorts and white cotton undershirt—which clung snugly to his biceps, delts, and
abdomen, showing off a level of fitness even beyond that which was required for
the job. Finally, he gathered up his bulletproof vest, shoes, and the various
pieces of his tux, and tossed them into the trunk of Garza’s car.
    With this complete, Quinn drove the
Maserati ten yards forward, so most of it was still hidden in the alley but
enough of the front hood peeked out to be seen from more heavily trafficked
areas. He left the car door open, the key fob in a cupholder, and rushed to an
alley a few blocks away, where he predicted he could get the drop on three
gangbangers he had spotted from his car, if he was fast enough and they hadn’t
changed course. He kept his right hand, which held his gun, tucked inside his
boxers, against his outer leg.
    For the first night of June, the
air was surprisingly cool against his skin, but rapid movement heated him up to
just above a comfortable temperature. The faint stench of puke and rotting
garbage wafted into his nostrils periodically as he moved toward his
destination.
    The streets were mostly dark.
Lights provided by the city were often vandalized to keep them this way, and
street cameras used to see who was destroying the lights were typically
targeted for destruction as well.
    The darkness was punctuated only
by stars, moonlight, and dim lighting from the occasional bar or tattoo parlor
still open. Steel, concrete, and rust were the common themes, and graffiti and
gang signs were everywhere, impossible to miss, even given the restricted
visibility. Quinn could only imagine how much graffiti could be seen in the
daytime.
    Two helicopters streaked by, far
above him, and he nodded to himself. About fourteen minutes had passed since he
had left Garza’s mansion. He had no doubt that additional helicopters were
converging on Princeton from all sides and his photograph was now on the phones
and tablet computers of every law enforcement agent in the country.
    Wearing nothing but boxer shorts
and socks, each sock pressing a wad of bills against one ankle, Quinn made it
to his destination in time to surveil the group he was after. He circled around
behind them with practiced stealth.
    The group had three members, all
Hispanic, heavily tattooed, and wearing gaudy gold chains and earrings. The
tallest one was about Quinn’s height and weight, although, like the others, his
clothing was baggy and loose-fitting. The shortest wore a black baseball cap,
backwards, while the third, midway in height between the other two and also ten
pounds overweight, wore a gold bandana.
    The colors gold and black were a
common theme in their attire, the identifying colors of the Latin Kings. All
three displayed these colors proudly, not exactly going out on a limb to become
trendsetters in gangbang fashion.  
    Quinn closed the remaining
distance to his three targets in a rush, silent as a tomb.
    “Don’t move!” he hissed when he
was five feet behind them, his gun extended.
    All three jumped, unable to
believe they could have been surprised so completely.
    The shortest of the three
recovered from the shock the most quickly. “Hey, chill out, ese !” he said, still facing away from
Quinn. “You a cop? ’Cause we ’aint done nothing .”
    “Raise your hands and turn
around,” said Quinn firmly. “Now!”
    All three did as instructed.
    “What the fuck!” said the short gangbanger,
who must have been the alpha in this group, when he saw that the man holding
them at gunpoint was not wearing outer clothing or shoes. “You loco, or what? Make
a move against us, underwear man , and
you buying nothing but trouble.”
    Quinn almost smiled at the
threat. He forced them into a nearby alley to maximize privacy. He then had
them place a variety of weapons on the pavement and kick them away under his
watchful eye.  
    Quinn nodded