The large Cypress painted her in its dark shadow, further masking Hatch's approach under the cloud covered moon above. The man positioned on the back corner of Ernesto's house had radioed to Munoz, letting him know there was no back door access. She heard Munoz's response and understood enough of it to know he told the fat policeman to hold the corner and wait.
He took an interest in the window she'd just escaped from and walked to it. Standing beside the bike she'd soared over, he looked up and lowered, but did not holster, the semi-automatic pistol in his right hand. He was shorter than the bottom lip of the windowsill by a few inches. He forced the balls of his feet to endure the brunt his weight as he pushed himself up on his tiptoes.
The large man wobbled on his stilted toes as he peered in the window. He holstered his weapon to pull out the radio positioned behind it on his patrol belt. The heavyset cop didn't have a lapel microphone attached and had to unclip his radio each time he needed to use it, which this time, he didn't get to do.
While the officer was engaged in a tug of war over his radio with impressive girth spilled out atop of it, Hatch struck the butt end of her pistol against the base of his skull. He fell to ground knocking over the bike she'd narrowly avoided. It clattered loudly in the silent countdown Munoz had given.
Hatch quickly used the man's two pair of cuffs to bind each wrist to his opposite ankle, the crisscrossed shackles rattled as the unconscious man now lay hogtied where he fell. She stuffed his wallet in his mouth and unholstered his pistol and tossed it in the bathroom window. Hatch hoped, should she not make it, the gun would provide Ayala and the others another option before submitting to the hitmen. Hatch hoped they never had to find it.
The gun landed softly on the towels Josefina had set out for Letty. Hatch rounded the other side of the small house, staying out of the light emanating from the patrol cars parked in front. She used the trees as cover while she snaked her way through the darkness, leading up to the other men holding the good people inside hostage.
When she heard Munoz speak again, she realized he hadn't heard the crash of the bicycle, or at least made no mention of it when he spoke next.
"You have offended the courtesy of my offer by not accepting it." He sounded genuinely disappointed. Maybe this tactic had worked in times' past. But to lay one's self at the feet of their killer is what sheep do. And she was no sheep. Rachel Hatch was a wolf. And wolves don't lay in wait. They hunt.
"Sadly, Miss Nighthawk, we must do it the hard way. I take no comfort in saying this, but you have chosen a painful death, one that will go on hours longer than it should, and one that you could have avoided for the innocent people inside." Munoz signaled silently with his hands, directing the two remaining men to enter the front door.
The man closest to her, the one Hatch had intended on taking as her own hostage, rounded the front of the vehicle he'd been standing beside. He walked through the headlights and met up with the other officer. The two formed side by side and moved in step toward the front door.
Hatch changed plans on the fly when she saw Munoz was intently focused on his two henchmen going forward at his command to do his dirty work. The intersecting paths of headlights was a tactical move used in felony stops conducted by law enforcement officers. The cones of light from the use of high-beams, spotlights, and takedown lights work to blind those on the other end. That part was apparent. The why was less apparent. And Hatch, having spent fifteen years in her capacity as an MP, knew the answer. In that answer came her next move.
The overlapping light between the two vehicles in a felony takedown serve a very important purpose. It created a black hole. Officers used the void to place cuffs on suspects. It is done in that dark space for one important reason. Nobody on the other side of the light can see what happens. It keeps the bad guys from knowing what's happening. For most, seeing their thug friends disappear is scary as hell. Or so she'd heard from the numerous criminals she'd done it to. And though the man only a few feet in front of her wore the uniform of her brothers and sisters in blue, he did not honor it. He was a criminal. And the criminal was standing directly in the black hole.
Before he had a chance to even unfold his arms, she had kicked hard at the back of his legs, buckling the man. Hatch caught him mid-fall and just before he struck the ground, she spun him to the side to keep him off-balance while she threaded her arm under his right armpit.
A fraction of a second passed before Hatch had Munoz locked against her body. His right shoulder pressed firmly against his neck was countered by Hatch's forearm squeezing the other side. She locked the choke hold in place using just her right arm, the palm of which was pressed flat against the right of her own neck.
This maneuver did many things at once. By controlling Munoz' right arm, he was unable to access his gun. Leaning him back against her body kept him off-balance enough that she could maintain effective control while enabling her to keep him in front of her as a human shield with her Glock pressed against his left temple.
"Tell your men to come out and drop their weapons. Do it now." The stink of his cologne tickled her nose as she whispered into Munoz's ear.
"I would, but they won't listen."