Incursion

The Apartment Of Troy Manolo - San Diego, California

I just pulled into the parking lot and looked up to the second floor, where my apartment is.  A light was on inside, and I saw a flurry of movement through the shade. My next thought is that they will come out this way, so I begin searching for a car that may be theirs, maybe with someone inside it acting as a warning.

There is one car near the stairs I would walk up, and it looks like a person is behind the wheel. He's watching the stairs but not the parking lot. It's amateur hour. I walk from my car to the opposite stairwell, walk up to the third floor, and make a point of being seen.  It's an old Motel where the rooms have been made into condominiums. Each unit has a front door that overlooks the parking lot and another door in the rear that looks over a pool area.

I cross the third-floor back porches until I reach the stairway closest to my apartment on the second floor. I go down one level but am still on the backside of the complex.  All the lights are on in my place, and I can hear things moving in the front of the apartment.

I'm going in, it's my house.

I slowly turn my key and think about the door I have hardly used. Does it squeak? Is it hard to open? Does the door stick after a foot or two? It might squeak a bit.

I turn the key slowly and start to push the door open.

Breaking into houses is becoming a new skill for me. A few months ago, I broke into the back door of a house belonging to a serial killer. I have to keep reminding myself that this is my place.

I walk in and stand in the kitchen, which has been dealt with because everything was on the deck. I listen and hear two people laughing and talking in English while they go about searching.

Time to Confront, Cofuse, and kick some ass.

I stepped into my living room and bedroom, and the two D-Bags were stunned to see me.

Looking at the bigger man of the two and stepping toward him, I said, "Hello, Larry. Are you looking for me?"

The second guy was the first to question the name I just used as I punched Burglar One hard in the solar plexus and then applied an uppercut to the jaw. The second man was easier, which led me to believe they were not used to getting caught. I elbowed him to the side of the head, and I then threw him to the ground hard. The first man was still trying to catch his breath when I frisked him, removed my sidearm, his phone, and then his wallet.

The second man needed another love tap on the noggin before I frisked him and took his wallet.

They made a mess of the house and my few belongings, but it didn't look like they stole anything except my gun.

"Why are you in my house?"

No answer. The two just kept looking at each other. I looked down at the second assailant and immediately kicked him in the teeth. He whimpered and started spitting blood and teeth on the floor.

"Why are you in my house?"

I started to get an answer from the first guy when his phone beeped.

I answered it without saying anything, and a woman's voice said, "Are you two coming?" "Hurry up, I want to go to In-N-Out."

Last Chance Amigos and the answer better be good: "Who paid you to search my apartment?"

The guy with the intact choppers said, "A Russian guy in TJ asked us to check your apartment but make it look like a burglary." "He paid us two thousand dollars."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Mr. Mouthful said "No just that you are who you say you are but that you have a gun."

I opened his wallet and pulled out his license. I took a picture with my camera and said, "Robert, I would forget about the gun so I can forget about you."

"Got it?'

"Now, get the hell out of here."

The two got up. I handed them their phones and wallets, and they left.

Amateurs. 

New England Regional FBI Headquarters - Chelsea, Massachusetts

Wallace Q. Hughes got the full report from his man in San Diego, and he had to think about it. It made sense that the Russians would check on a man they were promoting.

Doveryay, no Proveryay, an old Russian proverb that means "trust but verify," is practically a way of life in personal and business relations. This was how they do things; it looked like our man Allston would pass.

Hughes thought of Allston, who was a real pro. There would have been no papers, bills, or anything with his real name on it.

The next thing that might happen is the "Digital Colonoscopy" of Allston or Troy Manolo's phone and online life.

The FBI was ready for that.

This was starting to be an incredible incursion into the Agapov Organization.

Troy would go to work and mention that his house had been broken into, which is normal. And the Russians would keep quiet.

Tomorrow, we will continue calling people in the Midwest during dinner hour to discuss Dental Implants.

The Agapov Organization - Tijuana, Mexico

Anatoly and Dimitri got a call from the two flatheads they hired in TJ to search Troy Manolo's apartment in San Diego. According to the Jackasses, everything checked out. Troy lived alone, quietly, in a dumpy apartment. His trash was clean. 

There were no documents or bills with other names on them. 

Everything was searched completely.

There was no mention of a firearm.