Cole returned the salute with slow, deliberate respect. Good work, men. Maintaining your discipline and restraint under pressure, gentlemen. You acted with honor. Now, get out of here.
Jackson and Ty turned and walked down the center aisle of the courtroom. As they passed Frankie Boyd, who was now being frog-marched toward the exit by Agent Reynolds, Jackson paused. He looked down at the former deputy. Boyd was a broken, sobbing mess. His khakis wrinkled, his badge stripped from his chest.
Deputy. Jackson said softly, his deep voice carrying clearly in the hushed room. You asked me yesterday what I was going to do. You told me I was in your world now. Boyd looked up, hot tears streaming down his face.
His arrogance completely shattered. He had no threats left, no power left. He was just a pathetic, scared bully. You should have realized, Jackson continued, his eyes cold, analytical, and completely unyielding, that the world is much bigger than Oak Creek. And you just picked a fight with the wrong part of it.
Jackson turned away and walked out the heavy double doors, stepping into the blinding, beautiful Texas sunlight. Outside, the military helicopters were idling on the grass, their massive rotors spinning lazily, kicking up dust. Three heavily armored Humvees were parked directly on the courthouse lawn, and a strict perimeter of armed MPs held back a massive crowd of shocked, whispering locals. They were escorted down the block to the local impound lot, where a team of federal agents had already cut the padlock on the chain-link gate. Their pristine matte black Ford F-150 sat untouched in the center of the gravel lot.
Jackson approached the bed of the truck, placing his thumb firmly on the biometric scanner of the first Pelican case. The scanner chirped cheerfully, a small green light illuminated, and the heavy steel locks disengaged with a satisfying mechanical click. He popped the lid, verifying that the classified optics and communication modules remained completely uncompromised. "Gear is green."
Jackson called out over his shoulder. "Let's go home, Chief." Ty replied, opening the passenger door and sliding into the comfortable leather seat. Jackson climbed behind the wheel and turned the ignition.
The powerful engine roared to life, a deep, resonant growl that shook the dust off the pavement. As they pulled out of the impound lot and merged back onto the main highway, they passed the Sheriff's Department one last time. Through the tinted window, they could see federal agents hauling massive cardboard boxes of files out the front door, while local news vans began to swarm the parking lot like sharks smelling blood in the water. The long, dark reign of terror in Oak Creek was permanently over.
The corrupt officers who had preyed on the innocent for years, had finally met an immovable object, a force they could not intimidate, bribe, or break. Jackson shifted the heavy truck into higher gear, accelerating smoothly down the long, straight stretch of asphalt, leaving the crumbling desert town far behind them. The road ahead was entirely clear, stretching out endlessly towards the horizon beneath the vast, unending expanse of the western sky. They were ghosts once again, fading into the shimmering heat, leaving absolutely nothing but justice in their wake.