Return Of The Cannibal(Hannibal x Reader)(Book 2)

Chapter one

Your mustang boomed up the entrance ramp at the bureau of alcohol, tobacco and firearms on Massachusetts Avenue, a headquarters rented from the Reverend Sun Myung Moon in the interest of economy. The strike force waited in three vehicles, a battered undercover van to lead and two black SWAT vans behind it, manned and idling in the cavernous garage. You hoisted the equipment bag out of your car and ran to the lead vehicle, a dirty white panel van with Marcell's Crab House signs stuck on the side. Through the open back doors of the van, four men watched you coming. You were slender in your fatigue and moving fast under the weight of your equipment, your hair shining in the ghastly fluorescent lights.

"women. Always late," A D.C. police officer said. BATF special agent John Brigham was in charge. "She's not late - I didn't beep her until we got the squeal," Brigham said. "She must have hauled ass from Quantico - Hey, Y/N, pass me the bag." Brigham said. You gave John a fast high five. "Hey, John." you said, Brigham spoke to the scruffy undercover officer at the wheel and the van was rolling before the back doors closed, out into the pleasant fall afternoon.

You, a veteran of surveillance vans, ducked under the eyepiece of the periscope and took a seat in the back as close as possible to the hundred-fifty pound block of dry ice that served as air-conditioning when they had to lurk with the engine turned off. The old van had the monkey-house smell of fear and sweat that never scrubs out. It had borne many labels in its time. The dirty and faded signs on the doors were thirty minutes old. The bullet holes plugged with bond-O were older. The male officers looked you over whenever your face was turned to the window. FBI special agent Y/N, thirty-two, you always looked your age and you always made that age look good, even in fatigues.

Brigham retrieved his clipboard from the front passenger seat. "How come you always catch this crap, Y/N?" Brigham said, smiling. "Because you keep asking for me," you answered. "For this I need you. But I see you serving warrants on jump-out squads for christ's sake. I don't ask, but somebody at Buzzard's point hates you, I think. You should come to work with me. These are my guys, Agent Marquez Burke and John Hare, and this is Officer Bolton from the D. C. police Department." Brigham suggests. A composite raid team' of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, the Drug Enforcement Administration SWAT teams and the FBI Academy was closed for lack of funding. Burke and Hare looked like agents. The D. C. policeman, Bolton, looked like a Bailiff. He was about forty-five, overweight and yeasty.

The mayor of Washington, anxious to appear tough on drugs after his own drug conviction, insisted the D. C. police share credit for every major raid in the city of Washington. Hence, Bolton. "The Drumgo posse's cooking today," Brigham said. "Evelda Drumgo, I knew it," you said without enthusiasm. Brigham nodded. "She's opened an ice plant beside the Feliciana Fish Market on the river. Our guy says she's cooking a batch of crystal today. And she's got reservations to Grand Cayman tonight." Brigham says. Crystal Methamphetamine, called "ice" on the street, provides a short and powerful high and is murderously addictive.

"The dope's DEA business' but we need Evelda on interstate transportation of three class weapons. Warrant specifies a couple of Beretta submachine guns and some MAC 10s, and she knows where a bunch more are. I want you to concentrate on Evelda, Y/N. You've dealt with her before. These guys will back you up." Brigham tells you. "We got the easy job," Officer Bolton said with some satisfaction. "I think you better tell them about Evelda, Y/N," Brigham said. You waited while the van rattled over some railroad tracks. "Evelda will fight you," you said. "She doesn't look like it - she was a model - but she'll fight you. She's Dijon Drumgo's widow. I arrested her twice on RICO warrants, the first time with Dijon." You explain.

"This last time she was carrying a nine-millimeter with three magazines and mace in her purse and she had a balisong knife in her bra. I don't know what she's carrying now." you say. "The second arrest, I asked her very politely to give it up and she did. Then in D.C. detention, she killed an inmate named Marsha Valentine with a spoon shank. So you don't know... Her face is hard to read. Grand jury found self-defense." You say. "She beat the first RICO count and pled the other one down. Some weapons charges were dropped because she had Infant children and her husband had just been killed in the Pleasant Avenue drive-by, maybe by the Spliffs." you say. "I'll ask her to give it up. I hope she will - we'll giver her a show. But - listen to me - if we have to subdue Evelda Drumgo, I want some real help. Never mind watching me and Evelda mud - wrestling." you tell them.