Drug Lord- Part I Read online

  "I guess I don't have to tell you how dangerous he is,” Max offered as he and Twig started back toward the van. “Keep your eye on this fucker. We’ll be back in a week to collect what’s left of him.”

  Chapter 17

  Leroy checked the address on the business card four times as he approached the door to Triple D Investigations. It was the only place in the entire strip mall that wasn’t boarded up, and yet it looked equally as condemned.

  This can’t be the right place, he thought. They must have moved since the card was made.

  Then he shrugged. His lawyer had done exactly as he said he would at their first meeting: gotten Leroy off with just a dozen hours of community services. So, this was his part of the bargain, visiting Triple D.

  As far as he was concerned, all Leroy had to do was knock and wait and when no one answered the door, he could be done with it. After all, he’d never agreed to search down the most recent address for Triple D, if it still existed, that is.

  “Here goes nothin’,” he said as he rapped his knuckles gently on the glass inlay to avoid it shattering inward.

  Leroy could hear the sound echo inside the office, and he could see that there was a light on inside, but, unsurprisingly, no one came to the door.

  He knocked again and decided that three would be enough to fulfill his duty.

  Another ten uneventful seconds passed, but as Leroy raised his hand for the third and what was to be his final knock, the door suddenly opened.

  "Yeah?" a man with a shaved head and goatee asked. He was tall and thin and was anywhere between 25 and 30 years of age.

  Startled, Leroy took a step back.

  "Yeah, uhh, a guy, uhh, he—"

  "We’re not taking new clients right now," the man said as he started to close the door.

  Leroy almost let him close the door completely but stuck his foot in it at the last moment.

  Adjusting the bag that had slipped down his shoulder, he said, "I think I met a friend of yours. He told me to swing by."

  Scowling now, the man acquired a more aggressive posture.

  “I don't have any friends.”

  In his mind, Leroy pictured Drake with his busted-up face, the missing front tooth and swollen lips.

  Yeah, he thought with a touch of sadness, I bet Drake would say the same thing.

  "Drake; I met Drake and he told me to come see you."

  The man behind the door squinted at Leroy for a good ten seconds before pulling it wide.

  "Okay, come in."

  No sooner had Leroy stepped inside the stale smelling office was the door slammed and locked behind him.

  ***

  "You met Drake… in prison?"

  Leroy nodded.

  He’d already told the man an abbreviated version of what happened with his brother and how, by sheer chance, he’d come across Drake in the infirmary.

  "And he said that after you got out to come here?"

  Again, Leroy nodded. He wanted to add more — no matter how he told it, the story sounded fabricated — but he really didn't know what else to say. He’d formed an unusual bond with Drake based on their mutual hatred for the police force, but it was hardly a blood oath.

  "And I paid for your lawyer?"

  Leroy raised an eyebrow.

  "No, that was Drake. He said that if—"

  The man shook his head.

  "Drake doesn't have any money. I’m paying for his lawyer, so I guess I paid for yours too. My name’s Screech, by the way," he said, extending a hand.

  Screech? What the hell kind of a name is Screech?

  “Leroy,” he replied, shaking the man’s thin hand. When they disengaged, the two men just stood there, feet from each other, without saying anything.

  "Well?" Screech offered at last.

  Leroy squinted; Screech seemed even stranger than Drake, somehow.

  "Well, what?" he asked.

  Screech hooked a chin at the bag draped over Leroy’s shoulder.

  "You wanna show me what’s in the bag? I’m guessing that if Drake told you to bring it to me, it’s gotta be worth the five grand I paid to keep you out of prison.”

  Chapter 18

  "You know, if you wanted to see me again so badly, there are easier ways to go about it. Like, how ‘bout just giving me a call?" the woman said with a smirk as she started to unlock Drake’s handcuffs.

  "What can I say? I lost your number," Drake replied. When he was finally free of the cuffs, he rubbed his wrists. Twig had put them on practically as tight as they would go.

  "Well, welcome back, Drake. I gotta say, it’s never a dull day when you’re around.”

  Now it was Drake's turn to smile, even though it hurt his gums and lips to do so.

  "It's nice to see you too, Hanna."

  The two of them stared at each other for several moments without saying anything. This was the part of Drake’s plan that was the least concrete. The last time he’d been to Oak Valley, the woman had practically bent over backwards to help him. Whether or not she’d turn herself into a pretzel doing the same this time, was yet to be seen.

  "I watched your case on the news, Drake," Hanna said, running a hand through her hair.

  "You're not the only one," he remarked.

  “Yeah, but I bet I’m one of very few who thought that you’d end up here. And would you look at that? Here you are.”

  Drake held his hands out to his sides, palms up.

  "Here I am."

  "And I bet that you’re not here to see Dr. Mark Kruk this time. I’m thinking that you have some unfinished business to take care of, instead. Maybe you want to go on an… unsupervised sabbatical? Is that it?"

  Drake tilted his head to one side.

  The truth was, he did want to see Dr. Mark Kruk. The man had insight into Ken Smith; after all, Kruk — or, more precisely, his split personality Marcus Slasinsky — had made the mayor’s youngest son, Thomas Alexander Smith, his first butterfly victim.

  Which is what Ken had intended when he’d set them up after all those years apart.

  Drake was sure of it.

  "Yeah, looks like I'm going to need another favor."

  Hanna giggled, and she held out her hands and started shaking again as she’d done for Twig and Max.

  "Can I shock you first? Just a little?"

  Drake shook his head.

  "I don’t think my body could handle an elevator ride, let alone an electric shock. But you’re right — I need to get away for a while. Just a week. Is that… is that possible?"

  Hanna walked to the door and held it open.

  "Anything’s possible, Drake. Didn’t your mother tell you that?”

  Drake frowned; there was no way that it could be this easy. Surely a man who was charged with assaulting and kidnapping a police officer couldn’t just walk out of a psychiatric facility, could he?

  But he also knew that even though Hanna technically just worked Oak Valley’s front desk, she held a curious power over people who worked here.

  People with titles much more impressive than her own.

  Hanna suddenly snapped her fingers.

  "Shit, I almost forgot. You're missing something."

  She stepped into the hallway for a moment before returning with a pile of clothes.

  "I see that you’ve slimmed down a little since the last time I saw you — a liquid only diet will do that to you — but I think these will still fit," Hanna said, holding up a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. "Go on, get changed. We can't have you walking around looking like a Buddhist, now can we?"

  Chapter 19

  Leroy set the bag down on the table and unzipped it. No sooner had the zipper been pulled all the way back did Screech start to reach inside.

  Leroy stopped him.

  “We should probably put on some gloves,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two pairs of cheap, wool finger gloves.

  Screech nodded and took a pair and put them on.

  Whoever this guy w
as to Drake, it was clear that he wasn’t an ex-cop like him.

  Leroy slipped his own gloves on and then let Screech do the honors.

  "And this… this is what you stole from the police car? From the two officers that beat you up?"

  Leroy raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t remember if he’d told Screech that part when he’d first entered Triple D or if his lawyer had called ahead.

  "Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “This is what I took."

  Screech nodded.

  "And they didn't see you? There’s no way that they can identify you?"

  Leroy pictured the bottle smashing on the windshield and then Pontiac and Dalton getting out and chasing after the three young black kids.

  "Nah," he said. "They never saw me."

  Apparently satisfied, Screech turned his attention back to the bag. He reached all the way inside and pulled out the first item and placed it gently on the table.

  It was the brick-sized object wrapped in brown parchment paper. The neat wrapping was secured with clear tape that was adorned with a black symbol. When he’d first seen the package in the trunk, Leroy had thought that it depicted a snake eating the world. Now, however, he saw that the world was actually an eyeball.

  Screech stared intently at this symbol before reaching into the bag again and pulling out another item: the envelope full of cash. Surprisingly, he only briefly glanced at the money before putting it down beside the brick.

  The third item Screech pulled out was the shotgun. He gave this even less of a once over than the cash.

  "That's it," Leroy informed him. Unconvinced, Screech reached into the bag with both hands this time and searched the interior. When he came up empty, he held it upside down and shook it.

  Nothing fell out.

  At long last, Screech raised his eyes and looked at Leroy.

  "And you don't deal any of this stuff? This isn’t your gear?"

  Leroy frowned.

  "No, I've never dealt anything… shit, I smoke a joint every now and then, but I don’t deal with this shit. I wouldn’t…" Leroy’s sentence trailed off as he pictured his brother lying on the pavement, blood spilling from between his lips.

  He cleared his throat.

  "No, no, I don't deal drugs. Like I told you, I grabbed this stuff off the cops.”

  Screech turned his attention to the items on the table.

  "A brick of heroin, an envelope of cash, and a sawed-off shotgun walk into a bar."

  "What?"

  Screech shook his head.

  "Nothing. It’s just — finding this in the trunk of a cop car?” he shook his head. “Meh, if Drake says you’re cool… I mean, he’s always got such sound judgment.”

  Leroy watched the man curiously as he reached down and picked up the brick with one hand.

  “You know what this is?"

  Leroy shrugged.

  "Heroin, probably."

  Screech nodded.

  "Heroin. And it wasn’t in some sort of evidence bag or something like that?"

  All of sudden, Leroy felt as if he was getting the third degree. And he didn’t like it.

  "Look, man. I already told you, I got it from the trunk. These are crooked cops; they gave something like it to my brother. I dunno if he was just a snitch, or if he was doing some undercover shit, or what the hell he was doing. But I saw the cops give something to him, something that a bunch of street thugs killed him for.” Leroy’s voice hitched, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. "Can you use it? Will it help get these guys or what?"

  Screech just stared at him.

  “Well? Is that a yes or am I just wasting my time here?”

  Just when it looked like the man was going to answer, there was a knock at the door and they both froze.

  Chapter 20

  “Took you long enough,” Drake grumbled as he forced his way past Screech and entered Triple D.

  After opening the door and realizing who it was, his partner hadn’t so much as blinked. He just stood there, frozen in place.

  Drake left him that way and nodded at Leroy who also looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He walked briskly to his office, opened the door, and made his way to his desk.

  “Wh—wh—what the hell? What are you doing here?” Screech said from somewhere behind him, but Drake ignored the man.

  He grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the top drawer of his desk and poured himself two fingers. It hurt like hell going down his raw throat, but when it was done, he poured a second. Then he walked over to Screech and Leroy, who were standing with their hands at their sides, their mouths agape.

  “Nice to see you too, Screech,” Drake grumbled as he surveyed the items laid on the desk.

  There was a brick of something that looked like heroin, an envelope of cash, and a sawed-off shotgun.

  “It looks like you’ve been busy,” he said, sipping his scotch.

  Screech finally blinked and started to animate.

  “Drake is that… what the hell are you doing here? Last I heard you—”

  Drake shook his head.

  “What can I say; I guess there’s someone out there who still likes me, after all.”

  In his mind, he pictured Hanna’s face, the woman who was so eager to help him that it was slightly disturbing. He’d heard of people like her, people who attached themselves to serial killers, writing them notes while they were in prison or even marrying them after just a few conjugal visits. On the flip side, there were also those who clung to high profile members of law enforcement, particularly those who’d experienced significant loss in their lives.

  But Hanna didn’t seem to fit either of those molds. In fact, she seemed to fall somewhere exactly in between.

  He shook his head.

  “You’re out on… bail?”

  “No, not bail.”

  Drake was reaching for the brick of what he suspected was heroin on the table, when Screech suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm. The much smaller man spun him around.

  “Then what the fuck is going on, Drake? If you aren’t out on bail, how are you here? And, Jesus Christ, what happened your face? You look like shit.”

  Drake scowled.

  “If I had a nickel…” then he sighed, and as he did he was surprised that his breath hitched. He was exhausted, of course. Not just physically, but mentally as well. “Look, it’s a long story, but, no I’m not out on bail. I couldn’t let your guy F. Lee Bailey get me out on bail. The second I left the courtroom, I’d have three of Ken’s goons following me around. And, if for some reason they decided not to off me right then and there, there’s no way I’d be able to do what needs to get done.”

  Screech’s eyes narrowed.

  “Which is what, exactly? See your son? Find out about your brother? Figure out if he’s still alive?”

  Drake felt a pang of guilt. Sure, he wanted to do those things, needed to do those things. He also had to check on Jasmine and Alice and of course Beckett, but they had to wait.

  His other matter was more pressing.

  “To get Ken Smith. To make him pay.”

  Screech’s face contorted, and he snatched the glass from Drake’s hand before he could react. Then he surprised Drake by chugging what was left of his scotch.

  “Give it up, Drake. Ken isn’t the Skeleton King. The Skeleton King was Ray Reynolds, and he’s dead now. You need to focus on what matters.”

  Drake felt his face flush, which caused the spot in his gums where his tooth had once been to throb uncomfortably.

  “You’re wrong, Screech. Ken is the Skeleton King. He’s the one behind all of this shit, the dead Colombian girls, the drugs, what happened to Dane. And I need to stop him.”

  “What you need to do, is not kill yourself. Over the past six months, you nearly died from ethanol poisoning, you got shot in the leg, and you got arrested for assaulting and kidnapping an officer. And now—” Screech waved a hand in front of Drake’s face. “—now, it looks like you’ve been skull fucked by a buzz saw. Whe
n will you stop this? When will it ever end with you, Drake? Is death the only way out for you?”