by Chris Culver
One by one, the men looked in their folders, and one by one, expressions around the table darkened.
“The hell is this?” asked Neil Wilcox, owner of several nutrition and supplement stores across the county. He tossed the folder to the table in front of him and leveled a malevolent glare at Sherlock. “You’ve got pictures of my kids. I don’t appreciate that.”
“I understand, but this is an important component of how I do business,” said Sherlock. “This envelope ensures that you remain accountable. Each of you has something you love. If you lie, cheat, or steal from me, you’ll lose it. It’s as simple as that.”
Steven Zimmerman, the owner of several office supply and copy centers in the county, stood up. Sherlock had figured he’d leave, so he hadn’t included Zimmerman in any of his plans.
“I don’t appreciate being threatened. That’s not how I do business.”
“Then you’re free to go, Steven,” said Sherlock, nodding. “Good luck with your future endeavors. Take your accountability folder with you. No hard feelings, but you’ll miss out on a terrific opportunity.”
Steven grabbed the folder and shook his head as he left the room. Mr. Mendoza followed. Warren stood and opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock coughed and shook his head while holding up his index finger.
“Just a moment,” said Sherlock. He held his breath, knowing what was coming next. The gunshot was loud and close. The other guys around the table jumped, but Sherlock sat straighter. “Does anyone else want to leave?”
Warren sat down.
“It’s unfortunate how dangerous this neighborhood has become,” said Sherlock. “Mr. Zimmerman’s kids will miss their dad, but at least they’ll sleep in their little beds in Glendale tonight, safe and sound.”
“Who the fuck are you?” asked Randy, his face pale.
“I’m the guy who’ll make you rich,” said Sherlock. “I’m also Christopher Hughes’s attorney. Before his incarceration, I know you all worked for him. Warren, you allowed him to process and break down stolen vehicles in your shop here. It’s a wonderful facility. Randy, you pimped his girls in your cheap motels in East St. Louis. You also provided drivers to take those girls across town. Neil, you helped him launder money through your stores. Steven—God rest his soul—did the same. Christopher was a gangster. You were his crew, or at least the closest thing he had to one. Now you’re mine.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Then Randy crossed his arms.
“Steven was a prick,” he said. “I don’t care if he’s dead, but I’m not a fan of empty promises. Tell me about this money you’ll make me.”
“I had hoped to get the chance to talk to you,” said Sherlock. “Using the foster care system to meet and recruit young vulnerable girls—and getting paid for housing them while you pimped them out—was brilliant. If I were a father, I’d tear your balls off, but since I’m not, I can be honest. That was genius.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But I’m not here for flattery. I’ve got a business to run. I’m not interested in having smoke blown up my ass.”
Sherlock glanced toward the door, having spotted movement. Mr. Mendoza stepped inside. He had a pistol tucked into the front of his belt.
“We’ll move into a new market,” said Sherlock. “Pharmaceutical sales. Each of you has a business network chosen for this endeavor. Randy, you’ll handle distribution. Your girls already deal some. Now, they’ll increase that. They will also recruit and supervise our new dealers. Warren, you’ve got cars moving into this place twenty-four hours a day. You’ll be our logistics man. Neil, you’ll be our money man. We will funnel cash to you, and you will use your stores and other businesses to clean it.”
Warren rolled his eyes and shook his head. Neil said nothing. Randy leaned forward and held up two fingers.
“Two problems. We’ve talked about moving into narcotics, but the competition is intense, and it’s hard to find a reliable supplier. If this is your plan, we might as well declare bankruptcy now.”
“I like the way your mind works, Randy,” said Sherlock. “I can see why Christopher relied on you so much.”
“Like I said, I’m not here for flattery.”
Sherlock looked to Mendoza and nodded. Mendoza took Steven’s now empty seat. Warren shifted away from the diminutive Hispanic man.
“This is Mr. Mendoza,” said Sherlock. “He represents a business conglomerate in Juarez, Mexico. They’d like us to set up a franchise in the city for them. Securing products to sell will not be a problem.”
The men around the table looked to Mendoza. He had the cold, black eyes of a reptile. They took in the men around them but gave nothing away. Sherlock almost felt a cold shudder pass through him.
“As Mr. Holmes says, finding an adequate supply of cocaine will not be an issue,” said Mendoza. “My organization would like to expand its regional distribution network to include a hub in St. Louis. Agents in my organization wholesale products in Chicago, Houston, and Miami, but our analytics data shows we are the primary supplier of cocaine, marijuana, and methamphetamines in your city.
“Because of our existing market saturation in our target markets, we’d like to increase our presence in smaller cities across the Midwest. St. Louis is our first trial. If we’re successful, we’ll expand to Indianapolis, Kansas City, Cincinnati, and other cities in the region.”
He stood up and walked around the table.
“Our analytics data estimates that the St. Louis region consumes four tons of cocaine per year. Your organization will purchase five tons from us at a cost of fifty-two million dollars. As our regional distributor, you will be free to set prices as you see fit, but we suggest a retail price of twenty-six thousand per kilo. Assuming the pricing structure holds, your organization will net seventy-two million per year in profit. As you increase the size of the market, your profit will increase.”
Somebody whistled. Randy, though, shook his head.
“What about the competition? What about security? What about capital?” he asked. “You may think you’ll make us rich, but it sounds more like you’ll make us dead.”
“My organization will handle product security,” said Mr. Mendoza. “We can also make our security personnel available should problems arise. As for competition, consider it eliminated. If you agree to our terms, you will become the sole distributors of our products in the region. Wholesalers in other cities will no longer sell to St. Louis-based distributors for fear of losing their own franchises. My agents will give your contact information to anyone who can no longer purchase in Chicago or Miami.”
Warren looked at Sherlock.
“If he’s providing the drugs, what do we need you for?”
“Everyone needs a manager,” said Sherlock, smiling. “I’ll act as the liaison between our organization and Mr. Mendoza’s organization. Not only that, I’m a criminal defense attorney who has been in private practice for the past twenty years. I have pre-existing relationships with an awful lot of people involved in the narcotics trade in this city. I can get you the dealers who will push our products. We’ll split the proceeds equally among us. Given the size of the market and the generous terms Mr. Mendoza has offered, that will leave us each with eighteen million dollars a year.”
“So how would this work?” asked Neil, looking to Mr. Mendoza. “Do you give us product on consignment and we reimburse you?”
Mendoza gave him a tight smile and shook his head.
“No,” he said.
Neil looked to Sherlock and raised his eyebrows. “What do we do, then? I don’t have fifty million dollars sitting around.”
“Mr. Mendoza is not asking for fifty million dollars up front,” said Sherlock. “He’s asking for ten.”
Warren scoffed and stood but didn’t leave the room. Randy stayed put, thinking. Neil leaned forward, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed as if he were giving up.
“If you give me a week, I can put together a million—maybe even two if I’m lucky�
�but ten is a stretch,” said Randy, looking at Sherlock. “You seem like a smart man. You wouldn’t have come here and presented this unless you thought it was possible. So what’s the plan?”
When he planned that meeting, Sherlock had assumed Randy was just a pimp who specialized in young women. He was smarter than that, though. Sherlock would have to watch him. If necessary, he’d have to eliminate him. He’d worry about that if the time came, though.
“Each of you has significant resources at your disposal,” said Sherlock. “Ten million is a stretch, but one million isn’t. That’s all I ask from you. One million cash. I’ll provide the same. When we need more product, we’ll use the proceeds of our sales. After this seed capital, we shouldn’t need any further cash infusions.”
Warren leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Counting you, there are four of us in on this deal. Math wasn’t ever my strong suit, but my math says we’ll be six million short.”
“Christopher Hughes will provide the rest,” said Sherlock.
Warren laughed and shook his head. “Good luck with that. I love Chris, but that guy’s done. You know what life without parole means? He’s never getting out, and he will never give you money. You got any other plans?”
Sherlock smiled at him. “You don’t watch the news, do you?”
Warren narrowed his gaze and then looked to the other men still at the table. “What’s he talking about?”
“Looks like Chris is getting out,” said Neil. “Megan Young, the girl he confessed to murdering, was just found. She’s been alive for the past twelve years.”
Warren said nothing for a moment. Already, though, Sherlock could see the gears in the mechanic’s head turning. He would be a problem sooner rather than later. He had a plan for that, though.
“And you’re sure Christopher has that kind of money?” asked Neil.
Sherlock nodded. “He does, and he’ll give it up. That’s why I had Megan killed. Christopher’s getting out. I’m already in negotiations with the St. Louis County Prosecutor’s Office regarding a monetary settlement for his wrongful conviction. It will be substantial.”
Randy blinked and drew in a breath. “Why did you have the girl killed? If she were alive, you could get him out quicker.”
Sherlock smiled at him but didn’t allow it to reach his eyes. “If she were alive, she’d say Christopher raped her, and that he had raped multiple other girls in his care. It was a lot easier just to shut her up early. You have a problem with that?”
“No,” he said. “The police do, though.”
“I’ll worry about the police,” said Sherlock. He looked to his three potential partners. “You’ve heard the proposal, and you’ve heard the cost. I need to know whether you’re in or out.”
“If we say no, you’ll kill us, right?” asked Neil.
Sherlock looked at him and shrugged. “It’s a tough world we live in. This arrangement can make it easier for you and your families. If you cooperate, we all win. If you refuse…”
He let his voice trail to nothing. The men didn’t even pause before agreeing, not that he expected them to. Randy and Neil even shook his hand as if this were a normal business deal. They all had dangerous work ahead of them, but the rewards outweighed the risk. They would be rich and powerful, none more so than Sherlock.
But first, he had to take care of Christopher Hughes, and that was easier said than done.
17
I got to my station at a little before eight with my head throbbing, my mouth dry, and my legs still shaking. Nobody was immune to hangovers, and I should have stopped drinking after Detective Ledgerman called, but she had pissed me off so much that I took two more shots just to calm down. That brought me up to five for the night, three above my self-imposed limit. Even those drinks, though, hadn’t stopped the nightmares. Nothing ever did.
I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the comparative gloom of my station. Seth Eberly, a uniformed patrol officer with over twenty years on the job, sat behind the front desk, drinking coffee and monitoring the phone lines. He nodded when he saw me.
“Morning, Joe,” he said. “The boss is looking for you. He’s not happy.”
I considered turning around and going home. Instead, I sipped the latte I had picked up at Rise and Grind on my way in and considered my options.
“Is he still around?” I asked. My voice sounded scratchy, so I coughed to clear my throat.
“Haven’t seen him leave. Good luck.”
I nodded my thanks and walked. On most mornings at this time of day, the scent of crappy coffee and vomit wafted through the building, but today, bleach overpowered everything. That was one perk of showing up after the morning shift cleared out the drunk tank: They had already cleaned up the puke. The other perk was that I missed the morning roll-call meeting. The downside was that if I enjoyed those perks too often by showing up half an hour late, I’d get fired.
When I reached my desk, I put the paper bag with my pecan roll on top and then bent to turn on my computer, which rested on the floor. As I logged on, Detective George Delgado left the conference room on the other side of the building and walked toward me. Even this early in the morning, he looked smug and proud of himself.
Delgado was about fifty. Acne had left his sand-colored skin pitted, while time had turned his once black hair gray. He wore dark jeans, a white oxford shirt, and a tan linen blazer. In other circumstances, he would have been handsome. Knowing him as I did, though, I saw only an asshole.
“Morning, Detective,” he said, sitting on the edge of my desk and crossing his arms. My paper bag crinkled beneath him. Until my recent promotion to detective, Delgado and I had enjoyed a cordial, professional relationship, but after my promotion, he had become a dick.
“You’re sitting on my pecan roll,” I said, rubbing my eyes as pain exploded in my brain. Delgado stood and handed me the bag. “What can I help you with, George?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk nearest mine.
“You can start by filling me in on your Jane Doe murder investigation.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not working a Jane Doe. My victim is named Megan Young.”
“You shouldn’t assume the victim is Megan Young without corroborating evidence. For now, she’s Jane Doe.”
I smiled but didn’t feel any merriment. “Why are you interested in my investigation? I’ve already got a partner on the case, and I don’t need another.”
Delgado raised his eyebrows. “Travis didn’t talk to you this morning, did he?” I grimaced, and Delgado smiled before becoming serious again. “From what I’ve heard, you impressed Detective Amy Ledgerman in St. Louis. She called Travis at home last night and shared her observations.”
I groaned.
“I talked to her last night, too,” I said. “She doesn’t understand the case.”
“I understand, but whether she’s right or wrong, you’ve got a conflict of interest,” said Delgado, brushing his hands together as if he were washing them. “Jasper and I are taking over the case, so I thought it’d be helpful to hear what you’ve done so far. If you’re stuck on your victim being Megan Young, I might be wasting my time.”
I didn’t blink as I looked at him. “My victim is Megan Young. Her sister’s dead in St. Louis. That’s where you should focus your investigation.”
He drew in a breath through clenched teeth and shook his head. “See, I’m not so sure. Her ID says she’s Kiera Williams, she registered at the motel under the name Kiera Williams, and there’s a car in the lot registered to Kiera Williams. Call me crazy, but I think your victim’s Kiera Williams.”
He smiled as if he were talking to a child. I kept the smile on my face so I wouldn’t snap at him.
“So it’s just a coincidence she looks like Megan Young and that her picture was in the home of Emily Young in St. Louis? And remember, somebody also murdered Emily Young.”
“And that’s where we disagree again,” said Delgado. “You found the
body of Jessica Martin in St. Louis. That’s the name on her ID, that’s the name on her mail, and that’s the name of the homeowner. See, I’m not a magical detective like you. I don’t enjoy your intuition. I’ve just got the facts, and the facts tell me you made so many assumptions you’ve led the entire investigation astray. Did you know our murder victim had pizza delivered to her room last night? I didn’t see it in the reports you filed.”
My throat grew hot, and my hands trembled, so I held them under my desk.
“I didn’t find a pizza box in her room when we searched it. If I had seen one, I would have followed up.”
“Did you talk to anybody else at the hotel? If you had done that, you wouldn’t have wasted an entire day chasing your intuition across the state. Just food for thought.”
I gritted my teeth. Of course I had asked our officers to talk to potential witnesses at the hotel. We had canvassed every neighboring business, too, but we hadn’t found anything. Even if I told Delgado that, he’d just tell me I should have gone back later—as he had. Given time, I would have done that, but my schedule hadn’t given me the opportunity.
I closed my eyes.
“I’m not here to argue with you or justify my decisions,” I said. “If you’re only interested in second-guessing me, you can leave.”
“I will, but first, I need to say something,” he said. “As your union rep, it’s my duty to warn you that habitual truancy is a fireable offense under our latest contract. And you smell like you just walked home from a bar.”
My nails bit into my palms as I balled my hands. “I don’t smell like a bar. It’s none of your business, but I had a long day yesterday, so I had a few drinks last night at home.”
“Are you hung over?”
“Again, that’s none of your business,” I said, catching his gaze. He grinned.
“As your union rep, it’s not. As your friend, though, maybe you should cut back.”
“Maybe it’s time you minded your own business.”
He held his hands up again and stood. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Detective. Enjoy your day.”
