“I only asked for the tapes of his sessions with the mayor’s son. It was on one of those tapes that Thomas made reference to the SD card.”
Drake left out the part about Dr. Kruk not only knowing which session with Thomas would be useful, but also that fact that the man had gifted him the SD card without asking. Shit, if it hadn’t been for Dr. Kruk leaving it for him in plain sight, Drake might have assumed that Thomas kept it — that it was still in his home somewhere or had been destroyed.
Marcus Slasinsky was in there, all right. He might be buried deep down, but he was still in there.
“It doesn’t matter,” Drake said suddenly, shaking his head. “All that matters is that we get this video out there before anyone else dies.”
“Get it played on one of the news stations and I can put out a warrant for Ken’s arrest. At the very least bring him in for questioning. Palmer will put up a fight, but the public outcry will be too great to ignore. The problem is, Ken’s reach is far and wide — he’s shown that time and time again. We have to make sure the video gets in the right hands, that you get it to somebody who doesn’t work for him. In short, we have to make sure that people see it, and I’m not talking on some jerk’s blog. It’s gotta be shown on a quasi reputable network. Otherwise, Palmer will stall, make me verify the authenticity first before I can act on it. That’ll give Ken time to… well, do what he does.”
Drake racked his mind trying to come up with someone in the media he might be able to trust. This proved difficult; during his years as an NYPD detective, he’d burned a lot of bridges. But there was one man who he thought hated Ken Smith more than he hated Drake. Hated Ken enough to go out on a limb and make sure the video aired.
“I’ve got a guy,” he said softly. “I’m pretty sure he’ll do it.”
Yasiv rose to his feet.
“All right, let me know when and I’ll prepare the warrant in advance. In the meantime, I’ve got a crime scene full of dead cops to deal with. We can’t let anybody know, particularly DI Palmer, that any of this is going down. And Drake, as soon as you get the video into the hands of your contact, you have to go back to the facility. I can’t stress that enough. If this all goes according to plan, I’m sure we can do something about your charges. But if you’re not back in Oak Valley when they come to get you, if you’re an escaped fugitive…”
Drake nodded, even though there was zero chance that he would be ever heading back there.
The two men shook hands.
“Thank you,” Drake said quietly. Yasiv nodded and then turned to the others.
“Take care of yourselves. I’ll be in touch.”
When the four of them were alone at the table, Drake turned to Screech.
“And you? What’s your plan?”
Screech reached over and squeezed Leroy’s shoulder.
“I’m going back to the office — someone’s gotta start seeing clients that actually pay money. And I’m taking Leroy with me. He’s a bang-up guy, Drake. He saved my life and he helped put all this shit together. We can use him; he’s gonna make one hell of a PI one day. Better than you, even.”
Drake thought he saw a hint of a smile form on Leroy’s swollen lips.
“That ain’t saying much, but for what it’s worth, I approve. I’ll—”
“I’m going with you, too,” Hanna interrupted. “If it weren’t for me, Drake would be sucking his food through a straw and getting regular electroshock treatments. Besides, I’m looking for work; I sincerely doubt that helping someone break out of a psychiatric facility makes one’s resume shine.”
Chapter 80
Unlike Barney’s, Patty’s Diner hadn’t changed. In fact, Drake doubted it had even received a fresh coat of paint since it opened in the middle ages.
Even the waitstaff was the same, down to Broomhilda’s sour expression and her I don’t give a fuck demeanor.
“What’re you having?” the woman croaked.
“Coffee, black,” Drake replied.
When Broomhilda stayed a moment longer he looked up at her.
“You want a shot with that?” She asked. “You look like you could use it. What about some Key Lime pie?”
Drake was taken aback by the questions.
She can’t possibly remember me, can she?
“No, just the coffee.”
The woman pressed her wrinkled lips together and then retreated to the counter.
As usual, Drake had taken the cracked booth with a clear line of sight to the door. And, sure enough, no sooner had his coffee arrived in front of him did said door open.
The man who entered made it a grand total of three feet before spotting Drake. Then he started back the way he’d come.
Drake rose to his feet.
“Ivan! Ivan, I need to talk to you!” he shouted, oblivious to the looks from the diner’s other patrons.
“No fucking way,” Ivan shot back as he hurried into the night.
“Fuck,” Drake grumbled as he hobbled after the man.
When they were both outside, Ivan turned and gave Drake the finger as he continued to back up away from him. The man had cut his blond hair short, and there was something about his nose that wasn’t quite right, that wasn’t quite true anymore.
“I knew it was you, Drake. I knew it the moment the girl on the phone told me that she wanted to meet here. I knew that it was you, you slimy piece of shit. I don’t know how you got out, if you’re on bail or—”
“Ivan, please,” Drake pleaded. He tried to keep his voice down, tried not to attract too much attention.
He was, after all, an escaped mental patient. Ivan, however, had no such hang-ups.
“No, no, no way; the last time I spoke to you I ended up with a broken nose and half-blind in one eye. I’m not going through that again.”
“Ivan, please. I’ve got something that—”
“No way, Drake. Fuck you.”
The man started to turn, and Drake knew that he was losing him.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Ivan! Ivan! I’ve got video of the mayor talking about importing heroin into the city.”
Ivan Meitzer stopped midstep and slowly craned his neck around.
Even though he was furious, even though he hated Drake with every inch of his soul, he was a reporter at heart. And no reporter could turn down a story this juicy.
This story had Pulitzer Prize written all over it.
“You’re fucking with me,” Ivan said, lowering his voice. Now that he had the man’s attention, Drake strode calmly over to him and held out the SD card.
“It’s on here — the entire video. I need to put it out, Ivan. I know what he did to you, I know what happened in the hangar. I know that he cost you your job. But this can get it back, Ivan. This will be the biggest story since—”
Ivan reached out and snatched the SD card so quickly that Drake barely realized that it was gone.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, but the fact that he’d taken the card suggested otherwise.
“It’s my only copy, Ivan,” Drake lied. He wasn’t that stupid; he made a copy on the laptop that Mickey had given him. But this was the only copy that he’d given to anyone in the media.
“Ken’s really on here talking about heroin?” Ivan asked, nearly whispering the final word.
Drake nodded and started to walk away.
“If it has what you say on it, I can get it live in an hour. If it doesn’t, I’m reporting your ass to the police. Harassment, sexual assault, indecent exposure… you name it.”
Drake tilted his head to one side and watched the man go.
“That’s fair,” he said to himself. “That’s more than fair.”
Chapter 81
Drake wasn’t going back to the psychiatric institution and he wasn’t going to wait for the video to air, either.
He was going to confront Ken Smith once and for all. But this time, it was going to be on his terms.
“You sure you can do this?” Drake asked Han
na as they sat in her parked car outside Ken Smith’s apartment complex.
Hanna smiled.
“Really? Now you’re just insulting me. I was born for this, Drake. The real question is, can you do your part?”
Drake didn’t answer, he just made sure that his pistol was tucked in the back of his belt.
“Let’s do this then,” he said and stepped from the car.
Instead of heading directly for the front doors, Drake went to the side of the building and pressed his back against the wall.
He took a deep breath and then leaned around the corner. Hanna stepped from her car and shook her body out. Then she started to walk. With every step, her movements became more erratic, and by the time she got within several feet of the glass doors, she was barely able to keep herself upright. There was something clutched in one of her hands, but Drake couldn’t make out what it was.
Okay, Hanna, don’t lay it on too thick.
He cringed when she didn’t walk up to the doors, but directly into them. The glass bowed slightly as she rebounded off it. This didn’t faze her; Hanna walked into the doors again, this time giving her head a hard rap.
A few seconds later, a security guard that Drake recognized appeared at the window.
“Go away,” the man with the oak-colored mustache shouted. “Go away.”
But Hanna didn’t go away. Instead, the item slipped from her hand and fell to the ground.
A syringe? Where the hell did she get a syringe from?
And then she staggered three feet to her left and fell, not even bothering to bring her arms up to brace herself.
Drake winced when Hanna’s shoulder struck the ground with an organic thump.
And yet, the security guard still didn’t open the door.
Come on, you asshole, go help her, Drake willed.
It wasn’t until Hanna started seizing on the ground, her legs and arms flailing rapidly, that the guard opened the door and stepped out.
Drake was instantly reminded of when he’d been checked into Oak Valley, when Hanna had joked with Max and Twig about giving him electroshock treatment.
This was like that, only more violent.
The guard hovered over Hanna’s body and shouted at her, trying desperately to keep her conscious. The man even slapped her once, though it wasn’t forceful enough to leave a mark.
The second the guard knelt, Drake bolted from the corner, heading straight for the man. As he neared, he spotted the electronic keycard on the man’s hip, just where it had been on every other occasion he’d come to see Ken.
Without hesitating, he reached down and slipped the card from the man’s waist. As he did, the man started to turn, but Hanna reached up and grabbed him by the back of the neck.
“What the fuck?” the guard blurted, trying to pull his head back. But Hanna, who had somehow manufactured foam at the corners of her mouth like some sort of rabid animal, wouldn’t let go.
She wasn’t joking, Drake thought as he stared at her eyes, which were still rolled back in her head. She really can handle this.
If a career as a PI didn’t work out, he had no doubt that she had a job in acting somewhere.
Drake opened the door and slid inside, just as the guard reached for his walkie-talkie and started shouting that he needed an ambulance.
Drake scampered across the hall and scanned the keycard at the private elevator.
In the last second before the doors closed, he looked back and saw Hanna shove the guard off her and rise to her feet.
Chapter 82
Drake brought the cigar to his lips and took a puff just as the elevator doors pinged and started to open. All the lights were off in the apartment, and when the man stepped out, he immediately reached for the switch. But even after flicking it up and down several times, the penthouse apartment remained dark.
Drake had removed all but one of the bulbs.
“Welcome home, Ken,” Drake said, rolling the cigar between thumb and forefinger.
The figure in the entrance froze.
“What? Surprised to see me? Oh, yeah, almost forgot: you thought you’d taken me out. Well, you tried. And I get it, I really do. You thought that you could just use me to do your bidding and then dispose of me like you’ve done with countless others. Like Ray Reynolds, like Officer Pontiac, like Detective Simmons, like your own son. But let me tell you something, Ken; in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other people,” Drake said, switching the cigar from his right to his left hand and using the former to pick up the pistol on his lap. “I don’t give up; I never give up. But now I need a break. Tonight, for once in, oh, I dunno, six months, a year? I might curl up in front of the TV. I never really liked the news, but tonight I might just give it a chance, see what the talking heads are rambling on about. I wonder what the lead story is tonight, Ken. Have any ideas?”
The figure still hadn’t moved, but Drake was in no rush. He took another drag of the cigar.
“I’ve got to give it to you, though; you almost made me do all of your dirty work. Shit, you planned this out to T. Everything almost worked perfectly… except — except — you didn’t account for a young black kid from the ghetto who just wanted to get out, an incorruptible police sergeant, a girl with weird fucking hair who, quite honestly, is better suited as a patient than an employee at the psych ward, and a man with more loyalty than brains inside his head. In short, you never counted on me and my crew, Ken. And that was your fatal mistake.”
The figure took a small step forward and Drake raised the gun just to let him know it was there.
“You thought you could outsmart all of us, but you didn’t.”
The figure took two or three more steps and Drake realized with a sinking heart that something was wrong with this scene.
The outline of the man was far too short to be Ken Smith.
“You thought—”
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, Drake, but Ken is already gone. Ken is going to a place that you will never find him. I guess… I guess he outsmarted you after all.”
The man’s Spanish accent surprised Drake and he nearly dropped the cigar in his lap. He grabbed it and rammed it into the ashtray before fumbling to turn on the lamp, the only light in the apartment that still had a bulb.
Then he swore.
“You,” he spat, rising to his feet. “Where the fuck is Ken?”
Raul Mendes grinned, the corners of his mustache turning upward. It was perhaps the first expression he’d ever seen on the man’s face that wasn’t apathy.
“He’s gone, Drake. You see, Ken always had an exit plan in case things didn’t work out. He’s gone somewhere where even you can’t get to him. But one day he shall return. This will all blow over one day and he’ll come back — he’ll come back stronger, richer, and more powerful than ever.”
Drake ground his teeth in frustration and strode forward, aiming the gun straight ahead. His finger tensed on the trigger, but at the last second, he lowered the gun.
Drake had a lot of morally questionable things over the years, but he wouldn’t kill an unarmed man in cold blood.
Not even if the man in question was Raul.
“Tell me where he is, Raul,” Drake hissed.
“He’s gone,” the impish man replied, still grinning. “An aparición.”
“If you don’t—”
Drake should’ve known better; he shouldn’t have let his emotions overwhelm him and gotten so close.
Raul’s elbow shot out and struck Drake in the wrist of the hand holding the gun. It fell to the floor, and when he instinctively bent to pick it up, Raul’s fist collided with his ribs.
Thankfully the man was right handed, and his knuckles impacted his kidney and not his liver. If the blow had hit him in the liver, Drake would have dropped to the ground, likely never to rise again.
He groaned and bent protectively over his injured side.
That’s when the next punch came, only this one struck him in the throat. Drake staggered bac
kwards gasping for air and Raul leaped at him.
And this is how it ends, Drake thought. After everything I’ve been through, it all ends at the hands of this man; of fucking Raul of all people.
But just as Raul descended on him, the elevator doors pinged again, catching them both by surprise. Raul’s head whipped around and somehow Drake managed to fire his knees into the man’s chest and launch him several feet in the air.
Drug Lord- Part I Page 25
