The police stormed the apartment, grabbing Raul who was now kicking and punching indiscriminately like some sort of feral animal.
“NYPD,” one or several of the officers shouted in unison. “Put your hands up.”
It took Drake a moment to realize that they were speaking to him; they had to be speaking to him, because Raul was the only other person here, and he was already in the process of being cuffed.
Drake threw his hands up just as a police officer grabbed him and wrenched his hands behind his back.
The last man to step from the elevator carried himself with an air of authority. He strode forward deliberately and stepped into the glow from the lamp.
And then he froze.
“What the — Drake?” Sergeant Yasiv said.
Drake stared at the man, realizing that the video must’ve gone live and he’d succeeded in getting an arrest warrant.
“He’s gone,” Drake said between gritted teeth. “Ken’s gone, Yasiv. He must have gotten word from someone… from Palmer maybe, or someone else. The bastard’s gone.”
Yasiv swore, stomped his foot, and instructed the officer who was busy trying to handcuff Drake to let him go.
When he hesitated, Yasiv repeated the order.
“You need to get the fuck out here, Drake,” Yasiv said under his breath. “You need to go back to Oak Valley, pretend this never happened. Please.”
Drake nodded and hurried toward the elevator.
“We’ll find him, Drake. I swear, we’ll find them. Now just get the hell out of here.”
As Drake descended to the lobby, Yasiv’s words repeated in his mind.
We’ll find him, Drake… we’ll find him.
He shook his head.
No, we won’t — I will. I will find Ken Smith.
Chapter 83
Drake wasn’t sure how long he stayed outside Jasmine’s house, but he knew that if his boat wasn’t leaving in less than an hour, he would’ve stayed there forever.
With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of Hanna’s VW and slowly made his way to the front door.
When he was almost there, Drake made a slight detour and stared into the bay windows instead. He knew that this was dangerous, that there were people out there looking for him now, that the news of his escape had been made public. But he had to do this before he left, before he hunted down Ken Smith.
Everything had fallen into place, absolutely everything, except for one: Jasmine.
Part of him still trying to convince himself that this was all a misunderstanding, that she wasn’t involved. But that was just his rational mind trying to make sense of an irrational situation.
He peered through the window and caught sight of Jasmine in the kitchen stirring something on the stove. He watched her for a moment, staring at the way her hips moved, and the way her hair flicked from side to side as she swayed.
She might’ve been listening to music, or just remembering a happier time.
Drake wanted nothing more than to go to her then and hold her tight. But he couldn’t do that, not after what he’d seen.
He lowered his eyes and was surprised to see that baby Clay was lying on a blanket just inside the window. The boy was lying on a play mat, batting at several objects that hung just out of reach.
He was beautiful, with dark hair and matching eyes. Clay had his mother’s lips and his father’s strong jaw.
Just then, the boy’s eyes lifted to meet Drake’s.
That’s my son, Drake thought, tears spilling down his cheeks. That’s my boy.
That’s Clay.
And then Drake reached out and pressed his palm against the cool glass. He knew that what happened next wasn’t real, that it was just a coincidence.
After all, Clay was only four or five months old; it was unlikely that he could even see Drake, let alone wave at him.
But Drake let himself have this one — he deserved it. After everything he’d been through, he deserved this.
The last time he saw his son, the boy waved at him.
“I’m sorry,” Drake whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
And then, as if hearing his voice, Jasmine turned towards the window, but Drake was already gone.
***
Jasmine dropped the wooden spoon into the pot and hurried to the door. Her heart was racing even though she wasn’t sure if she’d seen what she thought she had, or if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.
She pulled the door wide and stepped out into the night, looking up and down the street for any trace of him.
But there was nobody there; the street was empty.
“Drake!” she shouted into the night. “Drake!”
But the only reply was the buzzing of a failing street lamp.
Just wishful thinking, Jasmine. It wasn’t him, he wasn’t here.
She was about to turn and go inside when she noticed something on her front step and bent down to pick it up.
Walking beneath the light over the door, she held the photograph up and stared at it.
It showed a younger version of herself holding a brick of heroin. Jasmine slowly unfolded the other side.
There, not three feet from where she stood, was an entire skid of heroin, each of the individual packets marked with the symbol for ANGUIS Holdings.
Shaking her head, Jasmine flipped the photo over and saw that there was writing on the other side.
Two simple words written in Drake’s hand.
I know.
Jasmine slipped the photograph into her pocket and once again looked up and down the deserted street.
“No, Drake,” she whispered. “You don’t know; you don’t understand. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Epilogue
“Ten grand will get you there, but I am not responsible for getting you back,” the barrel-chested captain said, gnashing a wad of chewing tobacco between crooked teeth. He leaned over the side of the boat and spat a stream of brown fluid into the water below.
Drake adjusted the bag on his shoulder and nodded. When he took a step forward, the man’s meaty hand extended outward and blocked his path.
“Ten grand,” he repeated.
Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow envelope that Screech had given them. He tapped it on his palm once, twice, then handed over.
The captain opened the envelope and rifled through the cash before grunting and stepping out of his way.
“There’s some food and hooch below deck. It ain’t much, but it should get you through most of the trip.”
Drake ignored the man and made his way to the stern.
“Ain’t no customs gonna to stop us, but pirates… if pirates come, all bets are off,” the captain hollered after him.
Drake set his bag on the ground and leaned on the cheap metal railing.
“Hey buddy, you hear me?”
As Drake stared at the New York City horizon the man fired up the engine and the fishing vessel started to pull away from the dock.
“Yeah, I hear you,” Drake said as the Statue of Liberty slowly started to shrink in the distance. “I hear you loud and clear.”
***
Marcus Slasinsky put the TV on in the background as he worked. It was tough going, considering he had to start again from scratch. He had to arrange the dirt in the glass aquariums just so, and then he had to put in the correct amount of vegetation.
Most people thought that the fastest way to grow your collection of butterflies was to feed the caterpillars as much and as quickly as possible.
But Marcus knew better.
If the caterpillars spun their cocoons too soon, their wings wouldn’t be perfect when they came out. When they were reborn.
They wouldn’t be as beautiful as they had been that day at the Butterfly Gardens.
And these butterflies, the ones that would grow from dozens of caterpillars that milled about in the dark soil, had to be perfect.
The mention of his name on the TV made him pause.
“I
n the wake of what has been a devastating week for the city of New York, we’ve just received news that in addition to Ken Smith, another vile criminal has escaped custody.”
Vile criminal, Marcus thought with a grin. What I do is not vile; it’s beautiful.
“Marcus Slasinsky, also known as Dr. Mark Kruk, who had been remanded to a psychiatric facility after murdering three people — one of whom was Mayor Ken Smith’s son Thomas Alexander Smith — escaped from Oak Valley Psychiatric Institution. The details surrounding his escape aren’t clear, but there are rumors swirling that he had an accomplice. Both of these men — Marcus Slasinsky and Ken Smith — are considered highly dangerous. If you have any information related to their current whereabouts, the NYPD is encouraging you to come forward…”
Marcus looked away from the TV and turned his eyes to the aquarium. Then he tapped on the glass, and one of the caterpillars who had been sipping from a vial of dark red fluid, reared up.
“What I do is beautiful,” Marcus said as he watched the caterpillar’s legs twitch in the air. “Just like you, Chase. It’s beautiful, just like you.”
End
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed this installment of the Detective Damien Drake Series. It was one of the most fun of the lot to write, particularly because I love bringing back characters that only had minor roles in past episodes. I, for one, had no idea that Hanna would appear in other books after her introduction in Download Murder, let alone play a prominent role. And it looks like the quirky lady is here to stay.
The Triple D family is growing, and I couldn’t be more proud *tear*.
And, if you couldn’t tell, I like cameos, too – Stitts popped up in DRUG LORD and Chase was mentioned. Although the troubled FBI agent herself did not appear, that’s not to say she won’t in the future – or that Drake won’t pop up in one of her books. He likes to keep his promises, after all.
As always, I wouldn’t be doing my duty as an indie author if I didn’t, in the very least, ask for a review (although I am not morally opposed to begging). So, if you liked DRUG LORD: PART 1…
Keep your eyes out for the next instalment, DRUG LORD: PART II, which will drop before 2018 is over.
As always,
You keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.
Pat
Montreal, 2018
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Patrick Logan 2018
Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2018
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.
Third Edition: September 2018
Drug Lord- Part I Page 26
