The guy flung the weapon away; it made a clanging sound when it hit the ground. Steele released his partner by shoving him toward the angry man them pulled up his shirt to reveal his gun. The thugs didn’t know much but they wasted no time telling Steele that the new shipment of drugs had not come in yet but was expected soon.
Before letting the two go he warned them that it would be in their best interest not to tell their boss about their conversation.
“I’m no fortune teller,” he added “but I am willing to bet that your life spans will be drastically reduced if you decide to tell anyone about what happened here, so keep your mouths shut and get the hell outta here.”
Stan was a bachelor in every sense of the word. His clothes, his car, and especially his house.
He always said no woman was ever going to tie him down. A computer programmer by profession Stan has made a small fortune by hacking for profit. His lavishly furnished brownstone is the weekend hangout for the guys to drink, shoot pool, play chess and discuss everything from women to politics but tonight there was important business to tend to.
Steele thought the lime green shirt was a little loud even for Stan’s taste but decided not to comment on it. Stan greeted his friend with a manly hug and offered him a cold Pepsi. Steele accepted the drink and soon the men were sitting comfortably on the dark brown sectional inside Stan’s large sunken living room the guys nicknamed the pit.
Steele was normally the one his friends came to for advice but before they got started Stan gave his friend a stern look and said; “Let’s not forget who we are dealing with here. Remember, Trench is the same guy who shot some unarmed dude in the back a couple of years ago and we both know that a tiger don’t change his stripes.”
Stan guided his remote toward the huge screen on the opposite side of the room, when the screen was on he reached for his keyboard and began tapping away. “Roger was here earlier, he gave me what little he could dig up on his pill popping college buddy.” Stan continued to talk while he typed. “An aerial view of the east coast came into focus. Okay, class is in session,” he said jokingly. “Fat Daddy owns two houses, one in Philly the other in Baltimore.” Stan zoomed in on the mansion Fat Daddy owned in Maryland.
Steele gave a low whistle; “Damn the drug business pays more than I thought.”
Stan nodded, “Yeah, and I guess it helps if you control a third of the city.” He pointed to the screen; “He also owns this little toy, a luxury yacht called Strictly Business. Once a month he fuels this baby up and pilots her from the Baltimore harbor to…”
Steele motioned for Stan to stop. “Wait, let me guess, Atlantic City?”
Stan laid the wireless keyboard next to him on the sofa, “Now how in the hell did you know that?”
Steele paused for a moment, “I talked to a couple of his henchmen today, they told me.”
Stan stared at Steele in disbelief as he pulled out the little red cigarette lighter and gently placed it on the oversized mahogany coffee table.
“Well,” Steele confessed, “I had to give them a little incentive first, but once I doused one of them with gas they were very cooperative.”
Stan looked at the lighter then at Steele, “Dude, you are one sick pup.” He reached for his keyboard and shook his head, “I’m glad I am on your side.”
Steele told Stan what he had learned from the thugs, about how Fat Daddy pays off a few casino bus drivers to secretly haul the shipments of drugs in the cargo bins late at night on their return trips from A.C. Stan listened as they watched the screen, Fat Daddy’s yacht Strictly Business was headed up the east coast at that very moment. When Stan told Steele that Charles Harris aka Dr. Death had just checked in the Borgata hotel Steele knew that the shit was about to hit the fan.
“Like life size chess pieces moving around the board,” he said “and soon all of the players will be in place.” When Stan commented on how bold Fat Daddy must be to bring the drugs in on his own boat Steele stroked his chin and nodded his head.
“No that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you run the risk of getting caught with a million dollars worth of dope? Can you hack into his credit card records?”
Stan chuckled, “How do you think I got all of this? He’s using a dummy corporation and a program called Hush Mail to cover his e-mail tracks.”
Once Stan pulled up the records Steele waded through the transactions for the last three months, “There, he pointed. You see, every time he fuels his yacht he charters a second one.”
Stan looked confused, “He waved his hand, I don’t understand.”
Steele took a sip of his drink and explained.
“Drug runners pick up their load in Miami and drive it up the coast sometimes all the way to New York.
It got so bad that the cops named Interstate 95 cocaine alley so he has found a way to avoid it. Fat Daddy is one clever little bastard, you got to give him that. He’s protecting his investment and covering his ass by following the second boat, the one with the drugs. After he takes delivery in Maryland his guys pick up his shipment, loads it onto the chartered boat then he follows it to A.C. where it’s transferred to the casino busses headed to Philadelphia and avoiding I 95. The cops never check under casino buses, why would they?” Steele slapped his knees; “He never actually touches the drugs so if the pilot or the bus driver gets busted he can walk away. Of all the casinos in Atlantic City only a hand full are near the marina, that’s probably why he always stays at the Borgata Hotel, it’s on the marina. That’s where the doctor is gonna make his move. Thanks man,” Steele got up and patted Stan on the shoulder. “I have to get down to the shore before it’s too late.”
It was around nine when Steele rushed back to the club. He parked around back and met up with Sugar Bear. The two slipped down stairs so Steele could pick up some equipment and additional firepower just in case he needed it.
Inside the storage room was a hidden door that leads to his arsenal. Steel opened a small black duffle bag and began filling it while he gave Sugar Bear a few last minute instructions. Before closing the bag he also added a Glock and a pair of night vision binoculars.
Steele was about to leave when Sugar Bear confessed that he had a change of heart about the murdering of the drug users. “I am really sorry about the things I said earlier boss. I got some baggage, a bad relationship that I never told you about. The Philosopher really put things in perspective for me. I mean I know some of these people, grew up with a couple of them. They are victims and now they are about to be victimized again, for the last time. What about the kids, you know the first time users, and the ones trying to quit, what about them? All of them are not hard core druggies; you can’t let all of those people die, Steele. If there is anything that I can do you let me know okay?”
Traffic on the Atlantic City expressway was light. Steele rolled down his window to get some fresh air, it helped him to clear his mind and figure out a strategy for getting the deadly chemical from Dr. D. He needed more time, and now he would have to improvise. Less than an hour after crossing the Walt Whitman Bridge the smell of sea shells and salt water traveling along with the ocean breeze told Steele that he was back in A.C.
During peak season at the shore no one can just walk in and expect to get a room. Lucky for Steele he and the head of security had worked a case together a few years back and Steele was able to call in a favor. Not knowing when the deal was going down Steele dropped his bags off in the room and reached the marina just in time to see the Strictly Business and the second boat dock.
Steele staked out a secluded spot about a block from the yacht and watched through his night vision glasses. “Damn, six guards,” he muttered to himself. “Getting aboard the boat would be damn near impossible.” He would have to intercept Dr. D’s deadly drug before it reached the ship. ‘Who was the traitor? The doctor was not going to just stroll onto the ship and spray the chemicals on the drugs so he must have someone working on the inside, a traitor.’
Steele took photos of all the men as they
milled about on the boat. By the time he was finished the man himself had finally made an appearance. Fat Daddy had lived up to his name.
Wearing a single gold earring, a gold chain, and sky blue shirt with plants to match the Drug Lord easily tipped the scales at 300 pounds. His clothes fluttered in the salty night breeze as he puffed on his fat cigar. Fat Daddy turned as he heard the footsteps of a trim muscular man in his thirties approaching from the boat. The man dressed in black wore a tight fitting short sleeved shirt and long pants.
It took a few seconds for the face to register but the man in black was named Ramon. Steele had caught a lucky break. Ramon used to work for Trench. Steele was sure that he was the man on the inside. As Steele anticipated the fat man could not wait to get to the casino, he made a beeline to the poker table but for the moment Steele was not concerned about Fat Daddy’s whereabouts. He knew that Ramon would lead him to Dr. D and the poison they were going to use to taint the cocaine.
By Atlantic City standards the night was still young. Steele used the crowd as cover; it made it easy for him to follow Ramon to his target. In the drug business there is no such thing as loyalty and Romone was about to prove it. Steele watched from down the hall as Ramon slipped into the Doctor’s suite. As he waited he wondered what the going rate was for betrayal, how much was he being paid to help murder hundreds of innocent people.
The hall was quiet, that’s one of the benefits of being on a floor with suites, less foot traffic. Minutes later Ramón and the Dr. stood at the door and shook hands. Ramón headed Steele’s way with a kaki knapsack. Steele ducked into the ice machine cubby hole with his back facing the hallway, when he heard Ramón pass he crept up behind him and stuck his gun in Ramón back.
Disguising his voice Steele whispered in a commanding tone, “Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even blink or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”
Making sure that Ramón did not see his face Steele looked around before guiding him backwards back into the cubby hole before knocking him out with the butt of his Glock. Steele picked up the bag, took a quick peek inside, and quickly left the floor.
“That was easy,” he said to himself.
After locking the package away in the hotel safe he felt as though the glass was still half empty.
All he had done was to prolong the mad doctor’s plan. What’s stopping the crazy doctor from making up another batch of poison and starting over again? Or what if he had brought more with him? He didn’t have any answers but the one thing that he did know was that a fresh shipment of cocaine was about to hit the streets of Philly and there was something that he could do about that.
Feeling that he had at least accomplished a small victory Steele called Stan and got the casino bus schedules so that he would know when the last bus would leave that night. Returning to his vantage point Steele watched Fat Daddy’s yacht and the one he chartered through his binoculars just in case Fat Daddy wanted to move the drugs tonight. Hours later Steele checked his watch, two a.m. and the fat man was a no show. He was probably still gambling. Steele concluded that there would be no drugs moved tonight.
Feeling confident that the drug lord would not risk transporting the shipment in broad daylight, Steele decided to enjoy himself. He treated himself to a big breakfast of hot cakes, eggs, bacon, and sausages; it was a far cry for what they were serving at the Greasy Spoon back in Philly. After breakfast Steele checked on the Strictly Business and the drug boat. When he was satisfied that everything was as he had left it the night before he began feeling a bit nostalgic for the old times in A.C.
Steele took a stroll on the Boardwalk to Illinois avenue where the Traymore hotel once stood. He remembered the fun weekends that he had with the guys hanging out chasing girls and getting into mischief on the Boardwalk and in Club Harlem on Kentucky Avenue.
By nightfall it was back to business. Steele changed into a pair of black jeans and a black shirt, slipped the bus schedule in his back pocket then waited patiently as the chill from the sea air had begun to make it presence felt. He was about to call it quits for the night when he saw two men off loading four large metal containers and putting them into the trunk of a dark blue sedan.
Steele took a short cut to the bus terminal; he had to run in order to get there before the car.
With the exception of a few late gamblers boarding the last bus back to Philly there was no one around to notice the containers being loaded from the trunk of the car to the storage area under the bus.
The bus driver lit up a smoke and casually enjoyed his cigarette having no idea that from now on he would trading his smokes for favors behind bars in the Federal penitentiary.
Using his binoculars Steele carefully jotted down the name, number, and license plate of the bus. Once he was out of the area he put in a call to the state police and tipped them off. He had done all that he could do.
“At least that’s one shipment of poison that will never see the streets,” he said out loud.
Steele returned to the hotel and took the elevator to the twenty second floor. He was looking forward to going home tomorrow, home to his woman, his friends, and his club but as he would soon find out life is rarely that simple.
He kept thinking, ‘What harm would it do for him to try and reason with Dr. D? There’s got to be some other way for him to get even with Fat Daddy other than to wipe out so many lives.’ He stayed on the elevator and rode up to the doctor’s suite.
When he got off of the elevator two men with guns were headed his way. The men wore hats and sun glasses to disguise their faces; one was holding a kaki knapsack identical to the one he took from Ramon. Immediately both men opened fire on Steele.
Instinctively in one fluid motion Steele dropped to the ground, drew his weapon and shot back as he rolled toward the cover of a large oak sideboard on the opposite side of the hallway.
Pop, pop, pop!
Steele hit one guy in the leg while the other shots went left shattering a large vase on a nearby stand. He could hear the thuds as a hail of bullets landed on the opposite side of the thick sideboard he used for cover.
During the exchange of gunfire screams could be heard from inside other rooms on the floor. Suddenly the elevator door slides open. When an elderly woman attempted to leave the elevator the wounded gunman grabbed her as a shield and forced her back into the elevator.
The second man saw his chance and made a break for the staircase firing wildly as he ran. Steele fired three more shots hitting the second gunman in the shoulder. The gunmen groaned and grabbed his bloody shoulder before heading down the exit stairway.
Faint sounds of police sirens grew closer and closer as Steele cautiously approached the open door to the suite. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
Steele crouched down low and held his gun close to his chest as he slowly crept into the room.
Ignoring the heat from his gun barrel and the smell of gunpowder Steele’s trained eyes darted quickly around the lavish suite. There was stillness in the air. Steele had a bad feeling. The gunmen were not after him, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Once he had a clear view of the spacious suite his instincts were confirmed. Dr. D. lay motionless on the floor. The once cream colored carpet under him was fast becoming a large pool of dark red blood. Doctor D was dead.
Just as the Atlantic City police were about to arrest Steele for the murder his friend, the head of hotel security showed up and vouched for him.
When the excitement died down and the two men were alone Steele said, “I need a favor, I need to see the video surveillance footage from this floor.”
The two men went to the surveillance room in basement of the hotel to view the footage. After watching the footage several times the security chief reared back in his chair and said, “Sorry Steele but there’s not much to go on here.”
Steele slapped the table with his hand, “Un- freaking believable.”
After making a statement to the police and signing the standard documents Stee
le thanked his friend, checked out of the hotel and headed back to Philly. With the murder of Dr. D. and the shipment of drugs off of the street there was only one problem left to deal with. Who stole the doctors? poison concoction and why?
The video surveillance told Steele everything he needed to know but in the event his plan went wrong he didn’t want his security guard friend to be involved. Steele’s first stop when he got back in town was to Stan’s house. That night, round three a.m. in the morning Steele drove back to the badlands and broke into Trench’s office.
Trench knew that Steele was a smart detective so he laid low in his dark office waiting.
Trench sat silently until Steele neared his desk before turning on the lights. Trench leaned forward in the chair behind his desk while pointing a gun at Steele’s chest.
He smiled and said, “What’s the matter Steele couldn’t wait to pick up the other half of your fee?” He instructed Steele to put his gun on the floor. Once Steele reluctantly complied Trench continued. “You were always a smart little son of a bitch, you know that. How did you know Steele?”
“I’m not so smart,” Steele answered, “its dumb asses like you that just make me look smart.”
Trench’s smile turned to a look of anger, “Careful brother, I haven’t decided which way you gonna leave outta here tonight yet.”
Steele looked him in the eye and pointed to the desk. “Your first mistake was the newspaper.
The last time I was here you tried to stop me from noticing the Wall Street Journal on your desk. So, I had you checked out. You have been buying a lot of stock in funeral homes lately, a lot. Then you sent those assholes after me trying to get me to believe that they worked for Fat Daddy when they actually worked for you. You actually had me fooled for a while but when I saw the hotel surveillance footage after the murder of the doctor I recognized the chain tattoo on the neck of one of your thugs and the designer glasses and sneakers.”
Steele paused for a moment before continuing, “Your people are ripping you off right in front of your face, and you didn’t even notice it.
The Fat man couldn’t have sent them to off the doctor because he didn’t know the doctor was there and he had no idea that his shipment of coke was about to be poisoned. The second knapsack was a dead giveaway. You were the only one who knew about the doctor’s plan, so it was your guys who went after the doctor’s poison. Oh, and one more thing, how many funeral homes have you brought around here in the last six months? I counted four and that’s just in Philly. Okay, your turn,” Steele pointed to Trench. “What was all that bull about saving your cousin and why in the hell did you need me?”
Still holding the gun Trench was no longer smiling, he leaned back in the chair. “My cousin was a useful idiot. He doesn’t have the balls to run things the way I did. Yeah, I got out of the drug business that part was true but how much do you think I’m gonna make a year selling knockoff handbags, huh?”
The clever banter between the two men was over, it was clear to Steele that down inside Trench had become an angry bitter man. Steele folded his arms and listen to Trench’s confession. “I saw a chance to make some real money and I took it. You were needed to run interference for me.
The more they chased after you the less they looked at me. Without you in the way how long do you think it would have taken them to get to me?
You public enemy number one dog. You knocked old Ramon in the head and stole the first batch of poison. It was you who pissed off the guys in Little John’s crew. And who did they catch standing over the crazy ass doctor’s dead body?”
Trench waved the gun at Steele, “It was you brother. I just sat back and waited for the right time to make my move. Now you see, I got me a really good chemist,” Trench reached under the desk and pulled out the brown pack that his men stole from the doctor; “he says that in a week he can mass produce this drug. When he does I’m going to do it up right. I am going to taint every drug dealer’s stash from Baltimore to New York.”
Steele laughed, “What about Philly, what about your cousin Little John, you gonna murder all of his customers too? You gonna put him out of business while you kill thousands of those innocent people.”
“Look Steele, maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were so I will tell you again. Within 48 hours after these junkies take a hit of the tainted coke they’re going to be dropping faster than roaches after the exterminator come through and once they do nobody is going to want to touch the stuff. So yes my bleeding heart friend, in order for me to fill up these funeral homes and get that stock price jacked up I will put my dumb ass cousin Little John out of business. I never liked him anyway.
Hell their friends will probably blame him and kill him for selling them bad coke. I am gonna be rich, no more of this shit.” Trench grabbed one of the handbags off of his desk and flung it against the wall.
Trench laughed until he noticed Steele smiling and removing an earpiece then unbuttoning his shirt to take off the wire he had been wearing.
Steele held up the wire, “Oh, I forgot to mention that your dumb ass cousin has been sitting outside in the car with Stan listening and recording our entire conversation.”
Trench leaped up from his chair and pointed the gun directly at Steele’s face when his cousin Little John and four of his crew burst into the room with guns drawn. A very nervous looking Trench lowered his weapon. Steele smiled, reached down and picked up his gun then leaned over the desk to pick up the khaki knapsack with the killer drug.
“I never get involved in family squabbles,” he quipped. “Hey, maybe you can offer him some of your designer glasses.”
Steele laughed as he walked out the door.
He waved at Stan who is parked just a few cars away, got into his Jag and drove off into the night.
End
The Case of the Death Dealer Page 4
