Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2

by Patrick Logan

  Then the pain really started. It was as if someone were poking the right side of his body with hundreds of glowing hot needles. To top it off, he was sweating profusely and was having a hard time catching his breath.

  Despite the urgent need to get as far away from Screech’s apartment as possible, Drake was forced to close his eyes and wait for the symptoms to pass. It took nearly a full minute before he could open them again. And when he did, he wasted no time in pulling the sheets of paper that Screech had given him from his pocket.

  “Come on,” he grumbled as he quickly scanned the list of addresses. And then, halfway down the third page, he jabbed a finger at a specific line.

  “Bingo,” he whispered.

  Just as he put the car into drive, a voice from the backseat spoke up.

  “What did you find?”

  Drake whipped around, leading with his hand. At the last second, he managed to modify the arc of his blow so that he didn’t strike Mandy in the face and instead hit the back of the seat.

  “What the fuck—what the fuck are you doing here?” he gasped.

  Mandy leaned back, a confused expression on her face.

  “I heard the cops, and I don’t—I think they might be involved, too.”

  Drake ground his teeth and turned his gaze out the window. He half expected to see the officers coming at him, their weapons drawn.

  But there was no one out there.

  “What did you find?” Mandy repeated. “Do you know who did this?”

  An image of the airplane hangar that he’d been drawn to by Raul, where the impish man had tied Ivan Meitzer up to a chair and beaten him came to mind. That had been a metal building and it was near the water. In fact, Drake even thought he remembered seeing several shipping containers on the same property.

  And that address was also on the list of buildings owned by ANGUIS Holdings.

  “Know? No, I don’t know,” he grumbled. “But I have a pretty damn good idea.”

  Chapter 16

  “Wow, you guys almost look like real cops. But, alas, you’ve got the wrong address. The bachelorette party’s down the hall.”

  The two police officers, who had introduced themselves as Officer Derek and Officer Galmond, exchanged looks before turning back to Screech.

  “Have you been drinking tonight?” Officer Derek asked.

  Screech held the glass of scotch up close to the man’s face, sniffing as he did. Officer Derek gently pushed it away.

  “Is that a crime now, too? Is it illegal to have a drink on one’s birthday?” Screech asked, his speech slurred.

  “Stephen, we’re just here to ask you if you’ve seen your friend Damien Drake.”

  Screech took a sip of his drink, or tried to; it was empty. He shrugged.

  “Haven’t seen him in months. Last I heard, he was on Dancing with the Stars.”

  Officer Galmond, who was significantly larger than his partner, stepped forward and fully blocked the doorway.

  “How ‘bout you stop fucking around and tell us where Drake is, huh? Save us all a headache.”

  Screech held his ground.

  “You know what? You might be right. It wasn’t Dancing with the Stars.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his free hand. “I’m an idiot. It was Survivor. Yeah, that’s right, Survivor; the 384th season of Survivor, where the contestants are left naked on an island. They are forced to fight each other, while at the same time, they’re trying to migrate through a giant maze. And—get this—the judge? A giant purple guy who wants to put rings on his gloves to rule the universe. How about that?”

  Officer Galmond stepped forward again, and this time Screech retreated into his apartment.

  “Hey, wait a second—aren’t you guys like vampires?”

  Officer Derek raised an eyebrow.

  “Vampires? What have you been smoking?”

  Screech nodded to himself.

  “Yeah, you guys are like vampires… you can’t come in here unless I invite you in. I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me I’m right, Scott Rogowsky. Please, Quizmaster, tell me that I won HQ for once in my measly existence.”

  Officer Galmond snarled.

  “How about I cite probable cause because you’ve got a joint on the table over there, huh? I mean, you certainly are acting like you’re high.”

  Screech ignored the comment.

  “I would invite you in, but you know what? I just ran out of douche bag tea and asshole pie. So maybe you can come back tomorrow.”

  With that, Screech reached for the door and started to close it. Except Officer Galmond’s foot got in the way.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Screech said, no longer slurring his words. “You see that over there? Yeah, right there, on the kitchen counter? That’s a camera. So, before you go and do something stupid, Officers Gandalf and Griswold, know that you’re being recorded.”

  Officer Derek reached over and gave his partner a nudge.

  “If we find out that you’ve seen Drake, we’ll arrest you for conspiracy.”

  Screech nodded and then waved as the two men started to walk backward down the hallway.

  “Buh-bye. And, please, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”

  When the officers made it to the elevator, Screech finally closed the door. Then he collapsed against it, breathing heavily.

  Even though he’d played it cool, and was quite proud of the charade, the entire time he’d been terrified. With a hard swallow, he walked over to the counter and picked up the TV remote control.

  “Fucking douche bag thought that this was a camera?” he muttered. Heart still racing, he reached down and opened the cupboard beneath the sink.

  There, stuffed haphazardly in a grocery bag, were the balls of heroin that Mandy had left in his bathroom. His first inclination had been to flush them, but at the last moment, he’d decided against it. It dawned on him that he and Drake might need them later.

  After another deep breath, Screech pulled out his cell phone. He briefly considered calling Drake, but he didn’t know how far his partner was from the officers that were likely searching around the building at this very moment. The last thing he wanted to do, was to set off the man’s phone when he was sneaking by them.

  Instead, he pulled up Beckett’s contact information. They hadn’t spoken since their interaction at the Reynolds’s farm, and before that, it had been in the Virgin Gorda.

  When I took the photos of him… of him staring down at Donnie DiMarco as the man drowned.

  Screech shuddered.

  He didn’t want to call Beckett; he didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. And yet, they were responsible for this mess. Somewhere out there was a shipping crate, and inside were the bodies of nearly two dozen girls.

  And for that, someone had to pay. Drake would do his best to find those responsible, to bring them to justice, but he would only go so far. Beckett, on the other hand, had no such limits.

  With a swallow, Screech hit send and a moment later a male voice answered.

  “Beckett? It’s Screech. I think… I think we need to meet up.”

  Chapter 17

  Drake flicked off the headlights before turning down the narrow road that led to the abandoned airport hangar. He was on high alert now, his eyes whipping back and forth, searching for any signs that this might be a setup. If it wasn’t, if Mandy’s story was true, it would be equally as dangerous.

  On first blush, the place looked deserted, but it had appeared that way the first time Drake had been here. Only then Raul and Ivan had been inside.

  A hint of movement in the rearview caught his eye, and he slowed even further. It was only Mandy shifting in her seat, but this reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The last thing that he’d wanted was to bring her with him, but he saw no other way around it. The girl was right: she couldn’t go to the police, not with the apparent links to ANGUIS Holdings. There was only one, maybe two people in the NYPD that Drake thought he could trust, but bringing them in n
ow would only serve to put them in DI Palmer’s crosshairs. No, he would reserve his connections for when he had no other choice.

  Taking Mandy back to Screech’s was also out of the question; the police were almost certainly staking the place out and they were most likely doing the same at Jasmine’s. Even if they weren’t, he’d had a hard enough time explaining what had happened at the farm… bringing a young, attractive girl with an even more outlandish story than his own would be a next to impossible sell.

  Drake eased his Crown Vic to a stop beside the hangar and then reached into the glovebox and pulled out his pistol. He jammed it into the back of his pants and then turned to face Mandy.

  “You stay here,” he instructed. He debated giving her the keys, but decided against it. Mandy had already run from Screech’s without a word and Drake didn’t want risk getting stranded here by himself, especially if it was a setup. Besides, the woman had made it all the way to Triple D on foot without ever having been to New York before. She could handle herself just fine, he surmised, if it came to that.

  Which he most definitely hoped it did not.

  “If I’m not back in about fifteen minutes, you get out of the car and keep walking. See the city lights over there? The ones tightly packed in a circle? That’s the hospital. Just follow the signs with the big capital ‘H’s on them. You go to the hospital and ask for Dr. Beckett Campbell. Tell him that I sent you. Do you understand?”

  Mandy nodded and Drake turned his gaze back to the windshield.

  “Does any of this look familiar to you? Is this the metal building you remember?”

  Mandy chewed her lip.

  “I don’t think so… it was dark and the building was more… I dunno, black. This is more silver.”

  Drake focused on the corrugated metal door at the front of the hangar. It was indeed silver as Mandy said, but he wasn’t ready to write this place off just yet. The woman herself admitted that she’d been frightened and that her memory of what had happened after she’d risen from the dead wasn’t good. And this place made sense. For one, it was owned by ANGUIS and he’d already been here once with Raul of all people. Second, it was on the water, and third, while it had been devoid of planes when he’d been here last, it at least had the capacity to store them.

  And if you’re shipping cargo—human or otherwise—access to planes would be a definite asset.

  No… this is the place. It has to be.

  Drake nodded and opened the door.

  “All right, stay here—I’m going inside. Remember: if I’m not back in fifteen, go to the hospital and ask for Dr. Beckett Campbell.”

  With that, Drake stepped out into the night.

  Chapter 18

  “And you think this is all somehow related to Bob Bumacher and his boat? Sorry, his yacht?”

  Screech looked down at his shoes as they walked. Even though Beckett had agreed to meet, he was none too pleased to actually go through with it. In fact, when Screech had first arrived at the man’s office, he’d tried to open with some small talk, but Beckett had quickly shut him down. Screech had gone on to ask about his hand, to see how it was healing, but Beckett had just shrugged him off.

  This was a very different Beckett that had made hooker and blow jokes in the Virgin Gorda.

  “It’s the same insignia on the baggies as in the yacht,” Screech offered.

  Beckett shrugged.

  “So what? It’s not unusual for these things to be cut up and repackaged with different brands on them. This isn’t like Denzel Washington in American Gangster—there’s not just one provider, one source anymore. There is no guarantee that the stuff that you have is even from the same country as the stuff that Donnie had on the yacht.”

  Screech nodded as Beckett spoke. What the man was saying was reasonable and probable, and yet he couldn’t help but think that it just wasn’t accurate. Everything that had happened since he was hired to work at Triple D—maybe even before that, when the DA had come to strike a deal to get his brother out of prison—was all connected.

  Drake was right; it all boiled down to Ken Smith and ANGUIS Holdings.

  “But let’s say it is connected,” Beckett said. “Why’d you come to me with this?”

  Screech was surprised by the question and stopped walking. The street was nearly empty, as the last classes on campus ended several hours ago, it was unusually quiet and serene for New York City. And this suddenly made Screech uncomfortable.

  Was it smart coming to Beckett? Given what I’ve seen him do?

  “I had no one else to go to,” he said at last. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it was far from the whole truth.

  Beckett looked him up and down and then ran a hand through his hair.

  “You sure that’s why?”

  Screech’s thoughts flicked back to what Mandy had said in his apartment, that she wanted Drake to kill the people responsible for the shipping container disaster.

  “Yeah,” he said with a swallow. “I had no one else to go to. The police are after Drake and he’s in hiding.”

  Beckett started walking again and Screech stayed by the man’s side. For a minute or more, neither of them spoke.

  Screech tried not to let his mind wander, but he kept thinking about the look in Beckett’s eyes. The cold, empty stare that he’d seen after Beckett had bashed Craig Sloan’s head in with a stone as Donnie DiMarco struggled for air.

  “I’ll tell you what, you bring a bag with you?” Beckett asked unexpectedly.

  Screech nodded and reached into his pocket to squeeze the baggy within.

  “All right, hand it over. I’ll bring it to the lab and see if I can trace the source, for what it’s worth.”

  Screech looked around to confirm that they were alone before pulling out the baggy. He cupped it in his hand and then awkwardly extended his wrist like a handicapped person attempting their first ever handshake.

  “Okay, Scarface, it’s a couple of grams of heroin, not a fucking kilo of cocaine. Just give it to me,” Beckett raised his right hand and wiggled his nub of a middle finger. “Besides, I think my days of the ol’ secret handshake and finger wags are over, don’t you?”

  Screech nodded and quickly handed the bag over. Beckett slipped it into his pocket.

  “You’re not… you’re not going to use it, are you?”

  Beckett frowned.

  “I may have had a bump or two on Donnie’s yacht, but I’m not a goddamn heroin addict, Screech. Keep it together, man.”

  Screech nodded. He didn’t think that Beckett was an addict, of course, but he’d seen stranger things in his time. He’d seen his own brother Larry function normally even after consuming enough Quaaludes to put a grizzly bear in a coma.

  “And you say these girls… you say they all… they all died?” Beckett continued.

  Screech nodded.

  “Mandy said that they were forced to eat the bags of heroin. They were also told to drink this special cocktail… she said that it was terrible… terrible and bitter. Do you think—”

  Beckett grabbed his arm and squeezed.

  “Let it go, Screech,” the man warned. Screech tried to pull away, but Beckett’s grip held fast. “Just let it go. Nothing happened in the Virgin Gorda. Nothing.”

  And then, for a split second, Beckett’s eyes went empty like they had done with Craig Sloan and Donnie DiMarco.

  “Sorry,” Screech grumbled, and Beckett released him.

  They started walking again.

  “All right,” Beckett said, his tone returning to normal. “I’ll take the H and run it through mass spec, determine its country of origin. I’ll also keep my eye out for any girls that OD’d and come into the morgue. That’s the most I can do for now. IA is still on my ass… making sure that I dot my t’s and cross my i’s, if you know what I mean.”

  Screech nodded. In truth, this was more than he expected from the man. Without any bodies, all they had to go on was a terrified girl’s story.

  And a pound of heroin. There
was always that.

  “Thanks, Beckett. Like I said, I had no one else to go to.”

  Beckett nodded and then turned to head back to his office. He only took three or four steps, however, before stopping again.

  “Hey, Screech?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t happen to take any pictures while you were on vacation, did you?”

  Screech’s heart skipped a beat.

  “No,” he lied. “Why do you ask?”

  Beckett made a face.

  “No reason. No reason at all. You take care yourself now, okay? And look out for that asshole Drake.”

  Chapter 19

  The hangar was empty—really empty this time. There was no one tied up, no Raul lurking in the shadows. There was… nothing. The chair that Ivan had been bound to was gone and the light that Raul had used to disorient Drake when he’d initially entered the place was also absent.

  In fact, the place looked immaculate, much cleaner than the first time he’d been there.

  And yet, Drake was unconvinced. He stayed close to the wall as he made his way around the interior. It was dark inside, but not pitch; splinters of moonlight eked in through the many windows high above.

  Keeping his ears perked and his eyes peeled, Drake continued to shuffle along, primed to react if Raul or anyone else—a man with a Russian accent, perhaps—leaped from the shadows. Eventually, he made it to the other side without being accosted. There was a corrugated metal door on this side, directly across from the one he’d entered through.

  But while the front had been unlocked, this one appeared secured with a chain and padlock. It wasn’t a tight seal, however; the metal near the bottom was bent just enough for a man about Drake’s size to squeeze through. After peeking out to make sure that there was nobody there, Drake crouched and forced his way outside.

  He nearly gasped at the pain that ripped up his midsection, but by some miracle managed to keep his lips pressed firmly together.