by R C Cameron
“Now turn around Steiner.”
He took all his time to pivot and to study the man holding a gun on him. His head bobbled left and right, he was trying to identify the threat. The low light in the corridor did not help.
“You’re making a big mistake, my name is Scott, Brad Scott. You have the wrong man, I can prove it,” as he reached to his back pocket.
I joined both hands onto the Glock. “Don’t move,” I said. He stopped abruptly. “There’s no mistake Steiner, I would recognize you anywhere.” I stepped forward slowly.
He straightened out, one hand on his side, the other one still holding the bag. His face now showed a new level of comprehension, and a smile formed on his lips. “Tanner, the swimming investigator. I knew I’ve seen your face before. Are you still upset about your transport back to Miami that night? We only wanted to scare you. We would have released you on arrival, promised.”
“And the man on my yacht, you wanted to scare him too?”
“It’s difficult to get good help around here. They should have ditched the plan when they didn’t find you on the yacht, they’re not all rocket scientists.”
At first, a noise erupted, then the door to apartment 408 between Steiner and myself opened without warning and an elderly lady came out and turned to lock her door, oblivious to the goings-on around her in the corridor. Steiner seized the opportunity, where I couldn’t shoot, to turn around and sprint towards the exit. The lady looked in his direction, uncertain what was happening. I dashed after Steiner still bearing my firearm. The old lady leaned her back against her apartment door, brought both hands to her face and screamed. I dashed past her as she was sliding down her door.
Steiner ran into the first stairway he encountered. Since he still had his bag, I had to assume he was armed and I could not rush around a corner without taking safety precautions. Top of the stairs, I stopped and looked around the corner. I saw nothing, but I picked up hurried footsteps on the metallic stairs. I followed him, halting at each landing to look for my suspect possibly taking aim at me. As long as I heard his steps, I felt confident he hadn’t stopped to ambush me.
A screeching metallic sound interrupted the running steps. That would be the door leading to the underground garage. I sped up my descent and reached the door less than ten seconds later. With my back glued to the wall, I opened the door wide and took a peek inside just for a fraction of a second. As I was pulling my head back, I saw a flash besides a large cement column and a single shot then landed on the closing door, missing me by inches.
I bent down as much as I could, flipped the door open again, and from my low position, fired three rounds towards the previous flash without looking. I then took a peek inside the garage and observed Steiner running away from his cover. This time, I slowly aimed, like at the range and fired a single round at his moving legs. He dropped his long body onto the cement floor followed by a metallic sound, something skipping. In the hope he dropped his gun, I rushed towards the column and looked around it. I saw a man with a grimace dragging himself with his arms only on the floor, about ten feet away from his purpose. A trail of blood followed him.
“Stop it right there,” I shouted as I ran towards him and picked up the revolver just in time. The cat’s last life would be enjoyed in a high-security jail. I pocketed his gun and then reached for my phone to call the Miami police, unsure if all the noise had not generated an emergency appeal already.
“John, I know it’s late but I have a package for you, a man appearing on the FBI’s most wanted list. Why don’t you come over to pick him up?”
After a short hesitation, JR asks for my coordinates which I provided. I would be in the garage waiting I told him. “Shots were fired, and a man is injured, send an ambulance.”
Not even five minutes passed when the sound of sirens erupted outside. Shortly after, four patrolmen, gun in hand, stepped into the hot garage. When they saw me holding a firearm, they asked I dropped my weapon which I did.
A stretcher soon arrived and under a police escort, they moved Steiner to the waiting ambulance. They put his belongings in an evidence bag, this will eventually lead to the downfall of his supply chain. JR arrived as the stretcher rolled in his direction, and he looked at the man well tied up and escorted. I joined him.
“Nice catch Jason, on my way down, I had someone check the 10-most-wanted list. The man on the stretcher is worth a cool hundred thousand dollars, not bad.”
“That’s going to just cover my expenses on this investigation. I have a few folks I need to compensate for their help in this case. But I’ll take it with pleasure.”
Steiner was still grimacing. He looked at the paramedic. “I need something for the pain, man.”
“Don’t forget to get the real drugs, buddy. There are fakes all over the market, but that’s finished, at least for a while.”
He shot me a dirty look.
I hated myself now. I took down a drug manufacturer, and I was using illegal drugs myself. I decided I had to do something about it.
“When your troubles are behind you in Miami, there are folks in Chicago waiting to talk to you. A homemade bomb exploded in one of your garages, remember that asshole?”
He simply closed his eyes. It would be hell for him from now on.
In the next hour, I narrated the events leading to the capture of the Cat, from my arrival to the pursuit and the shooting. Two detectives took my statement, but not Freeman, I wondered why.
It was late when I returned to my temporary lodging and fell asleep within a minute from putting my head on the pillow. I would drive back tomorrow.
(--)
After my early morning walk in Pompano, I was having a regular Americano at my coffee shop. The news on the Post and the Times were demoralizing as usual. On occasions I read news from Canada where life appeared more normal.
When my phone rang, it startled me so much I first dropped it. But my iPhone reflex allowed me to catch it before it reached the floor and the standard $149 repair cost. It reminded me of an old professor in high school who raced weekends on ice circuits while I lived in Chicago. On Monday mornings, after his usual race day, he reported his success or demise by enumerating the car parts who needed to be replaced. He remembered the price of every car replacement part, a rear bumper, a left or right fender, a door and others. Even with a win he needed some new parts.
“Hello,” I said, not having looked at the screen.
“Jason? It’s John.”
“Hey John, how are you?”
“Well, I could be better. A sad day at the station today,” he said.
“How come?”
“We arrested Wayne Freeman this morning on conspiracy to commit murder charges. The district attorney struck a deal with the big Asian to testify against Freeman in exchange for reduce charges. It’s not my favorite approach, but we had no other way to get a conviction.”
“You know John, it’s better for the force to remove a bad apple this way than to keep him. The conspiracy charges will be difficult to prove, he passed along information on where to find me at the marina. A quick call, from a public phone, that’s all he needed.”
“Yea, I know.”
“So you’ll have the two Asians plus Freeman for the murder of William Tudor. No sign on who ordered the kill? Can’t link Nelson?”
“No, the big Asian is not talking. He received his instructions from Freeman, no one else he said. As for Freeman, we have not interviewed him yet, we’re waiting for his lawyer to arrive.”
“How was he introduced to the drug gang initially?”
“We don't have this information yet, but we will. We are looking at his financial transactions over the past years, his access to the national crime data base, and several other verifications. We’ll find out the truth in due time. In the meantime, his career is over in law enforcement. When he comes out of jail, he’ll need a new job.”
“Yea, if he comes out. Police officers have a hard time in jail, it’s well known.�
�
“I’ve got to go Jason. I wanted to give you the news first hand.”
“Thanks John, it’s appreciated.”
Early afternoon, back at the marina, I took an important decision. One I should have taken months ago. It finally dawned on me I was addicted to the pain killers and I needed to take back my life. The pain clinic had stopped calling me because I never returned their call, that would change from now on. For some reason, I have a better track record of keeping my promises when I tell someone else. I knew who I had to call.
“Hello!”
“Hi sweetheart, it’s your dad.”
I took her through the details of the last few days and the successful capture of a public enemy. I made the story not too dangerous, I didn’t want Cynthia to worry about my safety during these sometimes unexplainable developments in my investigations. She was not surprised about the rotten apple Freeman. He deserved everything that was coming to him.
“I’ve made a decision Cynthia. I will be taking care of my pain killer addiction before it’s too late. I’m telling you now and I’m calling the pain management clinic immediately after this call. I cannot continue this way. I realize it now.”
“Great news, dad!”
“I’m telling you so you keep on my case. I know it may be difficult at times for me but with your support, I know I can get through this. What do you say?”
I could hear some sniffing at the other end of the line. I believe they were tears of joy.
“You know you can count on me dad, always. Mom would be proud of you too,” she said as she wept at the same time.
(--)
About two months after my discussion with JR, I received a phone call from Tianna. She had been close-mouthed so far, and it surprised me not hearing from her since. I listened with interest to the strange ramification of our case.
“Jason, hope you are well, I wanted to inform you about developments after Steiner’s capture.”
“Follow-up?”
“Yes, when they arrested Steiner, they also seized his personal phone. On it, they found several applications including one called WICKR. I had no clue what this application did, but my colleagues described it. It’s a messaging app, to send and received text between individuals with a special feature that once someone read the message, something destroys it. Impossible to know what they were, they keep no trace, no history.”
“Sounds perfect for a bunch of criminals. Okay, then what?”
“It appears Steiner had been corresponding, with this application, with a French-Canadian man, Eric Mondoux.”
“Can’t say he’s in my contact list.”
“Mondoux is a well-known drug trafficker up in Canada, in the province of Quebec.”
“I’ve been up there before, nice place if you like the cold.”
“Steiner communicated with Mondoux while he was in prison, conducting business while serving a ten-year sentence for drug trafficking.”
“In prison, and he ran his business from there?”
“Yes, in Drummondville, wherever that is.”
“Hum, what else?”
“Well, hand it to the Canadians, they are smart.”
“How so?”
“The RCMP seized Mondoux’s phone after a search of his cell and placed him in solitary confinement.”
“Smart.”
“They took over his identity as a major importer of Fentanyl ingredients for North America. If you wanted to make Fentanyl, he was your top man for the job.”
“Interesting.”
“That’s not all. By taking over his identity, the Canadians also found four Chinese citizens now blamed for shipping various fentanyl components to countries close to the States. Steiner would organize a sailing expedition to these locations and bring back what he needed to make the drugs. A simple but deadly result.”
“Impressive.”
“We have nothing to do with this situation, the Canadians managed everything on their own, hats off to them.”
“Quite a story, don’t you think?”
“Yes, a happy ending.”
“I would have more details if you buy me a drink at the Jet Runway cafe tomorrow, let’s say around five?”
“I have a two o’clock appointment at the pain clinic but I should be able to be there by five. See you then.”
I wondered if she was married all of a sudden.
*** THE END ***
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