by ANDREA SMITH
“I hear you, Special Agent Matthews,” she retorted stiffly.
We reached our flea bag hotel and checked in without incident. Slate found a way to come by later, dressed in the garb of a homeless guy. I had to admit, Slate was pretty damn good at that part of it, though I knew I was better.
Hatfield met us later and filled us in. The goods had cleared customs for dispatch via over-the-road transport. All things were in schedule for tomorrow night.
Diana and I were to make sure we made our presence known at the Anchors Aweigh bar that was just a half block from the loading docks. We were to cause a bit of a domestic scene, with her getting pissed and walking out.
The truck driver that always drove the cargo to Philly always stopped and had a cold one at that bar before he started his journey. Diana was to make sure she came on to him causing the argument between the two of us as if we were a couple. Oh God.
We had just finished our debriefing, when Slate called me aside.
“I got a call from the lab,” he said. “They lifted prints from the key and the baggie you brought in.”
“And?”
“They lifted two sets of prints on the key.”
“Two?”
“Yep.”
Okay, why was Slate being so weird about this?
“Whose prints?” I asked.
“Jack’s,” he said quickly. There was a pause and I waited. “And Samantha’s,” he answered.
CHAPTER 35
(TAZ)
It was nearly 10:30 p.m. Diana and I had been hanging at the Anchors Aweigh for a couple of hours.
She had dressed the part wearing a tight, short, jean skirt with fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots. She had a short cropped leather jacket on and tons of make-up. She had some nice legs going on. I wasn’t going to lie about that.
Of course, they didn’t hold a candle to Lindsey’s legs even though Diana was tall, about 5’10”.
We had acted like we were well into our suds when we got to the bar so we could minimize the amount of alcohol we consumed there so as to avoid getting shit-faced.
I spotted the truck driver from the pictures Hatfield and Simmons had provided. I nudged Diana with my knee, she spun her barstool around and nodded that he was in her line of vision. He took a seat at the end of the bar near the jukebox.
She took a swig of her beer and made a sexy little prance over to the jukebox, leaning over to make her selections. This provided anyone behind her a nice view of her ass, and for the truck driver at the end of the bar, he wasted no time in noticing.
She took her time, pressing her selections. She rolled her hips to the music that was already playing, snapping her fingers to keep his attention.
As she turned to head back, she did a little trip, allowing herself to brush against him. She of course apologized to him, giving him a sexy smile. He was taking the bait. Good. I let her sit there next to him, working her seductive magic for a few minutes.
I finally got up and sauntered over to where she was sitting, leaning over whispering to him drunkenly, giving him a show of her ample tits.
“Rhonda, what the fuck?”
They both looked up at me. She got a saucy little grin on her face, rubbing the palm of her hand against his bicep.
“Oh, keep your zipper up,” she said. “I’m just enjoying some interesting conversation here with Bill. You got a problem with that, Gary?”
“You’re drunk, Rhonda. I’m taking you home.”
“I ain’t going nowhere with you, Gary. I’m sick of this shit. You ain’t my husband after all,” she slurred, turning her attention back to Bill.
I grabbed a hold of her wrist, pulling her towards me. Bill shoved my wrist away and I acted like a wounded pussy.
“Watch the way you touch the lady,” Bill said, giving me the evil eye. “Are you alright, honey?” he asked, turning his attention fully to her. She looked behind him at me and I gave her a quick nod.
She turned the tears on telling Bill what an awful fuck I was to her, bitching and shoving her around all the time. He leaned in to comfort her giving me a chance to toss the small, self-dissolving ampoule into his tall glass of draft beer.
I needed a few moments for the ampoule to fully dissolve with a substance that was going to render poor Bill totally nauseous within five minutes after drinking it.
I stuck my finger in her face.
“You know what Rhonda?” I said quietly, but firmly. I didn’t want to draw attention from the other patrons. “You are absolutely right, we aren’t married. I guess I am the royal shit you say I am. I’ve had it. It’s not fucking worth it to me. You, Bill - is that your name?”
He was watching me. He nodded his head affirmatively.
“Bill, can you see that she gets home? I’ve had enough of her for one lifetime.”
“Uh, well,” he stammered, looking over at her tear-stained cheeks. “You see the thing is Rhonda, I go on the clock in about twenty minutes over at the loading dock.”
“Please don’t make me leave with that bastard,” she sobbed quietly.
“I only live five minutes’ drive from here, but it’s just not safe in this neighborhood for me to be walking. It sure as hell isn’t safe for me to get into the car with him,” she spat, pointing her finger at me.
“Okay, sweetie-pie,” he said. “Let me down this beer and we’re outta here. I’ll drop you before I go on the clock.”
“Thanks, Bill,” she crooned, as he turned and gulped down his beer.
“Lots of luck, Bill,” I spat walking out the door.
Perfect execution of task at hand. Yes!
I hoofed it over to the line of shrubbery on the empty lot next to the well-lit dock and waited. There was only one longshoreman that was in the on the deal, not knowing that Hatfield and Simmons were feds. That was sweet.
Hatfield had been making this trek to Philly with Bill once a month for the past four months. He had his CDL issued under his undercover name of “Jeremy Haskell.”
He and Bill took turns driving the goods from Baltimore to Philly and back. No one would notice anything odd about Hatfield, a.k.a. Haskell, pulling the first stint of the run.
Come on, come on, Diana.
We needed ‘Bill’ to show up in some way shape or form on his shift tonight so that the loaders wouldn’t get suspicious. He was approximately the same height and weight as me. The clothing would do the rest.
Then I saw her with five minutes to spare. She had Bill’s jacket and wallet. I quickly donned the jacket with the name of the OTR freight company with name tag “Bill” sewn on the outside. I shoved his wallet into the pocket of the work pants that exactly matched the one’s Bill had been wearing. I knew they would.
I pulled the black knit cap out of the pocket; also a signature “Bill” accessory. As long as I didn’t get too close to the loaders, there was no way they would not think I was Bill.
“Where is he?” I asked, pulling the knit cap on to cover my hair.
“His car had an unfortunate accident as he was driving me to my fake apartment. Poor guy hit a hydrant as he was trying to pull over to the curb so he could puke. I lifted his wallet and grabbed his jacket from the back seat. The locals were on it just as soon as I beat the block. We’re good. He’ll be sleeping it off in the Baltimore drunk tank for a while. The locals know not to give him his one phone call until after we give them clearance.”
“Good job, Diana,” I said, giving her a slap on the shoulder. “Now, get your ass back to the hotel and sit tight until tomorrow morning, got it?”
“Yes, Special Agent Matthews,” she whispered. “Good luck with the rest.”
She turned and broke into a jog back towards the bar and the hotel that was just around the corner. Dee Dee would do all right getting back. She had proven to me that she could hang tough.
I walked across the parking lot towards the dock warehouses. I kept my head low and once I neared the dock bay where the truck was parked with the sea carrier’
s logo on it.
I spotted Hatfield. He gave me a nod, which meant I needed to climb up into the passenger side of the 18-wheeler and keep a low profile while they finished up with the shipping documents and signed off on the manifest.
I hunkered down, waiting for Slate’s appearance which should be coming up soon. From the side mirror, I saw the headlights of the Lexis SUV he had been issued.
Fucker had all the luck.
He had even been given a fucking driver/bodyguard to make it look like he indulged in shady business deals all of the time. His driver looked like fucking ‘Lurch’ off of the Adams Family.
I watched as Agent Simmons and the greedy longshoreman whose name was Calvin met with Slate and his ‘bodyguard’ outside of the Lexus. There was some conversation, followed by the exchange of money. I knew there would be a promise of delivery made by Calvin. The deal was that he had scarfed some of the liquid cocaine and stepped on it with some other liquid adders so it wouldn’t be missed when the inventory got weighed in at Philly.
As soon as Calvin delivered the goods to Slate, he would be arrested. Calvin’s arrest would be small-time compared to the syndicate in Philly. However, Agent Simmons had picked up some bonus Intel from Calvin that had piqued the interest of the bureau chief.
Calvin had mentioned to Agent Simmons that there was a lot more money to be made with unrelated shipments coming in of some powdery shit that he claimed to be pure, organic, amphetamine.
I watched out of the truck’s front windshield. Slate’s ‘deal’ went down without a hitch. Within several minutes, Hatfield climbed up into the driver’s side of the cab of the truck.
“Hey Bill, how in the fuck are you tonight?” I saw him give me a wink.
“Not really feeling like myself, Jeremy,” I replied with a smirk. “Let’s hit the road to Philly.”
Hatfield and I discussed the new information that Calvin had shared with Slate on the organic amphetamine deal. Apparently, he had ties with a U.S. Customs agent in Baltimore who was dirty. That type of thing tended to piss me off royally.
The agent was going to be making some major bucks to clear imports of green coffee bean extract coming in with some barrels mixed in containing something else altogether. It was an illegal substance used for making potent amphetamines. The first shipment was due in to the Port of Baltimore within the next few days.
Calvin had asked Slate if wanted a piece of it. Apparently the consignee was looking for a distribution network since this was a new start-up, and it took someone with start-up capital to buy in. Calvin thought it would be a perfect fit for Slate. He was about to find out just how wrong he was.
“So, anyway, Slate will be meeting us in Philly in the morning with the federal warrants for the bust. I’m pumped, Taz,” Hatfield, said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just keep this rig on the road, Hatfield.”
“Hey, my CDL license is for real, Taz. No worries. Sit back and snooze. I’ve got everything under control.”
Hatfield’s enthusiasm had only tugged me away from my thoughts momentarily. I was sure Slate would get more details once Calvin was arrested and he shit himself. That tended to make “rookie” criminals roll over on anybody and everyone. The corrupt U.S. Customs agent would probably fill in the rest of the gaps when he was popped.
The federal prosecutor was pretty good at negotiating with small time criminals to land the more significant perps. More than likely, the agent involved would roll over in a heartbeat when it came down to whether he would have to spend twenty years versus forty years in a federal prison.
“I think I will get a little shut-eye, Hatfield,” I said, leaning back against the fairly comfortable seat. “Wake me when we get to Philly.”
“No problem, Taz.”
CHAPTER 36
We were on day three of Slate (and Taz) being gone. Bryce kept me so busy the days had gone by quickly, but for Mom, I could see that not having Slate nearby made her kind of mope around.
I would spend a couple of hours a day with her when Bryce was napping so she didn’t feel so lonely. We would watch a program together or play cards.
I had made a little play area in the master suite for Bryce so that he could play in there during the day. He kept her entertained.
The two-hour reprieve I got every evening was my time to run errands, shop, or simply take a drive to get out of the house.
The home health care nurse’s name was Donna and she was a godsend. She got along great with Mom and Bryce. She arrived around 5:30 p.m. and stayed until 7:30 p.m. daily. She always told me if I needed her to stay later, it was no problem.
Mom got a call from Slate every day. I had only heard from Taz once in three days. When I hinted that Slate called Mom daily, he apologized for not realizing how high maintenance I was. I had called him a “smart-ass” and he had laughed that beautiful, sexy laugh of his.
Of course, he wanted to make sure that I had taken steps to get on the pill. I told him that I had an appointment scheduled with my doctor the following day. He was pleased.
He said that everything had gone as planned but they were sticking around Baltimore for another day or two for other reasons. That was the extent of the detail he provided, which really told me nothing.
He asked if I had talked to Kyzer lately, but the truth was I hadn’t and told him as much. He seemed relieved even though I couldn’t see his face, I could still read Taz.
Taz told me he missed me before we hung up which caused my butterflies to surge, and that he would call me when he could. I told him I missed him as well. I could feel his smile over the phone.
God, I hope I’m not falling in love.
The following day was my appointment with the doctor. Donna agreed to come by at 4:00 p.m. because my appointment was at 4:30 p.m.
Everything went well at the doctor’s visit. He gave me a starter packet of pills that I was to start immediately, and then a prescription with refills. He instructed me to use alternate protection for the first two weeks after starting them.
Once I got home, Donna told me she could stick around longer if I needed some study time. Bryce had napped longer than usual this afternoon, and was still going strong.
I took her up on the offer, going upstairs to shower and study for a while. The online classes were definitely more challenging than taking them on-campus with the luxury of real, live teachers.
I picked up my phone and called Kyzer. My call went straight to voice-mail. It was strange I hadn’t heard from him for several days. Perhaps he was cultivating a new relationship; couldn’t blame the guy for that.
I ended up studying for two hours before realizing that Donna had stayed way over. I went downstairs and she was watching television in the family room.
“Donna, I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
“Lindsey, it’s not a problem. You need more time for yourself with school and all. I really don’t mind, okay?”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “So, I take it Bryce is down for the night?”
“Yep,” she said, getting her jacket on, “and your mom has had her medication and is sleeping as well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, again,” I said, closing the door after her and locking it.
I felt lonely. There was no one to talk to, I missed Taz. I went upstairs and pulled my tee shirt off, pulling Taz’s ‘FBI’ hoodie on. It still smelled like him. That offered some comfort.
I climbed into bed and relaxed finally drifting off to sleep.
The following morning I awoke before Bryce and peeked in on Mom. She was awake and her iPad was perched on her stomach. I presumed she was reading one of her downloaded books.
“Morning,” I said, going into her room. She looked up, a bright smile lighting up her face.
“That must be a good book,” I replied, nodding towards her iPad.
“Oh, I wasn’t reading my book,” she said. “I was checking my emails. Slate will be home tod
ay.”
Really?
“Oh, yeah? He emails you when he’s on assignment?”
“Only when it’s finished and he can.”
Perhaps I had an email waiting for me.
I went into the kitchen and grabbed my cell phone, logging on to see if I had any emails come in on my Yahoo account. There was nothing at all from Taz.
I made some breakfast for Mom, taking it in on the bed tray she used.
“So, what time are you expecting him in?” I asked her, fluffing a pillow.
She took a sip of her orange juice.
“He said he’d be in Quantico by noon, then home by mid-afternoon. He needs to discuss a key or something with me.”
The key from Robespierre?
“So, that means the assignment is concluded then. I suppose Taz will be with him, huh?”
She looked up at me with a puzzled look on her face. She couldn’t figure out why I would ask about Taz. Her eyes lowered to the ‘FBI’ hoodie I was still wearing and her look of puzzlement changed to one of suspicion.
“That isn’t one of Slate’s hoodies,” she stated. “He only wears the tee shirts.”
I am detecting a slightly accusatory tone here.
I looked down, my fingers plucking a piece of imaginary lint from the front.
“No, I borrowed it from Taz,” I replied, looking back up at her.
Her expression has now morphed to confusion.
“Why would you borrow a hoodie from Taz?”
Ahh, geez.
“Because I needed something to wear to bed.”
There, I had said it. The secret was out and I was relieved.
“Lindsey, no,” she said in a loud whisper, looking practically horrified.
“Mom, Taz and I have gotten close. It’s a caring relationship.”
“On your part, I’m sure,” she said, “but honey, Taz is not boyfriend material. The stories I’ve heard from Eric will confirm that.”
It was odd the way my mother interchanged “Eric” with “Slate” depending upon the nature of the conversation. I figured the nature of this conversation was extremely serious in her opinion.
