by Joe Field
Smokey came out of prison with new connections and ideas to make money. They were the kind of connections that got you far in the criminal world. He used them to get to Captain, who agreed to supply him with some of the best heroin in the country out of Mexico. The idea to sell to the reservations also came from conversations in prison. It was a good market because of the general hopelessness that came with poverty, driving people to escape through addiction. Smokey knew the feds wouldn’t care about the drug problem on the reservations, which would keep him out of trouble. Except, he had a hard time not expanding to other areas of the region because people wanted Brown Sugar.
Just get through this shipment, and North Dakota is yours, he thought. Build your empire, make your millions, and get out while you can. That was Smokey’s plan, but he had enough self-awareness to realize it would be incredibly hard to stop once he was really rolling in the dough. One thing was certain: he sure as hell was not going back to Stillwater.
Chapter 17
Thief River Falls, MN
It took me several days to figure out where the safe house was located. Rotating local police officers watched the house around the clock, but they were in unmarked squad cars. Then, one of the officers who brought me Dairy Queen one day accidently left the receipt in the bag. I was in Thief River Falls, or at least near there.
I should have known too, as I saw people in the adjacent homes wearing Arctic Cat and Digi-Key shirts to and from work. I must have been close to the factories. I was in a rundown trailer house, on the back corner cul-de-sac of a trailer park. I could count several dozen other trailer houses crammed together on the little street, but wasn’t sure as to the full extent the park’s size.
Agent Sosa stopped by twice, but he was keeping his cards close to his chest in terms of when it would be safe for me to leave. He said he contacted my boss and family, so they were aware of the situation. I can only imagine how the conversation between him and Bill Anderson went.
I had been at the safe house for six days now and I was going stir crazy. I was completely cut off from the outside world with no electronics. For a news junkie, I was going through withdrawal. My one consolation was knowing Soojin was safe. She had worked so hard on the Governor’s campaign that I would have been devastated if she were pulled from it. Now, my biggest worry was trying to get out of this safe house so I could get back to Saint Paul to marry her.
On the seventh day, a Saturday, I was just getting my daily fast-food lunch from the city police officer when Agent Lindberg showed up. He looked excited about something, and in a hurry. He motioned for me to sit down at the table. “Cooper, I trust you’ve had a pleasant stay at our fine safe house thus far,” said Lindberg, “but, it should be coming to an end soon.”
“You’re taking down Smokey and his crew,” I said.
“We are going to get them tonight if all goes as planned. If we’re successful, you can leave tomorrow morning.”
“Where is Agent Sosa?” I asked.
“He’s back in Minneapolis.”
“He’s going to bust Smokey himself?”
“Yes, and we have simultaneous operations in four other locations as well,” said Lindberg.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Red Lake, White Earth, Chicago, and… what’s the fourth?”
“Oh, that’s right, Detective Smith,” Lindberg said mockingly. “You were correct on the first three locations. The fourth spot is right here.”
“Here?” I repeated. “Is there a connection to this town I’m missing?”
“Yes, it’s you. We have information that suggests Smokey’s muscle man, Tank, will be looking for you tonight, here in TRF, as the locals call it. We want to arrest him when he gets to town, so I’ll be staying here tonight.”
“Am I safe?” Worry made my voice rise a notch.
“We have city, county, state, and federal law enforcement officers already in position in all four locations, including here. There’s nothing to worry about,” said Lindberg.
“Yeah, but I’ve heard Tank is massive. If he gets to me, I’m dead.”
“Just relax. Sit back and enjoy your last wonderful evening in the Countryside Trailer Court. Oh, and there’s one more thing. Sosa asked me to return this to you; he said you might need it soon.”
Lindberg reached into his pocket and handed me back my tape from the interview with Roy Cloud.
“We, of course, made copies of it so it can be used in court,” said Lindberg. “This is the original though, just for you.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “That was so thoughtful of you.”
***
The rest of the day dragged on. I tried to distract myself, but it was useless. I knew if Tank were going to attack me, it would be after dark. The sun was setting and I was restless. I wished I could be on the move, as I felt like a sitting duck. To feel like I was doing something, I decided to stay on watch all night, looking out from different windows in the trailer to see if anyone was approaching. I wasn’t armed, so there wasn’t much I could do except call out to Lindberg, whose unmarked Crown Victoria was parked in front of our trailer.
The clock on the wall now read 10:37 pm, and I was getting tired. I decided to make the rounds again to stay awake. I looked out the back window and saw a uniformed police officer on foot patrol. I was glad there was a second officer nearby. Beyond him all I could see were a couple trees, a big, open field behind them in the darkness – nothing out there for miles. Out the side windows, all I could see were the adjacent trailer houses. The one to the east of us was completely dark, but in the one to the west I could make out a man in the living room illuminated by the glow of his television. What was he watching? Whatever it was, things were about to get more interesting right here than anything he could find on TV.
I went up to the front window and saw Lindberg still sitting there. He was illuminated by his smart phone. He was probably getting the play-by-play from his DEA colleagues who were likely already making arrests. After a few minutes, I saw Lindberg drink the last drop of his coffee and get out of the car. I peered out the corner of the window so he couldn’t see me. Where is he going? What is he doing? Oh, God, really? He’s going to urinate on the side of my trailer house with only a thin sheet of metal and some insulation between him and me? I guess it’s better than him coming inside every thirty minutes.
Just as I turned to start my window rotations over, I saw a large shadow moving fast in the dark toward Lindberg, who was still draining his bladder. It took my brain an extra second to process what was happening when Tank sent a massive elbow down on the back of Lindberg’s head. Lindberg’s body fell limp. By this point, I had completely opened the window shade and Tank looked up at me with a killer’s gaze.
We locked eyes for what felt like three whole seconds, and then we both sprinted. Tank was headed toward the front door, while I rushed to the bedroom.
I blew open the bedroom door and darted to the window and opened it, just like I had rehearsed. I heard loud bangs on the front door, and then the lock gave and the door was open. Tank was inside. He started to dash toward the back just as I slipped down outside. I raced around the house, tripping over a body lying behind the trailer. It was a police officer – Tank must have knocked him out first.
Once I reached the front of the house, I saw that Lindberg’s car door was open, and I jumped into the driver’s seat. I fumbled with the keys that were dangling from the ignition and started the car. I tried to put it into drive, but my adrenaline was pumping, and I accidently put it in reverse. I slammed the Crown Victoria back into the trailer house just as Tank was coming out.
I finally found drive as Tank descended on me. He slammed into my driver’s side door, jarring the vehicle. I lunged forward, but there was a truck coming into the cul-de-sac right in front me. I had to swerve to avoid it, but it nearly took out Tank as the driver hit the brakes.
I watched in my rearview mirror in horror as Tank ripped the driver from the truck and jumped in.
I drove straight, but missed the turn for the exit. I wound up in another cul-de-sac and was forced to double back. I made the correct turn this time just as Tank caught up to me. He tried to ram into me and narrowly missed.
I had never been to TRF, but I knew my best bet was to head toward the downtown area – that was where I would most likely find a police station or other sort of help. But where was downtown? I headed east out of the trailer park, but turned right immediately because I saw bright lights. Tank was a few hundred meters behind me, but his truck didn’t have the acceleration power of the Crown Victoria.
I was now headed south on a straight road, and I could see the lights on my left were from the Arctic Cat and Digi-Key factories. Beyond them was darkness – the countryside. Not good. I turned left at the next road and was heading east again. I could see a stop light ahead. The road sign read Highway 32. I turned left onto it at the stoplight, heading northeast. Tank was still on my heels, and he had his hand out of the window.
Glass splintered as a bullet hit my rear window. It must have been bullet proof. All I could do now was to outrun him.
I zipped past the DQ that had kept my belly full all week and sped toward the town’s lights. I was doing 85 mph in a 30 mph zone as I passed residential housing and an empty gas station named Pennington Main. Tank was charging fast behind me as I headed straight north through the town.
Then, I spotted it. On my left was the TRF police station. There were two city police officers idling in their cars on the street as we zoomed by. They instantly turned on their lights and sirens and gave chase. I went a few more blocks and made a quick turn right hoping Tank would skid forward so the cops could close on him. He made a miraculous turn with the truck, and stuck with me.
I was now heading east again, and I started to increase my speed as I crossed a bridge over a river. The road now had double lanes on it, and Tank managed to creep up next to me. I could still see the police cruisers behind, and another cop approached me straight ahead from the opposite direction. Tank tried slamming into my vehicle, but I accelerated past him. He tried again as the road started to veer to the right, and he clipped my back bumper. I started to fish-tail, and I had trouble getting the car back under control. The approaching police officer had turned across into our lane and was blocking the road in front of us. I managed to slow my speed to avoid smashing into the police cruiser, but the wheels turned too sharply and I ended up getting stuck sideways in the median against a tree.
I looked back and saw Tank smash directly into the police car. The collision knocked the police cruiser back, and it slid with the momentum of the truck. Tank then put his truck in reverse and came back toward me.
I tumbled out of my vehicle and started running north just as Tank and the two trailing police officers made it to the Crown Victoria. There was another crash as both police cars collided with Tank’s truck. I looked over my shoulder as I ran. Tank had managed to get out of his truck, and was behind me on foot now, with the two police officers tailing him.
I was in a dark residential area, but it looked as though it opened up ahead and dipped down a hill. I heard the police officers yelling for Tank to stop as they followed. I started running down the hill into a park, but as I got halfway there I realized it was a dead end – a sandy beach area opened below, giving way to a river.
There’s no way that big moose can swim, I thought.
I rushed down to the beach and saw Tank was closing on me, but the two police officers were also still in pursuit. I sprinted as far out as I could in the water and then dove headfirst into the river as I heard gunshots. I was a strong swimmer, and didn’t stop until I reached the other shore a hundred meters away. I pulled myself up and looked back across the river.
Tank remained on the beach, down on one knee and clutching his side. He was likely hit by one of the officers’ bullets, but I couldn’t tell how badly. The two officers descended on him and he spun around, lunging at them with whatever reserve he had left. He tackled one to the ground, but the other officer pulled out what must have been a Taser, because in moments Tank shook violently and then collapsed.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief, reminding myself to thank my parents for putting me into swimming lessons when I was a kid.
Chapter 18
Minneapolis, MN
Agent Sosa was set up across the street from Smokey’s house in a van disguised as a maintenance vehicle. The house was old, with two stories and a stone walkway that led up from the sidewalk to a small enclosed patio area at the entrance of the home. He had been watching and waiting for Smokey since 4:12 pm. Toothpick had said Smokey would be in close communication with him and the team all night from his home office.
It was now 8:30 pm, and Sosa had yet to see a sign of Smokey. He must be in there; where else would he be? he asked himself. Once the arrests of Smokey’s men were confirmed up north, a team of DEA agents would take down Captain in Chicago, and Sosa and his team would detain Smokey. Waiting was always the hardest part of this game, and Sosa requested updates constantly from his team. Toothpick said the exchanges would likely happen between 10 and 10:30 pm. Sosa and his colleagues would be ready.
***
Smokey was away from home all afternoon running errands when one of his neighbors told him there was a suspicious van parked in front of his house at 5:17 pm. People in North Minneapolis took care of each other when it came to the police, and Smokey knew right away he was in trouble. He had a bad feeling about tonight, anyway, and the suspicious van confirmed it.
He decided to play it safe and prepare for an immediate departure out of the country. He had planned months ahead for this, and went straight to his storage unit in Richfield just off of I-494.
Smokey had rented a large unit the size of a one-stall garage with a fake driver’s license the previous year. His locker contained a pre-packed suitcase with disguises, wigs, dress clothes, and money. He also had an alias driver’s license, passport, credit card, and burner phone. He put a tear-away mustache on, and then added old reading glasses. He changed into some plain dress clothes and was instantly transformed from a thug of the streets of North Minneapolis to a professor in the classrooms of Saint Paul’s Universities. He checked himself over in his rear view mirror, then ditched his vehicle at the storage locker and caught a cab to the Minneapolis-Saint Paul Airport.
***
There was a seat available on a late-night flight from Minneapolis to Cancun, Mexico. Smokey bought a last-minute ticket and paid for it in cash using the name Robert Church. He would go to the terminal to wait for word from his men. If all went as planned, he would casually leave the airport and find a safe place to stay the night. He would only be out a thousand dollars for the flight – well worth it for the peace of mind. If things went sour with his team, he could board the plane as scheduled and fly down to Cancun. From there, he could go anywhere in Mexico or Latin America. Maybe he could strike up a relationship with one of the cartels directly and double his profits in future drug ventures.
Smokey made it through the security gate fine, but then had to go through the dreaded passport control. Smokey’s fake passport was one of the best – he had paid $3,000 to a professional who guaranteed his product. Despite his size, Smokey’s professorial look helped him go unnoticed in the airport. He handed his passport to the Customs and Border Patrol officer. The officer studied it over, a little longer than Smokey thought was required. Come on, buddy, just let me through.
The officer looked up from the passport and asked, “Are you going to Cancun for vacation, Mr. Church?”
“Yes, sir,” Smokey answered.
“Huh. Well, you don’t seemed dressed for it,” said the officer.
“Oh, I came right from work. I planned to change as soon as we land.”
The officer looked somewhat skeptical. “Mr. Church, can you please look into the camera for a picture, and then place your fingers on the scanner so we can get a biometrics reading?”
“Sure, no prob
lem, officer,” said Smokey. He was starting to sweat a little now. The fake passport had held up, but how quickly would the biometrics link Robert Church to Tyrone Carter? Smokey hoped it wasn’t anytime soon.
“Thanks, Mr. Church. Have a nice trip.”
***
Agent Sosa received a message at 10:20 pm that Marcus and Jimmy had both been arrested up on the reservations. That was Sosa’s cue to strike. He called the raid team from around the block and they all swarmed in on Smokey’s house. They knocked down doors and threw flash bangs. They methodically cleared each room looking for Smokey. He wasn’t there. You’ve got to be kidding me.
As Sosa exited the house, his phone rang. He was getting a call from the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol at the MSP airport. He had the number preprogrammed on his phone because they called him with tips on people the DEA had watchlisted for travel.
“Agent Sosa, this is Officer Clark at MSP. Twenty minutes ago we had a hit on someone you watchlisted as an immediate 24/7 call to your cell phone. His name is Tyrone Carter of North Minneapolis. He’s using the alias Robert Church and he’s trying to get on a plane for Cancun in thirty minutes.”
