by Jon Mills
“What are you doing up?” she heard the familiar voice. The name Winona came to mind. But she wasn’t sure if that was her name.
“Where am I?” she muttered.
“Sound like she needs some more,” another voice said. Her drowsy gaze fixed on an African American woman. “Really, Winona, you better not be using all of that for yourself, Jimmie don’t take too kindly to thieves.”
Winona approached the woman just as the door opened and some guy came in. Karla squinted and he stared back at her.
“Shit, Anna-Belle, why the hell is she still doped up? I told you we need her for a run tomorrow.”
Anna-Belle? Karla knew her. It was coming back to her. Her eyes widened.
“Why did you do this to me?” she mumbled. None of them in the trailer replied as she barely mouthed the words. Again she said it, only this time louder. Winona strolled over and tried to grab her arm like she was a mental patient who was lost. She attempted to lead her back into the room but Karla pushed her back. It took every ounce of strength she had which wasn’t a lot.
“You fucking bitch,” Winona lashed out at her and struck her across the face. The sting was painful. Karla rushed towards the open door but was immediately blocked by the male.
“Oh no, you ain’t going anywhere. You’re going to earn me a nice little packet.”
“I need to get out of here,” she said, trying to push past but it was pointless, he simply forced her back. That’s when Anna-Belle took a hold of her.
“Leave her with me, I’ll have her ready. She has one more customer this evening, after that she’s all yours.”
“Why? Why are you doing this?” Karla cried but Anna-Belle didn’t respond. The man turned to leave and again Karla got a flash of the outside world before the door sealed shut and the two women dragged her back into the bedroom. She kicked and screamed but it was pointless. They had her so badly sedated that fighting back did nothing.
“That’s it, lay her down.”
“I’m trying to but she keeps fighting.”
Another slap across the face by Winona and she gave up all resistance.
“What did I just tell you? You can’t go bruising her up. They won’t pay good money for damaged goods.”
“Maybe you should bring me one that’s a little easier to control then.”
“Hold her arm in place.”
Winona sat on her stomach, making her feel like she was going to throw up. She kept a firm grip on her arm while she heard Anna-Belle rooting around.
“Where did you put the baggie?”
“In the drawer. “
Metal shifted around, then glass before she re-emerged. “Right, let’s get this in you and you will be as good as gold.”
“No. Please,” she begged them not to give it to her. She didn’t have cravings in that moment but she didn’t want to lose control. She need to get out of there and…
She felt the stab of the needle prick her inner arm
A few seconds and then her eyes rolled back in her head. After that it felt like she was floating away on a cloud. A warm fuzzy feeling flooded her body and she succumbed to its deadly pull.
Isabel was sitting at the table with her arms crossed when Jack rolled in. The smell of bacon lingered in the air. The table was set with a bowl of salad that was half eaten. One glance and he knew something wasn’t right. He tossed the truck keys on the counter and stared around for a second thinking that perhaps Moore and Carson had upset her. Though more than likely it was Thorpe. That guy had a way of getting under anyone’s skin.
“What is it?” he asked taking a seat at the table.
“I had a little run-in with someone by the name of Ray Edmonds. Ring a bell?”
He shook his head. “Should it?”
A look of surprise spread across her face.
“Apparently the Mitchell brothers work for him. He says you agreed to work for them?”
“Wasn’t that the goal? I mean to dig in deep and find out who might be behind the influx of drugs?”
“Surveillance from a distance was the goal. Not involvement.”
He nodded, pursing his lips then reaching for a bowl of cold noodles.
“Surveillance from a distance. What? You expect these guys to just waltz out with a brick of coke and wave it in the air so you can get a photo? C’mon, Isabel, let’s get real here.”
“And yet you think that they are just bringing you on board because you didn’t tell the cops that that lunatic was waving a gun around?”
Jack began filling his plate with salad, he was famished. All he could think about was food and here she was ranting at him. Couldn’t she see that he was hungry?
She slammed her hand down on the table and it shook. “Jack! Are you listening?”
He paused, and placed the bowl down. “I’ve heard every word you’ve said but tell me, Isabel, why hasn’t the FBI breezed in here and started making arrests?”
She began kneading her forehead as if a migraine was coming on. “You honestly want to work for Thorpe?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He then looked at her deadpan and said, “The government is paying me to do what I would have probably done for a fraction of the price. You act as though this is some bad gig, and yet it’s far from it.”
“Maybe for you.”
Jack put his fork down, he was in the middle of chewing. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Time out here is time not in there. I won’t go back, Isabel. You don’t know how bad it is inside. This is luxury.” He paused. “So we blend in with the locals, do a few runs and then hand over what information we have on them to Thorpe. They come in, and it’s a slam-dunk case. I get to go home to my island and we can see each other without having to go behind everyone’s back.”
She snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. You don’t know Thorpe.”
“Perhaps not but I understand one thing. Whether you are on the side of the law or not, money is what is pushing both agendas. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
He went back to munching on his food with little care to what dangers lay ahead. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time he dealt with assholes. Rich, poor, one or fifty, they were all the same. As long as he didn’t have to see the insides of a six-by-eight cell he was more than happy to take the FBI’s money. And anyway, he was just feeling his way out. If worse came to worst they could both go on the run. He glanced back at Isabel. Scratch that, he thought. She wasn’t the type. Though she had broken more than enough laws to end up with a lengthy prison sentence she was still trying to go by the book. Even though Thorpe was a thorn in her side, she was still trying to impress him.
The following few hours passed by uninterrupted. Isabel kept glancing outside the window expecting the law to roll up and cart them both away. It didn’t seem to matter what he told her, she thought they were going to end up on the wrong end of the stick.
At just after nine, there was a sharp knock at the door. Isabel was in the shower at the time and didn’t even register it. He got up from the rocker that overlooked the view of the bay and made his way to the door.
The moment he opened it he was greeted by the sight of Jimmie.
“Took me a while to find you.” Jimmie nosed around inside. “Not bad. Not bad. Though you’ll do better once you’ve done a few runs.”
“What do you want?”
“Come for a ride with me.”
Jack glanced at the Glock 22 on the counter.
“Come on, let’s go. I need you to meet with a client of mine.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
Jack thumbed over his shoulder doing his best to try and come up with some excuse that he really should let Isabel know, but Jimmie was persistent. “Come on.” He slapped his hands together.
“Let me just get my jacket.”
Jack turned and walked a few feet, scooped it up and grabbed the Glock at the same time. He kept it out of view as they exited into the warm ev
ening.
Isabel let the warm water rush over her head and ease her troubled mind. A few tears streaked her face, lost in the gush of shampoo suds. Everything about what had happened tore away at her insides. She was used to being the one in control. And yet now she felt far from it. Jack didn’t understand. How could he? His entire life was built upon unscrupulous men. Thorpe was just another.
She pulled back the curtain on the shower and felt around for a towel until her fingers caught on to one. She dried off and called out to Jack but he didn’t respond.
“Jack? You there?”
She opened the door and noticed that it was quiet inside. She just figured he’d stepped out for a cigarette. She returned to getting herself ready for bed. Nothing about the place they were staying in felt like home, except for him.
Whether it was right or wrong, he made her feel safe in a job that kept forcing her into dangerous situations. Damaged goods or not, she couldn’t help but wonder where she would have been if he hadn’t intervened in her life. It seemed almost ironic that a criminal would help her feel alive when years of police work had numbed her to the world around her.
Jimmie took him over to a place just on the outskirts of Everglades City, to a run-down cabin located in a sketchy part of town. They took a hard right onto a dirt trail. The car bumped up and down while rock music blasted out of the speakers and Jimmie tapped the steering wheel. By the look in his eyes, he was wired. When they eventually pulled into a driveway that led up to the cabin, Jack had an uneasy feeling about it. To the left of it was a rusted-out car from the 1980s with no wheels. It rested on top of several bricks. Near the shed out back were four canoes in various states of decay. The home was surrounded by mangroves, bald cypress and there was a dilapidated kids’ tree house out front. The lights were on in the cabin, and he saw several figures inside.
“Right.”
That was all he said as he turned off the ignition and hopped out.
All the way, Jack had been trying to pry out of him what it was all about. But he just kept telling him that it would all be explained once they got there. Jack followed him up the rickety porch steps. He gave two sharp taps on the door. From inside rap music could be heard bellowing out of speakers.
Another knock and the door opened. An African American opened the door. He was wearing long shorts and no top. He had an Afro like a puffy microphone and he was puffing on a joint.
“Well if it isn’t Jimmie Mitchell!”
“Jamal.”
They clasped hands and then they were beckoned in. Jack immediately started assessing the danger. One muscle-laden guy lay on a leather sofa watching TV, while another looked to be weighing out some crack on mini scales.
“You know I was just saying to Asher over here that we hadn’t seen you in a while. Like it’s got to be what? Six months since I saw you last.”
He sucked in air between his teeth and flashed a gold grill.
“It’s been busy.”
“Huh! Well don’t I feel honored.” Jamal scoffed.
Jimmie circled the room as if he was some big shot. His mannerisms were large and over the top, all the way from the cheesy grins to bending backwards and throwing his arms out wide.
Jamal gestured to a table full of coke. “Can I hook you up?”
“I’m sure we’ll partake, hey Jack?”
Jack waved him off.
“Come on, Jamal has some good shit.”
“That I do,” he said squatting down in a chair in front of a table littered with drug paraphernalia. “So you have my money?” Jamal asked.
“Actually that’s why we’re here. We have this big deal that is going down in a couple of days.”
Jamal leaned back in his seat like it was a throne. “So you didn’t bring it?”
“Well…”
Before he could finish Jamal pulled out a gun and leveled it at Jimmie’s head.
Chapter Seventeen
Jimmie backed up with his hands out. “Now hang on, Jamal, I’ve got some of your money. The rest is coming, trust me on this. I just need a small favor to make all the pieces come together.”
“Some of my money? Pieces?” He turned the handgun in the air like a gangbanger. “I have a good mind to drop you where you stand and feed you to the alligators in small pieces.”
“Nah, c’mon, Jamal. How long have I known you?”
Jamal didn’t reply.
“Anyway, a few days from now I’m going to be doing a big drop in Naples. But I need you to do me a favor. I need you to hook me up with one of your contacts in Miami and have them place an order through Ray.”
“Through Ray? Get the fuck out of here. That scumbag has taken some of our best clients.”
“And you’ll get them back ten times over, I promise.”
Jamal rose from his seat and sauntered across the room to Jimmie and placed the gun against his temple. “Promises are all you are full of, Jimmie, now give me a better reason not to blow your fucking head off right now?”
“2.3 million dollars.”
He snorted.
Jimmie nodded nervously. “It’s all yours. Two days from now.”
“You owe me fifty grand and now you come in here and expect me to believe you are going to give me 2.3 million for setting up one drug deal?”
“Actually it’s several, but it’s mainly the largest that will net the biggest profit. Listen, I can’t do it without someone who’s already established in Miami and has gained a reputation on the street for making deals this large. Ray has a nose for a shit dealer.”
His eyes scrutinized both of them, especially Jack. “And who the fuck is he?”
“The man that will deliver it to you, isn’t that right, Jack?”
Jack cleared his throat. He had a good mind to let the guy shoot Jimmie in the head, he’d already calculated how long it was going to take for lazy boy on the couch to react, and for fat boy slim to get his ass off that seat. As for Jamal, he was close enough that he could slap that gun out of his hand and force it up under his chin before he was able to react because the guy was doped up, that meant his reactions were slower.
“Yeah,” Jack muttered.
Jamal pulled in his lips and sucked on them before backing up. “And the money tonight?”
“Twenty-five grand. It’s in the truck.”
He made a whistling sound and lazy boy dragged his ass off the couch and Jimmie tossed him the keys. “In the glove compartment,” he muttered. The guy eyed both of them before disappearing out.
“Like I said, I’m good for it. You know that we have the contacts. If this all goes through, I won’t just deliver you the money, I’ll deliver Ray and his contacts.”
He scoffed as he slumped down in his seat. “You’ll deliver Ray? Oh boy, you really have grown a pair, or you are just one stupid motherfucker. But which is it?” He studied him carefully as if searching for a flaw in his facade. “I gotta tell you, I’m intrigued…” Then his features hardened. “What are you getting out of this?”
“Pretty simple. A way out. You know yourself, Jamal, there’s only two ways out and I’m not dying for that man. Besides there isn’t enough room for Ray and you, right? It’s only a matter of time before there is further bloodshed.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I heard about Atomic Charley’s.”
“Ray is in over his head. You know that. I do. 2.3 million, Ray and his contacts and my brothers and I get to walk away.”
For a few seconds Jimmie had Jack’s sympathy. Perhaps he had misunderstood him. Something Jack understood was how hard it was to walk away from a life of crime. It wasn’t that it couldn’t be done but it stuck to a person’s soul like molasses. After years working alongside the cartel, they didn’t just let people walk away. They knew too much.
Jimmie looked at Jack as Jamal scooped up his phone off the table. He waited until his man returned bearing the money.
“It’s all there, Jamal.”
“Good.”
Lazy boy returned
to his comforting abode and continued clicking through the channels. The light from the TV flickered on the wall as Jamal placed a call to an associate in Miami. Jimmie gave him the details he’d need to know. Whether they were true or not was unknown.
Jimmie was one hell of an actor. He didn’t want out of the game. He wanted the entire game and he was already moving his pawns into place to get them ready for a checkmate. About five minutes later Jamal put the phone down and told him that everything had been arranged. He then took a photo of both Jimmie and Jack and sent it over to his man. This guy wasn’t stupid. He didn’t trust Jack and he certainly wasn’t going to go out on a limb for a man that had screwed him over without taking precautions.
“There. All set. Now if you’re good for your word, you don’t have anything to worry about. But if I even get a sniff that you are trying to screw me over…” He made a tutting sound with his mouth, then he put his phone back down.
“So where do you want Ray delivered?” Jimmie asked.
“I’ll send the details to your phone once I have my money. First things first, right?”
“Right,” Jimmie muttered.
“Well, let’s celebrate.” Jamal had one of his men bring out some heroin.
Jimmie immediately pulled up his sleeve and went about getting ready to take a fix. Jamal sat there staring at Jack. He was sizing him up. Trying to figure out if he could be trusted. Dealers were all the same. Paranoid that strangers were cops.
“Go on,” he motioned to the needle. Now Jack had seen people do it. He knew how to shoot up but it wasn’t his thing. A few times he’d snorted coke but that was to ease the mind of a nervous dealer. Not even once had he taken heroin. That shit would send a person over the edge. He’d seen the way it fucked up people’s heads and sent them down a path that usually ended up in an overdose.
“No, it’s not for me.”
Jamal laughed. “Not for you? You’re in the wrong business, ain’t that right, Jimmie?”
Jimmie was moments away from sticking himself with a needle. He had the rubber band around his arm and was smacking the inside of his forearm looking for a vein.
