by Trace Conger
“Ever hear of an anesthesiologist pocketing the stuff?” I said. “To smuggle it out?”
“Not really.” Her fingertips lingered on my thigh. “I knew some doctors who slipped a few meds for their personal use. For stress I guess, but nothing like fentanyl. I can’t imagine anyone stupid enough to try and lift that from a hospital.”
I can.
“Now I’ve got a question for you,” she said, as she peeled off the Army T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. “How is it you’re more interested in learning about pain meds than having some fun with me?”
She was right. Dr. Dickhead had fucked up my life enough already. I didn’t need him in my bedroom too.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Just prepping for a meeting tomorrow.”
She rolled over and took another drink of water. “Going to be long?” she said.
I closed the laptop and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “I’ll be as long as I can be in a few seconds.”
She smiled, slipped a few ice cubes into her mouth, and disappeared under the sheets.
Thirteen
MY EMOTIONS WERE USUALLY IN check. My brain knows when it’s time to throw a punch and when it’s time to talk my ass out of a bad situation. But, I’d never been tested like this. Rounding the corner of Eighth and Walnut, I was about to come face to face with the man who knocked Brooke around and threatened to murder my daughter. That’s not something anyone can dismiss. I was going to have to straddle the fine line between reasoning with Adler and ripping his throat out.
There were only six people in Winans Coffee when I walked in, and it was easy to spot Adler and his sidekick. They glanced at me when I entered, but returned to their conversation once they saw I wasn’t Daryl. I stepped to the counter, ordered a large Yirgacheffe coffee, and looked them over while I waited.
One of the men was about six-foot-two. He looked Italian, maybe mid-thirties. He was slim and trim, had short and styled black hair, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He wore a black leather motorcycle jacket, a cafe-racer style with no collar. His jacket had a Union Jack patch on the right shoulder and a faded patch just above his left breast, but I couldn’t make out what it said. The unzipped jacket revealed a black t-shirt with a motorcycle club logo, maybe a racing event or something, it was hard to tell given his seated position. He wore faded jeans and thick-soled black boots. I thought I saw a bulge in his jeans near the top of his right boot. Probably a knife.
The guy next to him was taller by about six inches. He looked older, but harder, like he could do some damage. He was bald with a graying mustache and goatee and wore wrap-around sunglasses. He sat with his hands on the table. There were two large silver rings on his right hand, the kind of bling they give you when you win something. From the size of his hands, he could easily shatter a bone with one punch, but the rings were an added bonus. They could hit as hard as brass knuckles, but wouldn’t draw as much attention.
I paid the coffee jock and took a seat at their table.
“That seat’s reserved,” said the man in the sunglasses.
“I know,” I said. “You’re saving it for me.” I looked at both men. “Which one of you is Adler?” By the way the man in the sunglasses looked at the Italian, I knew who was who.
“Why do you want to know?” said Adler.
“I just want to make sure I kill the right person.” The man in the sunglasses leaned back in his seat, but Adler didn’t flinch.
“Look friend,” said Adler. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but we’ve got big-boy business, and you’re wasting our time. So why don’t you just get up and walk back out that door before you get hurt.”
“Your business is with me. I’m pinch hitting for Dr. Jennings. And we’ve got a lot to discuss.”
The man in the sunglasses shifted again.
“I don’t think so,” said Adler pointing to the door. “Run along and get the doctor so the men can talk.”
“He’s not coming,” I said. I watched Adler’s hands as he moved them across the table. I wondered which one he used to hit Brooke. “I’m Dr. Jennings’ new partner.” I took a sip of my coffee and crossed my legs. “I’m handling the business side of things now. He has a knack for falling into the deep end. I’m a much better swimmer, and I’m right at home with you two.”
“I guess we know why you’re here,” said Adler. “So why don’t you tell us who the fuck you are.”
“I’m the guy who delivers bad news. You can call me Mr. Finn.”
Adler leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like bad news.” He pointed to man in the sunglasses. “And neither does he.”
“I don’t give a shit what you like.” I could feel it rising up inside me again. The same feeling I had when Brooke told me what happened the other night. All I wanted to do was kick Adler’s chair out from under him, knock him to the ground, slip that knife out of his leather boot, and plunge it through his chest.
I exhaled, took another sip, and waited for my heart rate to slow. “Dr. Jennings is out of the narcotic supply business.”
Adler placed his elbows on the table. “Your doctor friend might think he’s out of the business, but he isn’t. He’s currently my main supply line and I can’t have him bitching out. I’m low on product as it is, and low ain’t good.”
“Then you’re going to have to find another fentanyl supplier,” I said.
“Fentanyl doesn’t grow on trees, so unless you’re also in the fentanyl business, your friend and I still have a supply conflict.”
“He’s not my friend.” The light from the decorative lamp hanging from the ceiling shimmered off the big man’s two fat silver rings.
“Don’t care if he’s your friend or your Goddamn fuck buddy. Fact is, he’s late with his supply and you don’t seem to be fixing that, so why the fuck are we here?”
“We’re here because you’re going to cut him loose. And if you don’t, we’re going to have problems,” I took another sip of coffee. “You and me.”
“Is that right?” said Adler, lowering his voice. “Lucky for me I’m quite the problem solver. My last supplier pulled this same shit. Tried to walk away. I beat him to death with a shovel, cut him into little chunks, and fed him to a racehorse in Indiana. I’m not the kind of person you want to have problems with, Mr. Finn.”
“You might be able to intimidate women and little girls, but I don’t scare that easily,” I said. “I deal with people like you all the time, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” I leaned in. “The way I see it, you’ve got two options. You can keep going round and round with me and Dr. Jennings. You can keep muscling him, and I can start causing real problems for your organization. But while all that’s happening, your supply dwindles and eventually you run out. Then you’re fucked. Option two is you leave Dr. Jennings and his family alone and move on. Go find yourself another supplier and go back to business as usual. Either way, Dr. Jennings is out. His hospital is investigating the thefts and he can no longer secure the product. You’re tapping a dry well with him. If I were you, I’d go with option two. You get to stay in business and I don’t have to put a bullet through your forehead.”
The bigger man to my right slipped the sunglasses from his face. He pulled a plastic case from an inside jacket pocket, tucked the glasses inside, and set the case on the table.
“What is it you do exactly, Mr. Finn?” he said. “Besides threaten people?”
“I’m an investigator of sorts. I locate people who think they’ve disappeared. And when I find them, they don’t get found again. So, I’ll tell you both one last time. Dr. Jennings is out. His family is out. Back off, or I start thinking of nasty things to do to you.”
The man to my right folded his hands and placed them on the table next to his plastic sunglasses case. “Maybe now we can all put away our dicks and get down to business.” I realized Adler wasn’t the man I should be talking to. “What kind of investigator are you? What type of people do you locate?”
For the first time, both men seemed interested in what I had to say. “I find the people others can’t. Or won’t.”
“So it’s safe to say that your cases require a bit more discretion than finding the usual skip or runaway?”
“You could say that,” I said. “You got a name?”
“Darby. But you should be more concerned about how we solve this little impasse of ours. I understand your commitment to your friend…”
“He’s not my friend,” I interrupted.
“… Regardless, fentanyl isn’t that easy to come by and your solution to just find another supplier is going to take some time. However, I also understand that if Dr. Jennings really is having security issues at the hospital, then that puts us all under a microscope that we’d rather not be under.” He knocked his folded hands on the tabletop. “But I think I might have a solution that will make us all happy.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“Excuse me one moment.” Darby stood up. “I’m going to step outside and make a phone call. That call will determine what we do next, and whether or not you and Dr. Jennings continue to breathe.”
He pulled a phone out of his front jeans pocket and stepped outside. I turned back toward Adler.
“You went to Dr. Jennings’ house the other day and you met Brooke.”
“The redhead. She’s a nice piece of ass. How you know her?”
I didn’t answer.
“You got a thing for her? You pissed at me for knocking her around.” Adler studied my face. “Or maybe you’re more pissed about the little girl.” I shifted in my seat, then immediately realized that was a mistake. The gears turned inside Adler’s square head. “Maybe you’re closer to the good doctor and his family than you’re letting on.”
“My relationship doesn’t matter. What matters is you crossed the line.”
“It’s my job to cross lines, asshole. Just business. I’m a fucking drug dealer. If I had better interpersonal skills, I’d be working in HR somewhere.”
“Business or not, that’ll come up again.”
He pulled his seat forward and leaned across the table.
“I look forward to it. You can sit there and talk tough all you want, but your bones’ll break just like everyone else’s.”
“There are two things in this world I won’t hesitate a second to kill for. And you’ve already met both of them.”
“Good to know,” said Adler. He turned and looked out the front window to see the big man still talking on the phone. “Depending on how that call goes, I might be paying your two girls another visit. I won’t be as nice as I was the first time.”
“Keep talking. You’re just giving me more reasons to kill you.”
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” said Adler. “No idea.”
I’d been so focused on Adler that I didn’t notice Darby had finished his phone call until he rejoined us at the table.
“You’re in luck, Mr. Finn.” He looked at Adler and then back at me. “My boss is interested in your services. He’s offering a deal. You find someone for us and we find another fentanyl supplier.” He paused. “It’s a one-time offer, and I need to know right now. You in or out?”
I’m normally a confident guy, but this had me rattled. I had no idea what I was agreeing to, and it was becoming more obvious that this wasn’t a two-man operation. My plan had been to convince these two to cut Daryl loose and move on to another mark. To make them realize that the longer they leaned on Daryl the more money they’d lose on the street. I’d thought they’d see it was more profitable to cut ties and move on. That was my first mistake. I hoped I wouldn’t make a second.
“What’s the job?” I said.
“Not here,” said Darby. “You can discuss it in person with my boss.”
“And who’s that?”
“Mason Holbrook.”
I didn’t know Mason Holbrook, but I did know that I was getting deeper into this than I wanted to go. Had it just been Daryl, I would have thrown him to the wolves from the start, but now that Brooke and Becca were involved, I had to go along for the ride and head deeper down the rabbit hole. Time to meet Holbrook.
“Okay, I’m in. When can I meet him?”
“He’s in Tennessee for two more days. Adler’ll pick you up here at one o’clock on Friday and take you to him.”
“I’ll be here,” I said.
“Friday. One o’clock. If you don’t show, Adler kills Dr. Jennings and then comes looking for you.”
Both men stood up and headed for the door.
“Adler,” I said. “We’ll continue our other conversation later.”
“Can’t wait.”
I reached for my coffee cup and realized for the first time that my hands were shaking. I took a sip and watched them disappear into the parking lot. I didn’t like agreeing to things before I had all the facts. That had gotten me in trouble before, but there wasn’t much I could do. I didn’t know dick about this job and I had no idea who Holbrook was, but then again, I wasn’t an authority on every criminal in the area. Lucky for me, I knew someone who was. It was time to put my three-day wait to good use. In Detroit.
Fourteen
CONSTABLE ALEX HAFNER, THE ONLY law enforcement officer in Meddybemps, Maine, climbed out of his cruiser with a shotgun in one hand and a take-out sack from Palmer’s Restaurant in the other. He opened the office door to find his secretary, Adrienne Braxton, sitting at her desk reading a Jonathan Valin novel.
“Morning babe,” said Hafner eyeing the deep neckline of her faded red t-shirt.
“I think it’s officially afternoon now,” she said.
Hafner propped his shotgun against the wall, stepped behind Adrienne, and wrapped his free arm around her chest. He kissed the back of her neck. “I’ve got some time before I have to go see Tom Harper about his missing boat trailer. Want to step inside my office and take a memo?”
Adrienne smiled, leapt from her chair, and followed him into his office. Adrienne giggled as she climbed underneath the desk and unzipped his pants.
A few minutes later, Ollie Stoner walked into the constable’s office carrying a shotgun. Two men, each carrying baseball bats followed him into the room.
“Afternoon Constable,” said Ollie, raising the shotgun into the air and resting it against his right shoulder.
“Ollie!”
“Where’s that secretary of yours?” said Ollie. “The one with the nice tits?”
Hafner shifted in his seat, placed his hands on the arm rest, and slid his chair closer to the desk. “Ran out to get lunch. Just missed her.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. She always takes lunch around now. Probably headed to Palmer’s.”
“Good, then you and I got a chance to talk.” He swung the shotgun forward and back again like a pendulum. “You must have pussy on the brain, Constable. Can’t think of any other reason you’d leave your shotgun against the wall out there. Pussy makes a man dumb.”
Hafner pointed to the shotgun. “Why don’t you just set that down, Ollie? You don’t need to be throwin’ that around up in here.”
“I think I’ll keep it for now.” Hafner shifted in his seat again. “You remember my boys?” Ollie pointed the shotgun from one to the other.
“Yeah. I remember them.”
“We thought we’d come down here and have a little chat.”
Hafner looked at the brothers and then back at Ollie. His right shoulder dropped as he slightly arched sideways.
Ollie leveled the shotgun at his chest. “I wouldn’t go reaching for that service revolver. I might not be the best shot in town, but I can damn well guarantee I can hit you from this distance drunk and with my eyes closed.”
Hafner sat up in his chair again.
“I don’t get why you didn’t back me, Constable. We had an understanding. You and me. Then that fucking game warden picked me up and hauled me away. They gave me thirty months in Machiasport for some stupid shit about a stolen boa
t.”
“Sorry Ollie. There wasn’t anything I could do about that. Look, I had no problem looking the other way with what you had going on, but what was I supposed to do when that warden came in? Nothing. There’s nothing I could do.”
“I guess I can see your pickle.” Ollie bounced the shotgun’s barrel on his shoulder. “Problem is it was all bullshit, cuz I never touched that boat. Had nothing to do with it. I reckon it was Mitch Skinner and Albert Harding set me up. You know ‘em?”
“Yeah. Everyone knows ‘em.”
“I think they wanted to get rid of me. Both of ‘em. They cooked this whole thing up, but they wasn’t satisfied with throwing me in the pen. Decided to steal from me too.”
“I don’t know anything about that, Ollie.”
“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” Ollie looked around the office and then approached the window that looked into the parking lot. “Guess I’ll be payin’ Mitch a visit. See who knew what. He still living on Lombard?”
“I think so,” said Hafner. “Haven’t seen Albert in some time though. Was a summer fella if I remember.”
“That’s right,” said Ollie. “I guess I’ll have to wait on him. Gonna git to the bottom of this shit.”
The man to Ollie’s right adjusted his grip on the wooden bat as if he was about to take a pitch.
“When’s that secretary coming back from lunch, Constable?”
“Leave her out of this. She’s got nothing to do with it.”
Ollie surveyed the parking lot through the window and then turned his ear toward the desk as if something caught his attention. He walked around to join his sons at the front of the desk. “That skinny bitch drives a Dodge, right? Just like the one parked in the lot.” Ollie lowered the shotgun to the desk. “Guess I was right, boys. Pussy does make a man dumb.” He gripped the shotgun pump with his left hand, racked it, and fired. The blast tore through the top of Hafner’s desk at a downward angle spraying blood and wood shards across the constable’s khaki shirt, gold badge, and the window behind him.
