She pulled her hand away and looked nervous. “Are they policemen?”
“Yes, but not from the island. They’re my guests who happen to be narcotic detectives from Miami. They’ve been investigating Sean and Preston’s murders.”
She hesitated. “Okay, but I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”
Martin grabbed his cell phone and dialed Dix’s number.
The call went to voicemail.
“Dix, call me back immediately. I have information about the Caller. He’s a high-ranking official with the Coast Guard. I’ll explain later.”
Martin turned to the woman. “Go home. I’ll be in touch.”
As soon as she left, Martin tracked Suzie down. “Come on. I need to go into town to find Dix and Petersen. Can you drive me?” She grabbed her keys. “Of course, baby.”
As they got into the car, Martin told her to try Hank’s first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Snead finished his Hot Pockets and coffee. He decided to leave the computer search to his MIT friends, and instead, hit the streets looking for his old CIs. He put a Springfield XD three-inch subcompact pistol on his hip before he left. You never know when you will need a weapon.
He drove to the very tough streets of Liberty City, an impoverished neighborhood within the Miami city limits. More than eighty percent of all drug-related activity originated there. He took a risk being seen since he was both white and an ex-cop.
Tonight, however, he needed the people of the streets to help him assist Dix. They’d sometimes talk to him because they thought he might be a customer looking to purchase drugs.
Eventually, he ran into two prostitutes shooting heroin in an alley.
They looked up when they saw him. “Hey, you a narc?” asked one.
The other slid over and put her arm through his. “Oh, he just wants a twofer for a dime, don’t you, sweetie.”
Snead shook his head and pulled his arm from hers. “I just want answers.”
“Well, we’re plum out.” They went back to shooting up. He gave up trying to be rational with the two women.
They were of no help and would be even less as soon as the heroin entered their bloodstream.
Snead walked down the street until he got to the intersection of A Street and Third Avenue. A large group of men knelt huddled close together. It looked as if they were playing craps since they had gathered in a circle throwing what looked like dice.
One of them glanced up and pointed at Snead. Several of the men ran away on foot. Probably have warrants. The rest went back to their game and dismissed his presence. He continued to the corner to see if he knew any of those who had remained.
As he got about ten feet from the group he heard, “Hey, Sarge, what’s up?”
Snead quickly looked to his left and saw several men standing in the shadows of a burned-out building. Dammit, how did I miss them?
He recognized all of them. At one time or another, he had arrested either them or their older relatives.
Two left the shadows and approached. Tyrone Holmes offered his hand to shake. Snead took it.
Holmes said, “Man, how the hell are you? It’s been a while. Last time I saw you, you were wearing BDUs and chasing my nephew.”
Snead smiled. “I recall that incident vaguely. Your nephew was so fast he ran through the perimeter, made it to his aunt’s house, and called you.”
“If he hadn’t hurt my sister trying to steal her car, I wouldn’t have called you.”
“I remember. You told us where to find him. We did the rest.”
Tyrone nodded. “I talked to him last week in jail. He’s okay. Said he wants to get a real job when he gets out and buy his aunt a new car for wrecking hers in the high-speed chase. He was always a good kid when he wasn’t high.”
Holmes smiled. “Most of the people out here are. How’s your wife?”
“She’s good. She got promoted to vice principal at the high school. She sure loves kids.” Snead paused and looked Holmes in the eye. “Speaking of kids, what’s happening with yours?”
“My son’s the starting quarterback on junior varsity, and my daughter’s still taking dance and acting classes.” He patted Snead on the shoulder. “Thanks for helping me to get my priorities straight.”
Snead smiled. “I just gave you a break. You took advantage of it and got clean. The credit goes to you, my friend.”
Holmes smiled, and then grew serious. “Let’s get to business. What brings you out this way?”
Snead took a deep breath. “A long time ago, when you and I were much younger, most of the dealers out here were supplied by one guy. No one ever cared who he was as long as the dope made it in their hands. Everyone assumed he was a Columbian, but I think he might have been from the United States.”
Holmes shook his head. “Be straight. Are you looking for a specific dealer or the word on the street?”
“At this point, any information would help. You remember Dix and Petersen? They’re still working as narcs.” Holmes nodded.
Snead gave some information about the case to Holmes. Not all of it, but enough to see if it would jog his memory. He closed with the fact about the locals tagging the main guy as the Caller.
Holmes appeared shocked. “Fifteen years ago, I did some business with a guy who always worked over the phone. I met him once, but he used me a few times to distribute cocaine. The guy didn’t want to meet in person, but we had a very large deal in the works. I insisted. Since I had the cash, he finally agreed.”
Holmes hesitated, looked around, and then continued. “I went by myself, but my crew was nearby waiting for a signal. The guy showed up with two other goons. The dudes working for the supplier frisked me and found my snub-nosed .38 Special. They took it and stood on both sides of me.”
Snead moved closer. “So what happened?”
Holmes shrugged. “It came down fast. I showed him the cash. He showed me the cocaine. I checked the goods and we went our separate ways. I never met him again.”
Snead’s interest was piqued. “Do you remember anything about the guy?”
“Ah, man, I don’t know. That was a long time ago.”
Snead played another card. “I think Dix and Petersen are in danger. I’m trying to help them. Anything at all will help.”
Holmes closed his eyes for what seemed to Snead like five minutes. “Well, the guy was white, middle-aged, maybe thirty at the time. He spoke English with a slight southern accent. The two thugs with him had short haircuts and were in great shape. I sure didn’t want to mess with them.”
Holmes stopped for a minute. “Oh, I think they might have been packing Colt .45 caliber sidearms. The guy making the decisions seemed new to the dope business. He didn’t know the language we used, and he was real jumpy. He was about your height, maybe six foot. Built like you, too, athletic with a long torso.”
Snead was excited. “Was anyone dumb enough to let a name slip?”
“Maybe, but I don’t remember much of what they said.”
Snead continued. “When you think of the stereotypical military man, what do you think of?”
“I’d say white guys with short hair, muscular, and kind of cocky. Sort of like the guys I saw that night.”
Snead gave up another piece of the puzzle. “Dix thinks the Caller may have ties with the navy or Coast Guard.”
Holmes’s eyes grew big.
Their conversation was cut short by a hail of gunfire followed by mass confusion. A Chevy Impala with chrome rims slowly rolled by, and neither Snead nor Holmes had seen it. Two passengers began firing on the group playing craps. Automatic rifle rounds tore through the air as return fire answered back. Several rounds from the shooters in the Impala hit a man running in the opposite direction.
Snead pulled his firearm out of the holster and trained it on the vehicle. Then the shooters in the Impala pointed at him and Holmes.
Simultaneously dropping to his knee while smoothly squeezing the trigger in rapid succession,
Snead somehow shot the rifle out of the front passenger’s hands. The remaining shooter in the Impala fired at him and Holmes as they dove for cover.
Cinder blocks near Holmes’s head exploded as he ducked. But a small fragment of the wall embedded itself into Holmes’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound. Holmes placed his hand over the gash with his non-gun hand and fired at the Impala.
Snead continued to fire at the car as well. He finished a magazine, reloaded, and kept shooting while searching for better cover.
The second shooter seemed to have difficulty with his AK-47. By the way he was struggling, Snead thought the shooter might have been hit or the gun had jammed.
Snead used the pause to take a good shot.
As the car sped away, shots from both sides of the street hit both the shooter and the driver. The Impala swerved back and forth on the street. It smashed into a power pole, and the driver went through the windshield. Four people dead in less than thirty seconds.
“Tye, you okay?” Snead yelled. He checked Holmes’s wound, but it had already stopped bleeding. They both had a few scratches but were okay.
Holmes shook his head. “God damn. Some shit never changes. Those idiots could’ve killed us.”
Snead slowed his breathing and reminded himself he was retired.
I don’t miss this one bit, and I don’t have to write the report, lucky me.
The police arrived right away and went to work. Snead was a witness instead of a responding officer this time. It felt weird to him.
The officers on scene were previous trainees of his, and he was happy to see they were handling the investigation properly.
Snead and Holmes were asked to remain for the next two hours, so Snead asked about the Caller again.
Holmes sat down on the curb. “I think one of the guys may have called the boss, Skipper. I doubt that will help.”
Snead didn’t know if it would either. “Well, it’s something. You ever going to move out of the area? This stuff gets old out here.”
Holmes shook his head. “The streets are part of me, man. But I’m pretty sure my wife will force me to move now. These youngsters are crazy, and I’m too old for it.”
The investigating officers told Holmes and Snead they could leave. Snead thanked Holmes and hightailed it back to his house with a new piece of evidence. He’d run with the name “Skipper.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hank’s Place, a restaurant and bar, was a cozy dive and one of the few options in town. This surprised Dix. Andros was one of the biggest islands in the Bahamas, but one of the least populated. Many small businesses were seasonal.
The guys were enjoying their beer and burgers when Martin barged in. He appeared extremely intoxicated to Dix, gaining speed, but stumbling and falling about three-quarters of the way to the bar. Suzie, who’d followed him in, helped him up and then escorted him to where everyone was seated.
Dix pointed to the stool next to him. “Please, sit down.” Suzie helped Martin get seated, then he told Dix, Petersen, and the local officers a little about what Preston’s girlfriend had said. “She was completely freaked out… mentioned UAVs and the Coast Guard. The girl had also spent a lot of time with Preston and knew he was running drugs, but didn’t care because he provided for her and her baby. She was confident the Caller was connected to the Coast Guard.”
Dix nodded. “This evidence, as well as other small pieces of the puzzle, seems to point to the Coast Guard. I guess we should focus on them.”
Martin glanced around and looked at Dix. “Listen, man, can I talk to you alone real quick?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
They moved to a dark corner away from the bar.
Martin checked around again, then moved close to Dix. “She didn’t tell anyone but me. She says the local cops are in on this, and she doesn’t trust them.”
Dix was skeptical, but it made sense. “That doesn’t surprise me. There’s a lot of money involved.”
Martin was a mess. “I have her contact information, but if you want to talk to her some more, you should let her pick a place and go and see her alone.”
“Is there anything else? I should get back to the locals. I won’t say anything about what you just told me.” Martin handed Dix a piece of paper and called to Suzie to take him home.
Dix rejoined the group. “You guys ever see any drones flying around?”
A couple guys nodded. “Interesting,” said Dix.
Before they could continue, the local officers were dispatched to an incident at another bar on the other side of the island. They ran out and sped away with lights flashing and sirens blaring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bubba and Wilfred had traveled all over the islands, for business and pleasure, ever since they were kids. They traversed the line between legal and illegal activities on a daily basis, but mostly stayed on the side of the law. Nevertheless, they knew who to ask to learn more about the Caller.
His name was Jay Remy. Remy had been a dealer since he was fifteen. With two prison terms under his belt, he’d vowed to live a life of secrecy after being paroled for the second time.
Bubba knew a few dives where Remy might be found, but the first three they checked revealed nothing. The situation pissed Bubba off.
Meanwhile, Wilfred called everyone he could think of who might know where Remy was hanging out these days.
Bubba patted Wilfred on the shoulder. “Bro, we gotta find Remy so we can get something on this Caller.”
Wilfred hung up on another unsuccessful call. “I know. Maybe we’ll get lucky, but Remy is lying real low. It’s good because that means he’s back running dope. I’m sure he knows something.”
Bubba didn’t respond. He saw one of his childhood friends walking outside a converted warehouse known for prostitution. The place was used primarily by visitors to the island looking for a little paid fun.
Bubba flagged the guy over. He and Wilfred got out of the car. Counting on drug use in connection with prostitution on Andros, he knew Remy was at the center of both. Bubba asked his friend if he’d seen “Money,” Remy’s nickname.
“Yeah. Saw him in a pearl white Cadillac Escalade in the alley.”
As Bubba was about to ask him other places Remy might be or where he was dealing, Wilfred tapped him on the shoulder and pointed down the street.
Bubba saw the vehicle they’d been talking about cruise slowly about a block away.
His friend followed Bubba’s gaze. “There he go right there.”
A kid approached the driver’s window of the Cadillac, and a drug deal appeared to go down as he and the driver handed something to each other.
Bubba and Wilfred jumped into the car and Bubba put it in gear. He didn’t want to be too obvious, so he followed at a distance. As the white vehicle continued, a few more people approached it and appeared to do hand-to-hand deals with the driver.
The Cadillac sped away. Bubba did what he could to stay with it but saw a Royal Bahamian Police Force car pull directly behind it and turn their lights and sirens on.
The SUV pulled over, and the officers exited their police vehicle and approached Remy’s Cadillac. Bubba and Wilfred watched as both officers went up to the driver’s door.
“What the hell are these guys doing?” asked Wilfred. He knew two-man units would never go up to the same door.
“Don’t know,” answered Bubba.
Wilfred pointed to a spot at the curb several cars back from their targets. “Let’s chill here so we can see what’s happening. Something’s not right.”
Bubba pulled over and stopped.
They watched as Remy handed one of the cops a manila envelope. The men joked for a few minutes, shook hands with the driver, and got back into their patrol car. They drove away, and the Escalade continued north.
Bubba followed for about six miles until the Cadillac abruptly pulled over, and Remy jumped out. He began swaggering back toward Bubba and Wilfred.
His blazer jacket bul
ged, and he held something in his right hand.
Wilfred grabbed his gun.
Remy yelled, “You boys want to talk?” He motioned for them to meet him outside their vehicle.
Wilfred looked straight at Remy. “He looks pretty pissed.”
Bubba turned off the key. “Let’s talk. That’s what we came for.”
Remy put his right hand behind his back. “Bubba, what’s got you following me?”
Bubba and Wilfred kept their eyes on Remy’s hands. “We need to talk,” Bubba replied. “Okay. But in my truck.”
Bubba and Wilfred both shook their heads. “No, we do it right here,” said Will.
Remy chuckled. “Okay then, but this better be quick. I need to make some more money tonight.”
They walked toward him. This ought to me interesting, thought Bubba.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Eating dinner with his wife in a romantic setting helped Pierce forget about work.
His cell phone vibrated reminding him he had two agents in a foreign country working a drug case they probably shouldn’t be involved with. Pierce told his wife he wanted to take her home. He gave her a little wink, hoping to distract her.
As he drove home, he was making plans, expecting to make love to her. He knew he would be tied up for the next few days and would be in serious trouble if he didn’t make her feel special. When he left the room, his wife said, “Go get him, honey. We’ll get together again after you catch him.”
Pierce smiled and gave her a long kiss and hug.
He went to his living room, wanting an update from Dix before figuring out what was needed next. When he called Dix, no one answered.
Pierce had thought about the case at length. He wanted help from Jim Calhoun based on what he understood about the size and sophistication of what Dix and Petersen were dealing with. Pierce dialed Calhoun. The phone rang three times, and a new voicemail message played. “I’m sorry I missed your call. I’m on vacation for two weeks. If this is an emergency, please call my secretary, explain the issue, and she’ll relay the message.”
Gray Ghost (The Bill Dix Detective Series Book 1) Page 10
