The three detectives hopped into Copeland’s black SUV. She drove, Romero sat shotgun, and Billy rode the rear. Police chatter from the radio filled the SUV.
“How are you feeling,” Copeland asked Billy.
“I’m doing good. For a moment there I thought I was going to...” he pointed up, towards the roof of the SUV.”
“That bad, huh?” Romero said. “What the hell happened? And who was the chick?”
“I wish I knew. It all happened so fast.”
Romero said, “Start from the beginning, when you left the car and went around the curve where we lost visual.”
Billy scratched his head. “Okay. I remember a black car. One man. He was packing his trunk. He reminded me of a vendor—the ones that set up to sell stuffed toys and flashlights during a concert.”
“Is that what he had in the trunk?” asked Copeland.
“Can’t say. I didn’t get a chance to look inside before he offered me some free candy.”
“Free candy?” Copeland’s brow went up. “Why would someone be out that time of night offering adults free candy?”
“No clue then, but I know now.”
“Fill us in,” said Romero.
“I pocketed the candy and followed the line into a club. They had stopped for candy too. It was like an assembly line—stop at the car, get candy, go to the club. Just like that.”
“So, how did you end up passed out in Cinderella’s arms?”
I was standing near the bar, taking everything in—the flashing lights, the loud music, people contorting their bodies in ways I never imagined could be done. It was one big orgy and everyone was moving in some way or another.” Billy paused and thought about his next words.
“And what else,” asked Romero.
“Well, this is kind of embarrassing.”
“We’ve all been there, done something that we find humiliating after the fact, so just spill it.” Said Romero.
“The candy isn’t candy. It’s some rough stuff.”
“How,” aske Copeland.
“Okay, here’s what happened. While I was supposedly casing the place, a young woman walked up on me. Totally out of the blue she kissed me.”
Copeland laughed. “How did a kiss from Cinderella knock you out?”
“It wasn’t her kiss. It was the candy she pushed into my mouth. That thing dissolved before I could spit it out. Next thing I knew my heart was racing and I was seeing all kinds of shit in that place.”
“Billy!” exclaimed Copeland. “You never use language like that.”
“This experience needed it. All those dancing people became my worst nightmare. Dragons and beasts attacking the city.”
It was Romero’s turn to laugh. “Dragons and beasts? Is that what knocked you out?”
“No, it was the notion that I could beat them. I felt I had the strength of a hundred humans and their mass also. When I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar, I had grown like the Hulk. It was when I was about to attack that I lost my footing, slipped, and fell. Next thing I knew I was outside with people looking down on me.”
“Hey, I need some of that candy for when we get into these shootouts,” Romero said.
“It wasn’t a good feeling, Boss, especially when my heart felt like it was about to rip through my chest. But, there was one thing I remember. My last memory before everything went black. I was admiring my mass in the mirror when the bartender said, ‘you like the candy, do you? It’s Lemon Spice. You want more? Just stop by anytime and ask for the King.’ Yes, that’s what I remember.”
“The King?” Romero and Copeland parroted together.
“Yeah, that’s what I remember. It may not be real. It was pretty hard to tell real from imagination.”
“What are the odds that the king is one Dr. Ethan King?” asked Romero.
“Him, running a drug cartel? I don’t see it,” said Copeland. He would put himself above anything like that. And the man was freaked out by our photoshopped death pictures of Gina.”
“But, everyone loves the money aroma, especially when it folds,” said Romero.
“You do have a point there,” agreed Copeland.
“Who was Cinderella?” asked Romero.
“No clue. I’m just glad she was there to rescue me. I had a feeling of impending doom.”
“Rescue you?” said Romero. “She’s the one who slipped you the mickey.”
“Wow, I guess my head is still messed up. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“We need that candy so we can get it analyzed and see what’s in it.”
“Lemon Spice. I wonder if there is any significance in the name,” said Copeland.
“Lemon Spice, Lemon Spice, hmm, where did I hear that name?” asked Romero.
“From Pool on one of his breaking news spots,” answered Copeland. “Remember him saying the death count on the street has been attributed to a new drug that little is known about, but it is a potent killer which is being called Lemon Spice? Lastly, he warned people to keep their distance.”
Romero shook out his index finger. “Right, I do remember that now. Lemon Spice, a killer.” He looked at Billy. “You’re lucky, Kid.”
Billy nodded. “When I took the box to forensics, I also gave them the candy I had from my pocket. Hopefully we’ll hear something soon.”
They had arrived at the M.E.’s doorstep.
“Hopefully,” said Romero as Billy hopped out.
Copeland aimed the SUV toward Interstate eighty-three. They took it all the way to Northwest Marston. Copeland pulled the black SUV onto the Northwest Precinct’s parking lot. They unfolded from the automobile and headed inside. They were met by an officer sitting at a desk, ten feet from the door.
“It’s about time you got here, Romero,” said Sergeant Oliver. “And you brought company.”
“Detective Copeland was at the shootout, Sarge, so I think she should be in on whatever you have.”
“Not a problem. We have identifications on the bodies and we have traced the gun—or should I say the smoking gun?”
Chapter 49
When Gina opened her eyes, the first face she saw was that of an older woman; the woman who had approached her inside Coffee Haven and struck up a conversation. It was a conversation that she needed to revisit. The hope of running into this woman who now stood before her in the flesh was her reason for going back to Coffee Haven.
“It’s you,” Gina said as if she was imagining the whole thing. “You’re the woman from the coffee shop. I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to me?”
“You will understand. I tried to tell you when we were sitting and sipping our drinks together, but you weren’t ready. You were too busy singing high praises of your uncle.”
“Is there something wrong with that? He has been good to me. He took me in when I had nowhere to go after my mother died.”
“He took you in?” The woman went into a laughing fit.
Suddenly, her glossy, brown skin went from smooth to wrinkled. Her face pinched as if the room reeked of horse maneuver—wrinkled lips and nose, crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, and stair step creases in her forehead.
“Yes, he took me in. He has been a great uncle.” She said it with conviction, but inside she was remembering a conversation she had overheard. It was one that had put her on this path with Ethan—freeing those unjustly convicted. She thought back as the man and woman standing in front of her seemed to disintegrate.
Just as Gina was about to round the corner, she had heard her uncle engaged in a serious conversation. She waited on the other side of the wall. Listening.
Her uncle had said into the phone, “I have done everything you’ve asked of me. Cops at the top and bottom. I have given you free reign, now you need to help me out on this one. I’m being blackmailed. He wants your turf or he will out me. There will be public humiliation and my family will desert me.”
She listened to the quiet as she assumed her uncle was listening to the caller. S
he heard him slam down the phone and say, “Mother fucking drug dealers.”
“Do you hear me, honey?”
Gina looked up into the woman’s face. It was softer now. She was smiling at Gina.
“Are you ready to hear what you wanted to hear when you went back to Coffee Haven to seek me out?”
“Why are you treating her like she’s a kid?” the man asked in a gruff. “She’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices. I’ve been with you all my life and you still favor her. I don’t get it. What’s so special about Gina?”
“That tongue of yours is going to get you killed one day. Put a leash on it, you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you,” he said under his breath, “but I don’t understand why we have to act like she’s a piece of crystal that will break if we say the wrong thing.”
“Take a break,” the woman said, “go down stairs and get something to eat.”
“Who are you, and what do you plan to do to me?” asked Gina.
Chapter 50
Romero and Copeland followed Sergeant Oliver into his office. He was a big, black guy, walked with confidence, one you didn’t want to be on the wrong side of.
“Take a seat and let’s get to business.”
The detectives sat in the visitor chairs in front of the sergeant’s desk, cluttered with folders and papers. Behind him was a bookshelf with pictures in frames, and law books.
“Your family?” Copeland pointed to the frames behind him.
“Yes, my lovely wife and our twins.”
“They must keep you busy.”
“They keep me young. You know what I mean?”
Copeland nodded in agreement, although she had not a clue. She had no children and no nieces or nephews. She was an only child, something she despised.
“Whatcha got for us, buddy,” asked Romero. “You said you have the smoking gun. Shed some light.”
“Not so fast, Detective. We have to work our way up to it. Now, if you were going to take this woman here to bed, you wouldn’t just hop on top and get going, right?”
“You sexist beast,” Copeland growled at the sergeant.
“Pig, I think you mean sexist pig.”
Romero put his head down. “No, Sarge, she means exactly what she said.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to. I can have you brought up on charges. Sexual harassment, you belly crawler.”
“Wow, that’s low,” said Romero. “I think you owe Detective Copeland an apology, that is, if you want to keep that Sergeant shield.”
Sergeant Oliver pondered the request. Risk his rank or bow down to the female cop. He said, “So that we can move on with this joint adventure, I humbly apologize for my sexist beast words.”
Copeland stiffened her spine. “Apology accepted so we can move forward.”
“All business,” the Sarge said.
“Just the way it should be,” Copeland responded.
“Can we get down to the business of solving crimes?” Romero asked.
Copeland rested her back into the chair. “Tell us what you have.”
Sergeant Oliver smiled. “I respect you, Detective Copeland. You’re a professional.”
“Nothing less, Sergeant. I joined the force to protect the public and solve crimes. I’m not going to let the little male ego get in my way.” She smiled back at the sergeant.
Heat rose up the sergeant’s collar. He could swear he felt her palm whack across his cheek. He pressed his hand on his face where he imagined she had slapped him.
The sergeant jabbed a finger at Copeland. “You’re tough. I like you.” He opened the first file folder. “There were two dead at the scene.” He leaned back in his captain’s chair as if to bask in the information he was sharing. “They were gang members.” He held up his index finger to drive the point home. “They were from rival gangs. The stiff in the drink aisle was from the King gang, and the one outside on the pavement, he was a member of B.E. gang. Now, you have to ask yourself; why are these two in the same store? Why the shootout?”
“Any ideas?” asked Romero.
“Hold on a minute,” said Copeland. “Why in the world do they call themselves B.E.?”
Sergeant Oliver donned a wide grin. Finally, the lady detective was looking to him for something. “The B.E. Gang is an acronym for Bald Eagle.”
Copeland wrinkled her nose. “Why? What group would want to be linked with a bird of such low morals?”
The Sarge was only too happy to give her an answer. “It’s not the bird per se that they align themselves with. As you pointed out, the bird has low morals, so it’s more along the lines of the character of the bird that they associate themselves with. He doesn’t get his Living honestly, just as the B.E. gang members don’t. Rather than do their own fishing, Bald Eagles often go after other creatures’ catches, even harassing the smaller raptor until it drops its prey in midair, where the eagle swoops it up, stealing away the smaller bird’s catch. A Bald Eagle may even snatch a fish directly out of a Hawk’s talons. Fishing mammals, even people sometimes, can also lose their catch to the piracy of the Bald Eagle. This is what this whole shootout was about. The stealing of turf. The B.E. gang moving in on the King’s drug market.”
“Jeeze,” Romero said. “There it is again. King. Why does that name keep coming up? What do you know about the King gang?”
Sergeant Oliver sighed heavily. “The King Gang is one to be feared. You don’t just move into their turf and think you’re going to take over. They believe in kill first, ask no questions. We have been after them for years. Just trying to nail down the king pin is a chore in itself. This person is connected inside. I know he is. The man is always under the radar. He has to have some inside help.”
“I have to agree with you there, buddy.” Romero reached into his shirt pocket and pulled a toothpick, slipped it between his teeth. “So, how can you be so sure these young men are in these particular gangs?”
Sergeant Oliver proffered the first photo over to Romero. “Take a look at his left calf.”
Romero scanned the tattoo of a Bald Eagle with a gleaming white head and brown body, feathers extended. He passed the photo over to Copeland.
“Do all the members have this tattoo?” asked Copeland.
“Only the ones who have survived the beat in.”
“What—” Copeland started, but Sergeant Olive interrupted her question.
“It’s gang activity. Over the weekend our 911 calls tripled—shootings, stabbings, robberies. You name it, we responded to it.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be a member of such violence,” Copeland said.
“It’s a sense of belonging, a family for these lost souls. Sometimes it’s their only protection. How else are they going survive in the hood, or in jail? Protection of the family.”
“How did you I.D. the other kid as a King?” asked Romero.
“These members have a crown with a knife cutting through.” He passed the photo to Romero pointing out the tattoo on the young man’s right chest. “I’ve seen this tatt in other places like on the back and the biceps.”
“Okay, we have honed in on the fact that this was a gang war,” Romero clarified. “Right here in the middle of the city. They are staking their turf claim.”
Sarge shook his head. “The B.E Gang is trying to force the Kings out. The problem there is, these people have some heavy-duty protection and intel. We haven’t been able to infiltrate how they are connected. Now, we have a new drug on the street that’s killing people. It’s highly addictive, keeps them coming back after only one use if they survive.”
“What class of drug is it?” asked Copeland.
“Here’s what I can tell you; the ones that walk out of the E.R. alive say it is better than sex and the only thought they have when they come down is where can they get more? The cost is no object to them. They will pay, no matter how they have to get the money. Hence, the rise in crime.”
“Looks like you have your
hands full up here,” Romero said.
“You bet we do and to top it off, I’m starting to hear rumblings about a set-up. An arrest made to throw water on the fire.”
Romero raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me—you’re talking about the little league coach.”
Chapter 51
Ethan’s first stop was his job. He cleared the security check point and headed to his office, going straight for the phone. He called the guard desk for Block A.
“This is Ethan King, bring that trouble making, little league coach to my office now,” he demanded and slammed the phone down.
He paced the office, clenching and unclenching his fists. Three taps on the door alerted him that his prisoner was on the other side. The door opened revealing the guard and the requested offender.
“What are you waiting for?” snapped Ethan. “Get in here and sit down.”
Jesse obliged Ethan, stepped in and took the seat in front of the desk. Ethan glared at the guard who had made the delivery. “You can go.”
The door closed behind the guard with a thud. Ethan leaned across the desk and narrowed his eyes at Jesse.
“What do you know about Gina?”
Jesse smiled up at Ethan. “Let’s see.” He counted the points off on his fingers. “She’s the mayor’s niece. She’s smart, cute...oh, and she wants to do some rolling around with me.”
“Rolling around with you?” Ethan shook his head. “She has better taste than the likes of you, a man with nothing.”
“Maybe that’s what she wants. A man, not with worldly possessions or a giant brain; maybe she just wants a man who can make her feel like a wanted woman, a man who is not all books and theories.” Jesse brushed at the imaginary lint on his pants. “Maybe she wants a man of integrity.”
Ethan guffawed. “Integrity. What do you know about integrity? You have spent your life living in one of the worst neighborhoods Marston has to offer.”
“You see, Ethan, that’s why you will never understand the inner workings of Gina. It’s not wealth or genius that she seeks—it’s acceptance.”
The 13th Hour: A Marston Thriller (The Marston Series Book 4) Page 14
