by Matt Lincoln
I was impressed and maybe even a tiny bit envious, and I was also dying to know how he personally classified each car or truck, but I had places to go. “Economy’s fine. Just something to get from here to there.”
“Within the city, I’m assuming?” He started walking toward a silver Honda Accord.
My enthusiasm dropped a bit as we passed a classic BMW, but I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. George made his way to the driver’s side and popped open the side mirror. I heard the jingle of keys, and the next thing I knew, he called out, “Head’s up.”
I caught the keys as they soared over the hood at my face. Grabbing them felt like I was finally getting a bit of freedom back in the insane world my team and I had immersed ourselves in since the Arik mission had begun. Who knew that a simple set of car keys would and could mean so much?
“It should be well fueled up and ready for you,” he informed me as I approached the car. “All the information is in the glove compartment, and should you get stopped and pulled over by the authorities, simply tell them that you are running a delivery for me. I have several cards in the console, and I will provide all the necessary details via phone to avoid confusion. Best of luck with your quandary, Jake.” George headed back the way he’d come without another word.
Chapter 19
Jake
I slipped the Accord into a tiny parking space outside of the Edler Memorial Park community center. There were two other vehicles there, one a beat-up black Camaro, and the other a Dodge Ram. The Ram needed either a wash or a new paint job, but from beneath the streetlights, I couldn’t tell which.
It was only about seven-thirty at night, but the streets were already filling up with the sort of people that were looking for a very specific kind of party. That was why I was here. I had a buddy inside the building that worked with the partygoers once they’d hit bottom and had nowhere else to go.
LaShawn Spindle and I had done our SEAL training together back in the day. He was a live wire back then, faster, sharper, and more determined than me by far. He had a crazy sense of humor and was so damn likable that even when he was an ass, he was still everyone’s favorite jerk.
He’d disappeared for a while after he completed his Qualification Training and got his Trident. I wasn’t too worried, but then one day, I got a call from him. He’d asked me to come down and see him at this very center. I was glad to have a chance to catch up with a friend, so I’d found myself right here, years ago.
As it turned out, on a checkup, the doctors had found something in LaShawn’s lymph nodes. He’d gone through all the treatments and the rehabilitation and had just gotten his six-month checkup. It had been a good one, and LaShawn was ready to let some of his friends in on the new challenges he had and would be facing.
Tonight, I expected to find him as he had been for the last few years, working with wounded vets and ex-addicts. LaShawn had used his Medical Discharge to make something better not only for himself but for his community, as well. And while he’d never faced those precise struggles that his comrades and patients went through, his own battles gave him enough perspective to help them in his own way.
I walked into the building and immediately heard a meeting taking place down the hallway. The floors were tiled in tans and blues, and the walls had numerous cork boards with ads, flyers, and motivational posters lining them. The lights were on and at full strength, as this center was open all night. LaShawn always took the graveyard shifts because he said that “those were his people.” They were the hiders and the skulkers, the ones too ashamed to come in during the daylight hours.
I found the room he was in with the door open and a semi-circle of filled chairs surrounding LaShawn. This area was insignificant and intimate, not claustrophobically small, but just big enough for half a dozen people to feel comfortable inside. The chairs were hard plastic, purple, and well used. There was a coffee pot on the counter with a trash bin beside it. It all looked clean, tidy, and benign.
I watched from the doorway, not wanting to interfere with the people who had found their way here tonight. LaShawn was listening to a woman with smeared eyeliner and a hoarse voice. She told the group she had seen the guys who beat up her son tonight and needed a safe place to hang out for a while.
He used to tell me he got plenty of people like this. They were stragglers that didn’t have anywhere else to go at night when the shelters filled up. Sometimes they made up a story thinking that they needed one to get in. Other times, they just wanted to hear another about someone else’s crappy night just so they didn’t feel alone. LaShawn welcomed them all. None of it would bother him in the slightest.
He saw me from his seat, and after the lady had calmed enough, he called for a five-minute break. He headed straight for me with a big, goofy grin on his face. He’d lost more weight since the last time that I’d seen him, only three years ago. He looked too skinny, even compared to what he’d been then.
On top of the weight loss, his hair was thinning and had a touch of white at the temples. His face was still kind, but there were lines that made him appear ten years older than he should have looked for his age. He was wearing an Edler Community Center blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, along with cargo slacks and bright yellow water shoes. I stared just long enough for him to get the hint, then I smiled at him.
“Don’t even start with me, Header. You don’t know my life.” He grabbed me, and we did our own version of the bro-hug. “It's good to see you, man. What brings you my way at my time of night?”
I hadn’t expected such a physical change in him, but I was certainly glad to see that his attitude was as robust as ever. “Good to see you too.” And I meant that. I’d forgotten how uplifting it could be to reconnect with an old friend, especially with so much more serious stuff going on. “It’s been too long. But as it is, I’m working on something that just doesn’t hang right. I wanted to see if I could get your take on it.” I knew he had to get back to his group soon, though.
“No sweat. Let me call in my backup, and we’ll head to my office to discuss. Alright?” He smiled and didn’t wait for my answer. He went over to a small-framed woman with glasses, who was making a fresh pot of coffee at the counter. A few words and a fist-bump later, and LaShawn and I were walking up to the roof of this four-story brick building.
The staircase we used had white plaster walls with multi-colored handprints painted up along the stairs, which left me puzzled.
“There has to be a story behind this, LaShawn,” I mentioned as we climbed up. The handprints certainly brightened up the stairwell which would have otherwise been drab and devoid of any personality.
“Yeah, so, it’s kind of tradition on the one-year anniversary of someone working here to have this fun, little ceremony where we make our mark. Come on. I’ll show you.” We made it to the bottom of the third-floor flight before he stopped and pointed something out.
On the wall in bright red and blue paint was LaShawn’s own hand imprints, along with his name and the year that he started here at Edler. “It's just a small way to remember everyone that has contributed to this place and the people of the community. Nothing special.”
But I felt from him that it was otherwise. The pride in his voice was noticeable, but I didn’t want to harp on it, as he clearly didn’t. He started walking upward again, so after a moment of being impressed and honored that he’d told me about it, I followed him. He opened up the door to the roof, and we stepped out under the night sky. The warm, humid Miami air was a welcome embrace.
“So, what’s got you coming to me at this hour?” He walked toward the edge of the roof and looked out over the scene before us. It wasn’t anything to write home about. The other rooftops blocked out a lot of the streetlights down below, but it was peaceful up here, being away from the activity at street level.
“First off, you look good. How are things?” I asked him as I stepped up beside him.
“You lie like a cheap rug, Header. Always have. They found
another tumor last month. I’ll be out next week, so I’m doing overtime here to make up for it. Long hours, my friend. Not much sleep.” He grinned, though, so it wasn’t a complaint in the typical sense.
“You got anyone to look after you?” I wasn’t trying to pry into his personal stuff, but I was concerned.
“My sister’s coming in from St. Louis to fluff my pillows and feed me soup. I tried to get Loretta to come over, but she’s still mad over that deal with the police. Won’t give me the time of day.” LaShawn and his high-school sweetheart had been on and off for years. Last I heard, she left him when LaShawn turned her little brother in for a hit-and-run two summers ago.
“Sorry to hear that, man. But what can you do?” We both stared out into the night, letting that settle before I dove into my problems.
“Anyway. What bee’s under your bonnet?” His mom used to say that a lot. It was funny now, the same words coming out in his voice.
“I know you hear a lot of mess here, and I’m not asking for anything in specific, but in general. Do you ever get wind of a group or a pack called the ‘Yabut’?” If I could trust anyone in Miami to let me know what was really going on, it would be LaShawn.
“You’re saying it wrong. It's yah-boot. And yeah, I know a little about them.” The ridges and ledges of the roof had a good two-foot-wide draw on them, which gave the ability for people to sit and relax, providing that they weren’t terrified of plummeting off the other side backward. LaShawn took a spot and then shifted around to get more comfortable on his brick seat.
The space up here was like most roof areas. There were a few junk boxes, some trash left behind that no one had claimed, some old cigarette butts, and a view that kept people calm when things got too hot, figuratively and literally.
“They came into town here about ten months back, at least, that’s when I first heard of them. Flashy, arrogant, not too bright. They bought dealers with the experience and ties to the city already, so I don’t know who the main man or woman is. They picked up a lot of loose threads, made a lot of noise about ‘uniting’ crews. That sort of garbage.” He shook his head, remembering.
“And did they?” This could open up some new territory of intelligence if true.
“Hard to say,” he replied. “They weren’t American to start off with, and there are so many factions around here that come and go. They get hit, plant a new name, and keep on doing what they want.” LaShawn spoke like he knew it all too well. “But that name… I hear it around still. It’s making waves, Header, and not the kind your boys like.”
“I kind of figured that. That’s why I came asking.” I looked over at him. “What else? Anything you’ve got, I’ll listen to.” He knew that I was good to not drag him into it, too.
LaShawn shrugged and exhaled. “Now, I don’t have confirmation on this yet, but I hear they are trying to make some deals with genuine chemists to up the ante. Designer drugs have always been in style, but they want to cut out their own niche in the city. Not verified, but my sources have got a good track record.”
That was true, and that was why I’d go to him over anyone else I knew. “Okay. Any idea where they send it or bring it in from?”
“Nah. But I will say this. These Yabut have other sources of income. There’s no way they’re paying their crews with only drug money. The upper ends, yeah, but the rats and the smugglers? They’re using food, medical supplies, and technology to pay them off.” This looked to piss him off personally, and I could understand his point. LaShawn wasn’t one to see good, innocent people suffer.
“There’s proof?” I’d love to add that to the data file Xavier was keeping for us.
“Sure. Crates of burner phones go missing every week from ships. It's all over the news. Food can’t be traced as easy as other cargo, and everyone has to eat, right?” The corners of his mouth twitched in disgust. “Medical stuff, all the aid being sent out from the US, it just disappears.” Then he quickly added, “But you didn’t hear that from me, you got it?”
“Say what?” I understood.
“I’ll, um, I’ll listen a little closer if you want me to. I’ll keep you up to date if I hear anything good.” He pushed himself off the brick half-wall, and I knew he needed to go back inside. “No details, but you are looking into these guys pretty hard?”
“We are.” I followed him back to the access door. “I’m not convinced that they’re all they claim to be, but they are doing some things to get noticed by some powerful people.”
“Good powerful or bad powerful?” He veered to look me in the eyes.
“Both.” I needed him to see just how serious this could become.
“Damn.” LaShawn checked his wristwatch and grimaced. “I wish I could hear more, but I’ve got a schedule down there.”
We walked back down to the room where they were waiting for him. We shook hands and exchanged current numbers and information.
“Thanks again, man. I appreciate everything you’ve told me tonight. It’s good to get some new eyes and ears on this.” I meant it.
“Hey, not a problem. Anytime. Just keep your eyes open. That’s all you’ve got to do sometimes.” LaShawn was a master of the least resistant route.
I headed out and climbed back into the borrowed Accord. Once I started the car, I decided to take a drive around to clear my head. It was a nice night for the windows to be down as I cruised the streets absentmindedly. I knew where I was and how to get back to the team. I just needed a little time away from them and the crap that was hanging over us, and I’d be good.
Then, my thoughts turned to Arik, and I wondered what he had to face tonight. And all the other nights, too, for that matter. I had some guilt and some anger over it. Because of the time that this was taking, I could only imagine how hard it was for him. I knew that my team and I were doing all that we could to get to him, but it was taking much longer than I’d originally anticipated. But I also knew that I needed a strong view of where to go from here if I was going to be any help to him.
Before I knew it, I was headed back to George’s private estate and parking the vehicle where I’d found it. I replaced the keys and then walked over to my room. It was later than I’d anticipated, and I didn’t find anyone up or about. Maybe an early morning was best, so I decided to just go to bed.
Chapter 20
Jake
The next morning, I spent some time relaying LaShawn’s intel to the rest of my team. We all crammed into my quarters and closed the door. Rosa took the lower bunk so that she could stretch out her leg without being too uncomfortable. Xavier crawled up to the top bed, which was amusing to watch, while Doc hovered around the chair until I told him to take it.
I leaned against the small table to address the whole room easily, and then I started to tell them what LaShawn had given me. “He’s going to keep me apprised if he hears anything else of interest for us. In the meantime, I think you should check out the local news sources, Xavier, to see if there really is this theft going on, as he said. I mean, I don’t doubt him, but…”
“I get it,” Xavier replied, already typing on his laptop. “One verified source is good. Two or more is better. I’m on it.”
Rosa was scrolling through her own phone, probably looking for what she could find, as well.
Doc rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pondering something. “I might be able to contact some acquaintances about the medical aid getting lost. That’s not going to make a lot of news, at least not on the local stations. But I will make a few calls and ask. I don’t know how soon they’ll be able to get back to me, though. They might ignore it altogether.”
“I’m going to do the same,” I agreed. It was nice to know that we all were on the same page here. “I’ll see who and what else I can dig up for information.”
There was a knock on my door.
“Come on in,” I called out loud enough to be heard through the door.
Eve poked her head inside. “Sorry to interrupt your summit, but I found some
thing that might be helpful.”
We all motioned for her to join us and Rosa made room on the lower bunk for Eve to sit. I noticed she had her phone in her hand and was clutching it tightly.
“I’ve been trading calls with the Judge and her people since last night,” she informed us as soon as she sat down. “Most of it is Task Force related, about whether they should announce something in the hopes that more attention might lead to info about the Yabut and the kidnappers or their dealings.”
She scooted back to lean against the wall and resumed. “Judge Fu wants to mention the whole thing with Arik. She thinks that it will add pressure to their situation and force a confrontation sooner rather than later. I have strongly advised against this. There are too many things that could go wrong, and we don’t even know where Arik is at this time.”
Eve was looking anxious about all of this. “She did mention that she wanted me, or us, to meet with the DEA Head of the Task Force, a guy named Nace. She has briefed him and thinks that he might be able to add something that maybe we’ve missed.”
The name “Nace” got my attention. That was the word Kippy had warned me about without giving any kind of backup information. It just confirmed to me that she was hiding valuable info from us that could and probably would help us track down Arik and get him home safely.
I also remembered that Kippy had warned me about Eve, with the undertone that she was also a possible source of information that she wasn’t sharing. But up until now, I hadn’t seen Eve’s way of dealing as anything other than honest and forthcoming, as much as she was allowed to be.
If I had to choose, I’d take Eve’s intelligence over Kippy’s any day of the week. It was a trust thing. Eve had earned mine, Kippy had not, simple as that. Still, I worried that I was overlooking something that needed addressing. For now, I’d just have to accept what I knew about both of these women and how they were or were not willing to help us get Arik back.
