by Jeff Shelby
“Something like that.”
He pushed the half-empty second beer to the side. “I didn't think you'd know the name. Just a guy who was involved and did some time for it.”
“Okay.”
“Got out a year and a half ago,” Lasko said.
I nodded.
Lasko smiled. “And I've got his address.”
“Current?”
“Far as I can tell,” he said. “And since I can't sleep for shit when the sun's up, I thought we could take a drive over to Sunset Cliffs where he lives.”
TWENTY THREE
We drove our own cars and I followed him out of downtown, past the airport and along the harbor into Point Loma. The streets became narrower and more crowded as we drove across the strip of land that lies between the harbor and the Pacific. We crested the hill in the middle of the point just south of Point Loma College and stayed up on the hill, coming into Sunset Cliffs.
It was a weird area, an eclectic mix of well to-do's who could afford the amazing ocean views and beach bums who refused to vacate the areas. Chains and corporate entities were not welcome, as evidenced by all of the local, independent shops and restaurants on the streets. Bikes were the most prevalent mode of transportation, navigating much easier than cars on the tight streets.
I followed Lasko into a neighborhood of small ranch homes and big trees about two blocks west of the actual cliffs and pulled in behind him at the curb.
“Address is another block over,” Lasko said when I got out. “But figured we'd park here and make the walk.”
The unspoken sentiment is that we had no idea what we might be walking into. “Yep.”
We walked along the cracked, uneven sidewalks. The houses reflected the independence of the community – no two were alike, all painted different colors, with old, mismatched outdoor furniture on the porches. The yards weren't neatly manicured and junipers hadn't been tended to. It wasn't rundown, but it certainly wasn't what you'd see in the newer suburban communities. The houses retained their own unique character, like the rest of Sunset Cliffs.
“That's it,” Lasko said.
He nodded toward a house on the corner, light blue with a screened-in front porch. A massive tree leaned toward the home and an old orange VW bug was parked in the driveway. The screen door to the porch was just slightly off, not quite shutting all the way.
“How do you wanna play it?” Lasko asked.
“Straight,” I said. “He's an ex-con, probably still on probation. We aren't here to threaten him. Let's just see what he says.”
“Okay.”
I opened the crooked screen door and knocked on the interior door off the porch, which was empty save for a poor attempt to cover the floor in astroturf. I heard feet on the other side of the door and it opened. A guy around thirty with short dark hair and a day's worth of stubble answered, clad in jeans and a red golf shirt. He eyed us for a moment.
“Help you?” he asked.
“I'm hoping,” I said. “Are you Ben Dailey?”
He looked over my shoulder at Lasko, then back at me. “Yeah. Who are you?”
“My name's Joe Tyler,” I said. “This is Paul Lasko. Do you have a minute to talk with us?”
He stared at us both for a few seconds. “You guys are cops.” He didn't say it with disdain or disgust. He was just stating what he thought he recognized.
“He is,” I said. “I'm not. I used to be, though. We aren't here to hassle you. Promise.”
“What are you here for then?” he asked, squinting at us.
“We're looking into an old case,” I said. “Involved my daughter. Just some questions about what went down. Just background info, more than anything else. I promise we won't take up much of your time.”
He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I've got a job interview in an hour.”
“We'll be gone in half that time,” I said.
His mouth twisted as he thought. “You put in a good word with my P.O. if I help you out?”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
He opened the door wider and stepped to the side so we could pass.
We were immediately in a small living room with wood floors. There was a slip-covered sofa against the back wall, a rectangular wooden coffee table on a bamboo mat and two sitting chairs that were also slip-covered. Off to our left was a small eating area with a square table and a couple more chairs. The furniture wasn't new, but all of it gave me the sense that someone cared for it, took care of it.
Dailey gestured at the chairs and he sat on the edge of the sofa. He was attentive but not anxious, not your typical ex-con sitting with a couple of cops.
“Been out a couple years?” I asked, more to break the ice than anything else.
He nodded. “Twenty two months, actually.”
I looked around the room. “Nice place.”
“My sister's,” he said. “Actually, her husband's. They rent it to me. Long as I'm straight, it's mine.”
“Nice.”
He nodded again. “Better than a halfway or some crap apartment. They've been good to me. I appreciate it.”
He spoke directly to both of us, making eye contact. There was no fidgeting, no ducking our looks, no posturing. Again, he was ruining the ex-con stereotype.
“What kind of job interview?” Lasko asked.
“Construction,” he said. “My brother-in-law again. I've had a hard time finding anything permanent. Not surprising, given that I have a record. So I've had to scramble for stuff. This is for a full-time, regular gig. Drywall for a sub that's tied in with a couple of big homebuilders. Brother-in-law's an architect and set it up.” He paused. “Once he decided I wouldn't embarrass him.”
“And you won't?” Lasko asked.
Dailey looked him right in the eye and shook his head. “No. I won't. I'm done with everything from before. You probably hear that a lot. But I mean it. I'm out and done and not going back.”
He was right. Cops did hear that a lot. But there was something in the way he said it that made me believe Ben Dailey.
“So, if you don't mind,” Dailey said, looking from Lasko to me. “If you could ask your questions...I don't want to be late.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “The bust you went in for. Drug deal is our understanding?”
Dailey nodded and folded his hands together. “Yep. Heroin. Guys down south were bringing it up for us to distribute.”
“Guys down south?” I asked.
“Cartel. Tijuana.”
“And who was us?” I asked.
“19th Street Kings,” he answered. “We ran out of I.B.” He chuckled. “Such a stupid name. I don't even think they're around anymore. At least not in an organized way.”
I looked at Lasko. He shrugged.
“We were low level,” Dailey explained. “Thought we were way more badass than we were.”
“How long were you in?” I asked.
“Too long. Got jumped in as a stupid kid. I was the number two when the bust went down.”
“You guys sold drugs? What else were you into?”
He hesitated. “Look, man. It was awhile ago and I don't want the past screwing me up now, alright? If you're trying...”
“Swear to you I'm not,” I said. “And either is he. It'll make sense in a minute.”
He rubbed at his chin and his mouth set into a firm line. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, mostly drugs. We did guns, too. But that was it. Nobody really knew what they were doing, you know? Most guys, they just wanted to sit around, drink beer and get high. Only a few of us were trying to make money.”
I nodded. “Okay. How'd you hook up with the cartel?”
“Another guy in the gang,” he said. “He had a cousin who had a cousin. Something like that. I don't remember exactly. But they came to us. Think they'd tried to work with some other sets and it didn't work out.” He frowned. “We'd done some low level dealing and I had a rep for being straight up. I guess they liked that.”
I nodded again. �
�Sure. So night of the bust. What happened exactly?”
He leaned back in the sofa and shook his head. “It went bad. Cartel guys told us that we'd be clear to do the deal. But as soon as everything got laid out, there were sirens and cops everywhere. They got all of us, even some of the mule guys the cartel sent.”
“But they told you you'd be clear?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Said they had it covered. I don't know how, but they told us they had it covered.”
“How? Like with a cop?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Who else could've offered protection? And not like the cartel doesn't have cops on the payroll, right?”
I looked at Lasko. He nodded in agreement.
“But I don't know for sure who offered that,” Dailey said. “Like I said. They set it up. But what they didn't know was they had a DEA guy inside.”
“Inside the cartel?”
Dailey nodded. “Yep. They had some deep cover guy who blew the whole thing up. I've always assumed that whoever the cartel paid to clear the area didn't know about the undercover dude. Because when everything went crazy, it wasn't local cops. It was feds. All feds.”
That was pretty interesting. I wasn't sure if it helped me at all, but the story was interesting.
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Wow. It wasn't good.”
“So everybody went down?” Lasko asked.
Dailey nodded. “More or less. Some guys took smaller hits. But I was the contact guy. Cartel mules knew my name. I took a bigger hit.” He paused. “Supposed to be fourteen years, but the day I walked in, I knew I was done with that crap.” He shrugged. “So I kept my chin down and nose clean and I was out early. Worked on my degree while I was inside.”
“Why?” I asked.
He rubbed his chin again. “I just remember lying on the ground, DEA guys screaming all around and it was surreal. Like, I couldn't believe I was there. Just because I was lazy and stupid.” He shook his head again. “I just decided I wasn't going to be stupid anymore. Take what I had coming and move on. I'm lucky it happened, you know? Now I just gotta back it up.”
I nodded. He had a good perspective. I hadn't come to the house expecting to like him, but I did.
“Any of that help?” he asked. “Since I still don't know what you're looking for.”
“You said there were no local police there?” I asked. “Only feds?”
He thought for a moment. “I'm sure there were a few locals there by the time we were done. But it was mostly feds, yeah.”
I wondered about Mike's role in the bust and how Coronado ended up with the money from the deal. Dailey wasn't going to know that, but I still wondered.
“My daughter was kidnapped,” I said. “Right around the time your bust went down. She's back now. We just found her. But I'm just chasing down some stuff that might be tied together.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Okay.”
“Weird question,” I asked. “Your gang. You guys involved at all with trafficking?”
“Yeah. Drugs for sure.”
“No. I mean kids.”
His eyes went wide and then his entire face took on an expression like he couldn't believe I was asking the question. “The kings? Seriously?”
I nodded.
He chuckled then caught himself. “Sorry. I don't mean to laugh. But you gotta understand. The guys that I ran with? They could barely count, alright? They weren't sharp. They weren't even real criminals. They were a bunch of poseurs. Guys who acted tough, but were just...lost. Push came to shove, they usually got shoved.” A sad smile crept onto his face. “They could barely handle ripping off a 7-11. Anything more than that?” He shook his head emphatically. “No way.”
“But you guys were gonna deal for the cartel,” Lasko said. “They could at least do that.”
“Stand on a corner and deal heroin?” Dailey said. “Sure, they could handle that. Because they didn't have to think. The heroin was going to be given to us. All we had to do was sell it. But there was no big organized effort, okay? The cartel just wanted some traction in I.B. That was it. And my guess is the percentage I negotiated was far less than what other locals would've wanted. We were cheap labor.”
I appreciated his candor and I thought he was telling the truth.
“So no possible way any of your guys would've been involved with trafficking? Of kids?” I asked.
He shook his head. “None. None. Most of the guys were teenagers themselves. No way they would've been into something that heavy.” He paused. “And most of those guys deferred to me. They did what I said. And there's no way I would've gotten into that.”
“Why not?” Lasko asked.
Dailey leaned forward again, back on the edge of the sofa. “Because I'm not a piece of shit. I was a stupid, lazy kid and I did some dumb things. I sold drugs, I beat up some other kids, I jacked a couple cars, stuff like that. But what you're talking about? Selling kids?” He stared at Lasko. “I wouldn't have done that for a million bucks. That isn't me and it never was.”
I stood. “I don't want you to be late for your interview. We've taken up enough of your time.”
Dailey and Lasko stood.
I pulled out a card from my wallet and handed it to Dailey. “I'm kind of on hiatus at the moment, but normally I work as a private investigator. Construction thing doesn't come through, give me a call. I can probably find you some work.”
He took the card, read it and nodded at me. “Okay. Thank you.”
He and Lasko shook hands, then he looked at me.
I held out my hand. “Good luck, Ben. I hope I don't hear from you.”
He shook my hand and smiled. “Thanks. Me, too.”
TWENTY FOUR
“Cartel doesn't do that shit,” Lasko said.
We were back at our cars, standing between them, hashing out what we'd heard from Ben Dailey.
“Cartels have gotten pretty ugly lately,” I said.
Lasko shook his head. “Yeah, but they have their own set of rules. They don't mess with kids. There have been a couple of rogue characters who've broken those rules and the cartel was pretty swift in dealing with them. Like chopping off heads swift. I can't see any way they'd get involved in moving kids, especially American kids.”
I figured he was more in tune with what had been going on south of the border than I was, so I didn't argue.
“So maybe they're separate things,” Lasko said. “Maybe the bust isn't related to Elizabeth.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But it still feels like there are some crooked lines attached to it. If it was a DEA bust, why was Mike Lorenzo one of the busting officers?”
Lasko thought for a minute. “Probably a jurisdiction thing. DEA will usually involve a local office or two, just to play ball and make nice. So maybe they called him in as their local contact.”
“But what about the supposed all-clear from the cartel?”
“If Lorenzo didn't know or wasn't the guy they arranged with, he wouldn't have had any way of knowing,” Lasko said. “Or maybe Lorenzo was working quietly with DEA. Maybe his department didn't know. If it was even his department that arranged the failed cover.”
I nodded. “So if Bazer was the guy who arranged the safe area, he might not have known Mike was working with the DEA. Or that they had a deep cover guy in the cartel.”
“You're making a big jump,” Lasko said. “Both in that Bazer arranged the cover and that Mike wouldn't tell his superior he was working something with the feds. Because Mike not even have been, technically speaking, working something with the feds. It may have just been a favor for a friend. But, yeah. That's possible. Think it's most likely that whoever arranged the cover had no clue there was an inside guy. That makes the most sense to me.”
He was right. I was making a big jump. But I didn't really have anywhere else to go at the moment.
“Or it could've been reversed,” Lasko said, shrugging. “Lorenzo might've offered the cover and Bazer could
've been working the DEA. That actually makes more sense to me, if you're going that route. Bazer wouldn't have any reason to share a joint effort with a subordinate.” He paused, thinking. “Still think the most likely thing is that whoever arranged cover had no clue about the DEA being inside and they were just as surprised as anyone else. Or maybe I'm just talking in circles.”
I nodded again, but all his words did was confuse me further. I couldn't see anything straight at the moment. The answers we were getting were just muddling everything further. And I could still hear Lauren's voice in the back of my head, telling me to let it go, to focus on Elizabeth.
Lasko glanced at his watch. “I need to get going. I'll start digging on the trafficking thing when I get a chance.”
“Thanks,” I said, offering my hand. “I appreciate it. All of it.”
He shook my head. “You're welcome. I wish we were making more progress for you.”
I shrugged. “That's the way it goes sometimes, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but still.”
“And I'm serious,” I said. “If things are getting too hot inside, you don't have to stick your neck out for me. Not worth it in the long run for you.”
He pulled his car keys from his pocket and slid sunglasses over his eyes. “I'll be fine. Sometimes doing the right thing means some heat. Rather be right than cool.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But I mean it. If you need to step away, I'll understand. No questions asked.”
He opened the door to his truck and smiled at me. “No questions asked? What fun would that be?”
TWENTY FIVE
I needed to clear my head.
I changed into running clothes and pulled tight on the laces of my shoes, like they might fall off if I didn't tie them tight. I didn't know if hitting the sand would help me organize my thoughts, but I knew I could at least wear myself out with a hard run, to the point that I'd be too tired to think anymore about it.
The late afternoon sun was warm and I was sweating by the time I got to the sand, having started from the driveway, rather than waiting until I got to the beach like I did with Elizabeth. There were far more people on the beach than I was used to seeing in the morning and I had to keep my eyes up, dodging walkers and kids and dogs as I pounded the sand toward the Hotel Del. The breeze coming off the water was strong, but I was still covered in sweat by the time I'd reached my turnaround point at the end of the beach.
