The Price of Cash

by Ashley Bartlett

  I alternated between watching the quad where we expected Aryan to show, the side of the building Nate would be approaching from, and all the mirrors to make sure we didn’t have company. Five minutes later, there was movement at the edge of the building. I could only make out that they were tall and wearing dark clothes. Then I saw the flash of white rubber from Nate’s Vans. He hustled back to the parking lot and climbed in the van.

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  We gave it until half past six before giving up. Aryan never showed. I didn’t know what to be more excited about: the fact that we would be back in twenty-one hours or that we would be continuing this stakeout until we actually found the asshole. Once we managed that, we still had to figure out a way to buy drugs from him.

  I dropped Nate at his apartment and drove the van back to my place. When I got home, I called Reyes before falling into bed. It was before seven a.m. on a Saturday so I got his voice mail like I’d hoped.

  “The perp might be a white dude with short, white-blond hair. He’s about six feet tall, slim build. Probably a UC Davis student. The pills he’s making are round and dyed black or deep charcoal.”

  I hung up. I had a feeling that was going to lead to a lot of uncomfortable questions. But Reyes knew where I’d gotten the info. Or he did if he wanted to know. Maybe he wouldn’t ask. Either way, I was going to get some sleep before I had to engage.

  *****

  When I woke up, my phone screen was a wealth of missed calls and texts. I saw one from Laurel that demanded I call her. In all caps. So I opted for making coffee and ignoring the phone. In the five minutes that took, I heard two more messages arrive.

  I tried to psych myself up, but it didn’t catch. I sighed and picked up the phone. Reyes left a voice mail. I looked at the transcript. He wanted to know my source. And he wanted to meet. At eleven. Missed that appointment. After eleven, I had a handful of calls and texts asking where I was.

  At noon, Laurel started in. Reyes clearly hadn’t called her until after he knew I wasn’t going to show. That was nice?

  I’d missed a call from Kyra, which I was reasonably certain had nothing to do with the case. Just my poor life decisions.

  Buried between all that bullshit was a text from Dawson.

  Found him

  That was it. The entire message. I hit Dawson’s name. It rang and rang and went to voice mail. Great. I hung up. Thirty seconds later, I got a text.

  What’s up?

  I should have expected that. I knew better than to call a twenty-year-old.

  U found him? I asked.

  Yeah Ps roommate gave me his number told him I wanted to buy tonight you in

  Punctuation was so overrated. Yeah.

  Dawson responded with the address of a party. At least I had something solid to report. Maybe that would distract Laurel. I thought about calling Reyes before Kallen, but he couldn’t protect me. And it would piss her off more if she knew I’d called him first. So I texted both of them.

  3 at Zebra Club. It was the only place I could think of that wouldn’t be packed on a Saturday. It was a sad little bar that proudly opened at six in the morning. But no one would bother us. And the onion rings were good.

  Reyes responded first. Cool.

  Kallen was more conservative. K.

  I had a luxurious two hours to drink my coffee and take a shower and figure out how I was going to lie about Aryan Nations.

  Nate had already isolated screenshots from the video for me. I turned on my laptop. While that was starting up, I dialed Kyra.

  “Hi,” she answered.

  “Hey. How are you?”

  She sighed. “Fine. I think I’m still mad at you.”

  So she was mad at me? At least she was admitting it now. “That’s not unfair. I’m sorry you got dragged into my bullshit.” I really was. Nate and I had made decisions that led us to where we were. Kyra’s only crime was being dumb enough to hang out with me.

  “I’m not really upset about the jerk dealer boy.” She laughed a little. “Actually, I’m not upset about that at all. It was fun.”

  “Fun doesn’t cover it. Watching you eviscerate Jerome was highly entertaining. It was one of the highlights of my life thus far.”

  “I’m pleased I could entertain you.”

  “So what are you mad at me about?” My laptop finished starting. I opened the images I wanted to print. The little rainbow circle started spinning. Maybe it was time for a new laptop. This was taking longer than it needed to.

  “You let me flirt with a goddamn cop.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I started laughing. “I know how much you hate cops. I should have given you a heads up.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.” She sighed. “So how are things otherwise? Did you and hot girl cop make up?”

  “No. I think she’s still mad.” I hit print. My printer purred to life. Nickels jumped out from under my desk and ran out of the study. The printer obviously had tried to kill her on multiple occasions.

  “Hmm.” There was a lot of disbelief in that hmm. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.”

  Sure we would. Right.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I beat the detectives to the bar, which gave me a modicum of pleasure. I snagged a table in the back where I could watch the entrance and everyone in the bar. Kallen and Reyes would need to turn their backs to someone. I drew lines in the condensation on my pint glass and waited.

  Three old dudes were at the bar proper. They didn’t appear to be together, but they knew each other. They had probably been coming to this place since 1983 and hadn’t ever considered going somewhere new. That was fitting considering the bar had been outfitted in 1983 and nothing aside from the taps had been updated since. The chairs were heavy vinyl and metal rejects from a conference room. Their angular backs were a shade of pink between dusty rose and maroon. The tinted windows kept it relatively cool, if a little too dark. Then again, it was an old sports bar with thirty beers on tap. They didn’t need more than that and a Giants game playing on ten screens. Clearly, it was a business plan that was working out for them.

  Two minutes after I’d gotten my beer, the detectives walked in. The waitress saw them sit at my table and brought over the 805 and Blue Moon I’d ordered for Kallen and Reyes, respectively. Reyes grinned at the orange slice and slid his beer over so it was directly in front of him. I’d guessed that one correctly. Why was it that the butchest men liked literal fruit in everything?

  “You want to tell us what the hell is going on?” Kallen asked.

  “No, I just really like the ambiance of this place. Something about that neon sign that says ‘open six am’ inspires me,” I said.

  She almost got up, but Reyes shot her a look. I wondered what had given him the magical talent to calm her the fuck down when she was ready to check out. I wondered if it went both ways. Reyes had never gotten well and truly pissed off in front of me. Did the dynamic reverse?

  “Come on, Braddock,” Reyes said.

  The waitress returned with a basket of onion rings. At least the service was good.

  “I’ve got two avenues for you to explore. First, we are going to a party tonight,” I told Kallen. “Dawson set up a buy with someone who sold pills to Pedro. They are meeting at some house party.”

  Her eyes got wide. “What do we know about the dealer? Or the party?”

  “That’s all I got.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my conversation with Dawson. I set it between the detectives.

  She scowled. He silently mouthed the sentence.

  “Why does he type like that?” Reyes asked.

  “Your kid is young, right? She doesn’t have a phone yet?” I asked.

  “No.” He dragged it out as if he was afraid of what I was going to tell him.

  “When she gets one, she will text the exact same way,” I said.

  Laurel nodded. “My sister does it too.”

  Reyes graduated to a groan.

>   “So, obviously, I don’t have much information. It doesn’t feel like a setup, but that doesn’t mean anything. I was hoping you could be backup,” I said to Reyes. He smiled. My instincts were killing it today.

  “Is Dawson expecting you and Nate to kick this guy’s ass?” Laurel asked.

  I shrugged. “Probably. Oh, I should tell Nate he’s coming too.” I grabbed my phone and shot off a text.

  “I’d much rather we get contact info and make a simple buy,” Laurel said.

  “Same. Ideas?”

  Laurel and Reyes looked at each other. There was a shrug and some facial movements and a noise from Laurel. She picked up her glass and drank her beer. This was Reyes’s show now.

  “We can bring in someone else undercover,” Reyes said.

  “Once we ID the perp, you and Nate and I will distract Dawson and his buddies. The other cop will make a buy, use Pedro’s name to fish for information, Reyes will arrest as necessary,” Laurel said.

  Seemed like a solid plan to me. “Why are you so reluctant?” I asked.

  “I’m not. It’s the best way to handle it.” Laurel was lying.

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “So what’s the other lead?” Reyes asked.

  “Huh?” It took me a moment to switch gears. “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah, that. You can’t call me at an ungodly hour and leave a detailed description of a potential perp who allegedly has killed five boys and put another in a coma and then not answer my calls.” Reyes was displeased.

  “I’m sorry. I was asleep. I didn’t go to bed until…late.” I realized at the last moment that I shouldn’t give them more information than necessary.

  “So what the hell was that?” Reyes plucked the orange slice off his beer and ate half of it.

  “Well, hypothetically—”

  Reyes groaned. “Seriously?”

  “Do you want to hear or not?” I asked. He waved for me to continue. “Hypothetically, we got a lead and we need to do a lot of follow-up before it’s worth passing on.”

  Reyes shook his head and ate the other half of his orange.

  “I think we can decide that,” Laurel said.

  I looked her in the eye and held until she was fully engaged. “I need you to trust me on this one.” She took a deep breath, then nodded.

  “Okay, so no background.” I slid a small stack of photos across the table. They were stills from the video, which meant they weren’t great. “It’s possible that this is your perp.” I flicked a couple of photos aside until I got to a shot of the pills. “These might be the pills he makes. We think the color might be some sort of branding.”

  “Is there any way for us to help you confirm the validity? Because we can’t sit on this for long,” Reyes said.

  “Can you just stick with the anonymous source thing? These pills are distinctive. Someone has seen them.” There was no way Aryan was just wandering around with black pills. That shit built reputations.

  “Yeah, but anonymous source only buys a few days. Ionescu and Michelson are going to want our source,” Laurel said.

  She was right. And I wouldn’t be able to disclose much. Ever. “In the spirit of honesty, I’ll tell you that I’m probably never going to give you the full story. And the source of this photo probably violates a number of laws. So, you know, heads up.”

  Reyes leaned back. He played with the damp napkin in front of him. “You know that’s going to be a problem, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Theoretically, I’m going to confirm the information with evidence outside of my current source. So we need time to make contact and make a buy. Give us a week.”

  They were seemingly not happy with that idea, but they both nodded.

  “I’m getting so good at teamwork,” I said.

  Both of them grimaced, but neither outright disagreed. Still killing it.

  *****

  Laurel was early. Nate was late. That was apparently an invitation to review one million intricacies of protocol. She pulled up various maps and images of the house throwing the party. Last time, we’d clearly been off the books. This time, we were going to be covered in about fifty more ways than we needed to be. Reyes was in a van stationed a block behind the house. His range allowed for distance, but that wasn’t good for backup. There were two units patrolling the neighborhood. Their response time would likely be faster than Reyes’s.

  We had been over this information three times already and I was getting bored. Really bored.

  “I get it. All of it. Really. You’ve done your due diligence,” I said.

  Laurel opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed. “I just want you to know what we are getting into. Last time we orchestrated a bust, the sector sergeant sent in an officer who was wildly unqualified.” She started closing out the images and maps on her laptop. “Not in any obvious way, but he had just failed his detective exam. Again. He was warned about hitting his girlfriend twice in the past year. Not arrested of course, because that would look bad. And eighteen months ago, he beat the fuck out of a drug dealer because he didn’t have enough cause to arrest the guy.”

  “So a perfect storm for mishandling a female undercover detective working with a drug dealer?”

  Laurel looked surprised. “Yeah.”

  “Oakley, right? The guy who took a shot at you while he was fake arresting you? Yeah, I remember.” I tried not to recall the image of Laurel bleeding, being guided by two burly uniforms, but it wasn’t easy to forget.

  “I didn’t realize you had seen.”

  “Reyes and I watched most of it,” I said.

  She stared at me. I stared back. I was pretty sure we were still mad at each other about our run-in at the Shady Lady, but I couldn’t quite nail down why.

  “So you see why we need to constantly be aware. Other people might fuck up, but we don’t have that luxury.”

  “Right. Yeah. I get it.”

  “And there are a lot of moving parts here.” She closed the laptop and set it aside.

  “You know, if we brought fewer people, there would be fewer moving parts. Just saying.” I turned to face her on the couch.

  She mirrored my movements. “This is the first suggestion of a lead we’ve had on this case. We can’t treat it lightly.”

  “And what if this isn’t the right dealer?”

  Laurel shrugged. “It’s been two weeks without a death. It’s making everyone antsy.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Of course, but our chances of catching this guy are reduced every day.” She started to trace the scar on her left hand. She was nervous.

  “So you want me wired for this?”

  Laurel swallowed and nodded. “Ionescu does. In case we get separated. Do you want me to have Reyes wire you before we get there?”

  I didn’t understand. “Don’t you have the wire?” She nodded. “Then let’s just do it here.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Laurel stood abruptly. She bent over and grabbed one of the bags she’d dropped by the door. I took the opportunity to stare at her ass. “Bedroom or bathroom?”

  “Umm, why?”

  “Because I need you to take off your shirt.”

  “Right.” I realized why she was nervous. Mostly because I was suddenly nervous. “Bedroom, I guess. More room.”

  She nodded and awkwardly waved me ahead of her. I led the way down the hall. I wondered how bad my room was. I’d sort of made the bed. I knew that much. Laurel paused at the threshold and took a deep breath. There were shoes piled by the closet, but no clothes on the floor. Nickels was asleep in the middle of the bed, which made it look like the messy blanket was her fault. Thanks, Nickels.

  “Go ahead and take off your shirt.” Laurel set her bag on the end of my bed. When she opened it, Nickels sat up.

  I took a deep breath and pulled my shirt over my head. I was wearing a sports bra. With plenty of coverage. This was fine. Laurel carefully didn�
�t look at me. I tossed the shirt on the bed. Nickels was highly offended so she jumped off the bed and took off down the hallway. No chaperone for us.

  Laurel and I were alone in my bedroom and I wasn’t wearing my shirt. We were totally okay.

  “Where is the wire going to go?” I was trying to fill the silence.

  “Turn around,” she said. I did. “Okay turn back.” I spun the rest of the way. She was staring intently at my jeans.

  “Verdict?”

  “You’re going to have to wear it like me.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’re a T-shirt, tank top type. And it’s warm, so layers will look odd. Basically, we can put the wire on your torso, but the transmitter is going to have to go in your pants.”

  “In the movies, they just strap it to your chest.”

  Laurel almost grinned. “Even if you put on a baggy shirt, do you think the outline might be visible?”

  “Maybe.” Definitely. “So in my pants?”

  “Yep.”

  “How big is the transmitter?”

  “It’s up to you actually.” She held up two slim black boxes. One was noticeably smaller, the size of a matchbox. “These are transmitters. The bigger one transmits farther, better, which makes the operation safer. But it’s more difficult to hide because of its size, which makes the operation less safe.”

  “The bigger one is fine. You wear tighter pants than I do. If I’m wearing that, we both will have better coverage, right?”

  “Yeah. I mean, my transmitter still has decent range, but not as good as this. Of course, I have more training than you. If I’m separated or stranded, I’ll be able to handle myself better.” She shrugged. “That said, Nate will be wired. Duarte—he’s the undercover kid helping us out. He will be wired. We don’t need to worry.”

  “That’s not quite true.” It wasn’t. We always needed to worry, but mostly I was remembering when she got shot and told her colleagues not to intervene. She had plenty of training, sure. But that didn’t mean she was indestructible. “It makes sense for me to wear a larger transmitter, since I can.”