by James H Roby
“Whatever, man.”
"Anyway, we've got a while 'til Don and Scooter show up, wanna get some breakfast?"
E-Man answered while standing. "Let's go."
~
By the time Jordan and E-Man returned, it was nearly a quarter to nine. The offices of the detective agency were starting to come to life. Ms. Brown sat at her desk. The phones were ringing at the ten cubicles on the first floor. And upstairs, Gloria Steed sorted the mail. The sound system played Ronny Jordan’s “After Hours.” Jordan and E-Man passed Don’s office and saw him and Malcolm. They were in mid-argument.
“It has always been the position of the establishment to suppress the voice of the disenfranchised,” Malcolm said. He wagged his finger.
“So low voter turnout is explained by some sort of suppression?” Don asked.
“Exactly.”
“And you really believe this?”
“And you don’t?”
“Ah,” E-Man said, “Mornings at the UrbanKnights Detective Agency.” Don and Malcolm turned to the final two members of their quartet.
"
What's up," Malcolm said. He slid his hands into the coco colored slacks. Don just nodded a greeting while he hung up his gray hoody.
Jordan pointed his thumb to the ceiling. "Upstairs. Ten minutes."
The third floor of the UrbanKnights' building was one-part storage, one-part conference room. Don called it the 'Bat-attic'. It had a steel security door at the base of the stairwell. Jordan, E-Man Don and Malcolm were the only ones with the access code, and it changed every three months. The windows had been bricked in. An industrial strength air conditioning unit cooled a room housing a high-speed computer rack. Next to it was a series of lockers with legal and barely legal weapons. E-Man commented Jordan was living out his super hero fantasy with the assorted gadgetry. Jordan knew otherwise. If one thing being an DIA operative taught him is there’s no such thing as being too prepared. Or too careful. Or too armed.
Jordan and E-Man were at a large oval table with four chairs when Don and Malcolm joined them. Unlike all the other rooms in the building, no music piped in. When Malcolm closed the doors, Groove Theory’s “Tell Me” vanished.
"I guess now you gonna tell us what's up?" Malcolm asked, descending into his chair.
Jordan stood. “I guess so." In front of him was the pile from his desk. He reached for the first sheet and began his briefing.
"As you and Don probably guessed, there is more to this case than meets the eye. Yesterday morning, two CIA agents came to the office. The warned me of a convict's escape. This man..."
Jordan tossed a photograph in Malcolm and Don's direction. The two turned it to get a better look at it. The photo showed a man with long dirty blond hair posing for a police lineup.
"His name is Cody Random."
Malcolm shrugged. "So? Who is he to us?"
"To you, nobody," Jordan started, "but four years ago, E-Man and I assisted in arresting him."
"Big deal," Don said.
“Yeah, not getting why this is important,” Malcolm said, “except for the part about you ‘arresting’ people. Weren’t you an analyst?”
What Jordan was doing was ‘talking around classified’. Highly frowned upon, yet everyone did it. It was more art than science – telling someone about a classified issue by only revealing what they needed to know and not what they wanted to know. To Don and Malcolm, Jordan had been an analyst for the Pentagon and E-Man was a translator. The cover story was they monitored the proliferation of nuclear weapons. It was far more believable Jordan, a former missile launch officer and E-Man who was once an Air Force Combat Controller, were involved in this kind of work instead of being covert operators.
“I got out of the office a lot," Jordan said. He glanced over to E-Man who gestured slightly with his head. Jordan sighed and went on.
"Random's a dangerous character. His story is a long one. His father was a noted surgeon in Maryland. His mother, part of high society. He was born in the lap of luxury. He, therefore generally considers himself to be above most people even though he’s a criminal.”
Malcolm gestured at Don. “See, powers that be.”
“I don’t see what that got to do with election rigging,” Don said.
“You know,” E-Man said behind folded arms, “you might want to listen to this.”
Jordan nodded. “Thanks, E. Anyway, shortly after the birth of his brother, Michael, Random's father had an accident – head on collision with a family. The investigation found that the good doctor was quite drunk. Random's father died in the accident and the lawsuit of the victims financially wiped out the surviving family. Random's grandparents disowned the family, so his mother was left to fend for herself.
"I won’t bore you with the details but things didn’t go well for the Randoms. Cody allegedly murdered his stepfather. All accounts were the guy was a lowlife, still, the man was stabbed fifty-two times in the back with a six-inch butcher knife. It was never proved, but it is likely that Random was the murderer. He often alluded to such an act in future psychological examinations. When Random was about eleven, his mother died – suicide. Cody and his brother were dumped into the system.
“Damn, yo,” Malcolm managed from a slack jaw.
"At some point, Random displayed a talent for working with chemicals. So, of course, he blew up everything he could get his hands on. He was bad as hell, but, he was a true genius. A genius when he turned eighteen, the government decided to exploit. The CIA worked its voodoo and recruited him. I couldn't really uncover too much about Random's involvement with the CIA, but he did some work for them in Europe about ten years ago.
"Cody started doing his own thing and began manufacturing narcotics. He ran into some trouble with several European law enforcement agencies. CIA wasn’t having any of that so they let him go. Random opened up shop with an Air Force airman on a base in Germany. He ran a distribution center from the dorm. There was a falling out and Random murdered his partner. That's when E and I got involved.”
“How again?” Malcolm said.
Jordan and E-Man exchanged looks. Jordan drew in his lips as he prepared to speak again. “Look, Malcolm – you too, Don. This is the part of the story that’s classified. As in, black helicopters and shit.”
“Just let it go,” E-Man said. He punctuated with a wave of his hand.
“Just let it go, he says,” Don said. He leaned back in his chair and a smile eased across his face that could have seen back in high school. Jordan blew out a breath too harsh to be a sigh. The fact Don found any of this funny, meant he and probably Malcolm had no idea what danger they were in. All they could see was good ol’ Jordan from back in the day. The idealistic dreamer who lived in a black and white world of good and evil. And crazy ol’ E-Man who got drunk and chased girls. They couldn’t imagine the horrible things they had done.
E-Man came forward on his elbows. “We could tell you…”
“But we have to kill you.” Jordan stared at Malcolm and Don until they squirmed uncomfortably.
“OK, OK,” Malcolm held out his palms. “So, what happen?”
Jordan said, "We were tasked with bringing Random in. By the time we were assigned the case, Random fled Europe and relocated in Florida. As it turned out, his brother Michael was there. The relationship between the two had always been a close one, so when Random came seeking aid, Michael gladly gave it. The pair teamed up with local drug dealers in Tampa. Random was working on a new type of cocaine. The police nearly caught Random in Tampa, but it wasn’t until Miami when E and I caught him."
"So, why you kill his brother?" Malcolm asked. "If you don't mind my asking."
Jordan looked Malcolm in the eye. "I was staring down the barrel of his .357. It was either me or him."
"Oh." Malcolm reared back in his chair, "Then you had no choice."
"Try telling Random that."
The room fell quiet. The hum of the li
ghts overhead became relatively thunderous. Jordan hung his head and leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. The others took turns looking at each other as their leader disengaged.
E-Man took over. "Look, as you can see, this guy is pretty messed up. And he's got, like, a king-sized chip on his shoulder. It ain't nothin' but a thang for him to kill someone."
"That's right," Jordan said, "We can't half-step with this guy. He'll kill anyone to get his way. He killed his partner in Tampa because he disagreed with him. So, he wouldn’t think nothing about killing you. Understand?"
Malcolm and Don both nodded.
"Why didn't you just tell us this before?" Don asked in a voice like a whisper.
Jordan’s eye brows went up. His mouth struggled for a moment to produce sound. "I didn't want you to get caught in the crossfire."
"Damn, man," Malcolm said, "don't you know we down to the last compound. Ross and I ain't military experts like you and E…whatever you did, but if someone want to kill you, he gotta step over my corpse first."
Jordan glanced over at E-Man.
“Now that sounds familiar,” E-Man said. “What about you, Don?”
Don asked, “You researched all this data yourself?”
“Yeah,” Jordan said.
“You know that’s my thing, right?”
Jordan submitted and helplessly bounced his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of E-Man, trying with little success to hide a smile. “You think you’re so damn smart.”
“That’s because I am so damn smart.” E-Man reached and high fived Don.
"OK," Jordan said, "Here's the plan. For right now, our only lead is this Kevin Small guy, so we're gonna go with that. E-Man and I are going over to his place in Huntington Woods. And yes, Don, I looked him up on my own. If it makes you feel any better, see if you can find anything about Small. Nothing I came up with was interesting."
“Amateur,” Don said.
Jordan ignored the cut. “Malcolm, we might need some surveillance so get your equipment ready. Legal surveillance.” He tightened his eyes at the last part.
Malcolm reared back in his chair. “Why you got to say it like that?”
“Ha!” E-Man laughed a bit too loud.
Their assignments doled out the UrbanKnights moved toward the door.
Jordan said, "Hey, guys..."
The three men stopped and turned back.
"Thanks."
~
“What’s this guy do again?" E-Man asked.
The 'Vette rumbled down the rose lined streets of Huntington Woods. It was a twenty-minute trip but they were a world away. The black sports car was quite at home among the Mercedes, Jags, and other high-performance vehicles the locals drove.
"He's some kind of fashion guy," Jordan said, “That’s what Don said anyway.”
"Fashion? You mean, making clothes and shit?” Is he...?" E-Man made a limp wrist gesture. Jordan laughed at the motion.
“You know for a guy who couldn’t wait to leave the service,” Jordan said, “you’re sure not adapting well to civilian life.”
E-Man turned to his window. His breath left him in a huff. Nine times out of ten, he was unflappable. That tenth time, it was drama a plenty. E-Man always treated his military service as the worse mistake he ever made. Jordan, conversely saw it as his best decision and missed it with all his soul. Any mention of the military having any other effect then wrong or just plain evil, always brought out the tenth time in E-Man. Jordan didn’t understand why and this very moment wasn’t the time to figure it out.
“Don’t be like that,” Jordan said. He reached over a punched his partner’s shoulder. “I’m just saying. It’s a brave new world – everything isn’t as it seems.”
E-Man turned back. “Yeah, whatever.” He flashed the weakest of smiles. Jordan tabled the matter. He was wrestling with enough demons without tackling E-Man’s.
“Where are we going again?" Jordan said.
E-Man tapped his iPhone’s GPS screen. The female that lived in the phone announced the final destination as 1313 Pleasant Avenue.
"Pleasant?" Jordan said, "What kind of name for a street is 'Pleasant'?"
E-Man shook his head, "What did you expect, a name like 'Fenkle' or 'Outer Drive'?"
Jordan shrugged, "I don't know. Anything but 'Pleasant'."
E-Man laughed softly. Jordan considered his earlier dig at E-Man and wondered if he himself had made the transition to civilian life successfully. The last time he was a free man, unhindered by military rules and regulation, he was a college student. He knew full well places like Pleasant Avenue existed. Still, the world had been reduced to facts and figures, cold statistics, usually displayed on computer monitor in some command post squirrelled away in depths of a government building. What was normal to him was no longer what was…normal.
E-Man pointed at a street sign. The name 'Pleasant' was imprinted on it. Jordan turned off the main drag of Van Dyke. He slowed down to read the addresses on the buildings. They were plain, straight forward buildings, gold stucco multiple purpose structures. One was likely to be a factory just as the next could be a storage facility. 1313 appeared on a building. It was identical to its brothers except it had a huge banner displayed across its face. The words UNLIMITEDS – GRAND OPENING.
Jordan parked the car in a lot across the street. The pair exited the car and faced their destination. The building was a hub of activity as people came in and out. Boxes, garment bags and rolling hangers were being carried in by young people with an undeniable sense of urgency. Jordan and E-Man turned to each other.
“These guys are wound up,” Jordan said.
“Well, you know,” E-Man said, “Grand Opening.” The smile was back and for a moment, Jordan worried if E-Man only was happy when he was one upping him. It didn’t matter, it was good to have E-Man out of his mood.
"How you want to play this?" E-Man asked. He held out a hand to halt a SUV as they crossed Pleasant.
"We don't have time for bullshit," Jordan said, "We squeeze this guy and see if he sweats."
E-Man nodded as the pair came to the door of Unlimiteds. "Good. I thought you might want to do that, good cop - bad cop thang."
Jordan reached to open the door, "I thought you liked the good cop - bad cop thang?"
"You always get to be the bad cop!"
"That's 'cause I'm good at being bad."
They walked into a madhouse. The first floor was an open area. The floor was a flat cement slab, the walls revealed the support I-beams. Whoever Kevin Small was, he didn’t spend anything on non-necessities. Jordan understood. Starting a business wasn’t cheap and everyone didn’t have millions of dollars obtained from a top-secret mission in Japan.
The floor was filled with people darting around. Most were women. They were jeans and T-shirts with pinned up hair and pencils behind ears. They pointed, shouted and directed where the incoming boxes and rolling hangers had to go. Younger women, teens really, were opening the boxes revealing everything from high-fashion eveningwear to accounting documents.
Scattered about were mannequins, half dressed. Among them, stood men with high voices and little goatee shouting things like 'You're destroying my work! You're destroying my work!' Everyone was in constant movement. In all this chaos, a few more women stood. These were rail thin, cigarettes robotically drawn to colorless lips.
Models. Milan. Paris. Detroit. Didn’t matter, they were all the same.
Jordan and E-Man stood entranced. In Jordan's mind, the whole building looked like someone yelled 'fire!' and no one could find the door. He turned to his partner who wore the same puzzled expression.
Jordan decided it was time to get on with the investigation. He reached out and tapped one of the high-voiced goatee men on the shoulder. The man was dressed in all black. He whirled around to see who was tapping him. His face distorted in disgust.
"Yes, yes? And what do you want?" The eyes bulged to the point of threaten
ing to fall out of their skull.
Jordan suppressed a smirk. "I'm looking for Kevin Small."
The man gave Jordan and E-Man the once over. He twisted his lips to E-Man’s suit and seemed to bite down a dry heave at Jordan’s T-Shirt and A-2 jacket.
“That’s not possible,” the man said. “Mister Small would never cavort with the likes of you. Why, that jacket almost looks like actual military issue."
“That’s because it is.”
A gasp of a chilled soul. “And you are...?"
Jordan quickly opened and closed his detective license. "Peter Mack, IRS."
The man visibly turned pale. His mouth dropped open. Now it was E-Man’s turn to get in on the act. "You look familiar. Did you file your taxes last year?"
