Backwater Key

by Steven Becker

  “Hey, kids.”

  I turned back and saw Justine. She came to my side and I couldn’t help but notice how she kept some space between her and Tracy. “Hey. I think we figured out what Pierce is up to.”

  “And look at you two, playing nicely together.”

  I looked around when she said it and noticed that Grace was not there. It was interesting that Justine hadn’t asked where she was. “I think he’s bringing in illegal shotgun shells.”

  I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t convinced and I thought about what had been bothering me. It was the volume.

  “Let’s go shoot some of these bad boys and see what we’ve got,” Tracy said.

  “How about we act like grown ups? Why don’t you bring a sample over to my station and I’ll tell you what you have,” Justine said.

  Tracy put his head down and helped me carry an assortment of the shells to her workstation. Starting with the yellow casings she clamped the brass primer in a small vice, then started to cut around the plastic casing. Small darts fell out.

  “Flechettes,” Justine said. She did the same to a round covered in the green casing and found the ingredients of a Dragon’s Breath. When she got to the red casings, we both stepped back when a white powder fell out.

  I jumped back. My first thought was Anthrax, but neither Tracy nor Justine even flinched.

  “Y’all thought you had it all figured out. That would have worked nicely at the range. How about you guys leave this with me for a bit?”

  “They’re not shells?” Grace walked up behind us.

  Justine had just placed a shell on a small digital scale. “Three ounces. Take one off for the charge and that’s a whole lot of drugs in a small package.”

  The layers were piling up and I wondered what Pierce was really into. The drugs did solve my volume problem. Instead of each shell being worth twenty-five dollars on the black market, the drug-filled casings were closer to twenty-five hundred each. At twenty-five shells per box that was over sixty grand in a neat legal package—and that was wholesale. Using Martinez’s math, the reported worth they called street value would be ten times that.

  “I thought you said those guys were firing Dragon’s Breath and Flechettes off the crabber the other day,” Grace said.

  “A double decoy. He gets the club to move the drugs thinking they’re just illegal shotgun shells, which some probably were.” I remembered the missing boxes from the load at Alabama Jacks. “The bust the other day. I thought there were missing boxes. They must have been the drugs. We were all proud that we had the illegal shells, but Pierce has the drugs.” I did a little more math. “At twenty boxes per case, that’s a million and a quarter wholesale dollars—and I counted ten.”

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Justine said, taking another red shell and emptying the contents into a glass dish. She placed them in a machine and a few minutes later the results came up. “Some pretty pure stuff.”

  Justine started to log the test results into the computer and prepare the next sample. Grace, her partner, and I stood there wondering what to do while she worked.

  “I got this,” she said, moving past us to the table with the weapons cache. It was clear that she wanted us out of her hair.

  I followed her. “See you later?”

  “Sure thing. Just get rid of Wonder Woman and her sidekick.”

  We made tentative plans for dinner. Seeing Grace behind her, she dodged my kiss and said a sterile good-bye.

  “What now, Ranger Rick?”

  At least he was asking my opinion and so I ignored the barb. “Good question. Maybe it’s time to go see some of Pierce’s friends and let them know what he’s up to.”

  24

  We drove together to the biker bar Pierce and I had visited a few nights ago. When we pulled up I couldn’t help but notice the long row of bikes parked in a neat line in front of the bar. The spaces didn’t have placards reserving them, but I saw Doc’s bike in the first spot. The rest of the lot was about half full, but Grace parked the unmarked car down a side street. “Unmarked car” was an oxymoron, as the telltale signs it was a police vehicle were there to see. The antennas, which barely fit in before cell phones, now stood out. Anyone taking more than a cursory glance at the vehicle would see the poor job of hiding the lights in the grill, and the metal divider between the front and back seats was a dead giveaway. It said Miami-Dade Police all over it.

  “How do you want to play this?” Grace asked.

  “We can’t go in. They’ll make me right away.” I looked over at Grace and Tracy in their cheap business suits. They said “cop” all over them.

  “What did you get out of Grinder?” I had forgotten all about our informant. Martinez had decided that Miami-Dade could handle the interview alone. Neither Grace nor Tracy had mentioned it, so I suspected it had gone nowhere.

  “These guys don’t rat,” Tracy said. “He came up with a story and some names that we already knew.”

  “Maybe we ought to be the rats and tell them they’ve been played,” I said.

  “That’s a dangerous move,” Grace said.

  We left it unsettled, which is not a very good state of affairs when you’re in enemy territory. After a few minutes of disagreement, we made a plan, deciding that splitting up was the only way to cover the egresses. We each took our positions. Grace would stay out of sight by the bikes. Tracy took the far driveway and I walked around back to cover the rear. We had each other’s cell phone numbers favorited, allowing us to make contact with one click. That was for emergencies. Texting was to be our main mode of communication, making voice calls unnecessary in all but an emergency.

  Once we were in position, we exchanged messages and settled in to wait. The problem was we weren’t sure what we were waiting for, but if there was going to be action, this was the likely place. After the murder and then the bust of Grinder and his partner, they would need to decide some things. There was no one left on the island and I hoped that the rest of the leadership were here.

  For the first hour Grace and Tracy saw the only action and texted when someone they recognized entered or exited. I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that there was no sign of Susan or Pierce. I was occupied by the steady stream of people in and out of the back door. It appeared the legal smoking area was out front; the weed was smoked back here.

  It wasn’t surprising that there was little in the way of security lights in back, making it hard to distinguish faces. From my spot behind a dumpster, I struggled with the stench of stale beer and worse while I tried to eavesdrop on their conversations as the bikers came and went. Most of the talk was about the success of the wake out on the island and how they had gotten the best of the Feds. Apparently the news that Grinder had been arrested had not been broadcast.

  For the next hour or so it was more of the same, until my phone vibrated with a text from Grace saying that Susan and Pierce had just pulled up and entered the bar. I started getting anxious and thought about moving, but stayed put. We were here to watch and learn, and if we didn’t stay in position we were likely to miss something. I had to trust them. A few minutes later, Tracy chimed in that several of the other leaders had arrived. My apprehension increased.

  It looked like there was going to be a high level meeting and with Susan inside, I was expecting the worst. My heart almost went through my chest when the back door opened and someone was tossed out. Relieved it wasn’t Susan, I watched as two men followed, delivering several hard kicks before spitting on him. The few smokers in the area ran for the open door and I peered around the dumpster at the man lying on the ground.

  I heard him groan and suspected he had been hurt. He tried to rise and went down. Thinking this could be our break, I texted Grace and Tracy. Several minutes later, though I couldn’t see them, they confirmed they were in position and had a visual on the man. It was my turn now, and I left the cover of the dumpster.

  I had a gut feeling there would be no one else coming o
ut for a while and went toward the man. Knowing Grace and Tracy were watching with their weapons ready gave me some reassurance, but with the door only feet away, I wondered if they could help in time if I were spotted.

  “Let me help you,” I said, extending a hand to the man. He didn’t resist. Anything to get him out of here before they decided on a worse punishment would be to his benefit.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  His voice was coarse, as if they had tried to strangle him. I dodged the question and grabbed him under the arm. He flinched from the pain and allowed me to move him to the edge of the parking lot. Just as I set him down, Tracy came running to our position.

  I was out of breath from moving the man and Tracy took charge. “You have a weapon?”

  The man reached into his boot and pulled out a knife, which he handed to me.

  “Frisk him,” Tracy said.

  I reached over and gave him a quick pat-down, then nodded to Tracy, who lowered his pistol.

  “Y’all gotta help me,” the man whispered. “They’re gonna kill me.”

  “We gotta get out of here before they come looking for him,” I said to Tracy.

  “Grace’ll be here in a second.”

  Just as he said it, the unmarked car pulled into the back lot. Tracy stood and motioned her over. Together he and I placed the man in the back seat. I hopped in next to him, and before Tracy had the door closed Grace pulled out of the lot.

  The car went quiet for a few minutes while Grace found a place she could pull over. She settled on a well lit park with several baseball diamonds and parked behind one of the dugouts. Several cars were parked nearby and I could see a few men tossing balls to a group of kids. There were also a few of the ever-present dog walkers. Her decision was a good one and I could see the man visibly relax when he saw the lights and people around and realized there would be no police beat-down. The downside of our being in the park was that if the bikers decided to come after us, innocents would be at risk.

  “Talk,” Tracy said.

  All eyes were on the man.

  “There’s a drop scheduled. It’s not usually my job to keep the inventory and shipments straight. The guy that usually does it was the one that got killed. I started to get it ready and that dude comes in with two cases he says to include. I know what’s supposed to be going down, so I opened the boxes and found some red shells.” He paused to clear his throat. “They had drugs. Man, we try and stay clear of that. Just the ammo, you know. All that comes in yellow and green casings, so I opened one of the red ones and found it full of heroin.”

  I wasn’t sure how he had determined what drug it was, and figured the shipping and receiving manager for a motorcycle club probably knew more about these things than I did. It didn’t really matter, though.

  “I went and told the bosses, but that dude, he got all jiggy and went off on me. Said I was setting him up or something. Man, he talks like a lawyer and spun the whole thing nine ways to hell that it was my fault. What am I going to do?”

  Grace turned to her partner and said something I couldn’t hear. “We’ll bring you in on some bogus charge and get you in protective custody until we figure this out.”

  The man looked relieved.

  “You know when and where the drop is?” I asked.

  “No, man; they tossed me out before they laid it out. Been using this old crabber for the ammo, though.”

  Somehow we needed to find the drop. They might believe him for now, but guilty or innocent, Pierce was exposed, and that meant Susan could be in danger.

  “If he doesn’t know where the drop is going to be, we are still nowhere,” I said. We were talking like the man groaning next to me didn’t exist.

  “You said maybe we ought to tell them there’s a rat on the inside. Maybe let them flesh out that rotten SOB themselves,” Tracy said, directing Grace to go back to the bar.

  The man groaned louder until he realized that we weren’t going to sacrifice him.

  We pulled up to the door. “You and me, Ranger,” Tracy said, getting out of the car.

  “You sure this is a good idea?”

  He didn’t answer, leaving me no choice but to follow him. As we entered, I could only hope he had a plan. He flashed his badge at the man working the door and we walked right up to the bar. The air-conditioning was working hard, but the place stunk of beer and sweat. There were some other scents in the air, which I chose to ignore. I motioned to the bartender and Tracy asked if Doc was here.

  “Who’s asking?”

  There was no point in playing games. They knew who we were. Tracy moved closer to the man and lifted his shirt. The badge caught the light as did the stock of his pistol. He dropped the tail back down to cover them and waited. Instantly the entire bar was quiet. Several men made for the door; others hid in the shadows. It was an uneasy situation, but they had more to lose by messing with us. They knew their best route was to get us out of here, and that meant some degree of cooperation.

  “Give me a minute.”

  The bartender swung up the access door and went to the back of the bar. I watched him knock on a door. He waited outside for a minute until it opened just enough for him to talk. A minute later, Doc walked out with a large man beside him. The crowd parted as they came toward the bar.

  “Can I help y’all?” the larger man spoke.

  “Just want a few words with Doc here.”

  “And you are?”

  I almost asked if he was Doc’s attorney, but held my tongue and reached into my pocket for my credentials. I stopped when he reached behind his back. “Kurt Hunter, Special Agent for the National Park Service.”

  “What? We left the island. You got a bill for the cleanup or something?” he laughed.

  “We’re looking into the murder. Just want a few words with your boss.”

  I guessed the vetting process was over when Doc nodded at him and he stepped back a few feet. He was out of earshot, but ready to spring into action if Doc was threatened. When the time came to make an arrest, we would need to find another venue.

  Doc motioned us to a table by the bar and we sat. The activity in the bar ceased and all eyes were on us. Tracy nodded at me to begin.

  “We arrested several of your members. Shotguns and illegal shells were confiscated.” I left the drugs out to gauge his reaction.

  “It was a routine traffic stop. Illegal search. The bust is bogus. It’ll be tossed.”

  I wasn’t going to debate the facts. “Seems like there was more to it than the shells.” I watched his face.

  “You trying to set me up?” He started to rise.

  “Sit,” Tracy said. “We don’t care about the ammo.”

  He sat back down and seemed to relax. His reaction and body language told me that the club was in the ammo business. I didn’t think he knew anything about the drugs.

  Tracy swung from bad cop to good so quickly it confirmed my diagnosis that he was bipolar. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up that someone’s using you.”

  This wasn’t Doc’s first rodeo. “You going to tell me why you’re really here?”

  Before any of us could speak, the office door opened and Pierce walked out. He knew we were here and I guessed that he had been watching us on the security cameras. I held my breath and waited to see if Susan was behind him. Just as I thought he was alone, he reached back to hold the door open before the automatic closer shut it and there was Susan McLeash.

  I had to admit she could at least dress the part of an old lady. Her usual heavy makeup and tight clothes fit right in here. Pierce said something to her and she went to the bar, hiked up her embarrassingly short skirt, and slid onto a stool. Her back was to us, but I could see her face in the mirror behind the bar. I looked away when I saw her staring right at me.

  Pierce saw us, and walked over as if he were the undercover agent he might actually be. If he were innocent, and knowing that he had infiltrated the club, our presence here could be putting him and Susan in danger. He p
ulled out a chair and sat down.

  “You were saying?” Doc asked.

  He was looking right at me and I hoped he hadn’t noticed my interest in Susan or Pierce. I cursed myself for not having contacted her before we came here. I had let my distrust for her cloud my judgment. I looked over at Tracy and caught his eye. With Pierce sitting here we were not going to get anything out of Doc. It was time to go before something bad happened.

  This little meeting had gone as far sideways as I was going to let it. I stood. “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch.” It sounded stupid, but he was preoccupied and I don’t think he heard me. Tracy did, and gave me a you’ve got to be kidding look.

  I glanced over at Susan’s reflection in the mirror on my way out the door. Her head was down and she was typing into her phone. I had no doubt I would get a message from Martinez any second. We moved quickly once we cleared the door and didn’t slow down until we reached the car. I had hoped for more of a tactical retreat, but figured that the bikers were more concerned about their internal issues than they were about us. We had planted a seed, now we needed to see if it would grow.

  25

  After another discussion, we decided to keep an eye on the place, hoping Pierce would panic. Sitting across the street under a burnt-out streetlamp, we waited. The man next to me had apparently passed out. I elbowed him to make sure he was still alive and got a grunt in return before he collapsed against the opposite door. No one left the bar for quite some time and I had to guess there was a meeting going on. I could only hope it would have the intended result.

  Finally the door opened and a group of men appeared. They had the alert look of men ready for action. Several carried what looked like heavy bags, which they put in their saddlebags. Behind them were Pierce and Susan. I could almost see the grin on her face as she climbed on the back of Pierce’s bike. Watching Tracy and I leave the bar with no results was a shadenfreuder moment for her: the guilty pleasure derived from someone else’s misfortune—mine. I glanced over at Pierce, who was putting a similar bag into his saddlebag. The look on his face was one of concern.