“Absolutely! I’ve got some weed stashed over there.”
“Whatever. I don’t care, as long as I never see him again.”
Molly’s head dropped, and she started crying.
Blue glanced at her and said, “Hey. No need for that. Like I said, we’re blood sisters. I hate my old man, too.”
Blue pointed to a lump on the back of her head and asked, “See that? The son of a bitch hit me again last night.”
Molly looked at it and asked, “Why would he do that?”
“Because I accidentally woke him up when I walked in the house.”
Blue made a fist, held out her hand in Molly’s direction, and said, “So give me some love, sis!”
Molly, wiping away the tears, put out her fist, and tapped Blue’s knuckles. They were on their way to the hideout.
Chapter 37
Jordan drove his truck slowly down the alley, toward the back of Cayden James’s curio shop. On his way there, he had called in the APB on Blue’s car. He had also talked to Frank Bishop and found out that Sanders had, for unknown reasons, not reported to work.
When Jordan turned the corner, he found exactly what he had hoped to find: Sanders’s and James’s vehicles. Jordan pulled his truck in perpendicular to theirs, pinning them against the building. He got out of his truck, pulled out his gun, walked up to the solid steel grey door at the rear of the shop, and tried to open it. As he expected, it was locked. He turned away and walked up the alley, pausing at the corner to consider his options. He decided that speed, rather than stealth, gave him his best odds. He wasn’t looking for a shootout, only the truth. If he could surprise them, maybe shots could be avoided. But if not, he wouldn’t hesitate to defend himself. Jordan took his gun out of its holster, held it inside his jacket pocket, and moved quickly toward the front door, prepared to break the glass and charge in. He didn’t have to. When he reached the entrance, he tried the doorknob, and it turned. He threw open the door and went to one knee, pulling out his gun as he scanned the room. He was greeted with total silence. He stood up, flipped the sign on the door from Open to Closed, and remained there.
Jordan scanned the room a second time, looking for cameras or movement of any kind. Then he put the gun back inside his jacket pocket, keeping his hand on the trigger, and slowly moved deeper into the store. His eyes darted around, looking at the statues, furniture, and other nooks and crannies as he worked his way back. He soon moved past James’s private seating area and, after sliding between two matching seven-foot-tall, eighteenth-century armoires, he found himself standing directly in front of a cheap wooden veneer door with a metal plate on it that read Employees Only. He paused, pulled the gun out of his pocket, and crashed into the door with all his body weight. The jam splintered into pieces. Jordan flew into the room and crashed to the floor. When he went to stand up, someone jumped him from behind, knocking him back to the ground. Before he could react, he had a chokehold thrown around his neck, his right arm had been pulled tight behind him, and his gun had been pried from his hand.
Jordan, struggling for air, strained to turn and see his attacker. Instead, all he could see was Sanders standing in front of him, looking down as he stood by a desk and smiled. “Jordan, we’ve been expecting you. Quite literally, I might add.”
Sanders pointed to a wall where Jordan could see four television monitors with live feeds from hidden cameras.
Jordan, grimacing in pain, said, “Fuck you!”
“Relax. The man who has you incapacitated at the moment is FBI Special Agent William Bennings. You’d know him as Cayden James. As you can see, he is very accomplished in martial arts. If I ask him to release you, do you promise to behave?”
Jordan nodded as best he could, his face flushed from lack of oxygen.
Bennings released Jordan, and he staggered to his feet, glaring at his attacker as he gasped for air.
Sanders said, “Agent Bennings here has been helping us with the opioid investigation.”
Jordan rubbed his throat and choked out his words. “How? By tipping off Baxter about the raid? Or was that your handy work?”
Sanders said, “Jordan, it wasn’t either one of us.”
“Bullshit. I know you’re working with Lucien Baxter, so stop playing me! You win, okay, so just do what you’ve gotta do!”
Jordan staggered over to an old wooden desk chair in the corner and sat down.
Sanders looked over at Bennings and nodded.
Bennings said, “Officer Nichols, based on what you think you know, I’m rather certain you came here to kill us. That’s what I would have done in your situation. But, if you allow me, I’ll explain why that would have been a mistake.”
Jordan, still rubbing his neck asked, “Do I have any other options?”
Bennings smiled and said, “No, guess not.”
Bennings paused, trying to choose his words carefully.
“Jordan, everything that’s happened to you over the past six months has been about the Chinese and their plan for a new world order.”
“Oh, so the Chinese killed Casey! And here I thought it was the tooth fairy!”
“Sarcasm duly noted. But, in a way, it was the Chinese. For the past ten years, they’ve been building drug labs throughout their country—labs focused on one thing, creating stronger and more addictive forms of opioids. Not for medical use, but for export and sale in the U.S. drug trade. The Chinese are a patient people. And part of their master plan for world supremacy includes the injection of drug dependency and death into the heart of our culture. They want us to lose our will, the will to be the unwavering defenders of freedom throughout the world. So, while our law enforcement officers are tied up trying to stem the tide of drugs crossing our borders, the Chinese are secretly producing the products being moved—especially the opioids.”
“Okay, enough of the history lesson. What does this have to do with Casey’s murder?”
“Before I went undercover, I served for three years on an FBI cross border task team focused on the drug trade. We uncovered what China was doing. We located their largest manufacturing plants and had a plan of action to expose China publicly and simultaneously shut their operations down. Unfortunately, the State Department found out.”
“Our State Department? The one with all the ambassadors and junior ambassadors and all the other political horseshit that goes along with it?”
“Yes. That one. They got tipped off, probably by some low-level staffer within the FBI looking for brownie points.”
“You sure of that? Seems like you’ve got the same problem at the top these days.”
“No comment. Whatever the source, from that point on, decision making was taken out of law enforcements hands and put into the hands of politicians. Someone, somewhere—probably over a good steak dinner and a $300 bottle of wine—decided that it was not in our best interest to see China publicly humiliated. It was agreed that we would keep quiet, but only on the condition that China closed the labs, halted the export of all illegal opioids, and cleaned up some agreed-upon loose ends.”
Jordan’s eyebrows went up. “Loose ends?”
“Yes. Lucien Baxter, along with all the other U.S distributors. They were all loose ends as far as the Chinese were concerned.”
“You mean they were going to execute them?”
“Let’s just say they were going to disappear. Our hands would be clean, and the Chinese would eliminate the risk that one of the hundreds of Lucien Baxters throughout the United States would plea bargain down a prison sentence by testifying about China’s role in their operations.
“Unbelievable, a clean sweep! Not bad in theory, I guess. But where do you fit in?”
“Me and about fifty other agents throughout the U.S were given all of the names on the loose ends list. It was our job to go undercover as local buyers of their opioids to keep as much of it off the streets as possible—until the Chinese hitmen had time to finish their work. We were given identities, local bases of operation, and letters of introduction to m
ake it all work.”
“So, who did you assign to protect my wife and my partner while all of this God-and-country shit was going down?”
Sanders stepped in and said, “Jordan, Casey’s murder, and Tommy’s too, were both tragedies. We don’t have any words to ease your pain. When we got the call at your house in December, we knew within twenty-four hours that it was Lucien Baxter. His prints were all over the place.”
“That piece of shit. I should have known. But why? Did he follow Kevin Phillips over to my house?”
Sanders said, “We don’t think so. And I know all about the Phillips kid. Tommy came to me right away, and we traced his 911 call. But were pretty sure that Baxter was there on his own, his own sick form of revenge for the warehouse raid.”
“And you kept Tommy in the dark on all of this?”
“For the most part. I did tell him that we had cleared Kevin, and then I asked him to keep you off Kevin’s trail, but that was it. Only a few of my men knew anything more than that. My hands were tied.”
“I guess that explains the doctored case file—and why Tommy was convinced you two were in on the whole thing. But if you had Baxter dead to rights for Casey’s murder, why didn’t you act on it. You could have prevented Tommy’s murder for God’s sake!”
Bennings said, “I’ll answer that. After Baxter murdered your wife, I went up the line as far as I could within my chain of command.”
“To the director of the FBI?”
“Yes, sir. But he never responded—at least not directly. Instead, I got a call directly from the White House. Under no circumstances was Lucien Baxter to be taken into local custody.”
“Jesus God. What the hell’s going on up there?”
Sanders stepped back in and said, “So, after that, we kept a close watch on both you and Molly. I pulled in Frank Bishop and a few other officers I could trust, and we took turns staking out your place. When Molly moved in with your sister, it made it a little tougher, but we did our best.”
“Couldn’t you have at least kept a tail on Baxter?”
“Again, he was off limits. The State Department didn’t want him getting suspicious, and they didn’t want any witnesses when the Chinese did take him out. Last night, Agent Bennings was at your place. I got held up at the fund raiser, but I’m still not sure how Baxter managed to follow you to the swash.”
Jordan said, “I don’t think he did. I saw Baxter snooping around Florence Phillips’s house the other day, and Kevin showed up at the swash in Florence’s car. Son of a bitch.”
Sanders nodded and said, “When I heard what happened, I called Agent Bennings, and we met at my house.”
“And did what? Call in for new orders from Washington?”
Sanders walked over, handed Jordan his gun, and said, “No. Screw Washington. We decided to take out Baxter and his entire operation today. We’d like you to join us. You in?”
Jordan didn’t answer right away. He dropped his head and stared down at his gun as Bennings and Sanders exchanged nervous glances.
A minute later, Jordan stood up, put the gun in its holster, and said, “No. That’s your job. I need to go find my daughter.”
Sanders nodded and said, “I understand.”
Chapter 38
A massive bulldozer moved into position as Blue turned the corner at the end of the street. The dozer was about to knock down a small ranch house. Blue slowed the car down to watch as the diesel engine spit dark fumes into the air, the dozer moved forward, the ground shook, and the building collapsed as if it was made of match sticks. Blue looked at Molly and said, “Guess I don’t have much longer,” as she pulled away and drove down the street.
Molly asked, “Why? What do you mean?”
“Look around. See how the houses are boarded up? They’re tearing them all down to build a new highway or something.”
Five houses down the road, Blue pulled up in front of a white clapboard house and said, “This is where I used to live.”
“How are we gonna get inside?”
Blue asked, “Don’t you remember?”
She pulled out the key hanging around her neck and said, “I’ve got a key! Come on, let’s go.”
Blue jumped out of the car as Molly followed. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of the bulldozer’s diesel engine and men shouting orders. Blue paused at the curb, gave a quick look around, and ran up to the door with Molly right behind. Blue opened the door and said, “Hurry, get inside!”
Once inside, Molly looked around at the dust and the cobwebs and said, “It’s sort of creepy in here. Don’t you think?”
“I guess. But it’s all mine! Come on, let me show you around.”
Blue gave Molly a tour of the house, ending upstairs at her old bedroom. She opened the door and said, “Here it is, the room where I grew up. You like it?”
Molly looked around at the room and said, “I do. It’s neat.” It was a small room, about eleven feet wide and twelve feet deep with a single window facing the front of the house. But the room’s character came from an angled roof that pitched down to a four-foot-high knee wall on the wall opposite the doorway.
“Come here. I want to show you my hideaway.”
Blue walked over to far corner of the knee wall where there was a cubbyhole door, designed for storage. Blue opened it, disappeared inside, and then popped her head out. “Come on in. I don’t bite.”
Molly poked her head inside and found Blue sitting in a dark closet that ran the whole length of the room. Plywood, painted pink, covered the inside of the sloped roof joists as well as the inside of the knee wall. There was a sleeping bag, a pillow, and all sorts of dolls and old toys. More recent additions included a small bottle of whiskey, a clear plastic bag with some joints in it, and a brown paper bag with the gun inside.
Blue tugged on the top of what looked like a plastic lantern. It pulled apart, and a bright battery powered LED light went on, illuminating the whole closet. Molly’s eyes lit up as Blue said, “Welcome to my place. You like it? My dad finished it off for me a long time ago, before Mom got sick. When they turned the power off, I couldn’t use it until I found this battery-powered lantern. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Way cool! I love it.”
“Yeah, after Mom got sick, I’d play in here for hours. Made everything seem better, Hey, want a drink?”
“A drink?”
Blue held out a half empty bottle and said, “Yeah. It’s bourbon!”
She twisted off the cap, took a small swig, and handed it to Molly.
Molly hesitated, took a small sip, spit it out, and screamed, “Yuck! How can you drink that stuff?”
Blue laughed and said, “Yeah, it takes a while to get used to it. So, tell me, what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know. I only know that I don’t ever want to see my father again. He hurt Mr. Raymond today, and then he ruined my painting. I just want to go someplace where he can’t find me. Will you take me?”
“That takes money, you know, a lot more than we have. We’d have to buy gas and food, and we’d have to find a place to stay.”
“I have money.”
“How much? Show me.”
“It’s back at my house. Not the house on Tybee, the one here. My pop-pop gave me a piggy bank when I was born, and every year, on my birthday, he puts a $100 bill in it.”
“Really? How old are you?”
“Twelve. I’m gonna be thirteen pretty soon.”
“Holy shit! That means you have twelve hundred bucks!”
Molly smiled and said, “More than that! My mom and dad, well just my dad now, they’d put money into it once in a while, too.”
“Well, you just solved the money problem. But where do you want to go?”
“How about Disney World? Ever been there? I was there once, when I was eight years old.”
“Now you’re talking! But we still won’t have a place to stay when we get there.”
“You look old enough. I’ll bet somebody would rent us
a room. If not, could we just sleep in the car?”
“If we do that, I’m taking the gun. You’re just a kid, but there are an awful lot of creeps out there.”
“What do you mean? What kind of creeps?”
“Well, have you ever done it with anybody?”
“Eww. Do you mean what I think?”
“Never mind. Look, let me think about it. When my dad figures out that I’ve got his car and I’m not coming back, all hell is gonna break loose. He might call the cops, but maybe not. After all, I could tell them how he hits me. But whatever we do, I still think you should go to your house and get the money. We can do all sorts of things with that.”
Molly shook her head in agreement and said, “Okay, but we better go now, before my dad gets home. I can hardly wait.”
Chapter 39
An hour later, Sanders and Bennings were driving an unmarked car through the streets of Savannah. A Chatham County Counter Narcotics Team van, carrying a four-man SWAT team, was close behind. The vehicles entered a rundown neighborhood about a mile south of Forsyth Park and turned onto a dead-end street. As soon as they made the turn, two men wearing hardhats moved a barricade into place with a sign that read “Road temporarily closed for repairs.”
The road closing wasn’t about to inconvenience anyone. The only buildings on the street were a couple of boarded-up houses and two old cinderblock commercial buildings. As Sanders slowly drove down the street, Bennings watched as a drug addict ducked inside one of the houses and disappeared. As they approached the first cinderblock building, Sanders pointed to it and said, “There, that’s it. Pull in there. We’re using it as our staging area. Baxter’s operation is just up the road.”
The building Sanders pointed to had been shut down for a long time. The windows were all shot out, and all the garage doors were missing, likely sold for scrap when the last owners moved out.
Sanders turned into the main entrance and headed toward a six-by-eight-foot hole in the building. The van followed. To their left was a three-foot-high cement loading dock that had at one time been used to unload semi-trailers. Behind it was an even larger opening into the warehouse. As Sanders’s car and the van pulled through the opening and into the warehouse, a couple of squatters slowly came to life and walked outside, disappearing around the corner. When the SWAT team exited their van, the smell of human feces and urine quickly sent two of them outside as well.
Side(H)arm Page 17