They’d managed to get to Boris Brackovich—or at least, someone had caught up with him—but Raul and Ken and the others had managed to slip away unscathed.
Whatever his plan was, it would have to be highly calculated and ironclad.
The problem was, Drake was in too much pain to come up with something like that. He turned to face Leroy, who was staring at the two of them like a child watching an uncomfortable argument between his parents.
“That’s where you come in,” he said.
Leroy blinked and then shook his head as if he had momentarily fallen into a stupor.
“Me? What the hell do I have to do in this?”
The kid glanced over to the items that had been laid out on the table.
“I brought you everything I have… what else do you want?”
“It’s what you want, Leroy; do you want to catch the guys responsible for killing your brother?”
Something dark flashed over Leroy’s eyes, but then they quickly cleared.
“What about those thugs who beat up your mom?” Drake continued. “You want them to pay for what they’ve done?”
Leroy nodded.
“Well, I think we have something else in common, then. And I think we can work together.”
Leroy glanced down at his shoes and started toe digging.
“I mean, I dunno… part of me just wants to put this all behind me, be a regular kid again.”
The man’s words resonated with Drake and he found himself nodding despite himself.
The truth was, he didn’t want to be involved in this shit either. He didn’t want his partner to be dead, his girlfriend to be alone with their newborn child, for half of New York to hate him, to be under indictment for kidnapping, and he didn’t want to treat Screech like a piece of shit.
And that said nothing of his deteriorating relationship with one of his few friends, Beckett Campbell.
He sighed.
“Me neither,” Drake said quietly. “But the reality is, we are involved in this whether we want to be or not. And there’s only one way to stop it.”
Screech’s hand came down on Drake’s shoulder and he turned around. The anger and frustration in his face had been replaced by something more subtle.
Sadness.
“Drake, he’s only a kid. You can’t—”
Drake shook free.
He recalled what Veronica had said when he tried to impose his opinions about prostitution on the woman. Her retort had been vicious and immediate: she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions.
Drake looked over at Leroy then, and although he looked young, especially now when he was trying to avert his gaze, they’d spoken candidly in prison. Leroy had been frightened—shit, Drake had been terrified—and that’s when your truest thoughts came out.
“He’s not a kid,” Drake said out of the corner of his mouth. “Let him make up his own mind.”
Leroy glanced up, fear etched on his face as plainly as a charcoal smear on a slab of linoleum.
“Decide what?”
Drake licked his lips and then probed the missing tooth in the bottom of his mouth.
“Go undercover; I need you to go back to the thugs who killed your brother. I need you to find out what kind of agreement they have with the cops, and how this links back to the mayor.”
“Drake,” Screech snapped. “Are you crazy? He’s gonna get himself killed!”
Chapter 23
“What the hell is it? What the hell is ohmefentanyl?” Yasiv asked as the trio stepped outside and he lit another cigarette.
Beckett opened his mouth to say something before deciding better of it and hooking a thumb at his partner.
“Doogie here can probably tell you better than I, isn’t that right?”
The young doctor’s face, which had turned sullen since they’d examined the three corpses, suddenly changed.
It lit up.
“Technically, ohmefentanyl is known as β-hydroxy-3-methylfentanyl. It’s one of the most potent μ-opioid receptor agonists ever discovered and moderately difficult to manufacture. It has three stereogenic centers and eight stereoisomers. Originally designed as a tranquilizer of large animals, such as elephants, it is so powerful that a single grain can cause cardiac disruptions leading to death in humans.”
Yasiv raised an eyebrow.
Who the fuck is this guy?
“Yeah, I told you,” Beckett said. “He’s a bit of a freak like that.”
Yasiv nodded and was about to shake both of their hands and send them on the way when a thought occurred to him.
“It’s difficult to manufacture? It’s difficult to make this… ohmefentanyl?”
Dr. McEwing nodded.
“Moderately so. It takes about eight steps, including partitioning, drying, and purification using flash column chromatography. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can end up with something completely different, something that won’t be as… uhh… effective.”
Yasiv took another drag from his cigarette.
“Can you do this in the bathtub? Breaking Bad style? That sort of thing?”
Dr. McEwing looked to Beckett first and, encouraged by a nod, turned back to Yasiv.
“No, I don’t think so. You need a degree in organic chemistry and a GMP lab with specialized equipment.”
And there it is, Yasiv thought. Finally a way to find out where the hell this poison is coming from.
After what had happened with Boris Brockovich and the sex slavery ring, they’d gotten a pretty good idea of how at least some of the heroin was getting into the country. But if the ohmefentanyl was being added once it was here, if the additive was being manufactured right here in New York, they might be able to find the source.
“I guess that’s where I start, then,” he grumbled.
“Sounds like a plan,” Beckett said. “I’ll let you know when the tox results come in.”
With that, the ME and his ride along left Yasiv to his thoughts.
He couldn’t go to DI Palmer with this, of course, and the only person he trusted inside the NYPD was Dunbar. But while Dunbar was a good man, he was as green as they came.
No, he needed outside help with this one.
With a heavy sigh, Yasiv picked up his phone and dialed a number.
Chapter 24
“He’s free to walk away, Screech. Leroy has already more than fulfilled his part of the bargain and if—”
A loud ring suddenly filled the room, causing them all to jump.
Drake looked around quickly trying to identify the source of the sound. Eventually he honed in on the front pocket of Screech’s jeans.
“You gonna answer that?”
Screech ground his teeth, but eventually removed the phone from his pocket. He didn’t even look at who was calling, he just answered.
“Yeah?” he said, with Leroy and Drake watching on.
Screech nodded several times and then put his hand over the receiver and turned to Drake.
“It’s Sergeant Yasiv,” he whispered.
Drake nodded and indicated for him to put it on speaker phone, and then placed a finger to his lips, signaling to Leroy to remain silent.
“I need your help, Screech—a favor,” Sergeant Yasiv said.
Drake was grateful to hear another friendly voice.
“What do you need?”
“Man,” Yasiv said with a heavy sigh. “I’ve been dealing with so many deaths from heroin tainted with fentanyl derivatives that it’s making my head spin.”
Screech raised an eyebrow and looked over at Drake.
Drake encouraged him to keep the man talking.
“What do you need me for?”
“Well, I was talking to the medical examiner… to Beckett?”
Once again, Drake’s heart did little pitter patter in his chest. Even though Beckett had saved his life when he’d managed to slink away from the human trafficking ring with a bullet in his calf, the two hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen wor
ds. As Screech had just intimated, Beckett had made his thoughts about Drake clear.
“Yeah?”
“He says that all of the deaths are caused by a powerful fentanyl derivative called ohmefentanyl or some shit. The thing is, you need a special lab to manufacture it. A special lab and a degree in chemistry. Says it’s not easy.”
Drake made a face and Screech shrugged. Only Leroy appeared to know what the hell Yasiv was talking about.
“Screech? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just not sure what—”
“I need you to do a little research for me,” Yasiv said, his tone now muffled as if he were cupping his mouth as he spoke. “I need to know if there are any labs that might be capable of producing this sort of stuff here in New York.”
Again, confusion washed over Screech’s face.
“I bet there are plenty labs. Why doesn’t Dunbar just—”
“I’m not thinking about just any lab, Screech; I’m thinking about a lab that is owned by a particular holdings company.”
Something clicked in Drake’s head and he suddenly realized why Yasiv was calling Screech and being so secretive about it.
A particular holdings company… ANGUIS Holdings.
Screech must’ve realized the same thing, because he started to nod.
“I gotcha. I’ll cross-reference capable labs with our list of real estate holdings. In the meantime, is there any update on Drake?”
Drake immediately started shaking his head and wagging his finger, but Screech looked away.
“Nothing I can do, Screech. I wish to God I could help him out, but there’s simply no way. Last I heard… last I heard, he was going for a psychiatric evaluation. He’s gonna go to trial on this, Screech. And the outcome doesn’t look good.”
Hearing the words from the sergeant’s mouth made Drake’s heart sink. He’d given up hope of getting out of this unscathed, but in the back of his mind he’d clung to the idea that one day he’d be able to return to his girlfriend and their new baby. Return to them without putting them in danger, that is.
But it was clear by the tone in Sergeant Yasiv’s voice that this wasn’t going to be possible.
One week, Drake thought again. I have one week to find Ken Smith and make him pay for what he’s done.
“I understand,” Screech said. “I’ll look into labs and get back to you.”
There was a short pause before Yasiv added, “Thanks for this. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up the phone and the three men stared at each other. Eventually, Screech broke the silence.
“You heard the man, that shit’s killing people on the street and you want to put it back into circulation? You want this kid to get involved with these savages?”
Drake didn’t answer; he just turned to look at Leroy.
Leroy closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, they were filled with a lucidity that hadn’t been there before.
“I’ll do it,” he said at last. “I’ll do it for Declan and my mom. I’ll do it to find a way out.”
Chapter 25
Leroy swallowed hard and tried to keep his entire body from shaking. He wasn’t really sure why he’d agreed to what Drake had proposed. Sure, the man had gotten him good legal representation, but he’d brought him the bag he’d stolen from the crooked cops.
That made them even.
Maybe it’s because of Declan, he thought as he walked tentatively toward the subsidized apartment building. Maybe it’s to prove to him that I am, for once, not being a pussy.
This idea offered him little solace; he was fairly certain that in the next hour he’d end up just like him.
Dead.
For what felt like the thousandth time, he reached inside the front of his sweatshirt and adjusted the package. Satisfied that it wouldn’t slip out, he then fondled the camera that Screech had given him in his front pocket. It was discrete, not much bigger than a button. But to him, in that moment, it felt enormous, like a cinder block that stretched his jeans to the maximum.
A siren sounded somewhere behind him, and Leroy whipped around so quickly that he almost fell on his ass. An NYPD squad car tore down the street, not slowing even as it veered around a handful of school children who had no business being up at this hour.
“Calm down,” Leroy told himself. But his words had no way, not here.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he turned back to the apartment complex and started walking again. He’d only taken two steps before someone appeared out of the darkness and grabbed the back of his head.
“You got some balls showing your face around here, nigga,” the fat man who’d chased Leroy the day his brother had been killed growled in his ear.
“I’ve—I’ve got—”
But Leroy couldn’t find the words.
What was he supposed to say in this situation, anyway? I need to speak to your thug lord? You know, the man who killed my brother, the same one who came to my school while someone—likely you—vandalized my apartment and beat up my mom?
Oh, yeah, before I forget, I’ve got the drugs that you were looking for when you trashed my place, by the way. I mean, I hid them well, but now I’ve had a change of heart.
You can have them back. No strings attached. Pinky swear.
But apparently Leroy didn’t need to say anything.
The man, still gripping him tightly by the hood, reached inside the front of his sweatshirt and wrenched out the package of heroin.
When he saw what it was, his eyes narrowed; clearly, he’d expected that Leroy was here for a different reason, probably to try and even the score.
But when he held the package up to the yellow street light and saw the clear tape with the symbol of the snake eating the eyeball, he sneered.
“Now where the fuck did you get this?” he demanded, letting go of Leroy’s hoodie.
He stumbled forward, but then righted himself and spun around to look the man straight in the eyes.
“It don’t matter where I got it from,” he said quickly, imbued by a courage that he hadn’t known he possessed. “All that matters is that I want to give it to your—” he hesitated, stopping himself before using the word ‘boss’. “—to the man with the chain.”
The fat man chuckled.
“Let me get this straight: we kill your brother and you come bearing gifts?”
Leroy felt a twitch of anger somewhere deep inside him, but he forced it back down.
“I just want this to end—I want to squash this.”
One more up down, and the man grabbed Leroy by the hoodie again. Without another word, Leroy was guided gruffly through the playground, then up to the apartment entrance, where they passed a thug smoking a joint.
“Chris ain’t gonna believe this shit,” the man mumbled under his breath. “That nigga gonna flip.”
Chapter 26
Drake ground his teeth as he stared across the street at the semi-detached home that, for a very short period of time, he’d called home.
He ground his teeth, because he didn’t know what to do next. The truth was, if it hadn’t been for Screech insisting, he wouldn’t even have found himself here; he’d still be back at Triple D trying to put together a back up plan to entrap Ken Smith.
But Screech had developed somewhat of a backbone since he’d last seen Drake and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And now he found himself sitting in a car much like he had months ago staring at Jasmine Cuthbert’s house.
He hadn’t known what to say to her then, and had no idea what to say now. The trumped up charges that DI Palmer tried to stick to Jasmine were easily dismissed, especially considering that Screech had wiped the photos from Ken’s hard drive.
But Drake was convinced that it was in her best interest to make a clean break. Associating with him would only make her life more difficult, given his current legal troubles. Besides, what Beckett had said on multiple occasions wasn’t that far from the truth…
But now that I’m out
, at least for the week, I should go see her. I want to see her.
And he wanted to see his son as well. Drake had spent a total of five minutes with Clay before he’d been arrested.
“Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes.
Like a Band-aid, he decided to just tear it off. He really did want to see her and hold his son.
Drake reached for the door handle and tried to open it, but grabbed the window crank instead and almost tore it off.
“Jesus,” he grumbled. He wasn’t used to Hanna’s car; he’d been driving his Crown Vic for so long until it was stolen that it was all he knew. Sure, he’d taken Veronica’s Tesla for a while, but that had pretty much driven itself. But Hanna’s piece of shit—
A police cruiser suddenly turned onto Jasmine’s street and Drake hunkered down into his seat. His hand slowly made its way from the door handle to the keys that were still dangling form the ignition. With his Crown Vic, he’d managed to evade a police car before, but in this car? In Hanna’s ride?
He doubted that he would be able to outrun a drunken tortoise.
But as Drake watched, he realized that he might not have to run.
The NYPD cruiser pulled up to the curb and two officers stepped out. They glanced around briefly and Drake sunk even lower into the worn upholstered seats.
His mind was racing.
Did they find out that I’m missing already? How? Did Hanna… no, why would she?
As the two men started up Jasmine’s steps, Drake pulled his cell phone out and switched it to the camera.
One of the officers knocked on the door, while the other one stood guard, looking back towards the street.
Less than a minute later, the door opened and Drake saw her for the first time in months.
Jasmine was as beautiful as she’d been the day she’d given birth. And like that day, her cheeks were slightly flushed and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Without hesitation, she stepped from the house, a finger to her lips. Then she closed the door halfway behind her.
Detective Damien Drake series Box Set 2 Page 44