by ANDREA SMITH
“The way I see it, Edwards, is that we now officially have two drug operations going in separate directions. One major, and one bush league at the moment, but all that can change in a heartbeat. I’m uneasy about this. Who would have thought this sleepy little county in southern Ohio is potentially a hodge podge of opioid activities?”
“Just give me a little more time, Jack. I really think I’m getting closer. I can’t be sure of anything with respect to Duel’s activities. If Vince did cut him off, he could very well have another landing place that he’s keeping to himself. I just need a little more time watching the back roads so to speak.”
“Whatever that means,” Jack said with a snort. “This whole thing is turning out to be a twisted ride that so far has led us no closer to busting those at the top of the cartel.”
“Jack,” Dalton said succinctly, “Has it ever occurred to you that there just might be more to the local dynamics than just the cartel? If in fact there really is a cartel at work here.”
“Not following,” Jack replied. “Our intelligence indicates the cartel; an offshoot of the Espinoza Cartel, is at play in that area. Do you know something different?”
“All I’m saying is that intelligence isn’t always accurate. Sometimes it’s cleverly planted for other reasons. I mean have you considered that maybe these people eventually won’t need the cartel if in fact they are involved? Think about it. Right now the borders are pretty accessible. Things could change. The politics could change. Who’s to say that one or both of these families don’t have a Plan B up their sleeves in case that happens? We got a presidential contender that keeps harping about a wall. That sure as hell could put a crimp into all those muling routes that prefer to bypass the points of entry, don’t you think? I did my fucking time in McAllen, Texas if you’d take a minute to access my assignments with the agency. As far as I’m concerned, Homeland Security could fill the Rio Grande with gators, copper heads and water moccasins and I wouldn’t miss a fucking night’s sleep over it. Hell, maybe PETA could even declare the Rio Grande Valley a sanctuary for endangered Western Diamondbacks or something. I can see the slogan now: Bring us your venomous reptiles. No snake will ever be turned away. This might be dog patch, Jack, but these people are nobody’s fools,” Dalton finished.
Jack gave Dalton a nod. “Feel better Edwards? Ready to get off your soapbox for a minute? You’re preaching to the choir here. I know you’re frustrated. I know I’m on your ass. I know it’s not moving fast enough for the agency. I know you’re just one guy stuck in a town that feels like it’s right out of Deliverance. But listen to me, and listen good: things have changed. The cartel chatter has all but died on this front, which is why I have been on your ass to give me something--anything goddammit, just bring it!” he hissed.
They both took a moment to calm down. Their conversation had heated up more than it ever had before, and several of the customers were looking over at their table.
Finally Dalton stood up to leave. “The decrease in chatter could mean a couple of things, Jack. I’ve already pointed that out and I think you know that as well as I do. Trust me when I say it’s all coming to a head soon.”
“And you know this how?” Jack challenged.
“My gut is telling me that. I don’t question my gut, Jack.”
And with that Dalton turned and left the restaurant, never knowing that his parting words bore more truth than he had ever intended.
Chapter 17
It was Friday night. Dalton hadn’t seen Harlan since that Tuesday morning at the gas station before he’d gone to work at West Fork.
Duel had called him early Wednesday morning and told him he wouldn’t be needed for the rest of the week because his boys were there to help with the breeding and they could handle Dalton’s chores as well. He assured Dalton that he could resume his duties the following Tuesday, and to enjoy his time off.
Dalton had found it strange, but then again, this whole area was strange. It seemed as if the cloak of secrecy was drawing itself tighter around the community. He hoped like hell he hadn’t in some way cracked his cover.
He decided to do some night fishing and try to get his head wrapped around whatever it was that had been gnawing at his gut all week. Maybe the solitude of fishing in the night air, with nothing but the sounds of crickets and the soft lapping of the water against the rocks would serve to help with that.
The air was crisp, cool and quiet. The night sky was clear, and a blanket of stars, along with the new moon cast their reflective glow on ripples of the water. They hadn’t had much rain this spring, but Dalton had no clue whether that would affect his chances of catching anything worth keeping. Hell, he didn’t really give a damn.
He put his pole in the water, and attached the handle to the rod holder on his chair so he could light a cigarette. He didn’t smoke often, but tonight he felt the need.
He settled back in his chair, taking a long drag on the cigarette and tried to push all of his conflicting thoughts from his head. The truth was he’d come to like Harlan. But he couldn’t let that cloud his judgment or influence his ability to dissect the facts as he knew them.
The Hatfields had a grow operation. Not a huge one, but big enough to qualify as a Class 1 Felony. The poppies were a fledging business, yet quite lucrative and under the radar. This had to be Vince and Harlan’s first crop, which would explain Harlan’s cocky comments and the fact there hadn’t been any recent deliveries on the ridge.
Something had changed. There was no way Duel knew about the poppies, and no way the cartel, if they were even involved, cared about the weed grow operation. It was pocket change in comparison to what was coming in on that Cessna. And Duel didn’t seem to be overly panicked about the fact there hadn’t been any deliveries in nearly four weeks.
Dalton’s mind was spinning theories when he heard footsteps behind him.
“How they biting Dalton?” a familiar voice rang out.
Billy Ray Jensen.
Fuck. That was it.
Dalton wasn’t sure how he knew it. Maybe it was purely instinct, but Billy Ray Jensen held the key to this recent turn of events. And Dalton needed to find out exactly what Billy Ray might’ve done to cause the change in the dynamics.
“Hey, Billy Ray. Not biting for me so far, but that should be no surprise, right?” Dalton said chuckling. “Maybe my luck will change now that you’re here being a seasoned fisherman and all.”
Billy Ray set up his chair and meticulously prepared his fishing line with live bait. Once he’d put his line in the water, Dalton struck up a conversation with the older man. He started with basic stuff: the weather, local gossip, the upcoming opening of a racetrack in Scioto County.
Billy Ray loved to talk, and he was talking up a storm, but not one word about the Hatfields, which Dalton found odd considering their last conversation. So finally, Dalton brought it up.
“By the way, Billy, have you seen those black Suburbans around lately?” Dalton asked, recasting his line.
“Can’t say that I have. Did see something odd though a couple of weeks back. One of my goats was getting ready to calve and got out of the gate. I’d gone out to check on her and saw that she was gone. It was pretty late so I got me a flashlight and started walking my property to find her. When I was close to the fence line where that dirt road separates my property from the Hatfields, I heard an argument going on.”
“Oh yeah?” Dalton replied, “who was arguing?”
“Sounded like Vince and Harlan. They were standing outside that big metal building of theirs. I shut off my flashlight so they wouldn’t see me in case they looked yonder my way. Vince was telling Harlan his mind was made up and wasn’t nobody going to change it. Harlan told his Daddy he was being a fool and putting them all at risk. Vince told Harlan to watch his mouth. Said that he made the decisions around here and he preferred to conduct his business with no outside in
terference.”
“What business was he talking about?” Dalton asked.
Billy Ray shrugged, reeling in his line, and disengaging a carp, tossing it back into the river. “Hate those bottom feeders,” he said with a laugh. “Oh . . . I was talking about the fish, not the Hatfields. Um . . . well, if I had to guess, it’s probably whatever he’s got going in that metal building. Have you had a chance to find out?”
“Nope,” Dalton answered. “I’m only there about ten hours a week. Saturday and Sunday mornings. It’s hard to snoop around much what with all the people living in that complex. But think about it Billy. If those Suburbans haven’t been around in a spell, could be they weren’t connected with the Hatfields at all.”
“Maybe,” he said recasting his line into the water, “but I got tired of sitting around trying to put the puzzle pieces together and it was impossible to stop. Couldn’t help it. Must be in my blood being that I was in law enforcement all those years. So now, it’s someone else’s puzzle to solve.”
Dalton tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t trust the local law enforcement. Been too many officers on the take if you know what I mean. So, I used my own methods. I set up a sweet little motion activated video recorder with a timer. Put it up in a tree in a location that would catch those Suburbans on film. Checked it daily. Finally one morning when I checked, there they were. I turned the digital files over to a trusted acquaintance of mine. Told him I suspected the Hatfields were behind it, and running drugs of some sort. He said he’d look into it.”
Fuck.
“Not to be nosey, but I’m assuming you meant somebody in law enforcement? Thought you didn’t trust them much?” Dalton asked, since clearly he’d received no communication to the effect that the D.E.A. or B.C.I. had been notified. If Billy Ray had gone to a local yokel, God only knew what kind of screw up was on the horizon.
“Let me put it this way, Dalton. Trust is earned, not given unquestionably. The person I enlightened is somebody I trust whole-heartedly. All I know is that I haven’t seen them again, and my camera is still where it was, so it looks like whatever they were doing here has come to an end.”
“Maybe so,” Dalton said, a feeling of uneasiness seeping in with Billy Ray’s revelation. “How long ago was it you reached out to whomever it was you reached out to Billy?”
Billy squirmed a bit, apparently not willing to share anything further on the specifics with Dalton. He cleared his throat and looked Dalton straight in the eye. “Now listen, son, I’m going to give you some advice. You need to watch your back. Something is likely to go down, but you have to understand that these things take time. I know you’ve been working over at the Hatfield’s place on weekends, but is it really worth it? I’d hate to see you get caught in the cross hairs. You might do well to give up your little job there. I see no good coming of it.”
“You might be right, Billy,” Dalton replied, “I don’t see any good coming from it either.”
Chapter 18
Dalton reported for work at the Hatfield’s place Saturday morning. His senses were now on high alert since Billy Ray had shared what he’d done with Dalton a couple of weeks back while they were fishing. It might explain why there hadn’t been any deliveries in over a month - or did it?
There could be other reasons for that, in particular, the argument Vince and Harlan had that Billy overheard. He’d need to fill Jack in on the latest when he met with him later that day.
Everything at the compound seemed normal. Harlan came out to where Dalton was mixing grain, chewing on his signature toothpick. “What’s new Dalton?” he asked.
“You tell me Harlan,” Dalton replied. “Things seem a bit tense around these parts lately. What’s going on?”
Harlan shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me. Plenty around here to keep us all busy. We like sticking together, know what I mean?”
Dalton nodded. “I do.”
“Sometimes it’s just best to keep close and maintain a low profile if you catch my drift.”
Dalton knew Harlan was sending a message. He wasn’t sure of the intent. He remained silent filling a bucket with the grain mix to feed the goats.
“Hey, Daddy says once you finish here if you’d stack the bales of straw we just got in over at the small barn against the far wall.”
“I’ll do it,” Dalton replied. “What are you up to today?”
“Aww . . . not much. Hey, Tammy had her baby night before last. A baby boy. She named him Barton. I’m headed to pick her up from the hospital. Her boyfriend finally found himself a job and can’t leave work.”
“Well tell Tammy congrats for me,” Dalton replied. “How does Madison feel about having a baby brother?”
Harlan laughed, “Who knows? At two years old her world is pretty much all about her. See ya later, Dalton.”
“Later Harlan.”
Jack was already at their meeting place sipping coffee when Dalton slid into the booth across from him. “Just an iced tea for me darlin’,” he said as the server approached, “With extra lemon slices on the side.”
Jack gave a slight snort. “You sure do fit in well down here, I give you that Edwards,” he said. “So what’s the word?”
“You tell me,” Dalton replied in a hushed tone. “You got my message about the convo I had with a local. Who’s looking into shit down here?”
“I’ve checked with partner agencies,” Jack replied, “I don’t know who this guy went to, but it wasn’t any of the state or federal authorities. This totally blows your whole damn assignment down here, you realize that, don’t you? You’ve been down here for six friggin’ months, Dalton, and what have we got? I’ll tell you what we’ve got: We’ve got some videos of a plane landing with a bogus tail number; we’ve got unidentifiable people delivering unknown cargo, oh and let’s not forget, we’ve got some hydroponic weed that barely rises to a first degree felony. The most we can nail them on are the poppies growing in the damn basement! So, we are now totally fucked on what the cartel had going. There’s been no chatter, there’s been no more planes landing, and we have got nothing,” he hissed.
Dalton had never seen Jack so pissed, but he understood his frustration and anger. Hell, he felt it too. “I know, I know Jack, but what the hell could I have done to prevent Billy Ray Jensen from going to some unknown party he supposedly trusts on pure speculation?”
“Well dammit, the guy was former law enforcement wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dalton replied, “But he initially said he didn’t trust the law enforcement agencies. Said he’d seen too much and didn’t trust many people. At the time it seemed like he really didn’t want to get involved.”
“Well it looks like he did,” Jack snapped. “And it’s no damn coincidence that the timing of his involvement coincides with the last delivery of whatever it was that Cessna was bringing in.”
Dalton gulped some iced tea. “Then why aren’t we privy to whoever it is who’s pulling those strings?”
“That’s what has me worried the most. He may have gone to local law enforcement, but they’d need probable cause for a search warrant and it seems like that has not happened, yet the shipments have stopped. I don’t like this at all Edwards. I hope to hell you haven’t fucked this one up.”
“What the hell, Jack?” Dalton replied, clearly pissed, “What about the Intel from your end, huh? You haven’t even confirmed which branch of the cartel was involved to my knowledge. They all have different M.O.’s and fuck-off that I might be in your eyes, how in the hell can I properly strategize if I don’t know where the chatter is coming from, huh? Is it Jalisco, Sinaloa, Juarez - or maybe we’re dealing with the Gambinos or the Geneveses, huh? Fuck it, I did the best I could with what information trickled in so don’t give me shit about it not happening fast enough to suit you and the higher ups. This isn’t your run of the mill urban wasteland for Chrissake! Th
is is po-dunk nowhere.”
“Keep your voice down, Dalton,” Jack hissed, “Calm down. We don’t need further complications. I’m going to call Manny to see if he has a read on anything changing in the Dayton hub. I’ll be back in touch with you tomorrow morning latest. Just keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Anything else?” Dalton asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Jack said tossing a wad of bills onto the tabletop, “Watch your back and stay safe. I can’t guarantee you haven’t been made.”
Chapter 19
One Week Later . . .
Dalton sat on the bed at his motel room, and took another swig of whiskey. He couldn’t shake the scene he’d walked into early this morning.
The blood.
The carnage.
The whole magnitude of having the members and close significant others of one local family shot dead, execution style in the quiet dead of the night of Briar County, Ohio was unfathomable in Dalton’s mind.
Especially since it was right under his nose. His watch. He somehow felt responsible at the very least for not seeing it coming; for not sensing the imminent danger, for having no clue how or why it had all gone down. And for not preventing it.
Dalton wasn’t sure how or when it happened, but the murder of Harlan Hatfield seemed like the loss of a friend. He knew that sounded fucked up.
Realistically, Harlan was one of the bad guys. One of the guys that he’d been tasked with busting once he’d figured it all out to the point where it would bring the cartel down with them. He wasn’t the brains behind the operation, but he’d been a willing participant nonetheless and that was exactly what had precipitated this massacre.
Regardless of all of that, he saw Harlan as being the kind of guy, who in any other circumstance and environment might’ve just been a dude Dalton would’ve hung out with, rough edges and all. He’d made Dalton see things in a different way for whatever that was worth.