by Andrew Watts
“Show me a bag.”
The man frowned in disbelief. “What?”
“Just show me a bag.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You got a bag on you? Show me one.”
“Let me sit up.”
Trent took his foot off the man’s chest. The bearded man reached into his pocket and took out a small plastic bag. Trent snatched it from the man’s grasp and held it up, examining it. Max could just barely make out a gelatinous black substance inside.
The dope dealer said, “Are you…are you looking for some for yourself? I can get you better stuff, but it’s not on me.”
“Is this what you gave to my brother?”
The man on the ground didn’t reply.
Max watched Trent’s fist tighten and momentarily worried that he was wrong about the situation. That Trent really was going to kill this guy.
But then Trent calmed himself and simply pointed a finger at the man’s face, whispering, “Don’t show up here again. I mean that.” Then Trent flung the bag back at the ground and turned away.
The bearded man picked up the bag and hustled to his feet. He and his cohort looked at each other, stupefied, then fled down the alley. As the rain began to come down harder, flashes of lightning illuminated the sky, the rumbles of thunder growing louder.
Max placed his hand on Trent’s shoulder, his tee shirt getting wet from the rain. “Let’s go back inside.”
Trent looked up at Max. “It was black tar.”
Max looked at Renee, who was biting her lip. She shrugged, not understanding. Another clap of thunder sounded nearby. “We should get out of the rain.”
“Black tar?” Max asked.
Trent walked towards the back entrance of the bar. “Black tar heroin. They make that shit in Mexico. During my last assignment with the Army, this is the stuff we were trying to stop from coming into the country. It’s nasty stuff. The cheapest type. And it’s what my brother was getting high on when he overdosed.”
Renee looked at Max again, her eyes watery. Max held open the door to the poolroom, and they were flooded with a soft yellow light as they headed back inside.
Max felt guilty for thinking it, but he realized Trent was going to be the perfect recruit.
Chapter 6
They walked through the poolroom, the bar area. The bartender glanced at Trent. “Everything alright?”
Trent nodded back to him. “Yeah. Let me know if I owe you anything for scaring off your customers.”
“Not a thing, brother. They weren’t good customers.”
Trent gave the bartender an appreciative smile and continued to walk with the group.
The band onstage was warming up. Country music.
Max went over to the bartender and asked if they could get the side room that looked like it was available for exclusive parties. The bartender agreed and showed them into the room through saloon doors. The band noise was muted there, and the room was empty of other patrons. A waitress approached and took drink orders.
She said, “Frank told me to make sure that you’re left alone in here. Is that right?”
Max said, “That’d be great. Thank you kindly.”
They sat down, and the waitress took their orders, then left to fetch drinks.
Max got Trent talking.
Trent said, “Black tar heroin is some ugly stuff. But it’s cheaper and easier to make. After the cartels couldn’t make money from weed, they switched their focus to heroin.”
Renee said, “Why couldn’t they make money off marijuana anymore?”
“Because we legalized it in the US. Criminal organizations couldn’t participate in the legal marketplace. And opioid demand was rising fast. So, the cartels shifted to heroin.”
The conversation seemed to be therapeutic for Trent. He got going about everything that was eating him up inside. He talked about Josh’s fight with opioid addiction, and about how Josh had tried to keep it from everyone. Trent had retired from the Army fourteen months ago so that he would have more freedom to help his brother fight his addiction.
“I never would have left the Army that early. But Josh needed my help. And things went well for a while. But drug addicts get good at hiding stuff,” Trent said, sadness in his voice.
Ironically, Trent’s last tour with Army special operations was on the front lines of the war on drugs. Trent had been in Mexico, advising the DEA and training Mexican security forces. While he didn’t say it outright, Max knew enough to speculate that Trent had also done a few black bag jobs while down there. When the head of the Sinaloa cartel had been captured in early 2016, US military special operators like Trent had reportedly been on hand. One of them might even have been Trent.
Trent said, “Sometimes the dealers lace bags of heroin with the more potent synthetic stuff. It gets ’em hooked on the better stuff so that the next time they can jack up the price. The problem is that the synthetic drugs are often ten times more powerful. Sometimes hundreds of times more powerful. And if you take it in the wrong dosage, it’ll kill you. That’s what happened to Josh, they said.”
“Mind if I ask you something? You could have done a lot of damage to that guy in the alley back there. But you let him go. Why, if you think he’s responsible?” Max needed to push the recruitment now, and to evaluate whether, after losing his brother in this way, Trent was stable enough to handle the job.
Trent sighed, staring down at his calloused hands. “It won’t bring my brother back. Beating the hell out of him could put me in jail, though. That would just cause my parents more pain.” He met Max’s eyes. “Men like him aren’t worth it. And they aren’t the real problem.”
Bingo.
Max said, “What if you could go after a few of the men who were part of the real problem?”
The dinner conversation with Trent lasted another thirty minutes. Renee left to use the bathroom, leaving the two men alone. Max didn’t finish with a hard sell. He told Trent that he could have a day to think it over. But Trent didn’t need any more time.
“I’m in, Max.”
Max nodded. “Good.”
Trent took a swig of beer. “You know, I saw you once. When I was deployed.”
“Where?”
“Syria.”
“You’re kidding. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t seem appropriate. You were with a bunch of spooks, and it looked like you didn’t want to be seen. My A-team leader was there with you in the building you were in. To be honest, I had forgotten about it until just now, when you mentioned you used to do this type of work.”
“Why didn’t I notice you?”
“Probably the beard, back then.” Trent smiled.
Max snorted and shook his head. “So you already knew about me.”
Trent nodded. “Josh had mentioned something, a while back. So you were CIA?”
“DIA, actually.”
“But now you are working for the CIA?”
“Yes.”
Trent looked confused. “So…”
“It’s complicated.” Max grinned, and then turned serious. “Hey, Trent, before we get into the details, I just want to make sure that with everything that’s happened with Josh and all—”
“I know, Max. I won’t lose my cool in Mexico.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, you know that this isn’t your fault, right? Your brother.”
He looked away. “I know.”
“Are you going to be alright?”
Trent held up his beer. “Nothing a few of these can’t fix.”
“Well, make that the last one. I know your parents, and they’ll kill me if I bring you back to the house drunk.”
“I fear my mother too much to come back drunk.” Joking. A good sign. “So what’s with Renee? How is she involved in this?”
Max looked at her as she walked back into the room. “She’s got a superpower, and it should come in very handy. Also, she told me that I’m not allowed to
keep secrets from her anymore, which apparently includes international espionage.”
Trent said, “What’s the secret power?”
“Superpower,” Max corrected.
Renee reddened. Max knew she disliked praise. “I’m good with computers. I believe that’s what he was referring to.”
The look on Trent’s face told Max that this was still insufficient, so Max said, “Renee’s background was with the Canadian version of the NSA, the Communications Security Establishment. She’s also done cyber security for a variety of firms, including US intelligence agencies. I’ve worked with her on high-level assignments that were vital to national security, and I vouch for her.”
Renee kissed his cheek. “You say the sweetest things.”
Max had taken some liberty in his use of the word “assignments,” but this information seemed to have the intended effect. Trent looked impressed.
Renee said, “So, Trent, what exactly should we expect down in Mexico?”
“Based on where Max said we’re going, we’ll need to be very careful. Assume that every set of eyes and ears is working for the narcos, or at least reporting to them. I’d like to check with DEA on—”
Max held up a hand. “Sorry. We’re on our own on this. No one but us and my handler at CIA.”
“Okay, then. Well, I would say that rule number one is don’t trust anyone down there. The Mexican government and their law enforcement agencies are filled with people on the cartel payroll. Those who can’t be bought are often killed. Brutally. If there’s one thing the narcos understand, it’s how to send a message. That’s rule number two. Don’t get caught.”
The next morning, Max and Renee were once again at the Carpenter parents’ home. They had agreed to stop by for breakfast before flying Trent down south.
Max couldn’t help but flash back to the funeral he’d attended a week earlier. The town police had led the funeral procession. A column of cars had followed with their headlights on. More than two dozen had shown up from Josh’s old Army unit. They’d worn crisp uniforms and drawn proud stares from the locals.
The funeral had been nice, as funerals go. Four of the soldiers had formed an honor guard and performed a flag-folding ceremony. They’d handed the flag to Tina Carpenter, who was a wreck.
The tears had flowed, especially when Mr. Carpenter had given the eulogy. He’d recalled the best of times. He’d highlighted Josh’s generous and spirited personality, and the love Josh had held for his wife and son. It had been painful to hear, knowing that he was gone.
Now Max sat at a plastic table on the screened-in porch. Josh’s five-year-old son was eating cereal across from him. Puddles of milk surrounded the bowl. There was an iPad on the table. Someone had put on a cartoon. But the boy wasn’t watching it. He was looking at Max, chewing his food.
“My mommy said that you were friends with my dad.”
“I was. Very good friends.”
“Do you like Penn State football?”
Max smiled. “Your dad sure did.”
“He used to watch all the games with me.”
Max didn’t reply.
The boy took another bite of the cereal and began watching his cartoon.
The weather was already getting hot and humid by midmorning when they had finished breakfast. Cicadas made a racket in the forest behind the home. Max wandered to the backyard, sitting in a lawn chair under the shade of an old oak tree.
Renee was playing with little Josh. They were feeding two rabbits in a homemade wooden cage propped up on cinderblocks. A thousand little pellets of food and droppings lay in the grass nearby. Renee’s pretty smile and good nature had coaxed several giggles out of Josh Junior.
Tina approached. Josh’s widow had lines of fatigue beneath her eyes. Her voice was weak, like she didn’t have any more energy to be sad.
“Josh would have been glad that you were here.”
Max just nodded, feeling numb and guilty. They hadn’t spoken much last week at the funeral. He hadn’t known what to say.
They both just stood there in the morning heat, watching her son pet the rabbits at the far end of the yard. Finally, Tina said, “I don’t think he could bring himself to tell you. About the drugs, I mean. He was ashamed of what he’d become, I think.”
“He had no reason to be.”
She nodded. “He tried to hide it from everyone. At first, he thought he could keep it from me. He tried to convince me that it was just him adjusting to civilian life. There were a lot of changes. He lost a lot of weight. Slept more. Mood swings—crazy ones. When they took away his prescription, someone in town said they could help him get some black-market stuff. It started off with him getting the same thing he’d gotten at the drugstore, except now he had to pay for it out of pocket. But then he couldn’t get the pills anymore, and another guy said he could get Josh some sort of patch. Like a nicotine patch, but with fentanyl. Same thing as the pills, different method. But then that stuff dried up too. And eventually he started using the really bad stuff, because that’s all he could get. All he could afford. It was awful on our marriage. I didn’t know what going on at first. He didn’t want to shower when I was around, which I thought was weird. I found out it was because he didn’t want me to see the needle marks in his arms. Imagine trying to keep something like that from your wife, who sleeps in your bed. I found his box one day while he was sleeping.”
“His box?”
“He had a little tin box that he kept under the seat of his pickup truck. Needles inside, carefully stacked. He was always neat.”
“I’m so sorry, Tina.”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” Her voice cracked, and she wiped away a tear. “I feel like we all keep saying that to each other. That it’s not our fault. I don’t know if any of us truly believes it. Things weren’t like this when Josh and I grew up in this town. Drugs were an inner-city problem. Not here. I smoked a little weed when I was younger. Josh did too. But never the hard stuff. People like us are from good families, with good parents. Good values. This kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen here. Or to men like him. Josh was one of the best men I know. And I’m not just saying that because I’m his wife. Ask any of the men from his old Army units. He was one of the good ones. But those drugs changed him. And they have ruined my life. They’ve killed my husband. He wanted to quit, Max. He tried. But the pull was too strong. Even for someone like him.”
Max didn’t know what to say. So they just stood there in silence for a few minutes. Sometimes that was the best thing to do.
Tina was looking at her son. Trent was over there now. He had gotten little Josh away from the rabbits and they were playing Wiffle ball.
Tina said, “I’m not sure what we’ll do now. I guess I’ll have to go back to work. We were living off his disability pay, for the most part…but now I guess that will stop.”
Max said, “Are you sure that they won’t keep paying you?”
“I don’t know. We have a man from the VA who is helping us, but the life insurance folks already said that his drug overdose meant that they wouldn’t pay out.”
Max shook his head. “Tina, I can help. Let me look into a few things.”
She looked up at him, alarmed. “Oh, Max, listen, I didn’t mean—I know you guys are well off and all but…look, we aren’t looking for a handout, okay? I just was telling you because—”
Max gestured for her to stop. “Please. I know you didn’t mean it like that. But let me see if there isn’t something we can do to help you guys out. Do you have any immediate needs? Are you okay on money right now?”
She nodded, her lip quivering. Another tear ran down her cheek. “Thanks,” was all she managed to say as she hugged him.
Chapter 7
Senator Herbert J. Becker of the great state of Wisconsin stared into the center of the camera lens, doing his best to imagine that it was the single representation of each and every one of his most precious voters. He had practiced his “stern-but-approachable” look in fron
t of countless mirrors. It assured his constituents that he was the kind of man who would stick up for them in a fight but at the same time shared their family values.
“And let me just say this. Solving this country’s growing heroin epidemic is my number one priority. That’s why I cosponsored the Opioid Epidemic Act. We’ll be bringing it to the floor in a matter of weeks. I believe that will have a tremendous impact on reducing opioid use within the United States.”
The reporter—a slick-haired kid who was a little too cavalier for the senator’s taste—followed up with, “Well, I’m glad you brought that up, Senator. Many in your party were surprised that you cowrote that bill and helped gather so much support for it. It’s a piece of bipartisan legislation that many in your party don’t like. Some are calling it antibusiness. Even some on the other side of the aisle are saying it will deny access to medicine to those in need. What do you say to that?”
“I would say that this country has been hurting for a long time, and I’m proud of my efforts to combat the opioid epidemic. Businesses will not be hurt by this bill, as they will end up providing consumers with better health care, without the risks of today’s surplus of addictive pain medication.”
“What about the people who need that pain medication? Many patients need opioids to perform their day-to-day tasks. You’re going to deny them that choice? Deny the doctors the ability to prescribe it and the health care manufacturers the ability to sell it?”
“My bill—excuse me, the Opioid Epidemic Act—doesn’t completely eliminate opioids as an option. Yes, it will greatly reduce how many pills are sold and used. But in the long run, it will make our country healthier and more vibrant. Now I thank you for your time, but I’m afraid I have to—”
“Senator Becker, one more thing before you go—some are speculating that you have ambitions for a presidential run in two years. Is that true? Are you going to run for president, Senator?”