by Corey Brown
“How should I know?”
“You didn’t speak with him?”
“No.” Derek shakes his head. “I don’t think he even saw me.”
This new, no-name detective glances around at the other cops. “Okay, I think that’s it for now but keep an eye out for Briggs. If you see him, contact us immediately. Thanks guys.”
The three uniformed cops hesitate, waiting for Slater’s go ahead. He nods in confirmation.
“Okay, John,” says one young patrolman, as they shuffle out. “Call us if you need anything.”
When the uniformed cops are gone, Slater pulls his business card, hands it to Jamie.
“If you hear from your husband, please have him call me.”
Jamie doesn’t take the card, but instead gives Slater an icy look. “I don’t know what you’re up to,” she says. “But whatever it is, it’s no good. I wouldn’t ask Cody to call you if his life depended on it.”
Slater keeps his hand out there, extended, business card pinched between thumb and forefinger. Then he drops it, the rectangular clip of cardstock fluttering to the floor.
“You’re going to regret that decision,” Slater says.
Slater tips his head, signaling their exit and the two detectives turn away. The emergency room entrance doors slide open, but Slater pauses, looks back.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” Slater says to Derek. “You look familiar.”
Derek wants to tell Slater that it is the other way around. Eric Hansen had been wired so many times that he knew all about Slater, knew about the on and off relationship with a black massage therapist named Cleo, about Cleo’s weight problem. He knew Slater’s ex-wife’s name and all about his listless son. Derek even knew the ex-dog’s name.
And, of course, there were the addictions. Derek knew about Slater’s penchant for methamphetamine in the morning and Old Number Seven with dinner. Not to mention the occasional line of coke.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Derek says, shaking his head. “But you seem familiar, too.”
“You a cop?”
“Nope.”
Another guileful smile. “I’m sure we’ve met,” Slater says. The smile fades. “It’ll come to me. When it does, I’ll look you up.”
Derek’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Do that.”
“Did Cody really leave?” Jamie asks when the entrance doors close behind the two detectives.
Derek waits, watches Slater through the glass doors. He does not answer right away. His mind is working through the possibilities, a checklist of why these cops are after Cody.
The first possibility is one Cody himself had mentioned. The fact that his gun had been used to kill Eric Hansen means Cody is automatically a suspect in the murder. But from what Cody had said about the evidence, it would be too soon to move on him. No, something else has happened. There had been an undercurrent of urgency in how these cops descended upon the hospital. There is something new.
“Derek? What’s going on?”
He blinks, looks at Jamie. “I don’t know.”
“Did Cody really leave?”
Derek looks at Jamie, considers lying to her, but chooses to tell the truth instead. “No. But Cody is in trouble, I’m sure of it. Those guys were here to arrest him.”
“What?” Jamie’s eyes grow wide. “Why?”
“What’s happened?” Gus says. “Why would they want to arrest Cody?”
“I have no idea, but that’s why five cops were here. Gus is dead on, if they wanted to have a conversation, Slater and that other detective would’ve come alone, probably waited outside for him. No, they intended to take him down and they anticipated a fight.” Derek looks hard at Jamie. “Whatever it is they think he’s done, it’s something serious.”
Jamie feels a thick, warm sensation rush through her body. Light-headed now, her face drains of color. Her stomach lurches but she swallows the bile burning her throat. She takes an unsteady step backward and her calf bumps into a chair. Then her legs give out, she drops into the plastic seat.
“Jamie?” Gus is at her side, kneeling. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”
“Why is this happening?” Jamie says. “First Momma, then Todd and now Cody.” She looks at Derek then at Gus, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh Daddy, I just don’t know if I can handle this.”
Gus takes Jamie’s hand. “Don’t you worry, honey. We’ll get through it.”
Now, Derek is next to Jamie. In her voice he hears strains of his own, memories of the day Cody told him about Justin Simmons, about the Cubans and the guns. In the bar, his beer untouched, Derek had asked Cody how it was possible, how could Justin be in such a jam? How did he get mixed up with international gun runners?
In Jamie’s voice is that same sound of hopeless desperation. But he is also reminded of Cody’s relentless determination to bring Justin back. The days and weeks of planning, coordinating, calling in favors, owing favors. Almost all of it handled by Cody, and he never looked back, never had second thoughts. Derek takes stock one more time, draws a deep breath. Now that Cody needs help, how can he do any less?
Derek looks at Jamie, hears Cody’s voice, hears Cody saying, ‘Derek, I promise you, we’re going to get Justin out.’
“Jamie,” Derek says, his hand on her shoulder. “Cody is a good man. He didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sure of it. They may think he did, but I’m certain he didn’t. And we will find Todd, I promise you. Cody and I will find him and bring him home.”
“How?” Jamie says, a tremor in her voice. She wipes at her eyes, streaking mascara down her cheek. “How are you going to find him?”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before,” Derek says. “But Lucas provided some good information. I know where to start.”
Jamie draws a deep breath, tries to rein in her emotions. “Where? Where will you look?”
Gus produces a red handkerchief and dabs at the black smudges under Jamie’s eyes. His tenderness surprises Derek; big, clumsy hands, but a gentle touch.
Jamie smiles at her father. “Thanks, Dad.” She leans forward and kisses him.
Gus looks at Derek. “What did that bastard tell you?”
“Funny you should ask. An interesting guy, your ex-son-in-law.”
“You mean ex-son-of-a-bitch,” Gus says.
“That, too. As it turns out, Lucas is connected to an operation the Bureau has been working for two years. He’s in deep shit. But I think I can use him to nail some people farther up the food chain. Right now, I’ve got him locked up in the District One police station.”
“What did he tell you?” Jamie says.
“I can’t go into detail but like I said, I’ve got a place to start, which is more than I had a few hours ago. There are people who owe me and if I have to, I will call every field agent in the state.”
“What if that isn’t enough?” Jamie’s lower lip quivers. “What then?”
Derek looks at Jamie. He stands, uses his thumb to tuck in his shirt, looks away, look down at her.
“What then?” Derek says. “Well, I want to say something like how I’ll use sheer force of will. But that would just be macho bullshit. But it’s how I feel. I feel like I can be Superman, like I can make all of this go away.” Derek’s eyes grow moist, and he touches a fingertip to the corner of one eye. “Truth is,” he says, “I can’t promise anything beyond dedication. Jamie, I promise you I will not rest until I find Todd.”
“You mean, until we find Todd.”
Cody is walking toward them and Jamie gets to her feet, arms outstretched. Cody takes her in, holds her tight. Wrapping her arms around Cody’s neck, Jamie bursts out crying.
“Hey now,” Cody whispers. “It’ll be all right.”
“Oh, Cody----” Jamie’s voice catches, she shudders. “I don’t know what to do.”
Cody flashes a worried look at Gus. “Marion? She’s not…?”
Gus shakes his head. “No, she’s still in the recovery room, we don’t know much more.”
/> “Thank god.”
Cody hears it, hears his own words of divine appreciation. For an instant he cringes, the religious nonsense of T'biah’s rambling still ringing in his head. Now, after all that crap, just saying the word ‘god’ seems both absurd and…and what? Inappropriate, disrespectful?
“Those cops,” Jamie says. “Why are they looking for you? What’s happened?”
Cody frowns, gives Derek a puzzled look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Jamie,” Derek says, “I need to get Cody out of here, he’s got to disappear.”
She holds Cody tighter, not wanting to let go of him. Then she cups the back of Cody’s head with one hand, tips her face upward and kisses him, full and wet. Just as suddenly, Jamie releases him and steps back.
“Fix this thing, Cody Briggs,” Jamie says, her voice low and intense, index finger almost touching his chest. “Find Todd and both of you come home to me. I can’t live without----” Her voice catches again. She swallows and wipes at a tear. “I don’t care what you have to do,” she says. “But you find the men who did this to my momma, you find Todd, then both of you come home to me.”
Cody has never seen Jamie like this before, never heard this kind of edge in her voice. No question, he is prepared to kill anyone related to Todd’s disappearance or Marion’s shooting, even anticipates it, but hearing that exact suggestion in Jamie’s tone of voice gives him pause.
“Did you hear me?” Jamie says
Cody nods very slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
Jamie takes Cody’s face in her hands and with her lips just touching his, she whispers, “Find him. Find my baby.”
Ignoring Jamie’s implication, ignoring the intense, tender, angry and fearful moment between husband and wife, Derek steps forward and takes Cody by the elbow, pulling him toward the exit.
“Come on,” Derek says, “I’ve got a lead on Todd.”
“Yeah, I know, the church, but wait a minute.”
Derek stops, stares at Cody. “What? How did you know about the church?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Cody faces Gus and says, “Uncle Ramsey, he have any kin, any friends near Opelousas?”
Gus thinks for a minute then shrugged. “Don’t know. Why?”
“This church we’re going to, it’s in the backwoods up by Opelousas. I’d feel better with some locals around.”
“Even if Ramsey does know someone up there, how the hell you going to set it up? It’s a day’s trip by pirogue to his place, then who knows if he has anyone up there in Opelousas?”
“Uncle Ramsey doesn’t have a cell phone?” Cody asks.
“Ramsey? Hell no. The newest thing old Ramsey got is a nineteen sixty-three, ten horse Johnson outboard motor that ain’t got no piston or prop. Crazy bastard found it underneath the interstate and drug it home. Silly fool. Sure enough, he’d be willing to help, but there ain’t no way to get a hold of him.”
“I know someone,” Derek offers. “An old buddy of mine, retired Louisiana State Police, Troop I. He lives in Lafayette, I’m pretty sure he patrolled the area we’re going to.”
“Trust him?” Cody says.
“Greg? Oh yes.”
As they pull out of the hospital parking lot onto Saint Charles Street, Derek points the black Suburban West, while Slater and his new partner sit in their car watching them leave.
“How long you going to wait?”
Slater puts the car in drive but keeps his foot on the brake.
“C’mon, man, we’re going to lose them.”
“Relax,” Slater says. He waits a moment longer then eases the car out onto the street.
“Who is looking for me?” Cody says, looking at Derek. “What was Jamie talking about?”
“Cops. Three in uniform, two detectives. John Slater is one of them. I didn’t recognize the other guy. I was in the parking lot, waiting for you, when three cruisers and an unmarked show up. I followed them inside. They were all over Jamie and Gus, asking about you. When I told them you’d just left, Slater sent two out to chase you down.”
“What’d they want?” Cody asks, an uneasy feeling building in his gut.
“Don’t dance, Cody. We both know why that many cops show up to talk to someone.”
“But I haven’t done anything.” Cody says.
Derek brakes and turns right onto Broadway. “Well they think you have,” he said. “Any idea what it might be?”
Cody shakes his head. “I told you about Hansen, how they found my gun at the scene. But I’ve got an alibi, sort of.” Cody shrugs and says, “Other than that, I can’t think of anything.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, positive.”
Derek sighs. If Todd wasn’t in trouble, if Cody didn’t have a few important pieces of the puzzle, he would never reveal what he was about to say.
“What do you know about Eric Hansen?” Derek says.
Cody frowns. “Nothing, really. I’d never heard of him before he and Slater showed up at my house two days ago.” A sudden weariness floods Cody’s body, like muddy river water washing across the floor. “Two days ago?” Cody says, “Jesus, it feels like two decades ago.”
“Never met him?” Derek says. “What about Nick Wheaton, did he ever mention Hansen?”
“No, not that I recall. Why?”
“Because,” Derek says, “I think they were working on the same case.”
“What? How’s that possible?”
Derek licks his lips, it’s now or never, and never will soon be upon them. “It’s like this,” he says. “Two years ago we got wind of a DEA agent based in Gulfport who was working both sides of the street. He used government boys to rein in the local street gangs, The Crypts, the Latin Kings—all of them, the Asian gangs, too. Got them under control but never broke them, never made any significant busts.”
“What’re you saying?’ Cody asks. “The gangs work for him, for the DEA?”
“They not only work for him, they watch out for him. Most of these gang-bangers are as dumb as stumps, but our man has clued them in. He tells them who is under surveillance, who needs to stay low. In turn they tell him what the cops are doing, who’s getting busted, who isn’t.”
Cody shakes his head. “Derek, that’s just not possible. First of all, those gangs don’t share turf, but there’s no way in hell they’d share the street and work for a cop. It can’t be done. Unless….”
Cody thinks about this, thinks about cops taking over vice and weapons and controlled substances. He remembers T'biah describing this same scenario. Could it be…happening again?
“Believe me, it’s being done,” Derek says, breaking into Cody’s thoughts. Derek rubs his chin, glances at Cody. “But it’s bigger than that,” he says. “Thing is, this guy is well connected, clear back to Washington. His operation is huge, billions a year. He moves shit everywhere along the gulf coast, from Florida to Texas. And not just drugs, he moves weapons, black market cigarettes, even people. For the drugs, his favorite point of entry is Eglin Air Force base in Florida.”
“Not Houston?” Cody says. “I thought Houston was the flavor of the month, at least it was according to the National Drug Intelligence Center.”
“NDIC missed the mark with this guy. Eglin is it for him. He’s got a couple of Air Force captains on the inside. They work the radar towers on the right nights, the drop planes fly in unnoticed, fly out unreported.”
Derek makes a sharp left on Zimpel Street followed by an immediate right onto Pine Street.
“Someone behind us?” Cody says, glancing out the rear windows.
“Not sure.”
Left at Oak, left again at Lowertine. Now the Chevy is rolling southbound, back in the direction of the hospital. Left on Freret, a block later they return to Broadway. Derek waits at the stop sign, looking around.
“This thing is really big,” Derek says. “I can’t say who, but cash from this gig flows back to some high-ranking officials in DC.”
“How high?”
Derek grins. “Not all the way, we won’t be raiding sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, but these guys definitely influence national policy. The aliens and weapons go north and west, but the drugs come to New Orleans, where a handful of NOPD cops manage the distribution.”
“I don’t know,” Cody says. “It’s too big. I mean, besides getting those gangs to work together and for a cop, no less, managing an operation that big without being detected seems impossible.”
“Well, it hasn’t gone undetected. The Bureau has been working it for two years. I think New Orleans has been working a piece of it for at least a year, police in other cities might be looking at it from different angles.”
“You guys have anything to do with that big meth lab that was raided a while back?” Cody says.
Derek shakes his head. “Nope, that job was all NOPD, but the lab was one of Murdock’s.”
“Is Murdock the DEA guy?”
Derek nods.
“Interesting,” Cody says. “Where does Hansen come in?” Cody says. “Did you guys have something on him, you make him rollover?”
“No. Hansen was FBI, he was one of mine.”
Cody looks at Derek, his color draining. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, man,” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I did not pull the trigger on him. I had nothing to do with it.”
Derek swallows. He fights the urge to look at this mess from a lawman’s perspective, waits to answer. Cody might be the killer but Derek reminds himself how trustworthy Cody has always been, he remembers what kind of a friend Cody was to Justin.
“Don’t worry, I believe you.”
Cody gets the hesitation, understands Derek’s apprehension. Ignoring the doubtful tone of Derek’s voice, Cody nods and says, “So how did that work? How did you get him in?”
“Superintendent Brezdek greased the wheels and we were able to plant him in the department about eighteen months ago, but the op is over two years old.”