Come Find Me

by Casper Valentine

  Sarge looked into Scarecrow's beady little eyes. "I don't know, but you're the only one I trust," he said.

  Scarecrow took a lollipop out of the pocket of his brown corduroy coat and started unwrapping it. "Same goes, I only trust you."

  Sarge rubbed his bald head. "Don't worry about the other shit till the new guys get here."

  Scarecrow poked the lollipop in his mouth. "Let them do some grunt work?"

  "You got it."

  Scarecrow gave a big wide grin. He had a mouthful of bright, white, Chiclet-sized teeth.

  "You still have any contacts in The Rhine?" Sarge asked.

  "A couple of hookers."

  "First thing I want to do is find out what all we have and what these other guys can bring to the table."

  Scarecrow nodded. "Maybe we'll get lucky and have a good team."

  Sarge used a paper towel to wipe sweat from his forehead. "I hope so. Keeping the dope slingers off the streets is getting exhausting. We need to contact maintenance. It's like a sauna in here."

  Scarecrow looked around the room. "What else we need?"

  "Hell if I know," Sarge said. He kicked his feet off the desk. "Let's go get a burrito."

  Scarecrow followed Sarge out of the room.

  •••

  "The guy was being a jerk," Nate said, as he sat down in front of his captain.

  The captain looked up from his paperwork. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

  Nate leaned back and spoke softly. "What did you want to see me for?" he asked.

  "I wanted to talk to you about our new Narcotics Task Force. Who was being a jerk?"

  If his captain hadn’t heard, he knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. "Never mind, long story. You go ahead, sir."

  "This heroin problem in the county is the new hot potato. Every night on news they've been running a story, calling it an epidemic and focusing on families and children. The good thing about that is it led to some extra funding and we’re putting together a new narcotics task force."

  "I'm one of those families."

  "What?"

  "I don’t tell many people, but my sister was an addict," Nate said.

  The captain raised an eyebrow. "Then you'll be happy to know I'd like you to be part of the task force. You'll have to pass the detective test first. It's a full promotion."

  Nate nodded. "I can pass the test, but I have to admit I wasn't expecting this."

  "We need officers that don't look like cops, talk like cops or act like cops. This isn't going to be glamorous. You're going to be on the front lines."

  "I know how to wrangle CIs," Nate said. He never shied away from cocky arrogance.

  "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried, but you're a fit for this role," the captain said.

  Nate was trying to hide his excitement. Coming from Highpoint and becoming a Narcotics Detective was something special. He wished he had more people to share the news with. He knew Boniva would be thrilled, if only because it would be easier to score gear for her. At least Ruby would care, for the right reasons. "I guess I’d better start cramming for the detective test," Nate said.

  "Take the rest of the day off. I'll find someone else for Flint to ride with," the captain said, forcing a smile, even though the lines on his forehead showed concern.

  "Thanks. I’ll be ready for the test by tomorrow," Nate said, as he stood up.

  “I can give you a few days.”

  Nate shook his head. “I’ll be ready,” he said as he walked away.

  •••

  He was smelly, like cheap cologne doused over old cheese, always looked dirty, and his tiny eyes and pointed nose made him look like a disgusting sewer rat. Everyone he knew called him Animal.

  He ran a small adult store, in a seedy neighborhood called The Rhine. New businesses were popping up and there was a push to revitalize the area. Even with the overhaul and new college bars, Animal didn't make much from the store. People would wander in after a few drinks, laugh and maybe buy a dildo.

  Animal was a slimy modern-day pimp, setting up online profiles for street hookers, and converting them into mid-priced escorts. He called them his play dolls.

  Before locking the store up for the night, Animal dragged some boxes of new deliveries past rows of tan, brown, black, purple and pink dildos of every size.

  Once at the back of the store, in a little office, he ran an X-Acto knife along the seam of the first box and opened it. He wasn't interested in the Blu-Ray’s so he slid them to the side and opened the next box. He grinned—it was the handcuffs, chains and bondage gear he was waiting for.

  Animal was in the middle of pulling everything out of the box when his phone rang. "Yeah," he said when he dug the phone out of his jacket and put it to his ear.

  "Is Silky available tonight?" asked the masculine voice on the other end.

  Animal paused. "I had to let Silky go," he finally said.

  "Do you have any other dark-skinned girls?" the man asked.

  Animal ran his fingers through what little growth he had behind a receding hairline. "I don't have any other black girls.”

  The caller disconnected, and Animal shoved the phone in his jacket. He frowned; it was the third call requesting an African-American woman since Silky was gone. He knew he needed to find a replacement soon. The escort game was full of tough competition.

  NINE

  September 26, 2015

  "Glad you could make it. I heard you passed the detective test this morning. You must be a real superstar," Sarge said when Nate walked into the task force room. Sarge, Scarecrow, and Rosales were sitting around a small table.

  "I’ve actually been preparing for a long time. Is this it?" Nate asked, looking around the makeshift headquarters. The outdated ceiling lights were dim and gave the room a dreary feeling. What few windows the room had looked out to brick buildings, and they blocked out most of the natural light.

  Sarge shrugged. "Could be worse. I talked them out of throwing us down in the basement with the rodents. The man to my left is Walt Mason, but everyone calls him Scarecrow. We call him that because, well, look at him. The pretty señorita on my left is Esperanza Rosales, but I call her Conejito, because she's cute like a little bunny." Sarge offered Rosales a boyish grin.

  Her response was an eye roll and a middle finger.

  "They just call me Nate. It's nice to meet you guys."

  "I guess that name will do until we come up with something better. You got CIs?" Sarge asked.

  "I got a few, mostly the Price Hill area," Nate said as he sat down next to Scarecrow.

  "Just trying to see what everyone brings to the table," Sarge said.

  "I got The Rhine locked up," Scarecrow said.

  "All mine are on the East Side. I got CIs from the Bandido motorcycle gang all the way to soccer moms," Rosales added.

  Sarge shook his head. "Fuck, we're way beyond soccer moms."

  Scarecrow leaned forward. "We gotta cut the head off the snake," he said, tilting his head to the side and smiling wide, showing his big Chiclet teeth.

  Sarge widened his eyes. "He's right. First we need to find out if it's the damned Armenians."

  "The Armenians?" Nate asked.

  "They have their hands in every dirty business in this city, but you won't read that in any of the papers, even though the jail is full of them," Sarge said.

  Nate raised an eyebrow. "I got a contact in county."

  "A CI?" Rosales asked.

  "No, an old friend I grew up with," Nate said.

  "He in for slinging dope?" Sarge asked.

  Nate shook his head. "Jeff Roe had family down in Corbin, Kentucky. He got mixed up with Dixie Mafia. He's in for burglary. With his ties to the Dixie Mafia, his connections run deep, both inside and out."

  "What makes you think he'll talk? If you're not careful, you'll get that boy killed in there. Gangbangers and the dope boys don't take too well to snitches," Sarge said.

  "That’s not quite the situation. I’ve got
his back. I don’t want to say too much, let’s just say I’ve pulled a few strings, and leave it at that."

  Sarge nodded and stood up. "Fair enough. It's worth a try. See if you can get intel on this guy." Sarge produced an envelope and removed a photo of a middle-aged man, tan-skinned with black hair, and wearing plastic-framed glasses. "This is Malek," Sarge said as he pinned the photo to a corkboard. "I have intel that leads me to believe he’s a conduit. Let's see what we can get on him. Scarecrow and I will hit up the West Side. Nate, you see your friend in county. Conejito, I guess you can go see your soccer mom," Sarge said with a laugh.

  Rosales pursed her lips and crinkled her nose, trying her best to look mean. "Are you going to take me serious or are we going to have a problem, Baldy?"

  Sarge rubbed his head. "Ouch! Calm down, Conejito, I'm just playing. Having a contact in the Bandido motorcycle gang is a big asset for us. See what you can dig up."

  Nate turned away when Rosales caught him staring. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she was pretty without makeup. She might have been cute like a bunny, but Nate could tell she had a spitfire personality. He knew she had to have something special to end up in this unit.

  "We find out who ties a few groups together, we should be able to take a major player off the streets," Sarge said.

  Nate and Scarecrow nodded.

  "Well don't just sit there, get off your asses," Sarge prodded.

  •••

  After a harsh, shrilling buzz, the door opened, and Nate followed the jailer down the corridor of C-Block.

  For many the confined spaces, clanking of doors that seal shut, cold steel and concrete raised hairs on the back of their necks. That never happened for Nate, even the first time he visited a county lockup. When he was eight years old, his grandmother took him to see his father, thinking it would be a good idea to show the boy where bad behavior could lead you.

  Nate was stubborn, and already as tough as nails. It was a miracle he didn’t end up on the other side of those walls.

  "Make yourself at home," the jail officer said.

  Nate sat down at a metal table, the only furniture in the room, and waited until they escorted Jeff Roe into the area.

  "What's up, homey?" Jeff asked, grinning, a gold tooth gleaming.

  "It's good to see you, old pal. Are they treating you decent in here?" Nate asked.

  "All right." Jeff nodded his head.

  "Cornrows?" Nate asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Jeff laughed, high pitched and loud. It echoed off the walls. "You like? I'm the only white boy in here with ’em."

  "They do kind of suit you," Nate said.

  "How's Ruby?" Jeff asked.

  "Pretty good. She's off the junk."

  "Good to hear." Jeff grinned, showing his gold tooth. "And what about Boniva? You still talk to that crazy woman?"

  "Yep, same old Boniva. Seriously, are they treating you right? They should be. I owe every damn jail officer in here a favor for it."

  Jeff rubbed his chin. "Yeah, pretty good. I can't complain."

  "Good," Nate said.

  Jeff leaned back in his chair and tilted his head back. "So, what brings you to my office? I know you have too much going on for a social visit."

  Nate slid a picture of Malek toward Jeff. "Ever seen this guy?"

  Jeff leaned over and focused on the photo.

  "He's Armenian," Nate said.

  "That doesn't surprise me," Jeff said, looking up.

  "Word is they're bringing in most of the narcotics," Nate said, sliding the picture into an envelope.

  Jeff shook his head. "They're not bringing it in. They're making it right here."

  "You know the guy?" Nate asked.

  "Not this one. I've had dealings with a guy that looked a lot like him."

  "A brother?"

  "Maybe."

  "Do you know his name?"

  Jeff nodded. "I know his first name's Arik."

  "If I'm looking to buy, do you have connections in here that could work out a meet?" Nate asked.

  Jeff grinned. "If you give me a little time, I think I could pull some strings. I'm well connected inside these walls and on the street. Can you get me a cell phone?"

  "I can get you a phone. If you can pull this off, I guarantee I can talk them into letting you out of here," Nate said.

  "That sounds good. I'd do just about anything to get out of here and go to a restaurant. A burger, steak, and some Chinese food would hit the spot."

  "All I can do for now is put some money in your commissary account."

  "You don't have to do that," Jeff said.

  "I insist. And I’ll get you that phone soon."

  "Thanks," Jeff said and reached out for a fist bump. "I'll see what I can do and get in touch. Stay ruthless, Nate," he added.

  Nate nodded and stood up.

  "Tell Ruby I said hi, and that I miss her," Jeff said before Nate walked away.

  TEN

  September 27, 2015

  Ruby felt sorry for Mick; she knew what it was like to be in pain. Maybe he brought most of it on himself, but pain was pain.

  "I'm going to the store after counseling. Can I get you anything?" she asked him.

  "Get me some Kentucky Tavern," he said.

  "No booze, I'll get you some beer. You don't want your pancreatitis flaring again," Ruby said as she put a cardigan over her bony shoulders. It was chilly outside, but if it wasn't raining, Ruby preferred to walk the mile from her house to the counseling center, where she volunteered twice a week. She swapped her sweatpants for some worn and faded jeans. "I won't be late," she said as she left.

  "Better not be, I need my beer," Mick yelled.

  She rolled her eyes and shut the door.

  As she walked to the volunteer center, Ruby was thinking about Mick, and wondering why things were getting so bad. She told herself he was a decent man. He sometimes treated her nice, and he was always good to Keith. Mick could be irresponsible, but it wasn't his fault. Like her, he’d had a rough upbringing and barely knew his father.

  Ruby thought back to how they first met. Two years ago, Mick happened to drive by when her car was broken down on the side of the road. He stopped when he spotted her behind the wheel, crying. Mick had her car towed to his house and fixed it for free. He had a good job at the time, a certified A.C.E. mechanic, working at a Ford dealership.

  Not long after they met, the poor guy lost his job for missing too many days, due to health issues. First it was his back, then pancreatitis. Sure, he missed a few days here and there because of a hangover, but who didn't.

  •••

  Ruby loved volunteering at the center, and would do anything she could to help someone, but she was still comfortable speaking in front of a group. On more than one occasion she caught herself staring down at her Chuck Taylors.

  She was more at ease making eye contact with the women, but there were only four of them. She tried to look straight at each of the eight men at least once.

  The younger addicts hid it better, but Ruby could see the pain written on each of their faces.

  "I fell into the trap and the drugs took their hold of me—it was easy to justify. I blamed everyone for my situation but myself. It was because my father was a jerk and would verbally abuse me. It was because my mother never came around. You can't do anything for yourself until you accept the responsibility," Ruby said and caught herself looking at her shoes again.

  When she raised her head, she locked eyes with a young woman sitting in the front row, tears trickling down the pretty girl's cheek. She was beautiful, with shiny and healthy brown hair flowing down her back.

  "I know these words can be hard to hear, sweetheart," Ruby said, holding eye contact with the young woman. "I can tell you haven't been using long."

  "Six months," the young woman said.

  "What's your name, young lady?" Ruby asked.

  "Sofie," she softly replied.

  "Sofie, would you like to stay and ta
lk in private?" Ruby asked, hoping she could help this girl before she was in any deeper. She wanted to hug the young girl and tell her everything would be OK, but she knew it would take more than a hug to turn a life around.

  Sofie nodded her head.

  "I hope to see everyone back here on Thursday," Ruby said with a sympathetic smile.

  The group dispersed, and most left, but a few stuck around drinking coffee and sharing stories. Ruby and Sofie talked at a table near the back of the room, until folks started showing up for the nine o'clock bingo game. She provided Sophie with her phone number, and they gave each other a warm embrace before the young girl left.

  Ruby put their chairs away and tidied the place of any stray cups. She always left the room in tip-top shape for the bingo crowd.

  •••

  Mick peeled back the curtains slightly and peeked out of the window. He didn't recognize the tall, looming man standing under the porch light, banging on the front door.

  "Hold on, asshole," he yelled before he went to the bedroom to get the Glock 19 handgun he kept at the top of his closet. Mick had only fired a handgun a couple of times, but in a neighborhood like theirs, he wanted to be prepared.

  He chambered a round and tucked the gun into the back of his waistband. He started to put on a T-shirt, but the man at the door started banging harder.

  Mick threw his T-shirt down and went to answer. "What do you want?" he asked when he shoved the door open.

  The man took a step back and ran his fingers through his long black hair. The thick mane was so oily, it looked wet. "Look, man, I'm not looking for trouble with you. I'm looking for Ruby. That bitch owes me five Benjamins."

  "She's not here," Mick said.

  "Tell me, when is she going to be back?" the oily-haired man demanded.

  "She left, and I haven't seen her in weeks," Mick lied.

  "Is that so?" the oily-haired man said, nodding his head. "That's funny because I saw her here on the porch, talking to some other prick a few days ago."

  Mick shook his head. "It wasn't her."

  "I guess I just dreamed that somebody pulled up in a black Charger, and Ruby came out. She lit up a cigarette…I guess I was dreaming all that?"