When Rosales went into The Speakeasy, he made his way down to the Armenians’ place.
Stepping inside Arik's bar was like stepping back in time. Orange, padded high-back chairs lined the bar. Red leather, padded walls and beveled mirrors added to the seventies flare, and the garish ceiling was gold painted tin. The Curtis Mayfield hit, “Superfly,” was playing from a vinyl record player.
Nate wondered if he was the only one in the bar over twenty-five, as he brushed past a group of men and women standing by the bar. "I'm here to see Arik," Nate said to a male bartender.
"He told me he was expecting a visitor. This way," he said, leading Nate down a little hallway to a back room. "Your visitor is here," he called knocking on the door.
Arik opened the door almost immediately. "Come in," he told Nate. "Bring us a couple cocktails," he said to the bartender.
The seventies vibe extended to the back room. The same orange, high-back chairs were pushed under a small round table, and “Superfly” was playing from a little speaker mounted on the wall, next to a white desk. "Have a seat," Arik said, pulling a high-back from the table. "You're a strong man." He put a hand on Nate's shoulder. "Superfly," Arik sang along to the song as he danced over to the desk.
If Nate had been here for another reason, he would have laughed. The tan-skinned Armenian, with a closely cropped beard as black as licorice, dancing and singing along to “Superfly” was a spectacle. "Interesting place you have. Not what I expected," Nate said.
"The kids, they love it here, funky music and fancy cocktails. I make lots from the overpriced drinks, but you know my real business.”
"I do," Nate said.
"Sadly, I do not know you," Arik said.
Nate knew he would be vetted, came prepared and took it upon himself to act first. He pulled the bag of white powder out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the Armenian's desk. "A gift. Keep it."
The Armenian looked happy; maybe the heroin would prove more useful with Arik than it did with Craig. "That's quite a lot of dope," Arik said.
"I need a lot more than that," Nate said, and flashed the man a smile.
Arik leaned back and studied Nate as the bartender returned with a couple of neon blue cocktails.
"It's drying up down south and the Dixie Mafia can't keep up," Nate said, when the bartender left.
"Hillbillies, you don't want to do business with them anyways. I can take care of you. How much can you move?" Arik asked.
"Ten kilos," Nate said.
Arik leaned back in his chair. "Indeed, that is a lot. You have money?"
"I can have it in no time, without any problems," Nate said, praying he could get assistance from Sarge.
"We do the deal here, with my men, and you alone," Arik said.
"I play by your rules," Nate said, knowing there was no room for negotiation.
"I'm probably a little more sophisticated than those Dixies. No cash, I want the money transferred to my account via WhatsApp," Arik said.
"Once I transfer that money it disappears. What's to keep you from stiffing me?" Nate asked, tossing back a drink of the blue cocktail.
The Armenian took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. "I have to trust you, you have to trust me."
Nate nodded, stood up, and the two men shook hands.
•••
Rosales was sitting at the bar, her mind racing like a Ferrari. She hadn't known Nate long, but she could see the fear in his eyes, and could tell how much he loved his sister.
Rosales grew up mimicking her brothers, longing for their love and affection, but they wanted nothing to do with her. Even now, the men were still close, but Rosales barely spoke to her siblings. She spent years thinking she’d done wrong, but finally realized her brothers were not good men.
Seeing the way Nate cared for his sister moved her, but she was fighting her desire for him. After a failed two-year relationship with a waitress named Beth, she didn’t want to get close with anyone, man or woman.
“Would you like more iced tea?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, please.”
The bartender refilled her iced tea, and she stared at a pink packet of artificial sweetener. She hated that color.
“Girls wear pink,” her mother would say, whenever she wanted to wear something blue.
Finally, she spotted Nate coming in.
He made his way over and sat next to her. She watched him tap his foot, and fidget. "How did it go at Spark?"
"It went perfect and I have a plan, but can we talk more about that later? There's this house in Highpoint, not far from where Ruby lives. When we were kids there was this big rumor that a crazy person lived there, they called him Junk Man, and people were suspicious that he was keeping his wife locked up."
"Junk Man?"
"He always had a bunch of tires and rusty old shit piled around his yard." When the bartender came over, Nate stopped his story. "I'll have Miller Lite and a Jameson sidecar," he told the bartender. When they turned around, Nate continued, "I'm sure it was just a bullshit urban legend. Some parent probably started the whole thing just to spook their kids, but I went by the place today. It's abandoned, and all boarded up. Call it cop instinct if you want, but something about the place just didn't feel right."
Rosales barely gave him time to finish talking. "Let's check it out," she said.
The bartender was back with Nate's beverages. He downed the shot of Irish whiskey and followed it with a big gulp of beer. "I was going to," Nate said.
"Let me go with you," Rosales said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed his deltoid and then rubbed it. "We'll check the abandoned house, and if nothing turns up there, we’ll look somewhere else. I won't stop helping you until she turns up, Nate."
"I can't ask for that. You have enough on your plate with the task force," Nate said.
"I'm a lot tougher than I look, Nate. I can handle it," she said.
"OK," he said, winking and flashing her a smile.
Every time he smiled, she felt a tingle. It had been a long time since a man made her feel this way. "Finish that beer and let's go. We have a house to break into," she said.
Nate chugged the rest of his beer, then they paid and left.
•••
Nate pulled into the driveway of the abandoned Junk Man house and killed the rumbling engine of the Charger.
The two of them got out.
Nate was wearing black cargo pants, and as usual, a black T-shirt.
Rosales was in black jeans, a black hoodie, and had a dark baseball cap pulled down close to her eyes. "I see what you mean, Nate. This place is very creepy," she whispered.
Before turning a flashlight on, Nate went to the road and made sure nobody was watching. It was quiet and all the neighboring houselights were out.
Nate and Rosales made their way to the back of the house, fighting through the tall weeds.
"This place was grown up almost this bad all the way back when we were kids," Nate said.
"You never know. The story about the crazy Junk Man might have been true," Rosales said, pulling some tree branches away from the back door.
"I'm going to try to keep quiet and pry it open first," Nate said. The old rotten wood around the doorframe splintered when he drove the prying tool into the seam. He pulled back and forth; the old door wanted to give, but it wouldn't break completely free. It was loosened up enough that a light kick from Nate's boot sent it flying open.
Nate shined his flashlight into the dark house and went in first. The room smelled earthy, and the wood floor was covered with a layer of dust.
Rosales was right behind Nate, their flashlights illuminating the room enough to see the shadows from old pieces of rotting drywall, peeling away and dangling from the ceiling like long, otherworldly fingers.
"Jesus Christ," Rosales said when the beam of her light hit a pair of child-size gym shoes, tossed into a corner.
They checked the rest of the upstairs and found the rooms were empty.
Nate pointed to the basement door.
"I'd be lying if said I wasn't a little bit scared to go down there," Rosales said.
"Scared of the dark?" Nate asked, pushing the door open.
"More like scared of ghosts," Rosales said, following Nate down the steps.
The earthy scent was replaced by a pungent musty odor. Every few steps Nate ran into cobwebs; he kept picking and wiping the stringy strands from his face and hair.
It took a lot to shake Nate, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose, when he reached the basement and shined his flashlight on a grimy mattress in the corner. Nate could only imagine the bodily fluids that caused the brown, yellow and crimson stains.
"Jesus," Rosales said, shining her light on clear plastic that was duct-taped to the walls and part of the ceiling. A corner had come loose and was draped over part of the mattress.
"Could have just been junkies down here," Rosales said when Nate shined his light on a hypodermic syringe.
"I don't think so," Nate said, pointing his flashlight at a chair, with leather straps and buckles for restraining arms and legs. "This is bad. Ruby could have been here."
Rosales knelt next to the mattress. "I don't know, Nate. All these stains look really set in. All these cobwebs, the dust settled on the floors upstairs. I don't think anyone has been here in a very long time.”
Nate nodded. "You're right."
"But somebody was held against their will. You think the story is true?" Rosales said, shining her light around the rest of the dark basement.
Nate could feel his armpits sweating. "I still have my doubts. That was a long time ago. I'd be surprised if this wasn't more recent."
"We need forensics to examine these stains. They might be able to give us an idea of how old they are," Rosales said.
Nate ran a hand through his spiky hair. "We broke in, we can't exactly call a crime unit."
"I'm sure I could convince someone from the crime lab to take a look, and keep it on the down low," Rosales said.
"We'll take a sample. Do you have gloves?" Nate asked.
"Yes," Rosales said.
Nate handed her a pocket knife after she donned her gloves.
•••
"Please stay. I don't want to be alone," Nate said, surprised by his own feelings.
"I will," Rosales said as she watched Nate pour another glass of Jameson.
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" Nate asked.
Rosales shook her head.
Nate sat down at his kitchen table, across from Rosales. He took a drink of his Irish whisky. "I'm going to find out who's behind this. I don't care how long it takes me."
Rosales reached out for Nate's hand. "One step at a time. We'll get to the bottom of it, and you're going to bring down these Armenians while you're at it," she said.
"Damn straight I am," Nate said, finishing his Jameson and getting up for another.
"Sit down. I'll fix your drink," Rosales said. The circles under his eyes were growing darker, and she was hoping the booze would help him get some needed rest.
"Thanks," Nate said as he sat back down.
While Rosales talked, Nate mostly stared into her eyes as he finished off the bottle of Jameson.
"Going to get all the bastards," Nate said, slurring his words.
Rosales got up and started rubbing Nate's shoulders. He grabbed one of her hands and gave it a soft kiss. "You should get to bed," Rosales said.
"Come with me," Nate said, holding on to her hand.
"I don’t think that’s a good idea," she said.
“Just lie with me.”
Rosales shook her head.
“Please. I have a huge bed, you won’t even have to touch me.”
“OK,” Rosales said, after a brief pause.
Nate stood and led her to the bedroom. His shirt was already off, and he collapsed onto the king-size bed.
Rosales pulled her hoodie over her head, unbuttoned her jeans, and slipped them over her thighs. By the time she was undressed, Nate was out. Rosales lay down, scooted close to him, rested her head on his thick muscular chest and gently rubbed his arm.
SEVENTEEN
October 3, 2015
"Hey Sarge. Where's Scarecrow?" Nate asked as he and Rosales walked into the task force room, or bunker as Sarge called it.
"He'll be here. Look at you two, like a cute couple," Sarge said as Nate and Rosales sat down, at the table across from his desk.
"Always the comedian, right?" Rosales said.
Sarge gave her his boyish grin. "You mean to tell me you two haven't been knocking boots, bumping uglies, hooking up, or whatever the kids are calling it these days?"
Rosales smiled and gave Sarge the middle finger. "Just when you start growing on me, you go and say something like that."
"Scarecrow is in the building!" he announced with gusto as he walked into the room. "Is everyone playing nice?" he asked and flashed his Chiclet teeth.
"Sit down, ya moron," Sarge said.
"Can we make this quick today? I got places to go, people to see. There's a whole lot of bad guys out there," Scarecrow said as he sat down and got comfortable.
"Ask Nate. He called this meeting today," Sarge said.
Scarecrow leaned back. "What do you have for us?" he asked, fishing a grape lollipop from his ugly corduroy jacket.
Nate sat up straight. "I have a plan to get us closer to the head of the snake. But I need to legitimately move some H. I'm talking a lot of heroin."
Sarge raised his eyebrows. "OK, you have my attention. Do you have a plan to move all this H?"
"He's going to use me," Rosales said.
Nate nodded. "That's right. She's going to work her way back in with the Bandidos."
Scarecrow took his lollipop out of his mouth. "She might be able to get in close enough to collect intel like she did before, but they aren't going to do business with a pretty señorita," he said.
Nate leaned back in his chair. "But they will do business with her Irish friend, the one who can undercut their current suppliers."
Sarge smiled. "Been working on that Irish accent, have you?"
"My grandparents were from Belfast. I have it down pretty good," Nate said.
Sarge leaned forward. "I don't know. It's kind of a crazy plan, Nate. But, if it works, it would be genius. How much are we talking?"
"Ten kilos," Nate said after a pause.
Sarge widened his eyes. "For fuck’s sake. You want to trick the Bandidos into buying half a million dollars’ worth of heroin from the Armenians!"
Nate nodded.
"If this goes bad it'll be the end of the task force," Sarge said.
Scarecrow stuck his lollipop back in his mouth. "If this goes bad it could be the end of Nate," he said.
"Sarge, you said this was the big leagues," Rosales added.
Sarge looked at Scarecrow. "I say we go for it. What do you think?"
"I say we do it. You and I can put the squeeze on lower level dope slingers. If we make another big takedown like the last, we’ll have plenty to cover cost," Scarecrow said.
"Sounds like an outlandish, yet solid play. We all got our work cut out, so let’s get it started," Sarge said.
•••
Rosales' desk was littered with empty cups, a candy jar, a coffee travel mug, stacks of folders, and an old metal desk fan that looked like it was from the eighties.
"How do you work with all this clutter?" Nate asked as he put a hand on her shoulder.
Rosales looked up at him with her big brown eyes. "This isn't clutter, these are my things," she said.
Nate took his hand from Rosales' shoulder, and put it against his forehead. "Damn, Esperanza, did I bite off too much with this Bandido plan? Missing persons hasn't come up with shit on Ruby's case. I'm going to keep on this. I'll risk my cover. Ruby would do the same for me."
"Calm down, Nate. You're not in this alone. I found out the house we broke into is owned by a Dorothy Jenkins. The problem is, Dorothy died
in 1989."
"How can that be?" Nate asked.
Rosales stood up. "I need a coffee refill."
Nate followed Rosales as she continued, "Most likely Dorothy Jenkins had no last will. After she passed, no beneficiaries ever took the asset through probate."
"Only Dorothy was listed on the deed, no male names?" Nate asked.
"Only Dorothy. Maybe a grown son lived there?" Rosales suggested, pouring her coffee.
"Could be. I'm going to head back to the area and talk to some of the neighbors. Right now, it's the only lead I have," Nate said, following Rosales back to her cubicle.
Rosales sat down behind the littered desk. "I'll stay on the Dorothy Jenkins angle and see if I can dig up some relatives. Tomorrow I'm heading to Indiana for the Bandidos’ annual motorcycle hill climb event. It's the perfect opportunity to run into some old friends. I'll be holed up down there for a couple of days."
"Be careful."
"I can hold my own at these biker fests."
"Going to slam some tequila? You seemed like a lightweight at the bar the other night."
"I can do anything when I put my mind to it. Don't you worry about me. Also, one of us should be getting a call from a tech named Li, as soon as results are back from those mattress stains."
“How long is that going to take?” Nate asked.
“I don’t know. They’re pretty backed up and doing this as a favor so I couldn’t push too hard.”
"I know you can hold your own, Esperanza. Thanks for all the help. I'm lucky to be partnered with you," Nate said as he turned and walked away. He was met by one of the uniformed officers on front desk duty.
"There's someone up front, asking to see you. They said to tell you it's Mick."
Nate nodded. "Send them to our bunker."
The uniformed officer nodded.
Nate met Mick in the task force room. "Sit down, Mick," Nate said, pointing to a chair next to his desk.
Mick sat down. "Do you know anything, Nate? Somebody named Peterson from missing persons talked to me, but that asshole didn't know shit.”
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