Death Drones

by Christopher Fox

  Oh! My God! Andrew thought to himself. Carrie’s dead!

  He backed out slowly from the crowd of people and made his way back to his car. Many thoughts raced through his mind; what the hell happened? Did she OD? Carrie never stashed more than one fix at a time, and there was never enough for an OD. He started to feel sick to his stomach. He liked Carrie— a lot, but neither made any commitment to each other. They derived all they needed from the relationship; companionship, friendship and sex. But Carrie was somewhat messed up in her mind, and Andrew did not perceive any long-term relationship developing. Sure, she was attractive enough and had a nice body, but her life revolved around her heroin, her job and her cat … in that order. He wondered sometimes if Carrie’s main reason for befriending him was because of the special price he gave her on the drugs.

  As he gathered his thoughts, he realized he had to do damage control and make sure that no ties to him can be made, especially where the drugs were concerned. The first thing he did was remove the SIM card from his burner phone, throw the card in one trash container and the phone in another. That was an inconvenience—like having to replace a credit card—he would have to send a new contact number to all his clients. He always had three disposable phones at any time for this particular reason. One was for normal everyday use while one for his dealer contacts. The other was a spare for when he had to ditch the one he was using, like now. He already had his contact list in the new phone and he used it to call Eric, his ‘partner’ in the business and manager of the restaurant.

  “Eric?” he said as the phone was answered.

  “Andy?”

  “Yeah. Look, there may be a problem. I couldn’t get ahold of Carrie and when I went to her place, there was no answer, and she never showed up for work. I put in a fake 911 call and watched as the coroner arrived and took her out on a gurney.”

  “Jesus!” Eric said. “I’m so sorry. I know you were sweet on her. ”

  “I’ve no idea what happened—she never had enough smack to OD on, so maybe there’s a batch of bad shit out there.”

  “Could’a been anything,” said Eric.

  “Eric, she was a healthy girl. People just don’t die like that.”

  “Did she have any enemies?”

  “What are you? A damned detective? How would I know if she had any enemies?”

  “Sorry buddy … just trying to think of any other reason she would be dead.”

  “Look,” said Andrew. “Call around to your people who use black tar and see if there are any other problems.”

  “Sure buddy. I’ll get on it right away.”

  “By the way,” Andrew said. “I ditched my phone because the number will definitely be in Carrie's phone.” He gave Eric the new number. “I’m going to call my contacts too; one to see if there are any issues and the other to give my new phone number.”

  “Hey Andy, I’m sure everything’s OK. Sorry again about Carrie, she was a nice girl.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure gonna miss her.”

  After hanging up the phone, he started calling people on his contact list to whom he sold black tar. He would advise all his other contacts of his new number via a text message.

  Andrew started to get a little concerned after the third call he made with no answer. He connected on his fourth call.

  “Hello?”

  “Doug? It’s me. Andy.”

  “Hey Andy! How’s it going?”

  “Not so good,” he said. “Carries dead.”

  “What?” came the incredulous response.

  “I just saw her being carted away on the coroner’s gurney from her apartment.”

  “What happened?”

  “No idea; which is why I am calling you. Did you use the black tar I sold you a couple of days ago?”

  “Not yet, I thought about using it tonight.”

  “Don’t use it … just in case. I want to be sure there isn’t some bad dope out there. Meet me at the restaurant later and I will exchange it for white heroin—no extra charge.”

  “Sweet!” Doug said. “What time will you be there?”

  “Any time after three this afternoon, ’til about five.”

  “I get off work at 3:30, so see you about 4:00. ”

  “OK, four it is.”

  “And Andy. Really sorry about Carrie. I didn’t know her well but knew you were seeing each other. That really sucks.”

  “Yeah, it sure does.”

  After Andrew hung up, it still didn’t give any comfort about the black tar he had sold, because Doug had not used his yet. He continued calling but got no response from anyone. Now he was starting to panic. This was more than a coincidence. His phone rang, and he answered.

  “Yeah!”

  “It’s Eric. I have some bad news. I wasn’t able to get ahold of any of my customers, but one of their phones was answered by someone else who told me he was dead, and the police are on their way.”

  “Shit!” Andy said, his worse fears now realized. It had to be the black tar heroin. Chances are, all the other users were dead. “Son of a bitch!”

  “Jesus Andy, what the hell do we do?”

  “Did you call everyone?”

  “Not yet, I have a few more to try.”

  “We have to get a message to everyone in case some haven’t used it yet. Get a fresh burner phone and text everyone. Say something like ‘Don’t use black tar.’ The cops will get the message from anyone who has, but we have to try to warn anyone who hasn’t yet.”

  “Damn! What a bloody mess.”

  “You’re not kidding. I have to pass this up the line. We don’t know how far this has spread so far.”

  Andrew texted the messages and then disposed of the phone and SIM card. He would drop into a 711 and buy a couple more. His next call was to Antonio.

  “Antonio. It’s Andy,” he said when the phone picked up.

  “Just a minute,” the voice on the other end said and spoke his name to someone.

  Another voice came on the line.

  “Andy! How’s things?”

  “Terrible Antonio. We need to talk. Urgently!”

  “OK! OK! Easy Andy. What’s up?”

  “Can’t say on the phone, but it’s bad. Really bad.”

  “OK. I’m in my office now. Why don’t you come on over? ”

  “Be right there,” Andy said as he hung up the phone. He was already on his way to Antonio’s office, hoping he would be there.

  * * * *

  Antonio’s office sat on the top floor of a 22-storey tower in downtown Detroit. Andrew pulled his Mercedes C63AMG into the underground parking lot and used his access card at the gate. He parked in the reserved spaces allotted to Nemesis Corporation, Antonio’s ‘legal’ business. He exited the car; pressed the ‘lock’ button—the small beep signifying that the car locks were set—then he made his way to the elevators. He used his card again to access the penthouse floor and exited the car into the plush reception area.

  “Hi Angie,” he said to the receptionist as he rushed past her to Antonio’s office. “He’s expecting me.”

  “Hey Andy,” she said. “What’s up? You seem to be in an awful hurry.”

  He didn’t answer her as he made his way down the corridor to the large double mahogany doors at the end. Outside the doors, Antonio’s secretary Bruno sat at an office desk.

  “Hi Andy,” he said. “Go right in … he’s expecting you.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he pushed open the doors.

  “Andy?” Antonio said as he entered the office. His ‘shadow’, or more aptly his bodyguard, stood beside Antonio.

  “Hi Danny.” He said to the bodyguard. Danny responded with an imperceptible nod.

  Antonio held out his hand, which Andy shook.

  “So, what’s so urgent that you had to come here?” Antonio said.

  “We have a bad shipment of black tar out there and it’s killing our customers.” Andrew said agitatedly with a noticeable shake in his voice.

  “What?” s
aid Antonio. “Slow down. Tell me what’s happening.”

  Andrew outlined the situation about Carrie and Eric’s story, as well as the fact that neither he nor Eric could get ahold of any of the other users who recently bought from the same batch.

  “This isn’t good.” Antonio said rhetorically.

  “I told Eric to send a text message to everyone telling them not to use the smack they just bought, just in case they hadn’t used it yet. I did the same to my contacts. Of course, the cops will analyse their phones and try to trace the source, so we got rid of the SIM cards in the burner phones and discarded the phones, so there’s no trace.”

  “Good thinking Andy. Christ! How in hell did this happen? We’ve had no issue before with that supplier. I wonder how far the problem has gone. Our source supplies to lots of other distributors, and they get it directly from Colombia.”

  Of course, with the normal compartmentalization within the drug trade, Andrew had no idea who Antonio’s supplier was, but the thought that it may be circulated to other distributors was disturbing to say the least. How many people are going to die from this?

  “I have to make a call.” Antonio said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, no doubt a disposable one. He keyed in the number from memory and waited. Then he said, “Mom just got sick from something she ate,” then hung up the phone. Obviously, a prearranged code for tainted drugs.

  “I’ll call my contacts in DPD,” Antonio said, “and see what they have. For now, we stay low and don’t sell any more drugs. Do you have any left from that batch?”

  “No,” Andrew responded. “But I have a lot of customers that will be needing a fix with other drugs. If we don’t supply, they go elsewhere. Most are pretty well hooked and won’t be able to just quit if we don’t sell them dope.”

  “Most of the time, the police are way too busy to follow up on all the drug-related cases, but this is different. Once they determine that people are dying from a bad batch of drugs, they will up their efforts. We will lose customers, but for now the smart money is on laying off until things die down some.”

  “Sure boss. What do you want me to say to anyone calling for a fix?”

  “Don’t answer the phone. As of now, you are off the radar. Once word hits the street about what has happened, they’ll figure it out. You’ll probably find that when this whole mess hits the fan, most dealers will be closing their doors, and there’s going to be a shit-load of junkies frantically looking for fixes. Some smaller dealers will probably raise their prices through the roof and likely end up in the downtown slammer with the increased police presence. You see, they will try to sell to our customers, but whereas we know who we are selling to, they run a very strong risk of selling to undercover cops. Good to get them off the streets, anyway.”

  “So, when do we open up shop again?”

  “When I think it’s safe to do so.”

  “OK. I’ll tell Eric that we are shutting down.”

  Andrew left the office and returned to his car. He called Eric and gave him the instructions he just got from Antonio.

  “Shit Andy. I just moved into a new apartment. I won’t be able to afford the rent if I can’t sell any drugs. I made over two grand a week, tax free, and what you pay me at the restaurant won’t cover my expenses. What am I going to do now?”

  “That’s your problem Eric,” Andy said with some annoyance.

  “I agreed to manage the restaurant for a very low salary on the basis that you gave me the drug business. I hate to spring this on you now, but unless I can get a reasonable salary to run the restaurant, I will have to look for another job.”

  “Sorry buddy, I have my own problems to figure out right now, but you do have a good point. I’ll look into it and see what we can afford. You’re aware that the restaurant doesn’t make any money, anyway.”

  “If I wasn’t aware of that, I wouldn’t be a very good manager, would I? I’ll see how we can trim expenses … I have some ideas.”

  “That’s good Eric. We’ll get through this. Ciao.”

  “Ciao, buddy.” Eric said and hung up.

  Andrew started to feel sick to his stomach realizing all the probable deaths that no doubt a resulted from something in the drug. Although not responsible for the content of the drug, he couldn’t help feeling somewhat culpable because he supplied it to the victims. He thought about Carrie again and actually started to weep. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes and trickled down his cheek. Whenever things bothered him, he would always go to Carrie, but now there was no one to go to for comfort.

  S ix

  “Hey Chuck!” Sergeant Drisco shouted from his office. “My office.”

  Lieutenant Charlie (Chuck) Palermo kicked back on his swivel chair and cursed. He figured there would be another assignment, and he had way too many cases to handle right now.

  “Be right there,” he shouted back, closing the file in front of him and straightening it with others on his desk.

  “What’s up Sarge,” he said as he entered Drisco’s office.

  “Got a call from dispatch. Uniforms are on the scene of what was called in as a 901S but turned out to be a 901L. Seems a young woman OD’d; syringe found next to the bed. Need you to check it out.”

  901 in police calls means an ambulance is dispatched. 901S signifies a shooting, whereby 901L means a drug overdose.

  “Ah, Sarge. I really can't handle any more case load right now. I am supposed to take the wife out tonight because I have been working late all week. Surely someone else can look at it.”

  “Sorry Chuck, but you know you are the best guy we have for drug-related cases. Take young Billy with you and show him the ropes. He’s worked on a couple of drug cases with you hasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he has. Sharp kid.”

  “Load him up as much as you can then, but I need you to look at this one.”

  “OK sarge,” he said reluctantly, then left the sergeant’s office.

  “Billy?” he shouted across the office as he reached for his coat draped over the back of his chair. “You’re coming with me.”

  William (Billy) Bradstone acknowledged Chuck and closed his computer. “On it,” he said as he got up, grabbed his leather bomber jacket and chased after the detective.

  “Where’re we going?” he said to Chuck as they made their way to the parking garage.

  “Seems we got an OD. Young woman. Uniforms and ambulances are on the scene. ”

  “What a waste,” Billy said, shaking his head as he got in the passenger side of the unmarked Ford Police Interceptor. Chuck deposited his 6' 2", 240 lb. frame behind the wheel, fired up the engine and peeled out of the garage. Traffic was heavy as usual so he punched the siren and meandered through the vehicles as they tried to get out of the way. Within eight minutes they arrived at the scene and there were three black-and-whites, an ambulance, and the coroner’s van there, all with red, blue or white strobe lights illuminating the surrounding buildings. The usual large crowd had gathered at the emergency scene. Police tape had cordoned off the area, and the two detectives ducked under it, and showing their badges to the uniformed officer standing there.

  “Apartment 406,” the officer said as Chuck made his way to the lobby.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not the best neighbourhood,” Billy whispered to Chuck as they entered the dilapidated elevator.

  “Never is when there’s an OD it seems,” Chuck responded. “When you have an expensive habit, you can’t afford decent digs.”

  The elevator doors opened onto the shabby corridor with stained carpet and peeling paint on the walls. Burned out light bulbs gave the place a dingy look. A uniform stood outside one of the apartment doors, which Chuck assumed was 406. The officer touched his cap to the detectives as they walked into the apartment. Chuck observed the splintered door frame as he entered. Several more people milled around inside diligently investigating the scene, because until otherwise proven, any OD case is treated as suspicious and could be
a homicide. Chuck noted the array of labelled jackets—DPD; CSI; PARAMEDIC; CORONER—and he identified himself to the various people as they made their way into the bedroom. Occasionally, a flash of light from the photographer’s camera lit the scene.

  Chuck stepped to one side of the bed and Billy to the other. Billy made the sign of a cross on his chest and murmured something unintelligible. Carrie lay there with her eyes still open, seemingly staring at the ceiling, but the stare was blank and lifeless. Cuddles sat on the bed beside her, not swayed by the sudden increase in activity. Chuck bent over her as he donned the surgical gloves. He checked the marks on her arms, noting one that had a red halo around it—no doubt the last injection site. He scanned the night table and noted the syringe which he picked up and handed to Billy.

  “Bag it for evidence—and make sure you don’t stick yourself with it.”

  Billy took the syringe and handled it like a stick of dynamite. He pulled out a plastic bag and a small cork to put over the needle, then deposited it in the bag. Chuck then picked up Carrie’s cell phone and handed it to Billy, who pulled out another bag and held it open for chuck to deposit it in. Billy wrote the case number on the bags and placed them in a larger bag.

  Chuck turned to the uniformed officer standing by.

  “Were you first on the scene?”

  “Yes sir, I was.”

  “I presume by the state of the door frame that the front door was locked?”

  “Very much so—we had to get a ram to open it. Three deadbolts as well as the chain.”

  Chuck walked over to the window leading to the fire escape—it was well secured. Evidently, Carrie was the only one inside the apartment when she injected herself.

  “Looks like no foul play,” Chuck said to Billy. He then approached the coroner and said that they were finished, and as soon as the CSI people were OK, then he could remove the body.

  Chuck and Billy left the apartment and summoned the elevator. It obviously hadn’t moved because the door opened immediately. They rode down in silence and Chuck could see that the scene had disturbed Billy.

  “Never really get used to it I’m afraid,” Chuck said as they walked back to the car.