Death Drones

by Christopher Fox

  “God! It’s such a damned waste. A young woman like that. What, she must be in her mid-thirties? Attractive too.”

  “Know what ’cha mean. Like I said, you never really get used to it.”

  Chuck’s phone rang, and he reached for it from his breast pocket and checked the call display. It was the precinct.

  “Palermo!”

  “Hey Chuck, Drisco. We just got two more ODs reported. Uniforms are there. Got your pen?”

  “Write this down,” he said to Billy.

  “One is at 2624 Sandford Court and the other at—just a minute ... ”

  Chuck repeated the address for Billy’s sake during the silence, then Drisco came back on the line. “Shit! Make that three more apparent ODs. What the hell is going on? The other two are at 459A Delaware Street and 1826 Burger Crescent, unit 704.”

  Chuck again repeated the addresses and Billy wrote them down.

  “Sarge, I don’t think I can cover all three. Just finished at the scene for the first one. It’s going to be a couple of hours at least before I can get to them all.”

  “Wish I had someone else to send, but I don’t. Everyone’s tied up. CSI’s having the same problems, and I don’t have enough crime photographers to go around either. Sorry Chuck.”

  Yeah, bet you are , Chuck thought.

  “OK sarge, I’ll get to them when I can.”

  “Gonna be a long night Billy,” he said as he clicked off the phone.

  They made their way to the next address on Sandford Court. As they pulled into the street, it became evident that this was a much classier neighbourhood than the last one. Several large detached buildings lined each side of the road as it made a gradual circle and met with the approach road they used. 2624 came up on their right evidenced by the flashing lights of the response vehicles. Chuck parked behind the last vehicle, and he and Billy proceeded up to the front door. After identifying themselves, they entered the spacious two-storey home and spoke to the uniformed officer in the entrance hallway.

  “What have we got?” Chuck asked.

  “Apparent OD. Young boy, 18. Discovered by his mother. Upstairs bedroom,” he gestured with a nod of his head.

  Chuck looked into the adjacent living room and spied a very distraught woman being attended to by a female police officer. The detectives made their way upstairs and into the teenager’s bedroom. He was lying on the bed in much the same fashion as Carrie, with his eyes open staring blankly at the ceiling. Again, a syringe lay next to a cell phone on the night table. Chuck gestured to Billy, and he performed the same ritual of collecting the evidence. Once finished, Chuck gave the nod to the paramedic—the coroner hadn’t arrived yet—that they were done with the crime scene, and the body can be moved as soon as all pictures and CSI people were done .

  Chuck and Billy descended downstairs and approached the two women sitting on the sofa. He introduced himself to the police officer, and the officer introduced them to the victim’s mother.

  “Mrs. Delacourt? This is Detective Lieutenant Palermo of the DPD. He would like to ask you a few questions if you’re up to it.”

  “Mrs. Delacourt,” Chuck said in a conciliatory tone. “Let me start out by saying how sorry I am that this has happened, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “OK,” she snivelled, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  “You discovered the …” He almost said ‘body’, but checked himself. “Your son?”

  “Yes. He went to his bedroom after supper, saying he had some assignments to do for school. We always watch ‘The Black List’ together and it was on at 10. I shouted up to him at about five to, but he didn’t answer. The program started, and I shouted up again. I even called him on his cell, but there was no answer. I thought something was wrong, and I went upstairs to his room. I knocked on the door and called his name, but there was no answer. I tried the door, but it was locked. All the locks have a defeat mechanism, so I got a pin and inserted it into the little hole and opened the door. Oh! My God!” she burst into tears. The officer put her arm around her shoulder and whispered some calming words.

  “OK,” said Chuck. “Just take your time.”

  After a few moments, she composed herself and dried her tears on the same soggy tissue. The officer pulled a couple more from the box and handed them to her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It was such a shock to see him lying on the bed like that, staring at the ceiling. I tried to check for a pulse, but couldn’t detect one, then I saw the syringe beside the bed. Oh, No, I thought to myself. It must be an OD.”

  “What did you do then?” Chuck asked.

  “I picked up the phone and called 9-1-1.”

  “You used the house phone?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Just being thorough, but it will be confirmed by the 9-1-1 report.”

  She started sobbing again.

  “Is there anyone else living in the house?”

  “No, I am a single mom.”

  Not any more Chuck thought to himself .

  “Did you have any idea that your son was using drugs?”

  “I had suspicions, but whenever I asked him about it he would always deny it. Several times I could tell by his demeanour that he was using, but didn’t really want to believe it. I wish now I had been more forceful, but being a single mom isn’t easy nowadays, and I forfeited my own recreation so that I could attend to my son. I never dated, but I have a very stressful and demanding job as a partner in an accounting firm, and sometimes the rigours of the job prevented me from always being there for him.”

  I know how you feel Chuck mused to himself.

  “Thank you Mrs. Delacourt. That will be all for now. We may need to ask you a few more questions a little later. And once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” she said and started crying again; the detectives cue to leave.

  Chuck’s phone rang again, and the display indicated the precinct again. What now?

  “Palermo.”

  “Drisco again. Seems like we got an epidemic. We’ve got three more calls for suspected ODs. Looks like we may have some bad dope being distributed.”

  “Christ! No.”

  “Look, I realize you won’t be able to get to them all, so I’m pulling Badger and Tanner off their cases to check these three out, but I have a sneaking suspicion these will not be all we’re going to see reported tonight.”

  “You could be right,” Chuck said as he hung up.

  * * * *

  Before morning, thirty three reported overdoses had been received. Sergeant Drisco had alerted the Chief of Police and they had contacted all surrounding police departments to assist with handling the cases. All appeared to be a result of injecting heroin and as yet, they had no lab results back to help them narrow down the type. Chief Donald Bradley called the mayor and updated him on the investigation, not being able to give him much. The media were all over it, with TV vans gathered at some of the reported sites as well as camping out at Police Headquarters. Newspaper reporters, hungry for information, looked forward to the Chief’s planned news conference for 10:00 a.m .

  “Chuck,” said Bradley when he called him. “I have to give a news conference in an hour. What updates do you have?”

  “We’re just getting the lab reports back, hopefully before the conference. I’ll call if I have anything.”

  “Is this some kind of drug war going on?” said Bradley. “Obviously there’s a bad batch of heroin out there. It’s either intentional or accidental. If it’s the former, we need to find out what’s going on.”

  “We’re working on it,” Chuck said, trying to hide the exasperation in his voice.

  “Have you been in touch with any of the suspected drug bosses?”

  “Interviewing one right now and another this afternoon.”

  “OK, keep me posted.”

  “Will do,” Chuck said, glad to end the call. He realized that the mayor was in the spotlight and had to appease concerned citizens.
But they needed to get the message now for addicts not to shoot up. Or at least not to inject heroin. The general public had a lack of concern and sympathy for drug users. After all, it was their problem, wasn’t it? Trouble is, it affects so many others around them; medical staff that have to administer treatment, parents, relatives, friends and law enforcement personnel.

  Chuck had called two ‘suspected’ drug bosses in to obtain information from them. He walked into the interview room where Gaston O’Leary was being questioned. Gaston headed the local Hell’s Angels and looked the part. His dress comprised black leather pants and bomber jacket with a bandanna around his head; his long grey hair tied in a ponytail behind his head. He sported a full grey beard, stained around the mouth from tobacco. His black cowboy boots covered most of his lower legs, and he had various chains and other hardware looped around his neck. He reeked of tobacco smoke and generally gave an air of being unkempt. Strange that he would not use his obvious wealth to display a more prosperous image.

  “OK,” Gaston said. “Just suppose that I was responsible for distributing drugs, which I’m not, what is it that you are asking?”

  Detective Alvin Sparks sat across from Gaston and his lawyer.

  “We’re not trying to bust you for drug dealing, we just want to stop the ODs. If this was any of your …” He hesitated. “If a hypothetical drug dealer was aware of a bad batch of drugs on the street, what would he do? ”

  “Hypothetically? If I was a drug lord, I would be concerned about the source of supply. This type of thing can kill the source and I, hypothetically, would have to find a new source.”

  “Can you … would you, hypothetically, do some kind of recall on the drugs?”

  “Of course. It makes no sense to kill off your customers … hypothetically speaking.”

  “Are you aware of any sources that we could contact?”

  Gaston’s lawyer leaned over and whispered in his ear.

  “The short answer is no, but I will ask around.”

  Gaston, fully aware of who his supplier was, had already contacted him about the laced shipment. He had also recalled as many of the packages he had distributed and told dealers to advise their customers not to use them. Of course, users usually only buy what they need when they needed it, and would have already used what they purchased. He did, however, get a lot of the undistributed drugs from his dealers, and he was having them tested.

  “Please do that,” said Alvin.

  “Thanks for coming in,” said Chuck.

  “Always a pleasure to help out the constabulary,” said Gaston, somewhat mockingly. He rose and left the room with his lawyer in tow.

  “So,” said Chuck to Alvin when they left, “what do you think?”

  “He’s obviously not going to incriminate himself, but I’m not sure that he gave us anything.”

  “It’s in his interest to find out what’s going on.”

  “He obviously wouldn’t be lacing the drugs himself,” said Chuck. “As he said, it makes no sense to kill off customers, so obviously his source did it, or someone who had access to his source. Someone with a grudge who wants to hurt his business.”

  “So who would that be?” said Alvin twiddling a pen around his fingers.

  “Some competing cartel or organization, I suspect.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  “Whoever perpetrated this crime is not in Detroit, we can be sure of that. So I guess there’s not a lot we can do. No good rounding up ‘the usual suspects’, so to speak, because we will never be able to prove anything.”

  “Can’t we get the dealer for criminal negligence? ”

  “The DA would never accept that. Assuming we found the dealer, we would have to show knowledge of the lacing—and again, it would not be in his or her interest. Let’s see what’s in the lab report before we do anything else. Also, Antonio Belushi is coming in this afternoon. Maybe he can shed light on the subject.”

  They both returned to their desks and sifted through the heavy load of cases needing attention. When Chuck returned from lunch, a luxury he very seldom afforded himself, he saw that Antonio awaited him.

  “Thanks for coming in,” he said, offering Antonio his hand. Unlike Gaston, Antonio exuded wealth with his cashmere coat over a $3,000 Gucci suit and expensive Testoni Italian shoes. Antonio clasped the proffered hand in a strong grip.

  “Anything for you Chuck. You know that.”

  Chuck led him into one of the meeting rooms and offered him something to drink, not that Antonio would drink anything he had to offer. Antonio declined the drink and sat down in one of the chairs with Chuck taking a seat opposite him.

  “No lawyer?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “No, but I thought you never came into a police station without counsel.”

  “Only if I was being interrogated or accused of something. I’m not, am I?”

  “Not at all. I guess you are aware of the people dying from drug overdoses.”

  “Heard something on the news about it. Awful thing, wouldn’t you say?”

  Chuck looked at him askew. He knew that Antonio was feigning ignorance.

  “OK,” Antonio said. “Strictly off the record?”

  “Off the record,” Chuck agreed.

  “There does appear to be a batch of snow that has been laced with something. What, I don’t know. If I were responsible for distributing these drugs—and I accentuate the if—I would make sure that I recalled all I could and find out from my source how it got laced and by whom. I am aware that Gaston was here this morning and I might be inclined to have a conversation with him. You know? Just to compare notes.”

  “So, all the bad shit is now off the streets?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I would say yes. ”

  “Thanks, Antonio. Hopefully, we won’t have any more people dying.”

  “You do realize that much of the dope that’s dealt on the street is done anonymously, and the dealer doesn’t have any personal information on the person buying it. Most only have money for one fix and will use it right away, so I doubt that there are any more laced drugs still out there.”

  “That was my thought too. Thanks for coming in.”

  “Always a pleasure,” said Antonio as he heaved his heavy frame out of the chair.

  Chuck saw him out and returned to his desk. The lab file now lay on his desk and he skimmed through it. The report identified the heroin as Colombian ‘Black Tar’ that had been cut with lactose, suggesting a refined variety likely in a powdered form. He skipped further down the report and read the notes. ‘Sample of heroin had traces of Succinylcholine, a muscle relaxant that can lead to cardiovascular and pulmonary failures.’

  So, that’s what it was , Chuck said to himself. He passed the report to Alvin, then called the mayor.

  “Chuck here, your worship,” he said as he was put through to the mayor’s extension. “We found out that the heroin was laced with succinylcholine, a muscle relaxant drug that in large quantities can shut down the lungs and heart.”

  “Where the hell would that come from?” said the mayor.

  “It’s obvious that the lacing had been done before it hit US shores, as no distributor or dealer would try to kill off their own customers. Therefore, other than the distribution of drugs, no crime was committed in the US.”

  “Are we going to expect any more OD cases?”

  “Maybe a few, but the situation has been contained. I have talked to the two main drug lords here and they are aware of the situation and pulling back any of the remaining contaminated drugs from the street.”

  “Thank Christ for that,” said a relieved mayor. “So, what do I tell the press?”

  “That is up to you, sir, but I would suggest letting people know that the situation is contained and that it was a bad batch of heroin. No need to say more than that.”

  “Agreed. Thanks Chuck.”

  The line went dead.

  S even

  Fernando Lopez lounge
d beside his pool in the bright sunshine with temperatures hovering around 85°F, which was fairly constant year round. This is why Cali has been referred to as “The City of Eternal Spring”. His bodyguard/butler walked up to him with a cell phone in his hand.

  “It is Antonio Belushi,” he said as he handed Fernando the phone.

  “Antonio,” Fernando bellowed into the phone. “How are things in Detroit in January?”

  Fernando always liked to banter with Antonio about the weather, especially in winter.

  “We had six inches of snow last week and it was a bitch trying to get around the City.”

  “Snow? What’s that?” he said and laughed out loud.

  “I know you’re probably sitting around your pool with some gorgeous señoritas surrounding you and a Piña Colada in your hands, but things have gone ape-shit up here.”

  Fernando turned serious and said, “What’s happened?”

  “We had a bad batch of heroin in the last shipment laced with a poison, and people are dying. Over 100 so far.”

  “¡Mis Dios! ” Fernando said as he swung his legs off the chaise lounge, cradling the phone close to his ear. “That is terrible. How did the shipment get laced with poison?”

  “That’s why I’m calling you. It makes no sense that anyone in our distribution network would bite the hand that feeds them. I’m thinking that somehow the shipment was intercepted, tampered with and then placed back into distribution.”

  “Our shipments are closely guarded, and we only use trusted carriers. It may be that someone has infiltrated the network. Sometimes, we ship by sea to various locations in Central America and then by road from there. Other times we just ship by road. It is delivered to US handlers soon after it crosses the border. ”

  “I was able to track US movements,” Antonio said. “There was no time for the shipment to be intercepted and tampered with from the time it was received on US soil to when we received it.”

  “OK,” said Fernando. “Then we must trace the movement from Colombia to the US handover location.”

  “That would be El Paso for this shipment.”

  Drugs dealers used various border crossings for their shipments cleverly disguised in boxes with markings the same as the genuine merchandise, which could be vegetables, coffee, clothing, or any other of the vast amount of products crossing the border daily.