“No. I don’t have time for that shit. Jerome has a whole group of guys who do whatever he tells them. You don’t have that.”
“I don’t? You won’t do whatever I tell you? Why aren’t you loyal like Jerome’s guys?” I tried to sound shocked.
Nate laughed again. “You hired someone smart and loyal. He hired dumb and loyal. I’m worth more.”
“You may have a point.”
“Don’t worry. The smartness paid off. I have a plan.” He made it sound epic. I waited for the epic smartness. “I just bought six GPS trackers. You owe me for overnight shipping. They make them for crazy parents to track their kids and shit. It’s got a magnet and you just stick it under their cars. We can watch the progress on a smartphone.”
“I’m so glad I hired someone smart.”
“We know Jerome parks in a garage, but everyone else lives in apartments or shares a house with fifteen other people. They probably park on the street. Tonight, or tomorrow morning, really, we are going to put trackers on everyone’s car. Jerome will be more difficult, but we can get him at the grocery store or something.”
“You’re amazing. Have I told you that? I owe you big.”
“Hey, these assholes kicked the shit out of me. I’m invested.”
“So what do I need to do? Drink coffee and wear dark colors?”
“That and look up vehicles and addresses. You still have Henry’s files, right?”
“Yep. So home addresses and cars? Anything else?”
“Anything that sounds relevant. If the file says they stay with a girlfriend or boyfriend or Mom and Dad, whatever.”
“Done. I’ll see you at three.”
“Cool.”
“Oh, and, Nate? You’re a badass.”
“I know.”
*
Nate did me the favor of knocking instead of ringing the doorbell. I was thankful because Nickels would have never forgiven such an offense. I let him in.
“Hey.” Nate handed me a cardboard box. It had six identical black boxes, each the size of a pack of cards. He was typing on his cell phone and juggling a second box of what looked like accoutrements for the first box. “These things are a bitch to set up.”
I took the second box and got out of his way. He went to the kitchen table and sat down, while continuing to angry type. I sat across from him and started unpacking the second box. Chargers, cardboard envelopes with the SIM card punched out, instructions for the GPS trackers.
“What is the issue?”
“I can’t get the fucking thing to register,” he said to me. “No, I gave you the subscription number, now you text me, you fuckwad,” he said to the phone.
I decided questions were not a good idea. So I read the instructions. As far as I could tell, they were translated poorly. There were also instructions in Korean and French, which was not helpful because I couldn’t read Korean or French. I assumed that was why Nate was struggling. Unless he had forgotten to mention that he was trilingual, he didn’t read Korean or French either.
“These instructions don’t make sense,” I said.
“No shit.” He set down the phone and deliberately pushed it away from him. “For the record, the online reviews said that it was written in Chinese and badly translated into English, which would have been great because I can read Mandarin, but I don’t read fucking Korean.” That last bit was directed at the half-folded instruction sheet in my hands.
I looked over at the box of trackers. One of them was blinking green. “Hey, Nate. One of those is blinking.”
His eyes got big. “Oh, you tricky little bitch.” He pulled it out and read a number off the bottom. He grabbed his phone and typed and swiped and cursed a bit more. While he was doing that, the other trackers began to blink one at a time.
“They’re all starting to blink.” I tipped the box to show him. The last one came to life as I did it.
“Well, that’s just special, isn’t it?” He took them out of the box and placed them in a line on the table. He checked the numbers against a list on his phone. “Do you have duct tape?”
“Yeah, just a minute.” I went into the laundry room and dug around in the cabinet next to the washer. I brought the tape back to him.
“Scissors and a Sharpie would be great too.”
I went to retrieve those. Nate cut small rectangles of tape and stuck one on each of the trackers.
“How can I help?”
“Label each one with initials. JS, RS, JA, whatever. Then tell me which number is which name.” I read off the first number, which was about twenty million digits. Nate typed the number into his phone. When we were done, he spun the phone so I could see the screen. It was a map centered on my address. Six dots lit up in the center. “Theoretically, each one is nicknamed according to the guy whose car we are going to tag.”
“Theoretically?”
“I’m doing my best here. All of this is theoretical.”
Good enough for me. “So are we ready to head out?”
“You have the list of residences?”
I held up the list. It was probably more detail than we would need, but I had a feeling this would be a long night. No need to make it worse.
The first on our list was Raymond St. Maris. He was the only one who lived in midtown, so he was the closest. His place was up near the train tracks on C Street. When we got there, I drove past his apartment at a crawl.
“There. The blue building.” Nate pointed out the address. “You see his car anywhere?”
We scanned all the cars parked on the street and came up empty.
“I’m going to take the alley. It runs behind here. There might be parking,” I said. Nate nodded. As we approached Raymond’s building, Nate leaned forward.
“Yep. Parking overhang at the back. You see the Civic? It’s third over.”
“Yeah. Check the license as we go by.”
“Yep. That’s the one.”
I turned back onto C, drove a block, and parked. Nate picked out the GPS tracker with Raymond’s initials. We left the box in the car. Nate watched his phone as we walked.
“See? The signal for RS is moving.” He held out the phone so I could look at the screen.
“Your theory is panning out so far.”
“Well, I am really smart.”
We turned into the alley. It wasn’t lit except for a hazy orange light at the opposite block. I scanned windows for movement, but didn’t see anything. Nate ducked into the parking area for Raymond’s building. I watched the alley. Nothing. We were alone. I glanced back at Nate. He was on the ground with half his torso under the car. A minute later, he scooted back out. I looked at him for confirmation. He nodded. We walked back at a nice, unsuspicious pace.
“That was simple,” I said once we were in the car with the doors closed.
“Yeah. Just like I planned.”
“Check your phone. Is it transmitting?”
He checked the app. “All systems go.”
“All systems go?”
“I wanted to be an astronaut, but my mom said that dreams should be reasonable.”
“You’ll always be an astronaut to me.”
“Aww. You’re an asshole,” Nate said in a sickly sweet voice.
“Where to next?”
“Aragón and Norris are in Oak Park. We can hit Tran on the way. He’s just off Second.”
“Street or Avenue?” I asked.
“Avenue. He’s in Curtis Park off Freeport.”
“Got it.”
I took us down 19th until it turned into Freeport. I turned on 2nd and waited for Nate to point out the cross street. Tran’s car was easy to spot. He drove a classic Mustang. So unimaginative. And not smart for a drug dealer. If ever anyone interviewed a witness about me, all they would say was that I drove a smaller silver SUV. I did my best to be nondescript when I was breaking the law.
I parked a block away, same as at Raymond’s address. The Mustang was in full view of more houses than I liked, but it was just p
ast four in the morning. I doubted anyone was awake. Nate dropped between the curb and the car. Half a second later, he was standing again. We circled the block until we were back at my car. Nate checked his app again. The dot for RT glowed a block from where we were sitting. Perfect.
Aragón and Norris were as uneventful as Tran and the younger St. Maris. Which was good. When planting GPS trackers on rival drug dealers, uneventful is exactly what you hope for. Aragón had thrown us for a brief loop when we couldn’t find his truck, but then we checked his girlfriend’s apartment ten blocks away and found it there.
Christian Dilsey was the last up for the evening. He lived in Carmichael. With his parents. We weren’t sure of that because his file hadn’t been specific. But when we pulled into the neighborhood it was clearly a place for nice, middle class types who didn’t work for drug dealers. Then again, Jerome’s house was an argument against that theory.
Dilsey’s address had a two-car garage, but his Mazda was parked on the street. There were discarded kids’ toys next to the front door and a handmade sign welcoming us. Everything about the place suggested the Dilseys were standard grandparents with a wayward, law-breaking son.
It was five in the morning, less than an hour until sunrise. The street was still quiet, just like the last four neighborhoods, but a few houses already had lights on inside. Christ, these people got up for work before dawn. This was why I had never bought into the system. I couldn’t remember the last time I was awake at this hour, but it had definitely been the result of a long night, not an early morning. We parked two houses down from the Dilsey residence. In all the other neighborhoods we could have made an argument for walking home late at night. Here, people would question that. These people weren’t the type to walk.
Nate and I sat in the dark and watched the street. Sixty yards up, a door opened. A kid came out. She was late teens, early twenties, and carrying a green apron.
“As soon as she’s gone, we need to move. This neighborhood is too lively for me,” I said.
Nate nodded. “A porch light just came on three houses behind us. We need to hurry.”
The kid got in her car and took off at a nice, appropriate pace. Watching this was killing me. As her taillights disappeared around the corner, Nate opened his door.
I scanned the houses around us while Nate dropped to the asphalt and wriggled closer to Dilsey’s Mazda. I heard the light click of the magnet against the undercarriage. Nate held out a hand and I hauled him up. A light came on in the Dilsey’s front room. We froze. A shadow moved behind the curtain. We weren’t visible yet. Nate followed me back to my car.
“I didn’t like that. Let’s go,” Nate said.
“Check your phone first.” I turned the key but waited to pull out.
“It’s live.” Nate flashed the screen at me, but his word was enough. We were silent until we got back to the main road, as if that would ensure that no one had seen us.
“So we’re done for now, right?” I asked. Jerome’s GPS wasn’t in place, but we knew that one would take more time.
“Yeah. I’ll try to follow Jerome later today, but he will be at home for a while still.”
“When you get home, sleep for a while, okay? There’s a rush, but it will keep for a few hours.” I knew I was planning on sleeping until mid-afternoon. Asking Nate to be sleep deprived on my behalf seemed idiotic.
“You don’t need to convince me,” Nate said.
“Want to get some breakfast?”
“I’m pretty sure you owe me breakfast. Turn south on Watt Ave. There’s a little diner I practically lived at during my first year.”
“Do they have good waffles? I need waffles.”
“Of course they have good waffles. I’m not a heathen.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We couldn’t have chosen a better day to visit Braddock Farm. The temp had gone to three digits at eight in the morning. When I forced myself out of bed at nine, it was over one hundred. It wasn’t surprising really. The nighttime low had hovered around ninety so we could only go up from there. When Laurel showed up at my place, I went out and let the car idle long enough for the AC to do some damage. By the time we got on the freeway, the air in the car was breathable. Sacramento summers were brutal.
“Is it weird that I’m so excited?” Laurel asked.
“No. The farm is awesome. Plus, Shelby is really excited to meet you. Well, she’s excited that it’s Thursday and she’s also excited that the sun is shining and that we have been given the gift of life. But you’re toward the top of the list.”
“If that’s not a winning endorsement, I don’t know what is.”
“Exactly.”
“So what do we do when we visit the farm?” Laurel leaned against the window and propped her foot up on the seat.
“Eat stuff, mostly. Clive will give us the latest tour. Shelby will give us food. She’s really into the barter system right now. Last time, it was cheese. But she’s been working on this woman who bakes amazing bread in town.”
“Seriously? She barters?”
“Yeah, she’s got her own rules for the world. The advantages of a barter economy are part of it. And she’s very convincing.”
“So she’s going to convince me to participate in the barter system?” Laurel chuckled.
“Laugh now. When we drive home this evening, you’re going to be a vehement fan of the barter system.”
“I look forward to it.” She wasn’t convinced, but I decided to let her live in her fantasy world. “So tell me about the farm. Did you grow up there?”
“No. We bought it my last year of college. It had been Clive’s dream since forever.”
“Why then?”
“I told you he raised me, right?” Laurel nodded. “He took custody of me when I was a toddler, but he was only twenty when that happened.”
“He adopted you when he was twenty?” She sounded incredulous. It was valid.
“Yeah, we lived with my grandparents—well, a guesthouse on their land—until he finished his teaching degree. That wasn’t his plan, but it was the easiest way for him to support us.”
“I’m amazed the state allowed it.”
“I think that was a big part of his rush to start teaching. He needed something steady and flexible that would look good to the court.”
“This guy sounds amazing.”
“He is.” I nodded. “Anyway, he sacrificed a lot for me. My senior year in college, we sat down and realized that a farm was feasible. My loans were low. The college fund was long gone, but we hadn’t dipped into his savings as much as he anticipated we would need to.”
“And you didn’t mind helping him start a farm?”
I shrugged. “My dreams were more along the lines of reading poetry and going to art shows. I’m very good at indulging myself and accomplishing nothing.”
“I have noticed that. And I totally mean that in a complimentary way.” Something in her tone made me believe her. This chick was a keeper. She valued my ability to do nothing.
“Of course, the farm almost failed the first year. The second year was even worse. And then…” And then my high school buddy Henry called me up and made a very inviting offer. Free drugs. And Clive already had a cover business set up. But I couldn’t tell her about Henry. “I got a call about some easy access to prescription drugs. I convinced Clive that it would keep his dream alive.”
“So he didn’t want you to deal?”
“What parent wants their kid to be a drug dealer?”
“Good point. So that’s it? You sell drugs to pay for seeds and shit?”
“And water and farm equipment. Electricity, business permits, greenhouse construction. Farming is like hard.”
“I’m getting that.”
“We’re almost there, by the way. You ever been to Apple Hill?” Apple Hill was a group of apple orchards just north of Braddock Farm. They were the main source of Shelby’s bartering. They also made up a large portion of the farming association for the coun
ty.
“When I was a kid. My parents used to take us every fall. Isn’t that a requirement if you grow up within a hundred miles of here?”
“Yeah, it kind of is. Clive and Shelby are trying to market Braddock to be one of the stops when people come up. He’s got big plans for pumpkins this year. And Shelby is working on a line of holiday products. Spices, that sort of thing.”
“You’re actually into this, aren’t you?” She had caught me. Kind of.
“I’m into them succeeding. This is Clive’s life. He never had his own kids. His brief marriage failed. But I always got the impression that he didn’t really care about the stuff he was supposed to care about. He just wanted a little farm. That was it.”
“Cash Braddock, that is a lovely sentiment.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
I took the turn for the farm. Laurel studied everything out her window with barely concealed enthusiasm. When we pulled up behind the house, she practically vaulted out of the car.
I led the way around the house to the path to the greenhouse. It was the most likely place to find Clive. The door creaked as I pushed it open.
“Cash? That you?” Clive called from somewhere at the back of the greenhouse.
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Walk past the onions, turn right at the flowers, then keep straight.”
“You do realize that all of these seedlings look like little green sprouts to me, right?”
I heard him laughing. “Go outside, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Laurel and I turned in the small space and went back out. “He doesn’t generally let people wander in the greenhouse.”
“I thought greenhouses were those little wood and glass boxes your grandparents bought you for your birthday when they ran out of ideas. This is not a greenhouse,” Laurel said.
“No, this is a real greenhouse. It was a quarter of this size when we started. I told him to build a second one, but I think he likes that it’s a labyrinth.”
“Why do you need such a big space?”
“Clive starts all his seedlings in there. Every year he adds new plants to the rotation.”
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