by Trevor Shand
Bryon turned and looked at Russ. Russ looked at Mario. Mario replied with the slightest raise of the eyebrow. Russ replied, “Sure, the more the merrier.”
“Excellent,” Jeff said as he turned in the house, “But let's go inside and get a little pre-party on.”
Bryon, Mario and Russ followed Jeff in the house. An hour later, a little high and a little drunk, the four men exited the house. Mario piloted them downtown to a club called The Brotherhood Lounge. Entering the club, the group was temporarily blinded by strobe lights and a laser show. Standing just inside the doorway, their eyes adjusted to the light and they saw the left side of the club was a bar, the right hand side had a few semi-circle booths, the front of the room had tables and chairs in the center while the back of the room was open and had a stage. The room was busy but not crowded. A DJ played Deadmau5 at a volume level that forced the men to lean into each other as they spoke.
Bryon headed toward the bar when Jeff caught his arm. “Nah man, we got a booth.” Bryon glanced over at the short row of booths noticing they all seemed occupied. He said nothing and followed Jeff as he headed toward the one closest to the stage. As they got closer to the booth, the occupants, an Asian man dressed in a garish outfit and an African-American man dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, both in their early twenties, grabbed their drinks and got up , standing next to the booth.
“Thanks guys,” Jeff said, giving a low five to the gaudily dressed Asian. The two men melted into the other patrons and Jeff slid into the booth, moving to the middle. Bryon slid in next to him and Russ and Mario each took a seat on the outside. A small, thin waitress appeared and asked, “What can I get for you?” through black bangs. “Four Buds, four Jagers,” Jeff said without asking anyone else. He tossed a folded up bill onto the waitress' cocktail tray. Russ initially thought it was simply a wadded up bill, then noticed, sticking out of one side, a tiny bit of baggie that Russ knew held coke. The waitress looked at it and perked up.
“We’ll be here for a while, keep 'em coming,” Jeff continued.
“I will,” the tiny waitress promised and scurried off. Bryon and Jeff slid down in the booth, relaxing. Russ and Mario sat much straighter and scanned the room, while seemingly relaxed.
“I wouldn't have said this is your crowd,” Bryon said to Jeff.
“Not my crowd, are you kidding me?” Jeff said with mock amusement. “Nah, I know what you mean. But, look around. These guys got no one to serve them. I stumbled in here one night, noticed no one was here to help these nice folks with their party supplies, so I stepped up.”
“I thought your product sold itself,” Russ said, stealing a glance at Jeff, then going back to scanning the room, “I know finding Bryon or you was my biggest concern. How many products have their customers looking for them.”
“Fair enough, but I need to be the first person they find. Users of my product are looking for what I have but they do tend to be a little lazy. Shoot, in some cities, you can get delivery to your door now. Plus, there are other worries. I know I could move all I got at some of the trendy clubs downtown, but here, while fewer customers, there is no competition. Unlike other products, my competitors don't eliminate the competition through aggressive marketing, they tend to use aggressive shooting. “
Russ did not say anything but nodded his head. The tiny waitress returned with her tray, her arm shook a nearly imperceptible amount as she held the weight on one arm. She used the other arm to set the drinks down on the table directly in front of her. Mario automatically reached out and started passing the beers, then the shots around to the men at the table.
Jeff raised his shot, the other men followed suit. “To a good night.”
Russ tilted the shot glass. As it touched his lips, he saw the movement. Without finishing the motion, he let go of the glass. It dropped straight down, spilling Jagermeister as it went. But rather than spill down his front, the liquid impacted his left hip as he stood and turned in a flash. His thigh clipped the edge of the table causing beers to spill over Bryon and Jeff, though not Mario, who himself was already moving behind Russ.
Russ used his legs to power himself toward the man approaching the table. He swept his arms up, not simply using his biceps but engaging his shoulders and back. His hands connected with the outstretched hands of the approaching man. The man’s hand held a gun which rushed up toward the ceiling just as it went off. The loud bang muffled the music for a moment and everyone froze.
Everyone that is except Mario and Russ. As Russ pinned the assailant’s arms up in the air, Mario used his full weight and momentum to tackle the gunman around the mid-section and ride him to the ground. Several small pops were heard as several of the assailant’s ribs cracked. The air rushed out of the man and he lost his grip on the weapon. Russ stepped over and kicked the weapon into the corner.
Mario dropped into a crouch, quickly unbuckled the attacker’s belt and used it to bind his hands. Russ scanned the room for other possible threats. None presented themselves so Russ relaxed a bit. The table rocked behind him and he whirled, tensing again. Instead of being another attacker, Jeff and Bryon were finally extricating themselves from the booth.
“Dude, man, that was amazing,” Jeff offered giving Russ a high-five he returned automatically.
“That man was going to kill us,” Bryon said.
“Me at least,” Jeff said.
“Yup, that appears to be the case,” Russ said calmly.
“No but seriously, I cannot thank you enough. Man, if you ever need anything, you gotta let me know,” Jeff said, offering another high-five.
Mario stood up and suggested, “Well, I’m thinking since we have all been doing illegal drugs, we should most likely get out of here, rather than waiting around for the police.”
“I agree,” Russ said and he headed for the door. Jeff reached into his pocket and dropped a few bills onto the table then Mario and Bryon followed him out of the bar. The four men piled into the truck. Mario fired up the engine and headed toward Jeff’s house.
Adrian pulled the Crown Vic up to the curb in front a row of small but well maintained houses in the Lake Meridian section of Kent. The two men exited the car and headed to the address Steve had written down. The house in question was a small rectangle painted in beige and tan that looked identical to the houses on either side. Adrian reached the front porch, removed his sunglasses and rapped on the screen door.
Steve surveyed the quiet neighborhood as they waited for a reply. The wind cut softly through large shade trees. Most yards had a small flower garden or birdbath in them. Some had more lawn decorations than Steve thought was tasteful but he also understood he may not be the target audience for things like that. He did conclude this did not look like the place drug dealers hung out. The windows had actual curtains and many had small plants in them.
Steve turned back to the door as he heard a small dog yapping, feet shuffling just inside and the sound of a chain sliding on a chain lock. As the door opened, Steve and Adrian looked down on a tiny, elderly, African American woman, who could not have stood more than five feet tall. Her hair was hidden under what looked to be a cloth shower cap and she was dressed in a faded pink, floral print house dress. She looked up at the two men through large rimmed, thick glasses and smiled, “Yes, may I help you?” The tiny dog continued to bark but she did not seem to notice.
“Yes ma’am, I’m looking for Angela Loyd” Adrian offered as he pulled his credentials; flashing them to the old woman.
“I’m Angela,” she responded.
Adrian followed, “We have a few questions about your Audi.”
The woman opened the screen but moved into the opening rather than offering to let them in. The small dog scurried past one of her ankles, gave a screech of a growl, darted back behind its owner, stuck its head back out and repeated the noise. The old lady still did not seem to notice the tiny dog. “I’m sorry my what? I’m a little hard of hearing” she asked, increasing the volume of her voice as if it was Adrian a
nd Steve who were having trouble understanding her.
“Ma’am, you have an Audi A6, it is an automobile, registered in your name,” Adrian bent over a bit and motioned in an approximation of a car silhouette.
“Oh, I don’t drive, I haven’t in years. My husband, he used to drive most of the time, oh but he has passed away, well, I guess it has been about five years now. And he couldn’t drive at the end. I remember though, this one time, see he was all excited, we had saved up for a new car, well not a new car but a new to us car…” the woman rambled.
“Yes, yes, ma’am,” Steve cut in, “But does your son maybe have a car in your name? Is that maybe an Audi?”
The old woman stopped and looked at Steve, as if she thought he was up to something, “My son is in prison.” Then in a clipped voice, “So no, he does not have a car in my name.”
The dog barked and growled, snaking like an eel out from its owner. Steve stood motionless, looking at the old lady. She looked back at Steve through the thick lenses of her glasses. Adrian looked at Steve, then the old lady and back again.
Suddenly the old lady smiled and said, “Little Charles, little Charles has a car, he’s my grandson, I’m not sure what it is, but it is some fancy German model, I told him to buy American but he just would not listen, in my day we all bought American but kids these days…”
Adrian jumped back into the conversation, “Angela, ma’am, is that car possibly registered in your name?”
Angela pivoted her gaze from Steve to Adrian and said, “Well yes, yes it is, you see, the government now, they have just been ganging up on my grandson. He doesn’t do anything wrong, but they just keep bothering him, he said the government told him he couldn’t put the car in his name because he was too young and they did not think he should be allowed to drive a flashy car like that yet. I said that is silly, you know Charles, he works hard, he has three jobs, so why shouldn’t he be allowed to have that car, I mean it is not to my taste but if he likes it…”
“Yes, yes,” Adrian continued, “Do you know where we can find Charles? Does he live here?”
“No, he has to live downtown for his jobs, he works hard you know.”
“I’m sure he does, do you know where?”
Scowling her brow, Angela looked at Adrian and asked, “Why, are you going to try and take away his car? You’re with the government aren’t you?”
Without missing a beat, Adrian said, “No ma’am, I’m with the FBI, any issue the government has with your grandson owning an Audi at such a young age would be handled through the Department of Motor Vehicles.”
Angela let that statement digest for a moment then seemed to be satisfied, “I don’t have his exact address but I believe it is over near Pike Place Market.”
“So his name is Charles Lloyd?” Adrian asked getting out a small pad to write down the name and anything else she could remember.
“No, he has his father’s last name. That boy was no good. I told my daughter that when she first started seein' him. No good. And see, I was right, his father done end up in jail.”
“Ma'am, may I ask his last name?”
“Now you ain't goin' to try and knock my grandson down are ya?,” she asked.
“No ma'am, you have my word.”
“Well, then, his name is Charles Forkner, F-o-r-k-n-e-r.” She answered.
“Well thank you ma'am,” Adrian said. Both men took a small step back, pivoted and hustled back toward the car before the woman could add any more.
“Have a great day,” Steve lobbed over his shoulder on his way.
Once in the car, Adrian headed north toward Shoreline. Steve said, “Well, let's hope this next one isn't such a talker.”
“On the contrary,” Adrian rebutted, “we like talkers when we need information.”
“We need information but what did we get? A name? I doubt this guy has an apartment, utilities and is paying taxes with that name. Heck, I bet he isn't even called that on the streets.”
“True, but it is also not nothing. We can run it through the system, see if we get a hit. He might have some priors, and if we're lucky, something outstanding. That way if we need anything, we have an excuse to pick him up. And who knows, maybe someone will mention his name or his street name is related. I can think of a lot of ways to modify Forkner.”
Steve chuckled, “Yeah, so can I.” Thirty minutes later they pulled up to a single story ranch-style house in Shoreline, overlooking I-5. The gray house was past its prime, with a couple of cracks in the foundation and some rot to the siding in the corners but overall in good condition. The front lawn was more moss than grass.
Steve and Adrian knocked on the door which was quickly answered by a young African-American woman, in her early twenties, wearing skintight leggings with bright horizontal stripes. Her red top hung loosely over a voluptuous frame. Her hair was done in tight braids then held back in a ponytail. She snapped and popped her gum. Looking Adrian and Steve up and down she smacked, “Whatch you want?”
“Angela?” Adrian asked.
“Yeah.” Angela replied, drawing out the vowels in the middle for a beat longer than normal.
“We’re from the FBI,” Adrian showed his badge, “We’d like to ask you a few questions about an Impala registered in your name.”
“You got a warrant or somethin’?” Angela shot back before Adrian was done.
“No, ma’am, but we’d just like to--”
“Then I ain’ts got to talk to you,” Angela replied. She stepped back into the house and started to close the door. Steve reached forward and placed a hand on the door to stop it. Angela looked up at the hand, then at Steve, then back to the hand. “Unless you want me to file a complaint with the F-B-I,” Angela over pronounced every letter individually, “You’d best be movin’ your hand.”
Steve looked at Adrian, who looked at Steve then at Angela. Then he slowly reached up and pulled Steve’s hand away from the door. “Sorry to bother you,” Adrian mumbled and turned. As the two men retreated toward the car he continued, “Well that was a dead end.”
“Maybe, maybe not. That definitely sounded like someone with something to hide,” Adrian replied as he slid into the car. “So that means we go back and sit on the Impala see where it goes.”
“Sounds like fun,” Steve drawled with deep sarcasm.
The sharp afternoon sun speared through the windows and Russ trundled from his room. He stumbled as he tried to slip shorts over his boxers. The rapping continued at the front door, jabbing into his still hungover head. He rubbed his bleary eyes then opened the door. Standing outside, holding two cups of coffee was Jeff.
“How are you this morning?” then turning to look at the sky, he corrected himself, “This afternoon.”
“Fine,” Russ replied, squinting at the light.
“May I come in?” Jeff asked, squeezing by Russ as he asked. He handed a coffee to Russ who clumsily took it. He followed Jeff over to the sitting area. Jeff dropped onto the couch and Russ sat in his usual recliner. “So I have a business proposition for you,” Jeff said, eagerly staring at Russ as if Russ should already know the offer.
“What?” Russ pulled back his head and squinted in confusion, looking as if he had just tasted something bitter. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh sorry, let me start from the beginning, sort of. I was thinking last night on the way home, how cool it was that you did what you did. Then I thought about you not having a job and I thought why not hire you as a bodyguard. Except I can’t really afford a bodyguard. But then it dawned on me, if we expanded our enterprise, then I could afford to pay you. You have a job and I make more money. Seems like a win-win.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Russ said, yawning and taking a sip of his coffee, “I’m not a bodyguard and I’m not looking to get into that line of work.”
“No problem,” Jeff leaned back, “You can continue to look for a real job, but in the meantime, you can work for me, making some money to pay your bills.”
/> Russ looked around the room. His mind ran to his finances, savings and how much longer he could afford to pay rent. He did not have exact numbers but knew things were getting a bit tight. “So what is your proposal?”
Jeff leaned forward again, “Well, drug dealers come in two basic forms, you have the street guys, like you see in TV shows like The Wire, and folks like me, who hang out at bars or at their home selling to friends and referrals. Now the street guys make more money and they do for two reasons, one they sell to more people and two, they buy higher up on the food chain, thus they pay less for the product. Downside is they have to constantly defend their corner and is very violent plus they are more likely to have the random buyer be a cop.
“Now my way is safer, and with the exception of last night, usually without violence. But, the growth of my business is slow. The main reason for this is the mark up on the product. See I usually buy about an ounce at a time. From there the big jump is to a quarter of a kilo or even half a kilo. Since there are about thirty five ounces in a kilo, you can see we have quite a jump.
“But here is where you come in. The reason, for the most part, I am allowed to buy and sell as I do, is because I stay in line. The importer sells to the distributor who sells to the regional who sells to a large dealer who sells to me and I sell to my clients. Now if I could jump that line, buy from distributor or regional guy, the product would be purer and cost me a fraction of the cost, like thirty percent on a volume basis. Then I could make that jump, from an ounce to a half kilo.”
“So where do I come in,” Russ asked cautiously.
“Well, when I get out of line, and go around my dealer, he’s going to get mad. The distributor doesn’t care. He’ll sell to anyone with the money. But that means the dealer needs to keep me in my place. You watch my back, keep me safe. I deal with the money and distribution, you are security. Make sense?”
Russ sipped his coffee. The angel on his shoulder reminded him that drugs were bad. The devil pointed out he used drugs. The angel reminded the devil that it was different: that was him going out and relieving stress, this was drug dealing. The devil countered that there was money in drugs and Russ needed money. The angel implored there must be another way. The devil mentioned that Russ had tried to get a job, and still would, this would simply keep him afloat until he found a job. Russ glanced around the bare walls of his house and took a deep breath, “Makes sense, but I have some questions.”