by Trevor Shand
But he knew what he was looking for and what it meant. The heightened security meant that the corner was held by one of the better gangs or at least the smarter ones. A gang could not hold the entire city so they had to focus on the corners they wanted. Plus, because of the extra trained men, not every corner a gang held could be held without the added precautions. That meant a smarter gang chose that corner and within their choice of corners, this one was worth extra protection. That meant this was a high earning corner.
As he slid behind the wheel of his rented Chevrolet Spark, he pulled out his cell phone and called Alex. “Alex, Johnny. I think we’ve found our corner. It was quiet but it is the day time. Let’s say we roll down here tonight and do some surveillance.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Great, I’ll swing by and pick you up.” Johnny said. He put the car in neutral, revved the engine and dropped it into drive. The little underpowered car managed a small chirp of the wheels as it jerked into drive. Johnny laughed to himself, knowing that was the best it could do, knowing he was damaging the car, knowing he did not care.
Adrian sat hunched over his computer, tracking conversations, sifting through veiled posts and following users, trying to locate new drops. Steve sat at the end of his desk cleaning an H&K HK45. The thick bullets sat on their ends, looking like a little audience watching. Adrian’s phone rang. He picked it up, “Hello…yes, sir.” He hung up the phone and said to Steve, “Come on, Sam wants to talk with us.”
The two men arrived at Sam’s office and Adrian knocked on the door. “Come in,” came Sam’s voice. They walked in to see Sam at his desk and James sitting in a chair behind him. Sam looked tired and defeated. Sam motioned for the two men to sit. As they did, Sam started talking, “So how is the investigation coming?”
Adrian and Steve looked at each other then at James, then back to Sam. “Well sir,” Adrian began, “A bit slow to tell you the truth. Since our encounter at the wheel shop…”
“An incident that should not have happened,” James interjected.
Adrian sighed and continued,” Yes, an incident that should not have happened. Anyway, since then, we have had trouble gaining traction. We believe we have some viable leads, but at this point we need more man hours to put surveillance on people. Now that we have lost the original leads given to us we are starting over.”
Sam rubbed his eyes. James offered his opinion, “See? There is nothing here, you should shut this whole operation down.”
Sam turned and looked at James, “I know you are here on behalf of someone, trying to accomplish something, but did you really just say there is nothing here? Are you saying there are not drugs on our streets? That there are not gang-bangers running corners? That there is not an import pipeline circumnavigating our import system?” Sam paused and let his rhetorical questions hang in the air and he stared at James.
After a long silence, James said, “Of course not.”
Sam did not say a word to James and turned to face Steve and Adrian again. “Unlike my friend here, I do believe there is something we need to investigate. However, I cannot add more resources at this time. You painted yourself into this position by over stepping your bounds and chasing after Carl. That distracted you and dried up your leads and leeway. So it is up to you to find a way out. While I won’t shut you down yet, you are on your own.”
James sat behind Sam and nodded, finished his scolding. From his vantage point, James could not see Sam’s face, but Adrian and Steve could read the frustration on the older man’s face. Rather than protest, Adrian said, “Yes sir, we understand.” The two men stood and left.
Johnny deove over to the hotel where his team was staying. Alex met him outside. Alex hopped into the passenger’s seat and said, “Let’s get some dinner before we go on surveillance. I’ve got a few things I’d like to run pass you.”
“Sure thing,” Johnny said and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The thin tires chirped a tiny bit on the cement of the hotel driveway. They drive a few blocks to an Ivar’s Fish and Chips restaurant, ordered and sat down. The two men chit chatty about the Seattle Seahawks and the geographical layout of the city while the food came. Once the food had been dropped off and the employee was firmly out of hearing range, Johnny asked, “So what are you thinking?”
“Well, I was doing some research online and it seems that even with their being five of us, there won’t be enough people for us to hold a corner and work it. That means either we need to hire local guys as guns or as workers.”
Johnny stirred a piece of fish in his tartar sauce for a moment, thinking about what Alex had said, then asked, “So which do you propose?”
“Well, while I certainly do not want to trust one of these local yahoos with my money, I would trust them to stay vigilant and watch my back even less.”
Johnny ate a long fire in a series of quick tiny bites, “I agree, besides, if we’re the ones with guns, I think they’d be less likely to get any ideas.”
“So do we want to try and keep the ones already running this corner or bring in others? Keeping them means they know what they are doing but might have loyalty to the old owners. If we bring in new people they are just that, new.”
“Plus we will still have to pull them from some crew, which means we face the same loyalty problem. No, I think we keep the old guys. Let’s blast their existing crew so hard they realize that we are not just a bunch of gang bangers doin’ the same ol’, same ol’. No, let’s let them know that double crossing us is not a good idea.”
Alex nodded his head, “Yeah, I can see that. I figure they are going to come back on us anyway, with an initial bang, an easy rout of the retaliation, the street workers should stay in line.”
“Worse comes to worse, we make an example out of one,” Johnny’s lips spread in a crease that looked less like a smile than a razor’s edge, “Now let’s go see what we have.”
Arriving two blocks away from their target, on one of the few corners in the area that was clear of traffic, the two men exited the car and slipped on throat mics, ear receivers and black balaclavas. Both men lived in black so with the head gear on, they nearly disappeared.
“Test one, two, test one, two,” Johnny murmured.
“Roger, roger,” Alex replied and gave the thumbs up. Johnny returned it.
“The target is one block east and two blocks south. You come in from the south, I’ll come in from the east. Locate, identify and evaluate all recon positions with the understanding that we return tomorrow and remove all hostiles. Work straight across with you exiting the scene to the north and me to the west. Then we’ll reconvene here at the car. Got it?”
“Roger, roger,” Alex said the skittered across the road, down an alley and into the darkness. Johnny did likewise. Years of experience in hot zones, countless urban environments and a deep understanding of how people prepared for, handled and executed in combat scenarios, helped him slide through the buildings like a ghost. He elevated his position, even above those of the look outs, dipping in windows and out fire escapes. He seeped into shadows and peered through windows. After two hours of probing every nook and cranny, every blind and stand, every empty room and dark corner, he was sure he had observed all there was to see.
Along the way he took notes, how many men were in what spots. He recorded weapons and firing lines. He logged exits, adjoining rooms and bathrooms. Once complete he whispered into his throat mic, “Finished with my sweep, heading back.”
A quiet but clear voice replied back, “I have one more building, I believe I’ll find it empty. Give me ten minutes, then I’ll meet you back there.”
“Don’t rush, do it right,” Johnny warned.
“I know, it’s our butts,” Alex responded and the earpiece went dead again. Johnny made his way back to the car, once there he removed his mask, in case someone happened to drive by a mask looked a little suspicious, but left the earpiece and mic in place. Fifteen minutes later Alex arrived.
“Got what y
ou needed?” Johnny asked.
“I did, and you?”
“Let’s hope so,” Johnny grinned, “Looked fairly basic, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Me neither. I am guessing what they have in place is fairly advanced for them.”
“Most of the guys seemed to be fairly good though, considering. They all had at least one person observing with a gun somewhat in reach. As I expected, I hadat least a couple of spots where the post had three guys playing cards and not looking at anything.”
“What I didn’t see was communication. I guess they had cells but in my entire sweep I did not see or hear any post check in with the others.”
“Agreed. So that is our in. We slip in, help the observers slip off the mortal coils, and slip out quietly. Then we only have to deal with the guys on the street who won’t know they don’t have an overwatch.”
Alex nodded, “We can use that to our advantage, keeping the street confrontation as calm as possible, so the guys we need, the sellers themselves don’t scatter.”
“Sounds good, let’s head back to the hotel and map out every location, identify our route through the positions and plan who is where doing what,” Johnny said. He slapped Alex on the shoulder and got in the car. Alex jogged to the far side, got in and the two men headed back to the hotel.
Adrian called Steve, “Hey, I think I’ve found another drop. You up for a little more surveillance tonight? “
Steve was under a gutted Chevrolet Citation, caged for racing, sitting up on jack stands. His arms were nearly to his elbows as his hands tried to work a bolt off an exhaust manifold an eighth of a turn at a time. He retracted his hands, leaving the socket and driver in place. He replied through the Bluetooth, “Sure, want me to come get you?”
“Um, no. I’ll come get you. I have no idea what crazy car you might want to stick us in next. If I come get you we get my boring old Crown Vic. Besides, won’t I be driving home anyway?”
“Yeah, probably,” Steve nodded to himself, “See you in a few.”
“I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in five or so.”
“Fair enough.” The connection went dead. Steve went over the corner of his garage, to the utility sink and started washing the road grime and grease off his hands and forearms. The inevitable tiny cuts that came with working on cars, when skin scraped against metal stung slightly as he rubbed them with the gritty, industrial hand cleaner. He washed his arms then repeated. The tiny lines and folds of his hands were still lined with black but it was as good as they were going to get. He jogged into the house and quickly threw some vegetables, crackers, cheese and liverwurst into a lunch sack. He grabbed two bottles of Starr Hill Monticello Reserve Ale and added them to the bag. Finally he grabbed a flask from a cabinet and filled it with Ezra Brooks. Just as he was screwing the top on the flask his phone buzzed with a text telling him Adrian was out front.
Steve left the house and climbed in the seat next to Adrian. “You smell like gas and oil,” Adrian commented.
“Thank you,” Steve happily replied.
“I’m not…anyway,” Adrian put the car in gear and headed down to SeaTac. The city, named for the Seattle-Tacoma airport, had little else in it other than the airport and several satellite parking lots. At one time they had tried to make it a nicer neighborhood, building upscale homes and parks. But the consistent roar of jets taking off and landing meant few of the houses sold and the parks were sparingly used. At least sparingly used by upstanding citizens.
Adrian and Steve pulled in to SeaTac via Eighteenth Avenue South. The right side of the road was lined with utility shed and maintenance buildings about every hundred yards. In between the buildings were parked municipal cars, trucks and tractors as well as storage for used equipment. The left side of the road had gravel lots for parking. Adrian counted in a low voice, “One…two…three.” At the fourth building, he pulled right, and slid between a SeaTac Parks Department F-150 and a tractor with a bush-hog attached.
“Now we walk,” Adrian said.
“What? Who said anything about walking?” Steve protested.
“Hey, I just go where the lead takes me.”
“Let’s drive there,” Steve whined.
“We’re in a park. The only vehicles here are trucks and tractors. A Crown Vic will stand out. It may be checked out, we can’t be sitting in the car if they do.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, and we can’t leave a cooler in here. They would see it and know the occupants are around.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you better get your food out of my car,” Adrian scolded, “You are not leaving liverwurst nor eating liverwurst in my car.”
“Liverwurst?” Steve looked at his bag, “How did you know I had liverwurst?”
“So you did?”
“Yeah I did, now how did you know?”
“You know me, my job is to know what goes on on the internet. You gotta use cash if you don’t want me to know.”
“You would’a tracked my frequent buyers card.”
The corners of Adrian’s mouth sagged as he thought about it, “Yeah, most likely so.”
“That’s it, next time I’m using cash and not saving the thirty cents by using my frequent buyers card,” Steve exclaimed triumphantly.
“I have other ways,” Adrian narrowed his eyes.
“I have no doubt.” Steve grabbed his cooler and popped the door. They headed across Eighteenth, through one of the gravel lots and into the tree line. A few minutes later a Honda Pilot pulled into the building’s parking lot. It made one loop of the building and stopped at the Crown Vic. Neither Steve nor Adrian could see through the tinted windows, yet they assumed the driver was inspecting the car, but no one got out.
After a few seconds, the Pilot pulled up to a lean-to shed on the side of the structure. The driver, a middle aged African American with a large pot belly got out of the truck, looked around the empty lot and used a key to open the padlock on the shed. He pulled the doors open, reached in as if fumbling for a wall mounted light switch, then, rather than the shed being bathed in light, the driver retracted from the shed, put the padlock back on, got back in his car and left.
Adrian and Steve waited for five minutes, with Steve snacking on liverwurst and taking swigs from his bottle of Monticello Ale, before they headed back out of the woods. Through a mouthful of crackers and cheese Steve asked, “Good thing we got out of the car. Of course we could have simply just parked here across the street.”
“No we couldn’t have. First, that wouldn’t have made you get out of the car with that liverwurst. Second, they would have seen the Crown Vic just as easily, and would have come across the street to check it out.”
“Then we should have taken one of my cars. I’m sure I have something that would have fit in, how about a Ford EXP. No one would have looked at that twice.”
“A Ford EXP?”
“Yeah, but I’ve shoehorned in the 4.6 V8 from a 2002 Mustang.” The two men arrived at the shed.
“I’m sure that’s just what the car needed,” Adrian said, looking at the lock.
“Sometimes it is not about needing something, but just answering the question of ‘can we?’ So, what are we going to do here. I am guessing we don’t want to tip our hand by smashing the lock off.”
“That is correct. Hang on.” Adrian walked back to the Crown Vic. He opened the passenger side door, rummaged through the glove box and came back with a small case of lock picking tools. “Hold this,” Adrian said handing Steve a small flashlight. Steve turned it on and aimed the light at the lock.
Adrian flipped the lock up, looked at it and selected two small tools from the kit. Adrian stabbed at the lock and cursed. He shifted the lock in his hands and re-attacked the lock. The lock banged against the shed, Adrian grunted, and Steve danced around trying to keep the light focused correctly.
After nearly ten minutes, Steve finally said, “Give that to me.” Steve grabbed the
slim picks from Adrian and offered him the light. Before Adrian could focus the light on the lock, both men heard the clasp come undone. “That’s how you pick a lock.” Steve slid the tools back into their case and slid the case into his pocket.
“Hey, those are mine.”
Steve gave him a sharp look and said, “I’ll give them back, but only if you promise to practice with them.”
Adrian laughed and said, “Sure.” Steve handed him the tools and Adrian removed the lock from shed. Opening it Adrian used the flashlight to look on the inside of the shed, where the driver had been looking. He rustled around and finally twisted the light switch plate. It swung easily. Behind it was another plastic container, this one containing a note that said, “One pillow, room 1. One pillow, room 3. Might need help with room 4.”
“So I’m guessing this isn’t a real complex code,” Adrian laughed.
“What do you expect? I’m guessing pillow is a shipment of drugs, room refers to which crew. But what does help mean?”
“I don’t know but I’m guessing it’s not good,” Adrian said. He tucked the note back into the canister and closed the switch plate and the shed. On the way back to the car he said, “This sucks, we basically know what all of this means, but without being able to track the drugs going to the crew all we have is our intuition.”
“We need the second half, we have the demand, now we need to find the supply.”
“OK, so that’s what we need to figure out next.”
“Let’s just wait here, see who picks it up and track them.”
“That’s what we did last time, the plain clothes said the guy went to a diner, ate, then went home. Did not swing by Carl’s or anywhere else. Did not seem to make any calls. A dead end.”