The Price of Cash

by Ashley Bartlett

  “Isn’t that a relatively normal parenting reaction?”

  “Yeah, except my mom can call my sergeant. Or my FBI supervisor. Once, Lance—my brother, he’s a cop—was reassigned and she didn’t like the posting. So she cornered the chief of police at a cocktail party.”

  “The chief of police? Like the guy who is everyone’s boss?”

  “Yeah. He’s about fifty pay grades above Ionescu.”

  “So he probably wasn’t responsible for the move?”

  She shook her head and grinned. “Hell no. But that didn’t stop my mother. She demanded he reassign Lance. It was a fucking nightmare.”

  I started laughing. “Did he reassign him?”

  “No.” She laughed too. “In his mind, Lance Kallen was the five-year-old who peed on the mayor’s azaleas during a garden party. He had only the vaguest idea that Janice and Randy’s boy had grown up and joined the force.”

  “Your mom sounds super fun.”

  “She’s a blast. You know, unless you reassign her kids. Or actually are one of her kids.”

  “So how does this relate to the upgrade?” I pointed at the camera lenses. “Did your mommy call the FBI and ask nice?”

  “No, she tried to get me pulled from undercover work entirely.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I know, right? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.” Laurel turned onto R Street and paralleled her massive, rumbling truck. I was far more impressed than I should have been at her ability to do so. We climbed out. She came around and leaned against the hood on the passenger side. “Thankfully, Ionescu isn’t easy to bully. He shut her down. Michelson and I landed on this solution. I’m extra safe. My poor truck is permanently disfigured, even though I’m the only one who knows the extent of it.” She rubbed her finger over a rust spot on the door. Baby blue paint flaked away. “And any sucker who gets stuck talking to my mother at a social function can point out that I have equipment no one else has.”

  “I’m starting to get an idea of why your parents are terrible.”

  “I love them, but sometimes it’s really hard to like them.” She smiled and grabbed my hand to drag me toward the restaurant. We took a few easy steps before remembering that we weren’t dating, we were reluctant colleagues who sometimes pretended to date. She let go and I shoved my hands in my pockets.

  It was early enough in the week that Burgers and Brew was relatively empty. We waited two minutes for a table. They even sat us in an isolated back corner of the patio after Laurel pointed out the table we wanted. I’d never even been seated in under an hour. This was unprecedented.

  “So weeknights after ten are the best time to hit the restaurant scene.”

  “Weekends are overrated,” she said. I realized Laurel didn’t really get weekends. She was constantly working in some capacity.

  The waitress interrupted to take our orders. It wasn’t until after she left that I realized we had ordered for each other. Laurel picked out beer. I chose our appetizers. We ordered the same burgers. Maybe this would work. Maybe we could just be buddies. Buddies who wanted to fuck each other. And couldn’t fuck each other. Maybe not.

  “Okay. Plan for nailing asshole to wall,” Laurel said.

  “Yes, I’d like one of those.”

  “Lucas and I think they are selling at raves and festivals. There’s also clearly some individual business as well.”

  That wasn’t unreasonable. “Based on what?”

  “There are only superficial connections between the vics. All male. All under thirty. Most of them were college students. Bauhaus is the only outlier there. But most of them were into the rave scene.”

  “Miles and Pedro,” I said. Those were the only two I knew who went to raves.

  “Pedro Morrison was a raver too?”

  I nodded. “I don’t know about the rest though.”

  “Bauhaus also. And one of the guys you couldn’t identify. Blake Welter. He’s the one in the coma.”

  “Josh Erickson definitely suggests a personalized sale.”

  “Why is that?” Laurel asked.

  The waitress approached us. I raised my hand a couple inches off the table to warn Laurel to stop talking. The waitress deposited glasses and curly fries and melted away. At least she could read our vibe.

  When she was out of earshot, I continued. “Josh was paranoid as hell that someone would report him to the school. That he would lose his scholarship or his spot on the team. There’s no way he would go to a rave. Too risky.”

  “Not even an organized one?” Laurel asked.

  “Come on, Detective.” I smiled so she knew I wasn’t using it as a pejorative anymore. “Organized raves might have working bathrooms and proper permits and running water, but the drug use is the exact same.”

  She grinned. “Yeah, okay. So Erickson takes out party angle.”

  “No, I think it’s still highly probable. I think he just adds in an intimate angle. This dealer would have met him in person and not in public.”

  “William Seldin also wouldn’t have gone to a party. He was weirdly antisocial,” she said.

  “Tell me about him. How was his being antisocial weird?”

  “He was our first victim. Freshman at Davis. His roommate said he only left their dorm for classes. Didn’t even leave for meals. Just ordered groceries on Amazon.”

  “Okay, that’s pretty weird.”

  “So not only did his dealer not sell to him at a party, he basically delivered. Either during class or to his dorm room,” she said.

  “Did the roommate offer anything else up? What kind of drugs was he into?”

  Laurel took a handful of fries. “I think I just want to eat curly fries for the rest of my life.”

  The change in subject threw me. “Any other food? Or just curly fries?”

  “Beer too. Is beer food?”

  “Do you want it to be?” I asked. She nodded. Her mouth was full of fries. “Then, yes.”

  She sipped her beer. “Fries and beer. So you support this?”

  “Seems like a solid plan.” I took my own handful of fries.

  She laughed. “You were asking about Seldin.”

  “Drugs of choice.”

  “Right. Roommate wasn’t sure. Seldin apparently watched nature documentaries and porn constantly. He spent most of his time jerking off, not to the documentaries. And he frequently stayed up all night playing video games.” Laurel grimaced. It wasn’t a pretty description. Not abnormal, but being common didn’t make it any more pleasant.

  “So his roommate kind of hated him?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess when he was interviewed by the detective, he was scraping blackout plastic off all the windows. Wouldn’t stop and sit for ten minutes. The detective said the kid had already boxed up all of Seldin’s belongings. Even the mattress was stacked up against the wall.”

  “And that wasn’t suspicious?”

  “It was. But he had basically moved into his girlfriend’s dorm room three weeks prior. The girlfriend’s roommate was less than pleased about that. Between both women and his class schedule, the roommate had an alibi for a couple weeks straight. He also cooperated fully. It was a dead end. Davis PD got nowhere with the case.”

  “How did you guys end up with it?”

  “Josh Erickson was the next victim. Then Freddie Bauhaus. So both were in Sac County. It wasn’t until Bauhaus that we realized the cases were all connected. Blake Welter made us look at the colleges because he’s a Sac State student. Miles Yang was next. He was enrolled at Davis, like you said. That was when Agent Michelson’s team got involved.”

  It took me a second. I always forgot that Davis was in a different county. “Oh, two victims in Yolo County, three in Sac County.”

  “And, essentially, four police departments.”

  “Four?” Not unless Sac and Davis had multiple police departments. Maybe the County Sheriff’s department got involved?

  “Campus police at both universities completely impeded
our investigations.”

  “Jesus Christ. Shouldn’t dead kids kind of override reputation?”

  “Welcome to police work.”

  The waitress returned with our food. We repeated the silent dance. She left. Laurel bit into her burger and grinned. I started in on my burger. I mentally ran through the list Laurel had provided.

  “Wait. Seldin and Erickson were first?”

  Laurel’s eyes briefly flashed hope. “Yeah.”

  “Both of the non-ravers were first, then all of the club kids? So somewhere between the first two and the third, he started going to parties.”

  Laurel rolled her eyes. “Duh. Why do you think you and Nate were at the top of the list? College students, Davis and Sacramento, higher socio-economic status, private parties, pills.” She ticked off points and my heart sank with each one.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And all the victims were douche-bros. That’s kind of your signature.”

  “Hey, I sell to Land Park housewives too.”

  “Sold.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Laurel set her burger down, drank some beer. “I think we need to start attending raves and parties. Find out who is selling fentanyl.”

  “Me and you, we?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I can’t send you alone. And Reyes won’t fit in.”

  “If I’m going to ask questions, it will have to be a college party. And people will expect me to sell drugs.”

  “Yeah, that’s a problem. Because I’m kind of supposed to arrest you for that.”

  “Is that one of your unbreakable rules?” I could get away with selling to a few visible people. That was gray area I could survive in for a while.

  “I wouldn’t say unbreakable.”

  “So if you didn’t see the behavior, you wouldn’t be inclined to arrest me?”

  She shrugged exaggeratedly. “If I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t have any reason to.”

  “Okay. So we attend a party, ask questions. Find out who is selling fentanyl, then what?”

  “Buy some, have the lab test it.”

  “Will the lab be able to match it to the fentanyl that killed our vics?” That would tie it up nicely.

  She shook her head. “No. They can identify the fillers used, but that will only narrow it down. Apparently, everything used to make the pills is common.”

  “So how will that help?” I wasn’t trying to be dense.

  “If we buy from the same supplier multiple times and the dosage varies wildly, then we have our perp.”

  “And then you arrest them?”

  “No. Then we gather enough evidence to nail the fucker to the wall.”

  “That’s going to take forever.”

  Laurel shrugged. “Building a case takes time. We’re early still.”

  “But more people will die.”

  “Yes, they will. We should work quickly.”

  “We also need to consider that the perp is selling batches wholesale. That would explain the shift in victims. And it would account for the twenty-mile radius.”

  “Yeah, Reyes pushed that idea for a while. But the problem would be more widespread. We haven’t seen anything to support it. Yet,” she said.

  That was good. Small wins were still wins. “I assume you guys looked for other fentanyl related deaths in Northern California.”

  “We did, but the majority were heroin laced with fentanyl, not pills.” That seemed to comfort her. “The only pill related cases were entirely different circumstances. There were two deaths in San Francisco. Both were Oxy laced with fentanyl. And there was a case in Chico. A kid tried to turn patches into pills. He failed spectacularly.”

  “How recent?”

  “San Francisco was eighteen months ago. Chico was about a year.”

  “So chances are slim it’s the same person?”

  Laurel nodded. “Yeah. Most of the parameters are different. The only real similarity is the drug itself.”

  “All right. I guess you’ve got that covered.”

  “That’s the advantage of the FBI. They have minions. We do our part, they will keep us updated.”

  “Cool. So you wanna party like twenty-year-olds this weekend?”

  “Sounds super fun.”

  “Yeah, I know how to show a girl a good time.” I winked. Laurel laughed. I didn’t question the feeling in my gut. It felt deceptively like happiness.

  Chapter Eleven

  My phone buzzed with a new text. Andy had sent me a screenshot. I opened it and found that Tower Theater was doing showings of Top Gun all day. I texted her back.

  350 showing?

  Bitchin. Dads after?

  I wasn’t entirely sure how Dad’s sandwiches had become our tradition when we went to the movies, but I wasn’t going to deny the kid. Duh.

  My phone buzzed again. I assumed it was Andy until I realized it was ringing. Andy wasn’t big on calling unless prompted. It was Nate. I swiped.

  “What’s up?”

  “They are perfect,” he said.

  “Going to need an antecedent here.”

  “What’s an antecedent?”

  I rolled my eyes to myself. Then I judged me for having done so. “What is perfect?”

  “The Oxy. I just met up with Mateo. The Oxy looks like Oxy.”

  “Badass. So we’re back in business?” I walked into my bedroom to grab my wallet. Andy would be coming through the door any minute.

  “Yep. Now we just need to find a way to launder money. Preferably before my tuition payment.”

  “And before my mortgage.”

  “And my rent.”

  “I’ve got till the beginning of September. So a couple weeks. You?” I asked.

  “Same for rent. Tuition is due in the middle of September.”

  “So we’re fine.” We weren’t fine.

  “Totally.” He knew we weren’t fine.

  “I miss the old days when every transaction wasn’t recorded and monitored.”

  “You weren’t alive then.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.” There was a knock at the back door before Andy let herself in. “I gotta go. Andy’s here. We’re going to see Top Gun.”

  “You’re better at adulthood than I am.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Oh, the Adderall was delivered. I gave it to Mateo to check the dosage. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  “Cool.” We hung up. I turned to Andy. She had pulled my copy of Top Gun off the shelf and was reading it.

  “I thought you said there was a hot lesbian chick in this.” Andy held up the case to make sure I got the full heteronormative visual.

  “Hot chick.” I pointed at the cover.

  “Why’s she all up on dude if she’s a lesbian?” Andy went back to reading the cover. “Is it one of your dumb subtext things? Like it’s about pilots or the air force or whatever so everyone is secretly gay? Subtext is bullshit.”

  “They’re in the navy.”

  “So it is a subtext thing?”

  “No. The character is straight. The actor is a lesbian.”

  Andy flipped the case back over so fast she dropped it. Then she tried to catch it and sent it flying across the room. “Shit.”

  I laughed. “This is what happens when you doubt me.”

  Andy picked up the movie and put it back on the shelf. “Angry lesbian gods made me throw that movie because I doubted you? Yeah, that makes sense.” She tripped on her way to the front door.

  “Do not anger the lesbian gods.”

  She glared at me over her shoulder. “You’re a jerk.”

  I shrugged and followed her out to the car.

  *****

  When the lights dimmed after the previews, Andy started getting antsy. Sometimes I forgot that she was just a tall child, but when she was supposed to sit still, I was reminded. She was the MVP of fidgeting. The thing was, she also had that childlike ability to become entranced when engaged. By the time �
��Danger Zone” started playing, her hands were clasped in her lap and her gaze was hyperfocused on the screen.

  Tower was an old theater. It had been around for the better part of a century. Which meant that every jet engine roar, every guitar riff made the seats tremble a little bit. It was ideal for experiencing Top Gun.

  I did my best to not watch Andy watching the movie, but it was difficult. She reacted in all the best ways. She scowled and scoffed whenever the dudes said unnecessarily masculine things. She lit up when Goose was lovable. When they were playing volleyball, she got bored and started to fidget again. When Charlie used big words, she relaxed. I’d never realized what a litmus test for queerness this movie was. Or maybe that was all movies made in the mid-eighties.

  When we left the theater, Andy blinked at the bright, late afternoon sun. She rubbed her eyes vigorously and pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket. They were knockoff Wayfarers. She sighed at them and slid them on. I dug out my own sunglasses.

  “I’m going to need a jumpsuit. And probably aviators. I mean, Kate McKinnon made the jumpsuit thing pretty clear, but like I thought I needed goggles. I was wrong. I need aviators,” Andy said.

  “I feel like a failure for not having provided said jumpsuit already.”

  “Same. You’re totally a failure.”

  “So I take it you were into the movie? What did you think?” I asked.

  “I think we need to reevaluate our high-fiving technique. And Charlie was hot. And she was an astrophysicist. I don’t really know what that is, but I’m pretty sure it makes her hotter.”

  I clapped my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you, tiger,” I said in the most patronizing voice I could manage.

  “’Cause I like a hot chick?”

  “No, because you think her being an astrophysicist makes her hotter.”

  “I have standards.” We climbed in the car. “Which is why I’m so upset about this high five business. How could you not tell me we were doing it wrong?”