by James H Roby
Leone took off his glasses to nursed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how he did it, but he did.” His voice betrayed a meekness. Leone may have worked for violent criminal men, but he clearly had no part in that.
“Did what?” Pagani sat up a little straighter, his voice showed no patience.
“Yes, sir,” Leone said. He slid his glasses back on, “In simplest terms, this compound is like nothing I’ve seen before. It clearly has cocaine as its base but something else is added. Some sort of…I don’t know how to explain it, but from what I can see, this stuff will attach itself to the user’s blood. To make a long story short, instant addiction.”
Random stepped in. “The other element is a truth serum. Easily manufactured. I discovered it makes the user more acceptable to the effects of the cocaine.”
Pagani’s fat round head rotated to Random. The fleshy lips smiled again. “That’s very nice, Mr. Random. But I already have an addictive product that is currently making my organization wealthy. Perhaps, you’ve heard of it; it’s called cocaine.” Pagani slapped his cheek. “Oh, that’s right. You’re using cocaine in this…what is it called again?”
“Crush,” Leone said.
Random boiled over with anticipation. “Cocaine is indeed very profitable and addictive, as you have mentioned, sir. But,” a finger pointed upward, “what if you could inject an additive that would spread your coke supply? What if this additive could triple your supply at pennies on the dollar? That is what I offer, Mr. Pagani. Money is good. More money is better.”
Pagani turned to Leone. The man of science nodded. “It’s true, sir. I looked over what he’s using. It’s a compound the CIA and few other state actors use to induce cooperation. It’s also true that with the right equipment and know how, it can be cheaply and easily produced. Law officials won’t like it, though.”
Random said, “I don’t think they take kindly to your current operations.”
Pagani struggled out of his seat. It took him a few moments and Random noticed his guards and Leone all looked away during the process. Probably something to do with the large man’s pride.
“So if this stuff is so cheap,” Pagani said after a few huffs and puffs, “what I need you for? I got Leone here to whip up this discount stuff?”
Random shook his head. “And Mr. Leone will tell you he has no idea how I combine the elements of this compound.”
Another look at Leone. “He’s right, sir. I double checked with my own equipment and ran it against some models off the internet. This compound should not be stable. Again simply, it’s like oil and water.”
Pagani chuckled for a few moments. He slapped his left guard on the chest as he pointed at Random. “This guy here. So, what? Only you can make this work?”
“Naturally,” Random said. The grin was now all his. “But for a small sum, I will supply you with the only source of this wealth.”
“A ‘small sum’?”
A heartbeat passed before Random answered. “five hundred million dollars. And a percentage.”
Pagani threw his head back and roared in laughter. The laughing went on for several seconds. When he stopped he turned to Fields.
“And you brought me to this clown?” Pagani’s finger stabbed at Fields who could only stand doing a fish impression.
Pagani turned back to Random. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Five hundred million!”
Random raised a finger. “Plus a percentage. Annually, of course.”
“Just like that? On your say-so? You think just because one of our people bring you to me, I’m gonna believe you? Huh? What’s the proof that this shit even works?”
“Oh, it works alright. You can trust me on that.”
The voice came from across the room - a pair of elevators mirrored the ones they stood at. Everyone turned. Walking toward them, guns drawn, were CIA agents Stiles and Thomas.
Cody Random filled his chest and blew out a long sigh. “Well, this wasn’t in the plan.”
~
The building on the corner of Woodward and Adams had gone through a lot of changes over the years. Multiple names, multiple owners. For years its doors were closed. Now, with the seemingly increased value to real estate downtown, the structure readied themselves for the most pleasant and welcomed change in over forty years. So, when the call came into the property manager’s office requesting a tour of the fourth floor, no hesitation could be found. Real estate agent Arthur Tellur was dispatched and arrived on site at 12:14 PM, just ten minutes before Jerome’s red Ford F-150 pulled up to the side entrance on West Adams Street.
Jordan led the way and was confident his Canali suit would allay any fear four African American men bouncing out of a truck may present.
“Mr. Tellur? I’m Jordan Noble, President of Galahad Enterprises.” The blonde real estate agent, to his credit, only blinked once before switching to his business persona and took the business card Jordan handed him.
“Er, Mr. Noble? Yes, yes. Good to meet you.” Tellur shook Jordan’s hand but his eyes were on Malcolm and Don and the bags they carried. Malcolm had a silver case straight out of a spy movie and Don had a backpack and a laptop stuck under his arm.
“We’re testing for sound,” Jordan said as he tracked where Tellur was looking. Tellur smiled and nodded as the explanation was logical given the building was next door to the Filmore Theatre, a home to a music venue. However, all that went out the window as E-Man walked by with a long bag which suggested either pool cues or something more…lethal. E-Man marched passed Tellur with his usual devilish grin. Jordan interceded again.
“We’re doing a lot of testing. New and experimental equipment.”
Tellur nodded and guided Jordan inside. They bumbled around looking at incomplete rooms having a variety of roles throughout the life of the building. For the most part, Don, Malcolm and E-Man stood in the fourth floor’s single and dark hallway. It wasn’t until Tellur opened a door of a room on the building southern side did Jordan show any interest.
“This is it,” Jordan said to his team down the hall to them. The men gathered their equipment and filed into the room passed a re-dumbfounded Tellur.
“This is fine,” Jordan said, “We need this location for our testing.” Tellur looked around. It was once an office but its best days were behind it. The floor boards were loose, wallpaper displaying cutting edge 1970’s style fell to the floor, the electricity was non-existed and no telling what the smell was. Tellur started to protest. He turned to Jordan to be greeted by a white envelope.
“It’s not fair we use this room without compensation,” Jordan said, “Will this cover it?” Tellur opened the envelope with several hundred-dollar bills. He audibly gasped.
“A down payment, perhaps?” Jordan turned his head slightly, trying to get an agreement. Tellur looked over to the other men, who were on the far side of the room, setting up. True to their word, the stuff coming out of the bags were just computers. Tellur sighed.
“I suppose you’ll need a few hours…”
“Perhaps the rest of the day,” Jordan said. “We’ll let ourselves out. I’m prepared to give whatever documentation you need for security.”
Tellur nodded. “I, er, I think your documentation is just fine.” He slid the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket. “Just, you know, don’t break anything.”
“Why, Mr. Tellur, whatever do you mean?”
Tellur smiled and left closing the door behind him. Jordan went over and locked it. The room was a dump but it did have exactly what the UrbanKnights’ needed – a southern window facing directly at Premier Medical’s Woodward Avenue location. Premier was a floor higher than where the UrbanKnights were but it had huge floor to ceiling windows – it actually looked like the windows were two stories high.
“We good?” Jordan asked. Don was on a structure at one point could have been a desk. He was typing furiously at his computer and didn’t acknowledge Jordan. Malcolm, meanwhile p
ulled out some sound amplifying equipment and set it up on the window sill. It was a small black box a little bigger than a home entertainment system’s speaker. A label across its side warned of a laser.
“Dunno,” Malcolm said over his shoulder. “It’s about two hundred feet to the target. Maybe two-fifty.” Jordan looked out the open window. Malcolm’s estimation was about right. Between their building and Premier Medical was a park surrounded by city streets – roughly two hundred fifty feet.
“Still,” Malcolm was pulling some cable out of his bag, “that’s a big ass window. Shouldn’t have any trouble getting some sound off of that.”
Jordan nodded. He turned to E-Man who leaned at the window’s side, eyeing the target. He noticed Jordan and burst into a grin.
“Oh, you know I’m good!” Jordan breathed a faint laugh at E-Man’s confidence. He had learned over the years to ignore it as E-Man always came through.
“How long you need?” Jordan asked both Don and Malcolm but again only Malcolm responded. “Thirty minutes, give or take.” Malcolm stretched his body across the window and slapped Don’s arm. Don popped his head up, brows knotted.
“What?” Don said.
“How long you need?” Malcolm asked.
Don shook his head and popped out an earbud from his left ear. EPMD’s ‘You Gots To Chill’ poured out. Like all his friends idiosyncrasies, Jordan had long looked past Don’s use of classic Hip-Hop while working.
“What!”
“How long you need, fool!”
Don bounced his shoulders. “Thirty minutes, give or take.”
~
Jordan glanced out the window again. A late model Benz pulled up and parked on the northern side of the building. A pair of burly looking men got out followed by a nerd in rumpled clothes and a fat guy.
“We got movement,” Jordan said. E-Man came up with a pair of binoculars. He was quiet for several seconds.
“Can’t really see,” He said, “But they’re definitely going in the building.”
“Anything else in there?” Jordan asked.
“Couple of stores on the street level,” Malcolm said, “but you get to them from the front on Woodward.”
Jordan leaned down next to Malcolm. “You need to be finished, like now.”
“OK, OK.” Malcolm redoubled his efforts. Jordan turned to E-Man.
“You want to go down there,” E-Man said.
Jordan said, “There’s a restaurant across the street. I can get a street level view.” He bounced his shoulders. “Better than sitting here doing nothing.”
E-Man shook his head. He pointed at his throat. “Take your mike. Stay in touch.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Whatever, man.” E-Man sighed. He dropped to his knees and opened his long bag. “Guess I better get my stuff ready.”
Jordan was already at the door. He smiled back at E-Man. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”
“Get your head blown off. Now get outta here.”
~
“What the hell are you doing here!” Cody had tried to keep his cool and immediately regretted shouting. But they were way off script.
A cocky smile played on Agent Stiles’ lips, “What’s wrong, Random? Miss me?” He and Thomas inched their way across the lab, their weapons switching from person to person in some vain attempt to cover everyone. Only the disposables looked like they might try something. Stiles’s eyes came to rest on Pagani. Random noticed the look.
“Mr. Pagani,” he started, “Allow me to introduce Special Agents Stiles and Thomas of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Oh, shit.” Pagani’s iron clad look of confidence cracked for the first time.
“Oh yes. Special Agent Stiles was one of my -” Random paused and acted as if he was struggling to remember something. “What is the term, Stiles? Oh, yes, handler. Yes, Agent Stiles was my handler as I was developing crush.”
“Hey, listen, officer…agent?” Pagani showed Stiles and Thomas his palms. “Look, maybe we can work out a deal mutually beneficial to everyone.” He pointed at Stiles. “Hey, my people work with your people all the time. How’d ya like a great big budget increase, huh?”
Stiles laughed but it sounded like a cough. “I ain’t here for you, Pagani. But I know you. I’d be remiss not to mention you’re being here to one of my sister agencies.” He and Thomas stopped. They were twenty feet away from the group at the elevators. Pagani’s bodyguards were pros and didn’t move an inch – looking for an opening. The disposables, on the other hand, looked like they were seconds from doing something stupid. Stiles kept his focus on Pagani. “It’s too bad,” Stiles said, “You had yourself a good thing coming.”
“Oh, yeah?” Pagani asked.
“Yeah. This crush, it’s fucking brilliant. The stuff that dreams are made of. The truth serum that Random here used is a fraction of how much you can make selling this stuff on the street. And here’s the kicker: it’s so strong – one hit kills the user. So, you’ll have to dilute the mixture. Expanding your supply even further! Heh. Damned if I know how he does it.”
Random stayed fixed on the Beretta of Agent Thomas, pointed at his chest. He called over his shoulder. “Well, then. I told you as much, Mr. Pagani.”
Pagani flashed a hot look at Random. “A fat lotta good that gonna do us now, huh?”
Random felt the flush of victory. He turned around to face Pagani. “Are you convinced now?”
Pagani’s fat flabby features expanded to their largest dimensions. “What!” He was a professional criminal in the presence of two CIA agents. Lord knows what was going through his mind – probably something like wishing he had brought more men. Beside him, Leone was almost in tears. “Are you nuts?”
Yes, Cody Random decided. He was crazy. He had a hunger which could not be sated. All men desire for something, it’s natural. But they also know, whether or not one wants to admit it, some limit exist to what a man can achieve. The knowledge all desires cannot be satisfied. Pagani surely felt even with all the resources at his command, he couldn’t do whatever he wanted. Cody had no such compunction. He narrowed his vision on Pagani and knew the fat gangster saw no limits, no bounds in Cody Random. If this meant he was crazy, Random was OK with that.
Pagani’s mouth started working, no doubt thinking of some kind of deal to get him out of this mess. Random decided it was time to spare him the associated heart attack. He swiftly whirled back to the CIA agents.
“And what were you thinking, bringing him here? You’ll ruin everything.”
“You’re right,” Agent Thomas said. He altered his aim from Random to the back of Stiles’ head, a foot and a half before him. He squeezed off a round. Stiles didn’t even have time to be shocked. The bullet ripped through his skull and carried a sizable portion of his brain with it. He was dead before he hit the floor. The surprise could almost be tasted in the room. Leone looked to Pagani and his bodyguard, wondering if this scene made any sense to either of them. Their blank expression told him it didn’t. Random turned back to Pagani, his trademark grin on his face.
“Well, now that is over, shall we continue the negotiations?”
“What the hell is going on?” Pagani’s voice croaked out at its loudest volume.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jordan Noble said, revealing himself.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Bearding the Lion
The Italian restaurant had been something of a Detroit stable for years, good times and bad. Still, Jordan had never been there. It was a weekday and the business lunchtime crowd had thinned out. He got to the pretty young redhead hostess and she assured him a table facing Woodward wouldn’t be a problem. She was true to her word and five minutes later, he was holding a menu, glancing over at the corner building, home to Premier Medical.
Jordan practiced the surveillance technique he mastered over the course of his military career. He was fairly sure the dozen or so other patrons of the restaura
nt were unaware of his presence, still he maintained a low profile. No sense in staring down the building just because he was in Detroit and not Dubai. At that moment, it occurred to him – his skill set, as a former operator, outside of E-Man, was possessed by less than a dozen men, if that, in the state. He chuckled. Now, no longer feeling sorry for himself, he knew the impact he could have. On this city and its people. Suddenly, it was the Air Force’s loss.
The waitress appeared at his side. He told her he was waiting for friends. He knew he wouldn’t be ordering anything and he didn’t want her constantly coming back to check on him. When he had to leave, he’d just say they canceled.
“Anything while you wait?” she asked.
“Just coffee.” She nodded and went off. Before she could get two steps, he called her back. She smiled, perhaps a bit confused. Jordan’s mind went to the past. How he and E-Man would travel through England after an overseas assignment. While there, his liaison officer from the British Security Service, MI-5 introduced him to another drink. He hadn’t drank it since the court martial.