Page 99 of 5+Us Makes Seven

I had smiled at the thought of getting one over on the old detectives, most of whom had made my life really difficult when they realized I wouldn’t take a bribe or look the other way for them.

Eventually I’d have to get some actual evidence to take to the Lieutenant. If I went with what I had now, which was just a hunch, he would tell me to stop wasting his time.

However, if I actually pieced just a little of the puzzle together, I knew he would listen carefully. Might even let me open a case.

My case.

I still had a few contacts from my days of working undercover. A score or more of junkies who I’d dealt meth to in order to keep up appearances, and a couple of Police Informers who had been associates of the O’Rourkes, but had ratted on them for reduced sentences.

I knew some of them would be back in the business. Probably ready to snitch and run at the first sign of trouble.

Snakes. At least most gangsters have a code of honour, a system of respect. These guys are worse than gangsters, will turn sides as soon as they can get something out of it.

I hated them, but I needed them just as much as I hated them.

Finalizing my plan of action, I rose to my full height, a shade over 6’2”, rolling my shoulders. I felt my biceps struggle against the leather of my thigh length black leather trench coat as I downed the last of my morning coffee.

I ran my hand over my short, blonde hair as I headed for the exit.

One of the old detectives looked up at me, snarling.

“Where you off to, boy scout? Going to see if there’s any old ladies need helping across the road?” he asked, sarcastically. His colleague on the desk next to him snorted.

I coolly continue my strides forward, not giving him the satisfaction of a heated reaction.

A little while later I was cruising around the streets in my nondescript, large black sedan, eyes scanning the sidewalk for any signs of activity. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.

It was only 9:45 am, and a group of young men were standing on a street corner, looking around nervously. There were five of them and they all looked twitchy as fuck and were either high or on a serious comedown. They were all skinny with slightly sunken eyes and scratched at their red skin intermittently.

I pulled up a safe distance away, seemingly unnoticed. There was only one car they were looking for; their dealer’s.

It only took another five minutes for a mean looking muscle car to pull up on the street next to the group. One of the meth heads approached the car and leaned into the window.

Bingo.

Now if these were serious gangsters they wouldn’t carry product around in their car. No, they would take the money, and one of their small-time associates would bring the drugs to the customer a little while later, after a gestured signal from the guys in the car.

I waited, and the young men walked off towards a street corner as the muscle car pulled away noisily. All the gangsters had in their car was a load of cash, and I knew that they would likely stash their earnings a few times throughout the day, in case they got pulled over.

Almost risk free. Almost.

I made a mental note of the license plate, trusting my photographic memory to recall the number later. If I needed it.

My eyes foll

owed the group of men as they approached the corner. Two mean looking young guys approached from where the muscle car had turned, at the corner of the block. There was a quick handshake between one of the young gangsters and the lead junkie.

The exchange.

Now I had two options. I could bust the dealers, who likely had a sizeable amount of meth. But they were young, they wouldn’t talk, and it would announce to the gang that I was on to them. No, busting small dealers was a job for the street cop. I needed bigger prey. The top of the food chain.

Option two was to persuade the junkies to give me a sample of the meth they’d just acquired. Much easier, almost risk free and there would be no trace back to the gang.

I mean, the junkies couldn’t go to the police. And their dealers wouldn’t have much time for some whining junkie who’d just had some of his gear stolen.

No, if I left them enough meth to still get well tweaked, they would forget it ever happened.

I followed the junkies as they took a winding route back to wherever it was they got high.

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