Page 15 of Corrupted Queen

Footsteps round the corner and I jerk back into the present. My hand goes to the knife holstered on my hip, hidden under my T-shirt, but the man who walks toward me wears neither a suit nor a menacing frown.

I relax. “You must be Bernard. You’re late.”

Bernard is in his mid-thirties, with a scruffy beard and fluffy, curly brown hair that glows like a halo in the early morning light. He wears a pair of deep blue coveralls and a violently yellow safety vest that may as well shine a spotlight on our supposedly covert meeting.

He stops in front of me, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

I root through the satchel at my hip and pull out a small white envelope, passing it to him. “Debbie said you usually work the night shift.”

I couldn’t have done this without Debbie. Not only did she arrange the meeting, but she generously provided the cash bribe, too. I am determined to make sure this story is worth every penny.

“Yup,” Bernard says, peeking inside the envelope.

“And do you ever see any strange activity?”

He stuffs the envelope in the back pocket of his coveralls and shrugs. “Lots of stuff. What specifically are you looking for?”

“Shipments, meetings. Really anything in the past few weeks that has seemed off to you.”

He pauses to think. For a second, I think I’m about to end up with a big fat goose egg. Something about this guy, maybe his unkempt hair or scraggly beard, doesn’t shout “observant.”

Finally, he nods. “I helped unload a late-night shipment a few weeks ago, which isn’t unusual by itself. What struck me is that the guys from the boat met with some guys in suits and the whole thing seemed a bit off.”

“What do you mean off?”

He twists his mouth in thought. “I guess they all looked very tense. One of the suits talked to one of the sailors while the others seemed to be sizing each other up for a fight.”

His description has all kinds of shades ofdrug deal.

“The suit who talked to the sailor,” I say. “What did he look like?”

“He was a big guy,” Bernard recalls. “Big as in tall and muscular though, not fat. Black hair, I think, about jaw length. I’d say he was probably in his thirties, but it was hard to tell from where I was.”

Gabriel.

That’s the moment I realize the ugly truth.

Gabriel is at the root of this epidemic. People are dying every day because of his greed and lack of morality.

I remember a white sheet fluttering in the breeze, draped over a motionless body. The thought turns my stomach.

Despite all the evidence I’d gathered thus far, I still wanted to believe that the Italian mob weren’t involved in purple heroin, or at least that Gabriel’s hands were clean of it. His men could have been working behind his back. But now I have proof that not only is the Italian mob involved, but Gabriel is running the show.

I ask Bernard a few other questions, but he doesn’t have any other helpful information. That’s just as well, since his late arrival means that I need to get back to relieve Debbie of babysitting duty so she won’t be late for work.

“Thanks, Bernard.” I hand him a slip of paper with the phone number for my burner. “Call me if you think of anything else or if you see anything else.”

He grins, exposing smoke-yellowed teeth. “What if I’m just feeling lonely? Can I call you then?”

My friendly smile drops. I have to deal with this kind of thing all the time and it drives me nuts. Men think that just because you’re asking them questions, that means you’re interested in them when in reality it’s your job.

“Bernard, if I were a man, would you be so quick to disrespect me?”

Bernard’s smile falters. “Uh, no. I just thought—”

“If you have more information and want more money, call me. Otherwise, piss off.”

“Yes, sorry.”

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