Page 41 of Just Friends

“Anderson.”

“Detective Anderson,” she responded. “The intel says that it’s currently in production inside this vat.” Willemforwarded to the next photo, a large silver container. “The batch isa work in progress.”

“When was the photo taken?”

“Last night,” she replied.

“But it only takes a couple of days to process––”

“Yes, Detective,” she sounded irritated. “If you will let me finish.” Ty snickered, but glanced away when Weasel glared. “As of now, it is believed that they will be packaging meth for distribution on Wednesday, but it could happen before then. The judge issued our search warrant this morning based on the photos. Be ready to move out at a moment’s notice.”

“What kind of security are they running on the place?” he asked.

“The main security is coming from the bouncers at the club. They keep a low profile with the shed.”

Weasel shook his head. “They ain’t running this operation from there, using bouncers from the strip club as their only security. It’s more sophisticated than the usual setup out here. We can’t walk in the club flashing a search warrant for the building out back. They’ll scatter like roaches. The better approach is totake that building by surprise.”

“I agree,” Ty said. “Let’s take more time on this.”

“We need more intel on building security,” Chief Matheson said. Bonnie Willem looked over at the other two DEA agents who nodded in unison.

“We’ll see if we can get any more information on the building schematics and security measures. We are limited in what the informant canprovide.”

“Wait,” Weasel cut in, “if they used a local company to build the shed, we may be able to get the blueprint of the building.”

“It’s a small start,” Ed said.

???

The wind whipped through the apartment breezeway with a frigid ferocity that chilled her to the bone. Her cell phonesang out from the bag as Rebecca finagled with the key that didn’t want to turn in the lock. She struggled with a wad of mail, her handbag, and a grocery sack. The apartment’s mail room was at the other end of the complex. She routinely forgot to check it. Sometimes the office staff called totell her nothing else would fit inside the mailbox. She stumbled through the door and dropped the phone and a multitude of envelopes. As usual, most of it was junk. The cell phone screen indicated that the missed call was from her mother. Perfect.

Rebecca deposited the stack of mail on the high-top bar that divided her galley kitchen from the living space, and groaned. There wasn’t any choice but to return the call. Rebecca plopped onto the couch hitting the button.

“You never call me,” Ellen said by way of a greeting.

“I’m calling you.”

“No, you’re calling me back.”

“Yes, I am.”

Ellen sighed. “I was just checking on how your Thanksgiving is.”

“Just got homefrom visiting dad,” she replied. “How’s your Thanksgiving?”

“I’m missing you. All of Roger’s kids are here, and we’ll be sitting down for dinner in about an hour.”

“I miss you too,” she responded, and she somewhat meant it. Ellen drove her insane, but she’d only ever done what she felt was best, even if misguided.

“I’m looking forward to Christmas. You’ll getto meet John.”

“Who’s John?”

“Roger’s oldest friend, Paxton, it’s his son.”

“Mom. I don’t wanta setup.”

“Not a setup, promise. John’s a chef that owns a restaurant here; there’s a job opening up early next year. And I told him all about you, and that you’re ideal for it.”

---