Chapter Three
It didn’t take long to find out the building was deserted. Very little was left behind. Drew called it in. A forensics team would be down to look at the scene and collect whatever evidence they could. In the meanwhile, Drew looked for any clues of where the gang might have gone.
He found nothing. The members and the heroin were in the wind. Gone and unlikely to be found any time soon. He sighed. They should have moved on them. Even having half the crew and the twelve pallets of heroin would have been a win. At least they would have more to go on then what they did right now, which was nothing.
Eight months of undercover work that might be fruitless.
Drew tried not to think about it.
Instead he collected his bike and started making rounds at some of the local establishments that the criminal element liked to frequent. He went to all sorts of places. Bars, clubs, seedy places. Drew looked and listened. He made a few discreet enquiries but ended up empty handed for his work.
It was frustrating.
Knuckles, Sam, Red, Hendrix, and Lawe all worked for a man they called Goals. Goals arranged when shipments of heroin would come in. Drew was certain they were coming off a drop ship. Someone with a small pleasure boat would go out to the ocean, meet a much larger ship, get the barrels of heroin, turn around and bring it back to one of the local marinas, getting past the Coast Guard. It wasn’t an enviable task. If they got caught, they’d do real prison time. However, the Coast Guard couldn’t inspect every boat going through. Not only that, but if a small pleasure craft didn’t break any laws, they tended to be left alone.
It made for an easy set up to distribute the drugs in bulk.
Goals would know when a shipment came. He or someone that he was in contact with, would transport the barrels of heroin to a site. Then Goals’ team would secure the barrels, bringing them to an abandoned building, a rented warehouse, sometimes even a storage locker with poor security.
Goals’ team would weigh and split up the heroin into bricks. The drug was put onto wooden pallets. Sometimes they boxed it. Sometimes they just left it bagged, stacking them like bricks.
One of the guys would rent a truck and another would rent a forklift. The heroin was loaded and sent out to be repackaged and distributed further. At some point it would end up in some addict’s body.
Twelve pallets had been a huge load. Usually they only did one pallet at a time. Drew privately wondered if there was going to be a halt in operations for a while and Goals had stocked up.
If that was the case, he might not get a lead on Goals for a half year or more.
All because one Maxwell Ramesly had stumbled on his undercover mission. It was ridiculous.
Giving up, Drew went back to his apartment to dismiss Cotter for the night. He found Max sleeping on his sofa, one foot on the floor, the other hanging over the end. He wasn’t going to be very comfortable there, but Drew wasn’t going to trade places. It was still his apartment the last time he checked.
Cotter yawned as he headed out the door. The chair in the living area hadn’t been very comfortable for the young man but he hadn’t dared to sleep in Drew’s bed. It was a smart move.
There was a couple of tabloids and other papers on the coffee table. Drew had a quick look. Sure enough, the police department’s least favorite journalist, Sterling Denver, had penned a front-page story on the tabloid about how Max was missing, presumed to have resumed his wild and lavish lifestyle from his youth, thus skipping out on his poor beleaguered wife and two kids.
What a bunch of bull. Then again, Sterling was known for not always checking her facts. At least she had managed to get the missing part right.
As Drew locked the door a snore erupted from the couch.
“Are you kidding me?” Drew stared at Max Ramesly who snored again.
Loudly.
There was a reason Drew lived alone. It was easier. He hated having roommates. He liked his privacy, he liked his space, he liked to have the place to himself. Drew could just stretch it on his salary as a detective and so he did, even if it meant he was in the same building as his sister and Miguel. He’d gotten in years ago before the rents had risen to astronomical.
As a result, he had a studio apartment. Small kitchenette against one wall, a little sitting area for a table, living room area for a couch, chair, coffee table and television, then the king-sized bed against the wall. There was one shelf and one tall boy. The bathroom was small but efficient. It was all the room one bachelor like himself needed.
Drew rarely even had any overnight guests. He preferred to stay over at any of his previous girlfriends’ places. It was easier and less complicated.
Now he had Max Ramesly, invading his space and being generally annoying.
Another snore punctuated the air.
Drew stood at the door and briefly thought of his options. He wasn’t allowed to leave Max alone. If he did and Max decided to contact someone in the outside world, Drew’s career would be on the line.
No one was going to come and relieve him until morning. Drew couldn’t call someone else to take over and go to a motel. He’d never live it down, not babysitting a witness because he snored? Drew rubbed a hand along his tired face. He couldn’t unload the guy on Jana either. Miguel would have a fit.
Earplugs. He had to have earplugs somewhere in this apartment. He’d try the old standby of making the guy roll over first.
