***
The bell sounded, heralding a mass exodus of the school. Lucky watched as Ty got into Charlotte’s car, and waited until his family and the majority of students were clear. He nodded at the two uniformed officers he’d had to put up with for the last half-hour.
Another officer kept a lookout on the teacher’s parking lot. No matter what kind of day Coach Akin had so far, from here on, his day headed for a swan dive.
Together, Lucky and the officers strode up the walkway. A couple of remaining students stopped to stare.
“Reckon Mr. Crawford’s cooking up meth after class?” asked one gawky kid.
His friend’s eyes went wide. “Just like in Breaking Bad? How cool would that be?”
Lucky made a mental note to check out this Mr. Crawford, just in case.
At least the school had good security—security not afraid to stop him and ask for ID and his business, even though he came with two uniformed cops.
The officers’ shoes struck out a steady beat on the floor. The entire place smelled like schools from Lucky’s memory. A janitor emptied a trash can in a classroom they passed. Damn, it’d been forever since Lucky’s own high school days—days best forgotten.
At last they came to the gym, turning down an adjacent hallway. Lucky tapped on the open doorframe.
The coach looked up. “Can I…” The astonishment on his face, and his not smiling and asking,“How can I help you?”spoke of his guilt.
“Let’s take a little walk, okay?” The officers led the man in shit-loads of trouble out of the building and to his car.
“Open it please. We have a warrant and probable cause.”
Coach Akin cut his eyes to the left and the woods. Nope. He might outrun Lucky with his gimpy leg, but not two young, fit officers.
With a resigned sigh, the teacher opened the trunk of his late-model BMW and stepped back. A black gym bag sat in the middle of various sports equipment. Lucky donned gloves and opened the bag.
Bottle upon bottle of small white pills.
Lucky smiled to the sweet sound of Miranda rights.
***
Lucky stared at a name list he’d never have expected in a case involving illicit drugs and human trafficking. Did these people even know their actions hurt an innocent baby? Probably not.
God, how Lucky hated most people.
A teacher who’d slipped drugs into student’s lockers, providing a perceived answer to their grades problem—for a fee.
A coach determined to take a last place team to the playoffs, or whatever the ultimate soccer game was called.
A doctor who indiscriminately provided prescriptions for kids who didn’t need ADHD drugs.
The compounding pharmacist of Bo’s nightmares.
Lucky would take them down—take them all down. His undercover rookies supplied a few more names, kids who got the drugs and resold them, kids who bought and took them. By the time the SNB finished this case there might be no school left.
Sixty-five names. Sixty-five people who didn’t yet know they’d soon be spilling their guts. Not Lucky’s problem. Interrogation fell to Atlanta PD, DEA, and Homeland Security, depending on the charges and severity.
All those random people, with little in common, had unwittingly come together to commit one of the worst cases of Lucky’s career. So many changed lives. Scars folks like Yolanda would bear forever.
Those parents and kids might think themselves above ruthless cartels, and yet, they’d been party to every heinous act carried out.
He stood outside of an interrogation room, with Walter, staring through the glass at a young woman with mousy brown hair. Tears streaked her face.
“Ma’am, not only are you accused of supplying drugs to students, we also have evidence that you interfered with SAT scores, enabling students to qualify for college and scholarships. Privileges that rightfully belong to others. You’ve stolen from them.” The officer posing the questions might rival Walter for height, with broad shoulders and a take-no-prisoners attitude. His voice, however, remained deceptively soft. A voice to coax out your greatest secrets. He leaned on a chair, both huge hands resting on the back, slightly bent. To make himself appear smaller, less of a threat?
