After waking Skip, he says we’re having aremote meeting tomorrow with him and Rashad. No way those POSacross the street are acting alone. There’s a network, and we needto pull in other JTTFs to find out who else from the LebedevskyBratvais on the ground in the Northeast, and howcoordinated their effort is.
***
Seven days later, we’re having another remotemeeting with Skip and Rashad. Fernando’s up in rotation and isstaying in the house with me and Adam. Everyone knows the nearlynonexistent activity across the street is a ruse, and while waitingfor the shit to hit the fan we’ve been accessing reports andinformation gathered by various law enforcement agencies. The factthat we’ve found nothing doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find, butthat if there are groups affiliated withBratva, they’re nothitting the radar, which is not surprising. Had Jonas not suspectedsomething was amiss, and his father wasn’t with the FBI, thechances of us knowing these guys exist are low. Even after thegirls were roofied, the likelihood we would’ve ascribed theincident to a human trafficking ring is again, unfortunately,low.
Rashad had agreed with me, Cam, and Adam, andtook our suggestion to pull in other area JTTFs to the SAC –Special Agent in Charge George Randall. If the wheels of justicegrind slowly, decision-making at the FBI moves at a half-speedsnail’s pace. But today – which is a lot faster than I expected –we’re hearing Randall got the higher-ups to agree the scope of ourinvestigation has to widen.
Later, at three, we’re conferencing with allthe JTTFs in the Northeast. I’m particularly interested in hearingwhat the New Haven and Albany offices have to say since they’realong what we’ve dubbed the college corridor.
Right now, though, I’m in my room shiftingthrough the mail I picked up at the Saugus post office box thismorning. All the bills to this house come in Drew’s name, and allmy personal bills are being forwarded to a P.O. box near theoffice, which one of the admins visits weekly. I left my checkbookwith signed blank checks for the admin to pay the bills, and sincemy paycheck is direct deposit, everything’s covered. The mail thatcomes to the box in Saugus – near a few shopping centers so I get afew things done in one go – is from my family, and Theresa’sincluded in that group.
There are five letters. One from Trask, mybrother, two from my mom, and two from Theresa. I save Flower’s forlast.
My brother has a buddy from college who livesin Cannon, a coastal community on the Oregon shore, and he keeps aboat a few miles south at Wheeler Marina. I’ve been out with them afew times. Sweet Monterey 224FS. Trask goes about once every coupleof months to clear his head. He leaves his house early on Saturdaymorning and gets back home by Sunday evening. His letter is allabout his boating weekend with Greg, which he usually takes beforeThanksgiving for fortification.
My mom, who talks a blue streak, writes aboutthe same. Over the two letters, I get caught up on all theFiddler’s Rest gossip, including what’s doing at Gusk’s Hardware.She spent a page on detailed updates about her greenhouse, andanother on my dad’s latest woodshop project, which is a new coattree for the front foyer. Mom’s decided the old one is too beat upand doesn’t work with her “new aesthetic.” I don’t even want toknow what the hell that is, but when I write back, I’ll ask becauseshe wants me to. That’s why she dropped the phrase.
I open Theresa’s first letter, and it’s herway of letting me know she’s home safe and misses me. The flirtingis subtle, and makes my dick ache more than it does every time Ithink of her. I’m hard just knowing she’s touched the paper.Reading about spikey heels, and her saying, “Nothing wrong withbeing kissed all over” is torture. From this driveway to hers isseventy-five miles. I could be there in less than two hours. Theonly thing that keeps from going is knowing I’d be putting her indanger. I’d never do that. Not ever.
Her next letter is filled with family drama.I swear, if I close my eyes, I can hear her telling me about thisshit while we’re sitting having dinner in the kitchen, recappingour day. Something I never thought about having, and now I miss.Sure, my folks did it, and I had that when I was a kid, but formyself, never.
I want that. I want to know all the crazinessthat makes her family tick because I want her to be my family.Yeah, I know, it’s fucking insane to be this attached to someone Imet once. But I’ve known her for months, and she’d already gottenunder my skin deep. Indelible. Like a tattoo only I can see.Meeting her in person sealed the deal. Kissing her, tasting her –without a doubt, she’s my forever. But for real, she was minebefore she walked into that restaurant.
I reread her letters a couple more times tocommit them to memory, then I take all the letters into thekitchen, set them on fire, and let them burn out in the sink. Whenthere’s nothing but ash, I wash it down the drain, then pour inbleach to make sure everything is gone and is irretrievable.
As I stare at the drain, for the first timesince I became a cop, I think this is a fucked-up way to live.Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I believe in what I’m doing.But no way am I bringing this to my doorstep every night. I want mywife and kids to sleep soundly, without worrying about where I amand how many more weeks before I’m able to come home. I don’t wantto burn Flower’s letters. I want to treasure them. Without thoseletters, I would’ve never found the person to fill the emptinessinside me I didn’t even know I had.
***
Three o’clock meeting. Having a screen splitseven ways is giving me a headache, and we haven’t even started.George Randall is sitting with Rashad and Skip in what looks likeour conference room. I don’t know any of the other offices’ teammembers, except one of the agents from New Haven who’s been up tothe Boston office a couple of times tying up a couple of old cases.His transfer made my job possible. One of the agents from the NewYork office had been out to Portland a few years back, but we hadone meeting together, and no contact since.
Everyone’s read our brief. No need to rehashwhat they already know. George begins by asking if the other teamshave anything to share. Not surprisingly, the New York office hasplenty to say about theBratvasince Brighton Beach is andhas been home to the Russian mob in the US for decades. Ultimately,though, they know ofVory(made men) who run hugeprostitution rings, but no one has heard of a dope-and-ropeoperation used for human trafficking, especially not on collegecampuses.
One of the NYPD on the JTTF says the PD getshundreds of doping reports coming out of clubs and bars, but noneof it seems coordinated. He told us he’d have the reports pulledand analyzed, but my guess, they won’t find a pattern.
The NY agent I met reminded us that usuallythe human trafficking went the other way. Predominantly Ukrainianand Russian women trafficked out of that region to the Middle East,Europe, and the US.
All of the members of the NY office talkedabout how the Lebedevskys are known players on the field, but theydon’t have a huge presence in New York, and their specialty islimited to running guns. The Newark office is also aware of aLebedevsky presence, but again it’s small, and it’s limited toguns.
We agree to keep each other updated, and nowthat they have all the photos and IDs we have, they’ll check theirsources. But making this wide net play is the long game, and sinceit “seems” these dope-and-ropes are happening only on our patch,we’re the lead, and we’re on our own.
Fuck.
***
The other JTFFs signed off and we stayed onscreen with George, Rashad, and Skip, who’d called Benita, Cam,Luke, and Niles in for a team strategizing session that lasted anhour. Now, after a shitty day, I want to talk to Flower. Actually,I want to get in my car and drive home – to our home – then walk inthe front door and have Boo jump on me to get his body rub, and tohear Theresa say, “Come get a beer and tell me about your day.”
As fantasies go, it’s not sexy and elaborate,but it’s what I wish for day in and day out for the next sixtyyears.
Hey babe –
If your family decides to do a reality TVgig, you’ll be rolling in bank within a week. People would eat thatshit up, especially with a rock star in the fam. Would I know theirmusic? I’m looking forward to reading about Thanksgiving at yourfolks’ house.
Heard from my family. They’re well. My mom’shard at work in the greenhouse. She’s
either harvesting or planting. She grows alot of veggies: carrots, green beans, snap peas, potatoes, beets,and cabbage. That’s all I remember, but I know there’s lots more.Have to say, carrot cake made with homegrown carrots tastesgreat.
Dad’s busy in his workshop. A hobby turnedsideline. He makes wooden furniture, and over the years, neighborshave “commissioned” him for benches, porch swings, kitchen tables,and he made a desk for one guy’s office. Massive thing. Tookprofessional movers to get it in place. Dad refuses to acceptmoney, but will barter, and enjoys the hell out of it. Forinstance, the massive desk was for a guy who owns an insuranceagency. Dad always thought the guy jacked up the rates, and hadnever used him until the desk. Dad said he got the better deal. Henegotiated a premium umbrella policy for the house and cars, andtold Mom they were saving about $600 a year by switching policies.Mom figures that desk would’ve cost the guy about $10k, so they’regoing to have less expensive and better insurance for the nexttwenty years.
