Chapter 4
The Death Dealer
Stan was a bachelor in every sense of the word, his clothes, his car,
and especially his house.
He always said no woman was ever going to tie him down. A
computer programmer by profession Stan has
made a small fortune by hacking for profit. His lavishly furnished brownstone is the weekend hangout for the guys to drink, shoot
pool, play chess and discuss
everything from women to politics
but tonight there was important business to tend to.
Steele thought his lime green shirt was a little loud even for
Stan’s taste but decided not to comment
on it. Stan greeted his friend with a manly
hug and offered him a cold Pepsi. Steele accepted
the drink and soon the men were sitting comfortably
on the dark brown sectional inside Stan’s large sunken living room the guys
nicknamed the pit.
Steele was normally the one his friends came to for advice but
before they got started Stan gave
his friend a stern look and said; “Let’s not forget who we are dealing with here. Remember, Trench is the same
guy who shot some unarmed dude in
the back a couple of years ago and we both know
that a tiger don’t change his stripes.”
Stan guided his remote toward the huge screen on the opposite
side of the room, when the screen
was on he reached for his keyboard and began
tapping away. “Roger was here earlier, he gave
me what little he could dig up on his pill popping
college buddy.” Stan continued to talk while
he typed. An aerial view of the east coast came
into focus. “Okay, class is in session,” he said jokingly. “Fat Daddy owns two houses, one in Philly the other in Baltimore.” Stan zoomed in
on the mansion Fat Daddy owned in
Maryland.
Steele gave a low whistle; “Damn
the drug business pays more than I
thought.”
Stan nodded, “Yeah, and I guess it helps if you control a third
of the city.” He pointed to the screen;
“He also owns this little toy, a luxury yacht called Strictly Business. Once a month he fuels this baby up and pilots her from the
Baltimore harbor to…”
Steele motioned for Stan to stop. “Wait, let me guess, Atlantic City ?”
Stan laid the wireless keyboard next to him on the sofa, “Now how
in the hell did you know that?”
Steele paused for a moment, “I talked to a couple of his henchmen today,
they told me.”
Stan stared at Steele in disbelief as he pulled out the little
red cigarette lighter and gently placed
it on the oversized mahogany coffee table.
“Well,” Steele confessed, “I had to give them a little incentive
first, but once I doused one of them with gas
they were very cooperative.”
Stan looked at the lighter then at
Steele, “Dude, you are one sick pup.” He reached for his keyboard and shook his head, “I’m glad I
am on your side.”
Steele told Stan what he had learned from the thugs, about how
Fat Daddy pays off a few casino
bus drivers to secretly haul the shipments of drugs in the cargo bins late at night on their return trips from A.C. Stan listened as they
watched the screen, Fat Daddy’s
yacht Strictly Business was headed up the
east coast at that very moment. When Stan told Steele that Charles Harris aka
Dr. Death had just checked in the Borgata hotel Steele knew that the shit was about to hit the fan.
“Like life size chess pieces moving around the board,” he said
“and soon all of the players will be in
place.” When Stan commented on how bold Fat Daddy must be to bring the drugs in
on his own boat Steele stroked his chin and nodded his head.
“No that doesn’t make any sense, why would you run the risk of
getting caught with a million dollars worth
of dope? Can you hack into his credit card records?”
Stan chuckled, “How do you think I got all of this? He’s using a
dummy corporation and a program
called Hush Mail to cover his e-mail tracks.”
Once Stan pulled up the records
Steele waded through the
transactions for the last three months,
“There, he pointed. You see, every time he fuels
his yacht he charters a second boat.”
Stan looked confused, He waved
his hand, “I don’t understand.”
Steele took a sip of his drink and explained.
“Drug runners pick up their load usually in Miami
and drive it up the coast sometimes all the way to New York .
It got so bad that the cops named Interstate 95 cocaine alley so he has
found a way to avoid it. Fat Daddy is one clever, little, bastard. You got to give him that. He’s
protecting his investment and covering
his ass by following the second boat, the one
with the drugs. After he takes delivery in Maryland
his guys pick up his shipment, loads it onto the chartered boat then he
follows it to A.C. where it’s transferred
to the casino busses headed to Philadelphia . This way he avoids the I 95 traps. The cops
never check under casino buses, why would they?” Steele slapped his knees; “He never actually
touches the drugs so if the pilot
or the bus driver gets busted he can
walk away. Of all the casinos in Atlantic City only a hand full are near the marina, that’s probably why he always stays at the Borgata
Hotel, it’s on the marina. That’s
where the doc is gonna make his move.
Thanks man,” Steele got up and patted Stan on
the shoulder. “I have to get down to the shore before it’s too late.”
It was around nine when Steele
rushed to the club. He parked
around back and met up with Sugar Bear.
The two slipped down stairs so Steele could pick up some equipment and
additional firepower just in case he needed it.
Inside the storage room behind the shelf was a hidden door that lead
to his arsenal. Steel opened a small black duffle
bag and began filling it while he gave Sugar Bear a few last minute
instructions. Before closing the bag he also added a Glock and a pair of
night vision binoculars.
Steele was about to leave when Sugar Bear confessed that he had a
change of heart about the possible murdering
of the drug users. “I’m really sorry about
the things I said earlier boss. I got some baggage,
a bad relationship that I never told you about.
The Philosopher really put things in perspective
for me. I mean I know some of these people,
grew up with a couple of them. They are victims
and now they are about to be victimized again,
for the last time. What about the kids, you know the first time users, and the ones trying to quit, what about them? All of them are
not hard core druggies; you can’t let all
of those people die, Steele. If there is anything that I can do you let me know
okay?”
Traffic on the Atlantic City
expressway was light. Steele
rolled down his window to get some fresh
air, it helped him to clear his mind and figure out a strategy for getting the deadly chemical from Dr. D. He needed
more time, and now he would have to improvise. Less than an hour after
crossing the Walt Whitman Bridge
the smell of sea shells and salt
water that traveled along with the ocean breeze told Steele that he was back in Atlantic City.
During peak season at the shore no one can just walk in and expect to
get a room. Lucky for Steele he and the head of security had worked a case
together a few years back and Steele was able to call in a favor. Not knowing when the deal was going down Steele dropped his bags off
in the room and reached the marina just
in time to see the Strictly Business and the second boat dock.
Steele staked out a secluded spot about a block from the yacht
and watched through his night vision
glasses. “Damn, six guards,” he muttered to himself. Getting aboard the boat would be damn near impossible. He would have to intercept Dr.
D’s deadly drug before it reached the ship. ‘Who was the turn coat? The
doctor was not going to just stroll
onto the ship and spray the chemicals on the drugs so he must have someone working on the inside, a traitor.’
Steele took photos of all the men
as they milled about the boat. By
the time he was finished the man
himself had finally made an appearance.
Fat Daddy had lived up to his name.
Wearing a single gold earring, a gold chain, and sky blue shirt
with pants to match the Drug Lord easily tipped
the scales at 300 pounds. His clothes fluttered
in the salty, night, breeze as he puffed on his fat cigar. Fat Daddy turned as he heard the footsteps of a trim muscular man in his thirties
approaching from inside the boat.
The man dressed in black wore a tight
fitting short sleeved shirt and long pants.
It took a few seconds for the face to register but the man in
black was named Ramon. Steele had caught
a lucky break. Ramon used to work for Trench. Steele was sure that he was the
man on the inside. As Steele anticipated the fat man could hardly wait to get to the casino, he made a
beeline to the poker table but for
the moment Steele was not concerned
about Fat Daddy’s whereabouts. He knew
that Ramon would lead him to Dr. D and the poison
they were going to use to taint the cocaine.
By Atlantic City
standards the night was still young. Steele used the crowd as cover; it
made it easy for him to follow
Ramon to his target. In the drug business
there is no such thing as loyalty and Romone was about to prove it. Steele
watched from down the hall as Ramon slipped into the Doctor’s suite. As Steele
waited he wondered what the going rate was for betrayal, how much was he
being paid to help murder hundreds
of innocent people.
The hall was quiet, that’s one of
the benefits of being on a floor
with suites, less foot traffic.
Minutes later Ramón and the Dr. stood at the
door and shook hands. Ramón headed Steele’s way with a kaki knapsack. Steele ducked into the ice machine cubby hole with his back
facing the hallway, when he heard
Ramón pass he crept up behind him and
stuck his gun in Ramón back.
Disguising his voice Steele whispered in a commanding tone,
“Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even
blink or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”
Making sure that Ramón did not see his face Steele looked around
before guiding him backwards back
into the cubby hole before knocking
him out with the butt of his Glock. Steele picked
up the bag, took a quick peek inside, and quickly
left the floor.
“That was easy,” he said to himself.
After locking the package away in
the hotel safe he felt as though the
glass was still half empty.
All he had done was to prolong the mad doctor’s plan. What’s
stopping the crazy doctor from making
up another batch of poison and starting over
again? Or what if he had brought more with him?
He didn’t have any answers but the one thing that he did know was that a fresh shipment of cocaine was about to hit the streets of
Philly and there was something that he
could do about that.
Feeling that he had at least accomplished a small victory Steele
called Stan and got the casino bus
schedules so that he would know when the last bus would leave that night.
Just in case Fat Daddy wanted to move the drugs tonight Steele returned to his vantage point and watched the yachts through
his binoculars. Hours later Steele checked his watch, two a.m. and the fat man was a no show. He
was probably still gambling.
Steele concluded that there would be no
drugs moved tonight.
Feeling confident that the drug lord would not risk transporting the
shipment in broad daylight, Steele decided to enjoy himself. He treated himself
to a big breakfast of hot cakes, eggs, bacon, and sausages; it was a far cry for what they
were serving at the Greasy Spoon back in
Philly. After breakfast Steele checked on the Strictly Business and the drug boat.
When he was satisfied that everything was as he had left it the night before he began feeling a bit nostalgic for the old times in A.C.
Steele took a stroll on the Boardwalk to Illinois Avenue where the Traymore hotel
once stood. He remembered his teen years and the fun weekends that he had with the guys hanging out chasing
girls and getting into mischief on the
Boardwalk and in Club Harlem on Kentucky Avenue.
By nightfall it was back to business. Steele changed into a pair
of black jeans and a black shirt, slipped
the bus schedule in his back pocket then waited
patiently as the chill from the sea air had begun making its presence felt. He was about to call it quits for the night when he saw
two men off loading four large metal
containers and putting them into the
trunk of a dark blue sedan.
Steele took a short cut to the bus terminal; he had to run in order to
get there before the car.
With the exception of a few late gamblers boarding the last bus
back to Philly there was no one around to
notice the containers being loaded from the trunk of the car to the storage area under the bus.
The bus driver lit up a smoke and casually enjoyed his cigarette. He had no idea that from now on he would trading his smokes for favors behind bars in the Federal penitentiary.
Using his binoculars Steele
carefully jotted down the name,
number, and license plate of the bus.
Once he was out of the area he put in a call to the state police and tipped them off. He had done all that he could do.
“At least that’s one shipment of
poison that will never see the streets,”
he said out loud.
Steele returned to the hotel and took the elevator to the twenty
second floor. He was looking forward
to going home tomorrow, home to his woman,
his friends, and his club but as he would soon
find out that things would not be so simple.
He kept thinking, ‘What harm would it do for him to try and
reason with Dr. D? There’s got to be some
other way for him to get even with Fat Daddy other than to wipe out so many
lives.’ He stayed on the elevator and rode up to the doctor’s suite.
When he got off of the elevator two men with guns headed his way.
The men wore hats and sun glasses
to disguise their faces; one was holding
a kaki knapsack identical to the one he took from Ramon. Immediately both men opened fire on Steele.
Instinctively in one fluid motion Steele dropped to the ground,
drew his weapon and shot back as he rolled
toward the cover of a large oak sideboard on the opposite side of the hallway.
Pop, pop, pop!
Steele hit one guy in the leg while the other shots went left
shattering a large vase on a nearby stand.
He could hear the thuds as a hail of bullets landed on the opposite side of the thick sideboard he used for cover.
During the exchange of gunfire screams could be heard from inside
other rooms on the floor. Suddenly
the elevator door slide open. When an
elderly woman attempted to leave the elevator the wounded gunman grabbed her as a shield and forced her back into the elevator.
The second man saw his chance and made a break for the staircase
firing wildly as he ran. Steele fired
three more shots hitting the second gunman in the shoulder. The gunmen groaned and grabbed his bloody shoulder before heading down the
exit stairway.
Faint sounds of police sirens grew closer and closer as Steele
cautiously approached the open
door to the suite. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
Steele crouched down low and held
his gun close to his chest as he slowly
crept into the room.
Ignoring the heat from his gun barrel and the smell of gunpowder
Steele’s trained eyes darted quickly around
the lavish suite. There was a stillness in the air. Steele had a bad feeling. The gunmen were not after him, he was just at the wrong
place at the wrong time. Once he
had a clear view of the spacious
suite his instincts were confirmed. Dr. D. laid
motionless on the floor. The once cream colored
carpet under him was fast becoming a large pool
of dark red blood. Doctor D was dead.
Just as the Atlantic City
police were about to arrest Steele for the murder his friend, the head of hotel security showed up and vouched for
him.
When the excitement died down and the two men were alone Steele
said, “I need a favor, I need to see the
video surveillance footage from this floor.”
The two men went to the surveillance room in basement of the
hotel to view the footage. After watching
the footage several times the security chief reared back in his chair and said, “Sorry Steele but there’s not much to go on here.”
Steele slapped the table with his hand, “Un- freaking
believable.” Steele chose not to
eleborate on what he saw on the screen.
After making a statement to the
police and signing the standard
documents Steele thanked his friend,
checked out of the hotel and headed back to Philly. With the murder of Dr. D.
and the shipment of drugs off of the street there was only one problem left to deal with. Who stole the
doctors poison concoction and why?
The video surveillance told Steele everything he needed to know
but in the event his plan went
wrong he didn’t want his security guard
friend to be involved. Steele’s first stop when he got back in town was Stan’s house. That night, around three a.m. in the morning
Steele drove back to the badlands and
broke into Trench’s office. Steele had
walked into a trap.
Trench knew that Steele was a smart detective so he laid low in his dark
office waiting.
Trench sat silently until Steele neared his desk before turning
on the lights. Trench leaned forward in
the chair behind his desk while pointing a gun at Steele’s chest.
He smiled and said, “What’s the matter Steele couldn’t wait tomorrow to
pick up the other half of your fee?” He instructed Steele to put his gun
on the floor. Once Steele
reluctantly complied Trench continued.
“You were always a smart little son of a bitch,
you know that. How did you know Steele?”
“I’m not so smart,” Steele answered, “its dumb asses like you
that just make me look smart.”
Trench’s smile turned to a look of
anger, “Careful brother, I haven’t decided which way you gonna leave outta here tonight yet.”
Steele looked him in the eye and pointed to the desk. “Your first
mistake was the newspaper.
The last time I was here you tried to stop me from noticing the
Wall Street Journal on your desk. So, I had
you checked out. You have been buying a lot of stock in funeral homes lately, a lot. Then you sent those assholes after me trying to get me
to believe that they worked for
Fat Daddy when they actually worked
for you. You actually had me fooled for a while
but when I saw the hotel surveillance footage after the murder of the doctor I recognized the chain tattoo on the neck of one of your
thugs and the designer glasses and
sneakers.”
Steele paused for a moment before continuing, “Your people are ripping you
off right in front of your face, and you
didn’t even notice it.
The Fat man couldn’t have sent them to off the doctor because he
didn’t know the doctor was there
and he had no idea that his shipment of coke was about to be poisoned. The second knapsack was a dead giveaway. You were the only
one who knew about the doctor’s
plan, so it was your guys who went
after the doctor’s poison. Oh, and one more
thing, how many funeral homes have you brought
around here in the last six months? I counted
four and that’s just in Philly. Okay, your turn,”
Steele pointed to Trench. “What was all that bull about saving your cousin and why in the hell did you need me?”
Still holding the gun Trench was no longer smiling, he leaned
back in the chair. “My cousin was
a useful idiot. He doesn’t have the balls to run things the way I did. Yeah, I got out of the drug business that part was true but how much
do you think I’m gonna make a year
selling knockoff handbags, huh?”
The clever banter between the two men was over, it was clear to Steele
that deep down inside Trench had become an angry, bitter man. Steele folded
his arms and listen to Trench’s confession. “I saw a chance to make some real money and I took it. You were needed to run interference for me.
The more they chased after you the less they looked at me.
Without you in the way how long do you
think it would have taken them to get to me?
You public enemy number one daug. You knocked old Ramon in the
head and stole the first batch of poison.
It was you who pissed off the guys in Little John’s crew. And who did they
catch standing over the crazy ass doctor’s dead body?”
Trench waved the gun at Steele, “It
was you brother. I just sat back
and waited for the right time to
make my move. Now you see, I got me a really
good chemist,” Trench reached under the desk
and pulled out the brown pack that his men stole
from the doctor; “he says that in a week he can mass produce this drug. When he does I’m going to do it up right. I am going to
taint every drug dealer’s stash from Baltimore to New York .”
Steele laughed, “What about Philly, what about your cousin Little
John, you gonna murder all of his
customers too? You gonna put him out of business
while you kill thousands of those innocent people?”
“Look Steele, maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were so
I will tell you again. Within 48 hours
after these junkies take a hit of the tainted coke they’re going to drop
faster than roaches after the
exterminator come through and once
they do nobody is going to want to touch the stuff. So yes my bleeding heart friend, in order for me to fill up these funeral homes and
get that stock price jacked up I will put
my dumb ass cousin Little John out of business. I never liked him anyway.
Hell their friends will probably blame him and kill him for
selling them bad coke. I am gonna be rich, no
more of this shit.” Trench grabbed one of the handbags off of his desk and flung it against the wall.
Trench laughed until he noticed
Steele smiling and removing an
earpiece then unbuttoning his shirt to
take off the wire he had been wearing.
Steele held up the wire, “Oh, I forgot to mention that your dumb
ass cousin has been sitting outside in
the car with Stan listening and recording our entire conversation.”
Trench leaped up from his chair and pointed the gun directly at
Steele’s face when his cousin Little
John and four of his crew burst into the
room with guns drawn. A very nervous looking Trench lowered his weapon. Steele
smiled, reached down and picked up his gun then leaned over the desk to pick up the khaki knapsack with
the killer drug.
“I never get involved in family squabbles,” he quipped. “Hey,
maybe you can offer him some of your
designer glasses.”
Steele laughed as he walked out the door.
He waved at Stan who is parked just a few cars away. Once he gave Stan the all clear sign Steele
got into his Jag and drove off into the night.
End
Want more Alexander Steele
Case of the Death Dealer
Case of the Deadly Ring
Legacy of Death
Case of the Death Dealer
Case of the Deadly Ring
Legacy of Death
Alexander Steele Murder Mystery Trilogy
Author Larry J
Available on iPhone, iPad, iPod touch, and Mac.
Author Larry J
Available on iPhone, iPad, iPod touch, and Mac.
The Alexander Steele Murder Mystery series consist of the first three short stories set in Philadelphia. Philly native Lawrence Johnson aka Larry J. takes you into Philly's neighborhoods by way of his fictional,suave,detective Alexander Steele. The semi retired PI is the proud owner of the Mount Airy hot spot known as the Inner Sanctum. Steele has a problem. He just can't seem to put his past life of crime solving behind him. A seemly endless stream of new clients come to his club each with tempting new cases for the ever inquisitive private investigator.
#apple
Available on iPhone, iPad, iPod touch, and Mac.
http://j.mp/1sncUH2
#apple
Available on iPhone, iPad, iPod touch, and Mac.
http://j.mp/1sncUH2
