That made the older woman laugh.
"You silly, silly girl," she said, rolling her eyes. "You really have no idea, do you?"
Now I was genuinely confused.
"Mrs. Adams," I said, setting my teacup down carefully. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Please, enlighten me." Where were Bryan and Blake?
But the woman saw me looking around and laughed raucously.
"Those boys aren't going to be able to help you … and boys isn't the right word to describe them either," she snarked.
Of course not, they were more manly than most of the men I knew. Bryan and Blake were mature, giving, kind and had it together. That was saying a lot more than many adults out there.
But I couldn't hide the look of confusion from crossing my face.
"Mrs. Adams, please, I'm tired of asking. What exactly are you talking about?" I queried.
And the woman just rolled her eyes.
"You've been living with SFPD, didn't you know? Undercover cops," she jeered. "Did you really think Bryan and Blake Hanson were senior transfers to Canterdale? In the middle of senior year?"
I gasped. It couldn't be.
"No, that's not true," I shook my head. "They're normal guys with aspirations to attend the Police Academy. They told me so themselves," I stated resolutely.
"You're so stupid!" cackled the older woman. "They are the police, they already graduated from the Academy. Haven't you noticed that classes seemed easy for them, that everything seemed too easy for two boys from a bad neighborhood in Queens?"
Well yes, but I thought it was because an intelligent mind could make up for a deficient education. I'd never thought it was because they'd already graduated from high school … and not just high school but the academy, no less.
I was frozen with shock, suddenly realizing that there was some truth to what the hag was saying.
"But … but why are they here?" I asked tremulously. "What's going on at Canterdale that would merit undercover cops?"
"I'll tell you," said the old lady nastily. "They're here to bust a drug ring. One that my husband and I run."
That made me gasp. Sure, there are kids with drug issues at school but it was just pot, chew, the small stuff.
The old hag cackled and spilled the beans.
"You stupid girl," she said, an evil grin on her face. "My husband and I have been running cocaine through San Francisco using Canterdale as a transfer station. It's never been easier, and so profitable until our boy died," she lamented.
I was still confused. I shook my head, my mind racing as I struggled to process the information.
"Mrs. Adams, what are you talking about?" I asked softly. "What drug ring? And what did Brian have to do with any of this?"
"Brian was our courier," said Mrs. Adams offhandedly. "Our son was the best courier you could ask for, a straight-A student with a Harvard admissions letter," she bragged, "that is, until he got addicted to the junk himself."
That made me gasp. Brian was an athlete, there's no way he could have been using and play football at the same time.
"Oh he was no good at sports," waved his mom, "but he had a bright future. We were just waiting to expand to Cambridge with his impending move East. Imagine that," she cackled again. "A bunch of rich Ivy League kids with money to blow and time on their hands. Perfect customers," she summed.
"But why?" I asked, stunned. "Why did Brian have to die?"
This made the old woman pause, looking momentarily sad.
"Brian decided to sample the stuff freshman year. He started using, just a little bit at first to feel better, to build confidence, but it grew … and grew and grew. Pretty soon he was a full-blown addict, we had to bribe his doctor to fake medical records to play football. But he never stopped using despite our efforts. You can't use and sell successfully, you've got to maintain distance from the product," she shook her head sadly.
But I was still confused. "So the seizure he had during practice. That was all fake?" I asked tremulously, shaking my head.
"No, that was real," said the old woman. "But Brian didn't seize up due to some congenital heart problem. He seized up because he was using and overdosed," she said simply.
"But what about Tyler?" I asked. "Was he using too?"
"Oh yeah," cackled Mrs. Adams. "I never liked that kid but Brian insisted we needed another courier for better distribution. So John and I agreed to bring Tyler into the fold. What a waste," she added. "He started in on the cocaine immediately and wasn't able to get anything done," she shook her head disgustedly. "A total loss."
I sat back, petrified with disbelief and fear. What was happening? What I'd expected to be a condolence call had turned into a nightmare tale of drug use and death.
"I need to go," I said woodenly, getting up. "I'll just go and get Blake and Bryan, we'll be out of your hair in a second."
This made the woman blow a stream of air, the disbelief on her face evident.
"Didn't I just tell you? Bryan and Blake Hanson are undercover cops here to bust me and my husband," she said impatiently. "But you honey, led them right into the lair."
What? My head spun and I felt dizzy.
"There's a mistake," I said firmly. "Just let us go and we won't be back, I promise."
"Sweetie," said the old woman nastily. "It's too late … because the Hansons are probably dead already."
And it was then that I fell into a faint, the world going black.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Blake
The single bulb light snapped off, the darkness ominous as my brother and I stalked silently in the Adams' garage. Shadows shifted along the concrete walls and I realized that we'd been played.
Bryan and I had accompanied Callie on a condolence call, thinking we'd do some surveillance at the Adams mansion. No sweat, I figured. John and Jane Adams were elderly community benefactors, known for their generosity and good deeds. It'd be an easy sweep, just some discreet poking around in the most innocuous ways.
But we'd underestimated the enemy. Jane Adams had convinced us to check out the basement, allegedly to pick up some boxes belonging to her deceased son. And like idiots, Blake and I had obeyed without a second thought, only to be trapped in the dank space now, underground, with no obvious out.
I silently cursed. What the fuck was wrong with us? Why had we acted like rookies? I shook my head in disgust. No use getting into it now, it was too late and I just prayed that Callie was alright upstairs as Bryan and I fought our way out of this trap.
Because I wasn't worried per se. You don't go undercover unless you're resourceful with a trick or two up your sleeve, kind of like a cross between MacGyer and James Bond. So I calmly made my way to the corner of the basement and squatted silently in place, lowering myself to the concrete ground. My footsteps had been inaudible and I could feel my pulse grind almost to a halt, my breath mere whispers in the cavernous space. The Adams had to make a move sooner or later and I preferred to have my back to the wall, ready to strike.
There wasn't long to wait. I heard a scuffle to my left, about twenty feet away, Bryan engaging the enemy. I could hear a muffled grunt, a growl and a thump as something hit the ground.
After about twenty seconds of silence, I called out.
"Yo," I hissed.
More silence pounded until the light snapped on with a stunning glare. There stood Bryan by the switch, blood running down from a cut on his forehead. The stream was bright red, leaving a stain on his shirt, but I could tell that it was just a surface wound, nothing serious. More telling was the body lying twenty feet from me in an unnaturally frozen angle.
"Oh shit," I breathed. It was the girl, Valerie, the one who'd tipped us off to the Adams. She had seemed suspicious as shit, a high school dropout who allegedly had a secret child. But now the girl was motionless on the ground, her body twisted awkwardly.
Valerie's bleached blonde hair was dirty and unwashed, the circles under her eyes visible even in the dim light of the garage. But it was the track marks on her arms that gave her away. A junkie, clear as day, with a serious habit to boot.
I toed her body and to my relief, the blonde grunted, her eyes flickering open. Okay, so her neck was at a weird angle but it wasn't fatal. She'd just have a sprain.
"What is this about?" I said, kneeling next to the blonde. "Where are the Adams?"
Her eyes rolled back in her head momentarily and I thought I might lose her. She emitted a series of gasping coughs and I rolled her over to her side, the better to keep her from choking. But the girl was okay. Looked like Bryan had administered a body block which would leave bruises but was hardly fatal. She bent over, clutching her middle.