Anonymous Encounters(41)

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.