Deeper (The Deeper Chronicles #1) (9 page)

Flipping through the pages in the file, Harry said, “Right here. Look.” He shoved a piece of paper toward the man sitting opposite him. “The one we interviewed in the hospital said something about his gear.” Harry snapped his fingers. “Said it had him nodding right away and for too long. No memory after he shot up.”

The schmuck could’ve died.
It was a fine line between nodding, as heroin users did once they were high, and potential death.
He was lucky his folks rushed him to the emergency room and the physicians got that Narcan into his system in time.

Frank sucked his teeth. “I still think we need to follow that other CI lead. The one who mentioned Take Over. He said that brand stamp was the best he’d had. Thinks the pushers may have gone underground.” He leaned toward his partner. “Kinda like they went all exclusive and shit. Maybe this Take Over was the same heroin the chef used.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his body temperature rising.

Officially, he and Frank were working on bringing down anyone associated with the heroin trade. But unofficially, Harry had been spending his days and nights off following a hunch and doing some personal investigating. No one in his precinct wanted to hear anything about a possible counterfeit brand stamp that came off at the touch. That was too complicated. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough leads to pursue on that front. For the past twenty-four months, Harry had learned about so many competing heroin brands that his head spun, but he rarely heard talk about Take Over.

At a flickering sound, Harry’s eyes popped open.

Frank wore a bright smile and was sitting taller in his chair. “Hey, don’t you remember us getting a tip that someone copped near a club? Envy, or something like that?” Frank rifled through scattered folders on his desk.

Harry frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. I don’t. I didn’t bother to put it in my last report. Too weak a link.”

Frank’s hands stilled.

Harry averted his gaze.

“What do you mean? I told you to put that in,” Frank grumbled. Harry was a highly decorated detective, and Frank was fortunate they’d been paired up, but lately, the older man was losing his touch. “Don’t worry about it. I did.” Frank continued moving items around on his desk, landing on something. “Here. The tipster said he bought a couple blocks from a Club Envy. We need to canvas that area.”

“For what? That part of town has gone through a major overhaul in the last year or so. Restaurants, boutiques, and high-end clubs are down there now. All legit, I’m sure. Plus, those condos down there are owned by some of the city’s who’s-who. We go knocking on those doors, and trust me the Captain will ship our asses right out those doors.”

“But the tipster said—”

“And I’m telling you no. Waste of time.” Harry’s lips pinched together. He released a sigh before continuing, “I’m the Lead Detective, unless the Captain has said otherwise.” At Frank’s silence, Harry said, “Look, my gut is telling me that we should follow this other lead.” Harry’s leg shook under his desk.

Frank slapped the folder closed.

“For God’s sake, the victim from the hospital told us he knows he bought Empire State, but underneath it, when the ink came off, there was an umbrella-looking symbol with two sticks of different lengths. That same victim almost died from that heroin.”

Harry had hoped to get Frank on board, but knew they were at an impasse when Frank shrugged.

“Whatever you say, partner. So what do you want me to do?” Frank said.

Harry dismissed the man’s petulance, remembering vital information they still needed to round out their investigation. “How about we do this? You stay on top of the Medical Examiner about the chef’s toxicology report, and I’ll piece together these tips.”

Frank nodded, but Harry got the sense that his agreement was reluctant. Harry wished he could really bring Frank up to speed and be transparent. But the people Harry knew and the things Harry suspected would all be a tinderbox in the hands of a man like Frank, who only saw the world in black and white.

“I’ll say this and be done with it. I doubt there’ll be a link between the chef’s death and whatever stamp the druggie said came off, rubbed off, or whatever. Remember two years ago you told me that addicts are liars?” Frank wondered.

“Well, I’m no addict or a liar. We can both trust my gut, and it’s telling me to look into this brand stamp that rubs off.”

I just hope I’m right.

“H
ow long do you think this’ll take?”

Noah swung his gaze at Ro.

“What? I’ve got shit to do after this.”

“Your pussy-whipped ass can get back to that ‘shit’
after
we’re done,” Noah said, keeping his voice low.

“Let’s go.” Cass pulled the steel door closed behind the four men, the sound echoing through the cavernous warehouse like a gong.

Abandoned for all other purposes except for meetings such as the one being held tonight, the warehouse was dark and chilly, reflecting the attitudes of the men who frequented the place. Rats scurried along the baseboards, none yet bold enough to inspect their visitors. Moonlight fell on the litter-covered floor in silvery streaks.

Noah stepped forward, his feet crunching down on random items: broken glass, rubble, and pieces of wood, or it could’ve been bones. He shifted his stance then found a clear patch of concrete, and trained his gaze on the bright cherry of the cigar perched in his target’s mouth.

Gavin walked to the man he had invited to meet him. This time, the table between them was unused save for a sole hanging light bulb. Cass kept a few paces behind his partner, his dark attire making his approach almost unnoticed.

A man of average height and build in a flashy suit stretched out his hand. “Gavin, the main man.” His words were garbled by the cigar he made a show of puffing.

“Deron, good to see you,” Gavin responded, shaking the man’s hand and then pulling him into an embrace.

Deron jerked away and rubbed all traces of warmth from his face when Cass stepped from the shadows. He shot a look to the hulking man beside him and then scanned the darkness. His brow crinkled and his posture stiffened when he spotted the other two figures near the door, who were moving closer.

“What’s this?” Deron swept his hand in the direction of the two men in front of him.

The man who had arrived with Deron brushed his jacket open and hooked his thumbs through two of his belt loops, revealing the butt of the handgun he kept hidden against his right side.

“I’m Cass, an associate of Gavin’s.” He extended his hand but was met with a hard, suspicious glare. “Fair enough,” he said, tucking his hand into his pocket. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t know any of you fuckers,” Deron grumbled out around the cigar pinched between his teeth.

“Whoa. Whoa. We’re all friends here,” Gavin said, moving to the far end of the table, putting distance between the two crews.

Deron snuffed his cigar out on the tabletop. “Then who are those two lurking in the back?” He tapped the table with each word until the tobacco was dust and ash under his hand.

“Who, us? Just more friends,” Ro said, not bothering to attempt a handshake. He strolled around the table and stood beside Deron’s partner. “Sup? Name’s Ro.”

“And that one?” Deron asked, pointing to Noah.

“Let me guess, another friend,” Deron’s partner answered.

They all chuckled at the comment. Ro clapped the man on the shoulder, finding the man’s words hilarious.

Not yet stepping into the illuminated circle, Noah spoke in a calm and steady voice, ending all levity. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Who the fu—”

Deron’s partner’s words were silenced by a single burst from Ro’s handgun, toppling his large frame onto the concrete with a loud, wet thwack.

“What th—” Deron spun around, his foot slipping in the blood that poured from his bodyguard’s left side. He looked up from the floor and found Ro with a gun pointed at his heart.

“You’ll want to answer the man, now that the joke’s dead,” Ro said with a wink and a smirk.

Deron’s gaze volleyed between Gavin and Cass before he settled on the shadowed figure.

Noah took his time approaching the table. “I’ll ask you again. Do you know why you’re here?”

Deron’s tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wiped his hands down the front of his suit jacket and then jammed them into his pants pockets before his tongue became unstuck.

“I’m here to meet with Gavin.”

“About?” Noah placed his gloved hands on the table and leaned into the light, revealing exaggerated curiosity painted on his face.

“A-about some product,” he said low, his gaze falling to the dead man at his feet.

“Eyes up here.” The man’s panicked eyes lifted to Noah’s distant midnight ones. “Not just any product, Deron.
My
product that you fucked up.” Noah brushed imaginary lint from his head-to-toe black attire. “Have anything to say?”

“What? What fuck up, Gavin? We’re good.” Deron turned to his regular contact. “You and me. We’re good, man.”

“No.” Noah shook his head and flicked his finger between himself and the other man. “We’re not good.”

Deron backed away with his hands raised. “I don’t even know you. Never seen you before or had no dealings with you.” He turned to Gavin again. “Vouch for me, man. Your guy didn’t have to do this.” He waved a trembling hand over the sticky pool of his partner’s blood.

“You fucked up, Deron. I warned you not to fuck up.”

“We gave you a kilo,” Cass added, punching his hand with each syllable he uttered. “How many times did you step on it?”

“You got your money. I got my product. How I cut that shit is my damn business.” Deron dusted his hands.

A rat scurried from the shadows, attracted by the death in the air, and sniffed around the corpse on the floor.

“Fuck,” Deron whispered, jumping away from the body.

Noah smirked when other rodents joined the scout. “How much did we get, Cass?” he asked, sitting on the table.

“We didn’t get shit.” Cass backed away from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “We didn’t get shit.” He leveled Deron with a hard stare.

Deron stood tall and pulled a handkerchief from his lapel. He sniffed and dabbed at his nose before speaking with a steady voice. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I gave Gavin there a briefcase filled with money. Green. Cold, hard cash.” Deron turned in Gavin’s direction. “You better check with him.”

Noah breathed through his nose, attempting to calm himself. He stood, turning his back to everyone. “Fair enough. I’ve heard your side of things. Gavin? How much money did you get?”

“I got a briefcase. That much is true,” he said. “But that shit was filled with counterfeits.” Gavin cracked his knuckles. “Nothing but fake money.”

“You hear that? My trusted associate said you stiffed us.” Noah sighed, lifting his gaze to the high ceiling. “Was our product fake?”

“Um, no. No, that shit was legit.”

“It was so legit, to use your words, that you were able to step on my shit three times. Right?”

“Ha-how’d you—”

Noah twisted around, his dark eyes dissecting the man. “And you stepped on it with Dormin.”

“How could you—”